Suzie and Ben kept Karen occupied to give me time to sort out my thoughts, but it didn't help. My mind remained in turmoil. Part of me dreaded receiving a call from Paul while another part of my beleaguered brain yearned to talk to my husband. I longed to tell him, but I just couldn't communicate such major news on a trans-Atlantic phone. I was holding a world class secret, and I sorely missed both of those men in my life.
When Paul finally called, the connection was poor and our call brief. I said I loved and missed both. Timmy wanted to talk about the Eiffel tower and people who spoke funny. Grandma was a woman in black who cried a lot and smelled like flowers.
Paul was glad we were . . . little did he know . . . having a grand time. I could tell he wasn't. He doesn't do duty well, was anxious to get home and is piss-poor at pretending. While he longed to skip out of the City of Lights, his mother's grasp prohibited him from making it back to the United States until Friday.
Karen and I left for home mid-afternoon Sunday. While Karen's moods seemed to soar and dive like a stunt pilot, she dropped into a blue mood as soon as we left Suzie and Ben behind. We weren't a mile into our trip when she immediately closed down; abruptly halting her excited ideas of nursery room colors.
My mind continued to see-saw from one pesky what-if to another, too aflutter to concentrate. As we crossed into Massachusetts in silence, I suddenly remembered the question that was lost in my pre-natal turmoil.
"Why did you not want me to tell your father I'm probably pregnant?" Karen only shrugged. "Come on; honesty."
"Do I have to say?"
"Is it something I should know?"
"I guess."
"Then definitely, yes."
"I'm afraid he'll make you have an abortion." It was the first time the word was said out loud, and it made me cringe.
"How do you know that word?"
"I've read about it. I've heard it lots of times. I know what it means."
"Honesty. Where else did you hear it?"
"I overheard conversations before Timmy was born."
I took a deep breath. "Do you remember any details?"
"Do we have to even talk about that?"
"Honey, I'm not even considering such a thing. It's just that . . ."
"I know. You're worried Dad might not want your baby." She burst into tears so quickly and violently that had I not been middle lane blocked in a grid of traffic I'd have pulled off the road. I suddenly realized this thought had weighed on her mind since we'd guessed I was pregnant. It was several miles before I could exit and find a small café. Karen was still sniffling when our hot chocolate arrived.