“Even if you got a part in a commercial, you’d go back to substitute teaching, wouldn’t you?” Catherine asked.
“Well, yes, I suppose, but teaching is only a means to an end for me. I—”
“I thought you were finally putting your college degree to good use. Your father and I paid a great deal of money for your education. You can’t imagine how much it distressed us to hear that you’re more interested in…in cleaning toilets than in making something worthwhile of your life.”
“It wasn’t exactly a housecleaning job,” Karen muttered. “Not that there’s—” She stopped abruptly, forcing herself to swallow the rest of her retort. “I deeply appreciate my education, Mom.” Which was true, but only because it allowed her to support herself while trying out for acting roles.
“Are you seeing anyone?” Victoria asked, once again diverting the conversation to a different subject.
“Jeff and I went out the other night.”
“Jeff Hansen?” her mother asked. “Isn’t he the boy from your high-school drama group?”
“Yes, he’s teaching aerobics classes at Body and Spirit Gymnasium, and wants to get back into acting. I hooked him up with my agent.”
“Oh, dear,” Catherine murmured. “I play bridge with his mother…. She was so pleased when Jeff got a real job, and now this.”
“Why do you think acting is such a horrible career?” Karen burst out. “Can you explain that to me once and for all?”
Her mother sighed as though the answer should be obvious. “You mean you don’t know? Just look at the class of people who become professional actors! They’re all involved with drugs and not a one of them stays married. These women get pregnant and most don’t even bother to marry the child’s father. They have babies by a bunch of different men. They take their clothes off for the whole world to see. They have absolutely no morals, Karen—and everyone knows the successful ones sleep with their casting directors. The unsuccessful ones are just unemployed.”
“That’s so unfair,” Karen cried, not caring that she’d attracted attention to herself. “You’re judging me by what’s in the tabloids. There’s more to being an actress than what those headlines scream and furthermore, you can’t believe everything you read!” The only true thing her mother had said was that remark about unemployment, which Karen chose to ignore. “Besides,” she added, “not all actors use drugs.”
“I’ve read about those Hollywood parties with the drugs and sex and God knows what else. I don’t want my daughter mixing with that kind of crowd.”
“Mom, you don’t know what you’re talking about!”
“I do. They’ll lure you in. Weird cults and casting couches…”
“I’m not doing drugs,” Karen insisted. “I’ve never come across a cult, weird or otherwise. And I’ve never even seen a casting couch, let alone done anything on one.”
“What about this director? He wants you to audition for another commercial?”
Karen sighed. “It’s for a dog-food commercial. He told my agent he liked my style and—”
“I’ll just bet he did,” her mother said, lips pinched tight. “Exactly what are you going to have to do for that role?”
Enough was enough. As politely as possible, Karen placed the pink linen napkin on the table and picked up her purse. “I think it’d be best if I left.” She kept her voice expressionless.
“Sit down right now!” her mother ordered. “I won’t have you making a scene by leaving before we’ve finished our lunch.”
Karen reached down for her shopping bag and held onto it with both hands. “If you’re worried about creating a scene, then I suggest that the next time we meet, you refrain from insulting me.”
“All I said was—”
“Thank you for lunch.” Karen did her best to hide her anger—and disappointment. She should’ve known better. Whenever she saw her mother, they always played out some version of this encounter. The simple truth was that her family didn’t respect her and had no confidence in her talent or, apparently, her judgment. And that hurt.
“Karen, wait,” Victoria pleaded, rising to her feet.
Karen shook her head, fearing that if she stayed she’d end up saying something she’d regret.
“What a wonderful life I’ve had! I only wish I’d realized it sooner.”
—Colette
Chapter 9
JULIA MURCHISON
January 25th
List of Blessings
The security of order. Everything neatly in its place. Yarn arranged by color to form a rainbow effect in the store.
The welcome feel of my mattress after a long day on my feet.
Music and the way it nurtures me.
Zoe’s snit fits when everything doesn’t go exactly as she wants it to. Could this daughter of mine be taking after me? Never!
My customers, eager to create something lasting and beautiful.
I haven’t been feeling well for weeks, and with my newfound determination to take care of myself physically, I’ve made an appointment to see Dr. Snyder, even though it means I’ll have to leave the Thursday breakfast group early. The last time I saw Dr. Snyder was November when I had that dreadful flu bug and was flat on my back for an entire week.
I guess I haven’t fully recovered from that virus. I assumed I’d feel better after the holidays, but I don’t. In fact, I seem to be more tired now than ever. I can’t seem to get enough sleep. Twice last week, I went to bed before Adam and Zoe did.
Peter, who almost never complains, mentioned it at breakfast this morning. But this is more than exhaustion. I’m constantly running to the bathroom. Could be I’ve developed a bladder infection. I certainly hope not.
My whole system is out of whack. Even my period is late. I’ll be forty this year, but I didn’t expect menopause to hit me this early. If it did, though, I wouldn’t complain.
Reading this, it almost sounds like I’m pregnant. It’s been so many years since I had the kids, I didn’t put it together until just this minute. But that’s impossible. I’ve been on the pill for years, and with the flu and the busyness of the season, Peter and I haven’t been that active sexually.
After Zoe was born, Peter intended to have a vasectomy, but because we were both so young, the doctor advised us to hold off making that decision for a few years. We talked it over and agreed to wait. I went on the pill once I’d finished nursing, and all concern vanished from our minds. Five years later, Peter made an appointment for the vasectomy; I can’t remember why he didn’t go through with it. He’d gone in for his preliminary exam, but after discussing it with the specialist, he decided he wanted to think this through more carefully. So I continued taking the pill. Which is ninety-nine percent effective…
I’m not pregnant. I couldn’t be. I’m methodical about my vitamins and my birth control pill. I don’t miss. Ever. I refuse to think like this. A pregnancy now would be a disaster. I’m finished with the baby stage and couldn’t imagine going back.
No need to borrow trouble when a baby simply isn’t a possibility. Besides, I’d know if I was pregnant. I did with Adam and Zoe. Both times, within ten days of conception, I sensed the changes in my body. It felt as though everything inside me had welcomed this new life taking shape. There’s no celebration happening now.
I’m ending this right here because I can’t deal with what I’m thinking. I am not pregnant. I don’t want to be pregnant and I refuse to torment myself with something that has only a one-percent chance of being true.
“I don’t need a urine test,” Julia insisted, meeting Dr. Lucy Snyder’s unyielding gaze. “I already told you a pregnancy just isn’t possible.”
Dr. Snyder rolled the stool closer to the examination table where Julia sat, clutching the paper gown to her stomach, her bare feet dangling.
“The pelvic exam suggests otherwise,” Doc Snyder said quietly.
“I can’t be pregnant.” Julia didn’t know why she felt the need to argue when a pregnancy was now
almost a certainty. The queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach had nothing to do with morning sickness and everything to do with her state of mind.
“With the pill, there’s always that slight risk,” the doctor murmured.
Julia adamantly shook her head.
“You say you never missed a pill? Not even once?”
“Not even once!” Julia cried, fighting back emotion so negative her voice actually shook.
Dr. Snyder read the chart. “What about when you had that flu virus?”
“I took my pills,” Julia said.
“You kept them down?”
“Down? What do you mean down?” Julia asked.
“According to the chart, you suffered projectile vomiting for three days.”
Julia’s forehead broke into a sweat. “Yes…And I didn’t eat solids for a full seven days.” Her stomach hadn’t tolerated anything other than weak tea and a few sips of chicken broth.
“I’d like you to have a urine test,” the doctor said. “Just to be sure, one way or the other.”
Numbness was spreading through Julia’s arms and legs as she nodded. Dr. Snyder patted her shoulder and quietly slipped out of the room.
If she was pregnant, Julia could pinpoint the night it happened—after the tremendous success of her first yarn sale. She’d been incredibly happy. Adam and Zoe had spent the night with her sister, and Julia and Peter had celebrated with a rare evening out, followed by an incredible night of lovemaking.
After providing the nurse with the necessary sample, Julia slowly dressed. Her fingers trembled as she fastened the buttons of her blouse. She’d just finished when Dr. Snyder came into the cubicle with the results.
Their eyes met, and in that instant Julia knew the awful truth. It was what she’d dreaded most. She was pregnant. Whatever Dr. Snyder said after that was a complete blur. She walked out of the office in a stupor and toward the parking garage.
The next thing Julia knew, she was at Benjamin Franklin Elementary, the grade school where Peter had been principal for the last four years.
“Mrs. Murchison, this is a pleasant surprise,” the school secretary said warmly.
For the life of her, Julia couldn’t recall the older woman’s name, although she’d been working with Peter as long as he’d been at Ben Franklin. Linda Dooley, she remembered. It was Linda.
“Is Peter available?” Managing the question demanded full concentration on Julia’s part. Her head continued to buzz, her mind skipping from one irrational thought to another. She’d left Dr. Snyder’s not knowing where she was driving or what she was going to say or do once she got there. Obviously, she’d made a subconscious decision that Peter, her calm and reasonable husband, would supply the answers.
“You go on in.” A look of concern came over Linda. “Is everything all right, Mrs. Murchison?”
Julia shook her head. Nothing was right. Her entire life was off-kilter. She didn’t want this baby, didn’t want to deal with this pregnancy. Churchgoing, God-fearing woman that she was, her reaction would have shocked all who knew her.
“Julia?” Peter stood when he saw her. “What’s wrong?” He left his desk and placed an arm around her shoulders, then gently guided her to a chair.
Julia sank down gratefully. Her legs had lost all feeling, and she felt on the verge of collapse.
Peter appeared to sense the gravity of the situation without her having to say a word. “What is it?” he asked. “Your mother?”
Julia shook her head again.
“Sweetheart, tell me.”
Her eyes and throat burned with the need to cry, but she refused to allow it.
“You saw Dr. Snyder?” her husband prompted.
She nodded wildly. “The flu…” she managed, willing herself not to weep. Tears humiliated her. She wasn’t like some women who used tears for effect. Nor did she look particularly fetching with red-rimmed eyes and a runny nose.
Peter’s hands clasped hers. “It was more than the flu?”
Julia whispered, “Yes…”
“It isn’t…cancer, is it?” Her husband had gone pale at the very word.
“No, you idiot!” she shouted, knowing even as she spoke how unreasonable she was being. “I’m pregnant!”
Peter stared at her blankly as though he hadn’t heard or, like her, didn’t want to hear.
“Don’t look at me like this is a surprise or anything,” Julia snapped. He was to blame, dammit! If he’d gone ahead with the vasectomy, they wouldn’t be facing this situation now.
“Ah…” Peter straightened and buried his hands in his pockets. “Were we planning on having a third child?” If this was an attempt at humor, she wasn’t laughing.
“This is all your fault….”
His frown slowly evaporated into a soft, teasing smile. “You’re joking, aren’t you?”
“Do I look like I’m joking?”
“No…” He hesitated, confusion in his eyes. “You’re really pregnant?”
Julia swore to herself that if he dared to smile again, she’d slap the grin off his face.
“But how?” He shook his head as if he wanted to withdraw the question. “Not how, but when? I thought you were on the pill.”
“I am on the pill.”
“And you still got pregnant?”
“Yes…apparently I threw up the birth control pills when I had the flu a couple of months back.”
“I see.” His expression remained sober and concerned, but Julia knew her husband well enough to see that his reaction to the news in no way matched her own. Peter started to chuckle, but she cut him off abruptly.
“Don’t laugh!” She wasn’t kidding, either. A pregnancy wasn’t a laughing matter. Not at this stage of her life. She was through with being a stay-at-home mother. She didn’t regret any of it, but that phase was over now. There wasn’t a single committee or volunteer job she hadn’t done in the twelve years she’d been home with Adam and Zoe. She’d served as the Parent-Teacher Association president, been a Cub Scout leader for Adam, a Brownie leader for Zoe, an assistant soccer coach, Sunday School teacher, room mother and all the rest of it. She was still actively involved in her children’s lives, but as teenagers they were less dependent, required less of her time. Finally, it was her turn, and she was unwilling and unable to go back and retrace her steps.
“You find this amusing, do you?” she yelled. “We have two teenage children, Peter. Can you imagine what a baby would do to our family?”
“Julia,” her husband said, his eyes filled with sympathy. “A pregnancy isn’t the end of the world.”
“Oh sure, you can say that, but it isn’t you who’ll be getting up in the middle of the night! And what about Adam and Zoe? What about our friends? No one has a child at our age.”
“It happens all the time.”
“Not to us. Peter, you actually seem happy about this. I can’t believe it!”
“I’m surprised, and obviously you are, too, but there are worse things. We’ll adjust.”
“You might, but I won’t. I don’t want this child.” There, she’d said it, those dreadful words, but God help her, they were the truth.
Peter gazed at her as though he hadn’t heard. “Give yourself time,” he advised, as though all she needed was a few minutes to get over the shock.
“Time for what? Do you think that’ll change my mind? Do you seriously believe that once I get used to the idea of being pregnant I’ll feel differently?”
“Julia…”
“Why do you think our children’s names start with A and Z? A boy, a girl. A to Z, and I was finished.”
“Apparently not.”
Julia jerked her purse strap over her shoulder and bounced out of the cushioned seat. “I can see that talking to you isn’t any help at all.”
“Julia…” Peter followed her outside his office and down the long empty corridor. “Listen, Julia. It’s not so bad. Having another baby will be kind of exciting….”
Her husband didn’t u
nderstand. Nor did her physician. As soon as she’d delivered the news—news Julia didn’t want to hear—Dr. Snyder had distanced herself emotionally. Julia sensed it, felt it.
And Peter—sure, he’d been surprised, but he apparently shared none of her qualms. If anything, he seemed pleased. Thrilled, even. Excited.
Everything Julia wasn’t.
“Nobody has ever measured, even poets, how much the heart can hold.”
—Zelda Fitzgerald
Chapter 10
LIZ KENYON
January 28th
I’m feeling depressed, and I’m not sure I want to analyze the reasons. Perhaps it’s just this time in my life. I’m fifty-seven and alone. Never in a million years did I think such a thing would happen.
Not to me.
The alarm wasn’t set since it’s Sunday, but I woke at six anyway. After tossing for a half hour, I decided I wasn’t going to sleep any longer, no matter how much I wanted to. So I got up and showered. When the mirror cleared, I stared at my reflection and what I saw made me feel like weeping.
When did those crow’s feet appear? I don’t remember noticing them before. It isn’t only my eyes, either; there are lines at my mouth and neck that I swear weren’t there a week ago. I looked old and beaten, and I’m feeling every day of my fifty-seven years.
Until recently—until I started a journal, in fact—I hadn’t given much thought to age. Fifty-seven is still young. This morning, studying my reflection, I was forced to confront the truth. Fifty-seven isn’t that young.
All at once it hit me.
As though losing Steve and having the children move away isn’t bad enough, now I’m facing yet another loss, this one as devastating as the others. My youth. Oh, I don’t mean that I thought I was still in my twenties or anything so foolish—just that I saw my life (and, admittedly, my looks) continuing into the future unchanged. And I know now it isn’t true. There are supposed to be compensations for these losses…of beauty, health and endless possibility. Compensations like grandchildren, wisdom, insight. But as far as I’m concerned the trade hasn’t been a fair one. My grandchildren are far away, and I’m definitely lacking in wisdom. All I feel is the loss and none of what I’m supposed to have gained.