She opened all the windows and doors in the apartment. And then she dragged an obsolete upright vacuum cleaner from the closet. While the machine rattled and shuddered, he stood outdoors, on the cement path.
“You want to move the couch for me?” she said, shutting off the vacuum cleaner.
“Be glad to.” He lifted the couch away from the wall.
“You sound so mournful,” she said.
“No, I’m just thinking.”
“Does this bother you, this cleaning?”
“No.” Again he went outside.
“I don’t have to do this,” Rachael said. “I just wanted something to do; I can’t stand sitting around like we were, just talking. It’s so—it’s a waste of time.”
After she had vacuumed the floor and rugs and curtains and cushions of the couch, she put the vacuum cleaner away and began to wash the dishes in the sink.
“Your note was eloquent,” he said to her.
“Well,” she said, her arms in soapsuds, “I thought you were leaving and I had that to give to you the last minute or so. Just before you took off. Otherwise you wouldn’t know . . . you’d think I was just after some arrangement so I could be sure of a place to stay. You know?”
“I know,” he said.
“And I mean it,” she said. “The way I feel.”
“It’s too bad,” he said.
“Why?”
“I was afraid that was behind it.”
“It shouldn’t make you afraid. You ought to be glad. Don’t you feel very strongly about me?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Maybe something will come of this,” she said, rinsing out the sink and then drying her hands and arms. With a rag and a can of Dutch Cleanser, she began scouring the bowl and faucets in the bathroom.
“After everything you said,” he said, “you still believe what you see in the movies.”
“Whats that?”
“True love wins out.”
“Sometimes it does.”
“Very seldom.”
“But it can,” she said.
“Why? Does it shove everything else out of the way?”
Rachael said, “If I was married to you, I’d have a lot of children. That’s something she’s never done.”
“You’re wrong,” he said.
“I know I would.” She put her hand on her stomach. “You can see?”
“Not my children,” he said. “I’m sterile.”
She straightened up. “Really?”
“So what you said is just a little silly.”
“I thought it was her,” Rachael said. “But it doesn’t matter. I have a baby already. It would be the same as yours.” She went back to her methodical scrubbing.
“That’s why Pat and I broke up,” he said.
“Yes,” Rachael said, “I believe it. She needs children she can take care of, so she won’t have time to sit around and feel sorry for herself. I don’t see how you can talk about going back to her; if you can’t have children, it’ll never work out. She’ll be sitting around drinking and brooding, and she’ll start crying and wishing she had kids, and then she’ll leave again. But you know I wouldn’t do that.”
“I know,” he said, and it was true; it probably was.
“We’d have a child,” Rachael said, “one at least. Maybe I’ll have twins. Art has a brother. My mother has a twin brother.” Putting away the can of Dutch Cleanser and the rag, she said, “The hospital would charge more if it were twins. But I’d like to have more than one child if I could.”
“How much do the hospitals charge for a delivery?” he said.
“Do you mean a normal delivery? Without complications? Usually from one hundred and fifty dollars to three hundred. It depends on whether you want a private room.”
“A private room is more,” he said. “I know that.”
“If they have to use instruments,” Rachael said, “even forceps to force delivery, then they call it an operation and charge for an operation. So that could cost anything, depending on the circumstances.”
“How long would you be in the hospital?”
“Not very long.” She looked in the refrigerator to see what she needed to buy. “Three days or four. It depends on how quick my delivery is and how I stand up under it. I haven’t had any children before, so I’ll probably have a hard delivery. And I’m small. I’ll probably have a lot of false labor, maybe a couple of days of it.”
“How long before you have the baby will you have to quit your job?”
“It depends on how I feel. But the problem is when I get back. I can’t go to work after I have the baby. I’m going to stay home.” She had made out her shopping list; now she wheeled a shopping cart from the corner of the kitchen. “You want to walk down to the store with me?”
As they walked slowly along the sidewalk, he said, “Do you feel different about me?”
“Because you can’t have children? Yes, I guess so. You didn’t know before you and she were married, did you?”
“No,” he said.
“But I know,” Rachael said. “So it wouldn’t be the same. Like you know about me, you know about Art, you know I liked him enough to marry him. And the baby is his. But that’s not so bad, is it? You can have a child this way. It would be the only way.”
“I thought of that,” he said.
“When?”
“The first night I stayed with you.”
“Yes,” she said, “I knew you were thinking about something, and it had to do with the baby. “You want to, then?” She turned toward him. “You want to marry me as soon as we can get it fixed up? It would be a year or so, and the baby would already be born. But we could be together most of that time.”
“We could,” he agreed.
To their right was a fruit and vegetable market; she pushed her shopping cart through the doorway and he followed. At the bin of lettuce, she examined the heads. She weighed them and stripped off the outer leaves. After she had found the lettuce she wanted, she began filling a paper bag with squash.
“Morning, young lady,” the old man at the counter said as she brought up what she wanted to buy.
“Hello,” she said. At the counter were tomatoes. She took two of them and put them with the green onions and celery. To Jim she said, “I want to make a salad for you.”
“Is that something you’re good at?”
“I’m not too bad,” she said, paying for what she had bought. “I have to get some Italian cottage cheese . . . have you ever had any? It’s called ricotta.”
At the delicatessen she stood at the glass counter, scrutinizing the sausages and cheeses. The clerk recognized her and greeted her. They all recognized her, the old Italian grocery-store owners, the people behind the meat and fish counters. This was her route; with her shopping cart she went from store to store, looking into everything, finding out what was good.
“Here,” the clerk said to her, giving her a wedge of the white Monterey jack cheese. “See what you think.”
She tried it. “No,” she said, “It’s too mild.”
“You want it for a salad?” The clerk found her some cheddar.
“That’s fine,” she said. “And the ricotta.” She paid the clerk, put the packages in her shopping cart, and then they went outside.
“They let you try stuff?” Jim said.
“If you don’t ask them,” she said. “If you just stand looking. Do you like how it smells in there? It’s the garbanzo beans and the olive oil and spices, and the different sausages. I can’t usually afford to buy any of the sausages.”
“They know you,” he said.
“I spend a lot of time in there.”
At the supermarket she bought brown rice and a pound of butter, which was on sale, and a quart of mayonnaise, which was also on sale.
“They don’t have eggs on sale,” she said. “Look, they want sixty cents a dozen. We’ll have to go over to the Safeway and see.” Pushing her cart to the checker’s stand; she joined the line. He remained beyond the railing. Behind her was a large, elderly woman in a silk dress, and ahead of her were two colored women. Among the housewives and shoppers she was confident; she smiled at him.