“I’ll call, then.”
“All right,” Joan said.
“And, Joanie? Thanks.”
Joan hung up without replying.
* * * *
Heath called the Jensen house at seven the next morning, after a sleepless night.
“Let me talk to Ann,” He said to Joe, who answered.
“I’m sorry, Heath. She’s gone. About an hour ago,” Joe said.
* * * *
Ann’s apartment was just as she’d left it. Almost. The neighbor who’d sent her things to Florida had been watering her plants, but there was a thin film of dust on all the furniture and the place had a closed up, musty smell that made her nose twitch reflexively. She flung the windows wide, despite the frosty February temperatures. She spent the first day in therapeutic cleaning—dusting and polishing furiously to forget her troubles while a gray sleet fell outside, covering the streets of Greenwich Milage with slush.
It didn’t work. Twice she broke down crying as she was scrubbing the bathroom tile, a chore she had not missed while Daniela was doing it in Florida. But there was something satisfying about taking out her anger on soap scum and graying grout. When every surface in the four rooms was spotless and shining, she took a long shower and then made an appointment with the Fifth Avenue gynecologist she’d been seeing for years.
No amount of misery was going to make her neglect the health of this baby.
When there was no more cleaning left to do, Ann sat at her computer and tried to work. But the bulk of the book was on the hard drive in Florida and she kept forgetting references until she gave up in frustration. She would ask Daniela to send her what she needed and maybe that would help.
For the moment her muse had deserted her.
Disgusted and weary, Ann lay down on her bed to take a nap, telling herself that the desire for sleep was not depression but the instinct to take care of the baby.
Her phone started to ring as her head slipped to the pillow. It rang twenty times, until she lifted the receiver and let it drop back into the cradle. Then it began to ring again.
Ann unplugged it and threw the instrument into the bottom of her closet.
Then she went back to bed.
* * * *
Three days later Ann was checking some references in the outdated version of the Encyclopedia Britannica she had purchased from the Dunnell Library when a furious knocking commenced at her door. She rose and stood on the rug just inside the door, saying to the dead air, “Heath, go away. I don’t want to talk to you.”
“It isn’t Heath,” Amy’s voice replied in irritation. “Now will you please open this door?”
Ann undid the three dead bolts necessary for life on Astor Place and let Amy into the hallway.
“What are you doing here?” Ann said, amazed.
“Seeing if you are dead or alive, since I’ve been calling every day and getting no answer.”
“I disconnected the phone.”
“That was very smart.”
“I didn’t want to talk to Heath.”
“Or anybody else, apparently.” Amy unbuttoned her coat and removed it, shivering. “I always forget how cold it gets up here. Why do people choose to live in such an ungodly climate? I took this rag out of mothballs, and burned up the rest of my frequent flyer miles, trekking up here for the weekend when Heath told me you had left him. What the hell is going on? The last time I talked to you all was wedded bliss, and now this.”
“I told him I was pregnant and he said he wasn’t the father,” Ann stated flatly.
Amy’s face went blank with shock. “What?” she finally said, inadequately.
“I guess he didn’t tell you that part of it, did he?” Ann observed dryly.
“No.” Amy followed Ann into the tiny living room and collapsed into a chair, tossing her overnight bag on the sofa. “He certainly has had you on a roller coaster, hasn’t he?”
“The ride’s over,” Ann said.
“Does he know that?”
“I’ve tried to make it perfectly clear.”
“Has he been here?”
Ann nodded. “I wouldn’t let him in and threatened to call the police. I thought he would kick in the door until I told him if I had a miscarriage it would be his fault. I assumed he had come back when I heard you in the hall.”
“Is he still in New York?”
“I doubt it. I don’t think he could tear himself away from his precious business for longer than a day or two.”
Amy pulled her sweater over her head and unbuttoned the top button of her shirt. “God, it’s hot in here. Coming inside is like going from an ice chest into a baker’s oven. No wonder everybody in New York is sick.”
“Steam heat in these old buildings,” Ann said, gesturing to the burbling radiator.
Amy sighed and removed her galoshes, frowning at the melting puddle of goo they had shed. “I remember that you were worried about how Heath would receive this news, but whatever gave him the idea that the child wasn’t his?”
“He had a vasectomy eight years ago.”
Amy stared at her. “Why would he do that?”
“So he wouldn’t produce any little alcoholics like his father. At least, that’s what he says.”
“But you don’t buy it.”
“I think the whole idea of family life is so blighted for him that he just wants to avoid the issue.”
“But he should have told you.”
“You know how we began this marriage, it didn’t really come into play then. And later I think he was afraid to say anything because I let him know I wanted children.”
“So rather than think medical science had failed, he assumed you had an affair?” Amy said, staring down in dismay at her equally wet shoes.
“Oh, who knows? I don’t care anymore. I only know what he said and that’s enough for me.”
“How can you stand it here with all this sleet and snow?” Amy asked, staring out the window.
“I prefer it to the company on Lime Island.” Ann replied, hanging Amy’s coat in her closet.
“What have you been doing holed up in here?”
“Working. Daniela sent me my manuscript.”
“How can you concentrate?”
“I couldn’t at first but it’s getting better.”
“Have you seen your doctor here?”
Ann nodded.
“How pregnant are you?”
“Three months, according to the sonogram.”
“So it happened when you first got married.”
Ann nodded.
“Heath has a lot of money. He can pursue you to the ends of the earth if he wants to.”
“Let him try,” Ann said grimly.
“So you’re determined to fight him?”
“I’m determined to do what’s best for me and the baby, whatever that may be.”
“Going up against somebody who has that many resources is a formidable challenge,” Amy said warningly.
“I’m equal to it,” Ann replied.
Amy stared at her, then began to smile slowly.
“I believe you are,” she said.
“You must be frozen, coming here directly from Florida,” Ann observed. “What would you like? Something hot to eat or drink? Coffee, tea, cocoa?”
“Bourbon,” Amy answered.
“I don’t think I have any liquor.”
“Well, look and see, will you?”
Ann went into the galley kitchen and returned with two bottles. She held them out and Amy took one look and gagged.
“That’s cooking sherry,” Amy said disgustedly.
“How about this other one?”
“Peach liqueur? Forget it. Why do you have to be such a teetotaler?”
“I’m not a teetotaler, I just never buy booze. I don’t entertain much.”
“Well, Zelda, it looks like we are going to go for a walk to that cozy little bar across the street.”
“Oh, all right, if you insist.” Ann was moving toward the closet when knocking sounded at her door again.
The two women looked at one another in alarm.
“Ann, it’s Heath,” a male voice said.
“I think I hear my mother calling me,” Amy said swiftly, standing abruptly.
“Amy, if you run out on me now, I will never speak to you again,” Ann whispered fiercely.