“Yes?”
“You know that if you ever want anything, all you need do is ask. I’m your friend.”
So simple. No questions. No strings attached. No qualifications. Unconditional friendship. Love. Her throat tightened painfully. “Thank you for that, Seth. Goodbye.” She replaced the telephone before the tears that had gathered in her eyes could burst free.
* * *
After the blood was drawn and the X ray taken and she had filled out the necessary forms, Kathleen was told to go home to bed and to report to the reception desk at six-thirty the next morning.
She followed the instructions but was unable to fall asleep, no matter how exhausted she was. In her mind’s eye, she could see the instruments that Dr. Peters would use on her to rid her of the “products of conception.” Not “the baby.” Not even “the fetus.” The products of conception.
Her limbs felt like lead but her head seemed too light to hold onto her pillow as she tossed and turned through the night. Her brain refused to release her from consciousness. It forced her to remember, to speculate, and to fear.
Long ago, she had vowed that before having children, she would be sure beyond a shadow of a doubt that her mate was her mate for life. She knew the pain of growing up without parents and had promised her as-yet-unconceived children that they would never have less than two parents, a real home, a complete family unit. If she were to call off the abortion and decide to have the baby alone, she would be breaking her promise, robbing her child of a parent. No. Never.
What would Erik think if he knew that she was carrying his baby? Would he even want to know? Would his reaction be one of anger at her for not being mature or responsible enough to take birth-control precautions? Would he feel pity and offer to help her by absorbing half of the financial burden? God! She couldn’t have stood that.
Or would his reaction be quite different? Would his blue eyes fill with that warmth that she had read in them as he looked at her body and caressed it lazily, exploring it with inquisitive hands while his eyes worshiped it with appreciation?
Would he kneel before her, cupping her hips with his strong hands, drawing her to him and pressing his face against her abdomen in silent communication with his baby? Would his lips plant thankful kisses into her skin while he nuzzled her? Would he glory in the maternal fullness of her breasts?
No! No! Why was she torturing herself this way? A baby might mean nothing special to him. He might already have one. For all she knew, he and his wife might have an entire family of little Gudjonsens that meant no more to Erik than fidelity did.
Kathleen tried to blot out the euphoric fantasy, but it wouldn’t go away. Rather, it expanded. She saw herself being wheeled down a hospital corridor toward the delivery room with an anxious Erik striding beside the gurney, clasping her hand and declaring his love.
Then they were standing at the nursery window, looking down in adoration at their son. Son? Yes. Erik would have to have a son.
Then they were walking down a tree-shaded lane, each holding the hand of their sturdy toddler. He had blond hair, slightly waved and defying control. His eyes were a piercing blue. Just like his father’s…
* * *
Kathleen was still awake when the alarm went off beside her convertible sofa. She pulled herself up with tremendous effort. The only good thing about this morning was that it spelled the end of the hellish night she had spent, and at the end of this day, her ordeal would be over. She would be rid of the last remnant of Erik and could begin to live her life again.
At least that’s what Kathleen told herself as she went through the routine steps of dressing. Without conscious thought, she drove herself to the hospital, parked the car and checked in at the reception desk. She was directed to the third floor, where she checked in at another desk.
“I’m Kathleen Haley,” said the automatic voice that Kathleen didn’t recognize as her own.
“Good morning, Ms. Haley. Come right this way.”
She followed the nurse, sickeningly fresh and pert for this hour of the morning, down the hallway to a room with six beds in it. Only two other patients were already there.
The nurse slipped a clear plastic identification bracelet on Kathleen’s arm. “Undress in there and put your personal belongings in the locker. There is a hospital gown in there for you. Be sure to take off your jewelry. And use the commode if you have to. I’ll be back to start your IV.”
She was gone and Kathleen was left alone with the other women in the cold room. One was younger, seventeen at the most. Was she in here for the same reason Kathleen was? Her heart went out to the girl, but the worldly-wise, insolent eyes that met hers didn’t seem too upset. The other woman was older and weeping softly into a handkerchief. No doubt her D and C was therapeutic. Her abortion had been forced by nature. How awful.
Kathleen went into the bathroom and did as the nurse had told her to. I won’t think, she told herself. Don’t think about what you’re doing. Just do it and get it over with.
She climbed into the high hospital bed and lay back on the rock-hard pillow. In a few minutes, the nurse came in carrying a bottle and a tray.
Without speaking, she bathed the crook of Kathleen’s elbow with alcohol. Thankfully, it was the opposite arm from where they had drawn blood the night before.
She had always had an aversion to needles. As a child, she had been terrified of getting shots. As an adult, her fear wasn’t much different. She turned her head away and winced as the nurse sought a vein, and then, after finding it, jammed the needle in and taped it to her arm.
“What is this?” Kathleen asked timidly.
“A pre op,” the nurse said succinctly. “You’re scheduled for seven forty-five so just take it easy for a while.” Then she raised Kathleen’s hand before dropping it back to the bed impatiently. “You’ve got on nail polish. We can’t put you to sleep if you’ve got polish on your nails.”
“I’m sorry,” Kathleen apologized meekly. “No one told…”