CHAPTER 23 Nancy 
SPRING 1987
Nancy has spent the half-hour streetcar ride to Dr. Taylor’s house thinking about how much she’s been lying to her husband.
Nearing the intersection closest to Dr. Taylor’s street, Nancy tugs the cord for her stop and pulls herself to her feet, cradling her pregnant belly with one hand and bracing herself against the nearest seat back with the other. A woman in a seat across from the back door smiles at her, and she feels her baby squirm along with her guilt.
Nancy realized she was pregnant right before their first Christmas as a married couple. She had missed her period, her boobs were sore, and the dreaded morning sickness was back. She’d welcomed the symptoms, knowing what they meant, though she didn’t tell Michael she knew the signs from past experience. It had been difficult to pretend, but once she got past the first month, the experience became new again, unfamiliar, and it belonged to both of them.
They went to the doctor and got the results confirmed, and Michael picked her up and swung her around in celebration on the sidewalk outside the clinic. It was a moment of true happiness. Possibly the first of Nancy’s adult life. And she couldn’t believe how stark the difference was between learning about this pregnancy versus her first one. She hadn’t been too concerned about her fertility, but discovered, with no small measure of surprise, that there was a razor’s edge in her life where she went from being terrified of getting pregnant to terrified of not getting pregnant. You could hardly fit a toothpick in the space between.
She’s at six months now, with a beautiful rounded belly and breasts firmer and bigger than she’d ever dreamed possible. Aside from the usual tiredness, swelling, and difficulty bending over, her pregnancy is going smoothly, and her relationship with Michael is strong—except for the fact that she continues to lie to him about where she disappears to on evenings and weekends when she goes to work for the Janes.
She isn’t sure how much longer she can keep finding excuses. When Michael asked her this afternoon where she was heading off to, she told him she would be out shopping for baby things for the next few hours and would be home in time for dinner. But that didn’t seem to cut it this time. As her pregnancy has progressed, Michael has become more and more protective of her, and less inclined to let her run errands or overtax herself.
“Whatever it is, I can do it, just give me a list,” he’d said, tossing a dishcloth into the sink and frowning at her. “You don’t have to do all of this yourself, Nancy. Let me help.”
Nancy muttered something noncommittal and left for the streetcar without looking back. She knows she’s running from something dangerous here. It’s been weighing on her mind at three in the morning when her pinched bladder drives her from her bed and the pregnancy insomnia takes hold. She lies awake for hours at a time, considering whether it’s still even going to be viable for her to volunteer her time with the Janes once the baby arrives. She hasn’t told Evelyn or Alice about the possibility of quitting yet, and she would hate to have to give it up. But there’s a part of her that might welcome it. The risk of arrest has stressed her out more since she became pregnant, and it would be a relief to stop lying to Michael about this particular secret. The baby will bring them closer together, she figures, and if she bows out of the Janes at the same time, well, maybe this is the fresh start she needs. She’s wondered before how the other Janes manage to navigate this with their husbands. Does the secrecy weigh on them like it does on her?
Shaking off the discomfort that’s settled on her shoulders, Nancy walks the final few steps to the path up to Dr. Taylor’s home. They’re meeting a patient here today for the procedure. In an effort to reduce the number of abortions they perform at the medical clinics of the Jane doctors, they’ve moved as many as they can to their private homes, many of which are unlisted anyway, for security reasons. And this patient has opted for the D and C. They give their patients the option now, but a lot of them still don’t want to miscarry at home. A few of them have told Nancy during their intake counseling that they didn’t want their homes to be haunted by memories of the abortion. They prefer unfamiliar territory they won’t have to return to. Physically, anyway. As Nancy knows, it’s hard to escape it in your mind, even when you know it was the right choice. It’s always there. Every day. Every time a friend gets pregnant. Every time you pass a baby on the street. Through all your subsequent pregnancies. You wonder what might have been. You’re always returning to it.
Nancy knocks, and a few moments later a tall, attractive man with a graying beard and temples answers the door.
“Hello, love. You must be Nancy, then. I’m Tom, Evelyn’s better half. Come on in.”
He steps aside and ushers her over the threshold, and Nancy registers her relief at the coolness of the air. She doesn’t mind making the trek out to Dr. Taylor’s house, but she’s worked up a sweat in the spring warmth, and needs to rest her puffy feet.
She extends her hand and introduces herself. Dr. Taylor’s husband is a warm and cheery fellow. His voice sounds familiar; his English accent is similar to her mother’s.
Dr. Taylor and Alice emerge from a door to the right off the foyer.
“Well, I’ll leave you to it.” Tom floats back down the hall toward the kitchen.
“You have a beautiful home,” Nancy tells Dr. Taylor, looking around at the gleaming wooden staircase and ornate chandelier. Two doctors’ incomes, I guess.
“Thank you, Nancy,” Dr. Taylor says. “Come on in. You could probably do with a chair and a cold drink, I imagine?”
“Yes, please, thanks, Dr. Taylor.”
They settle Nancy down in a squishy armchair in the sitting room at the front of the house, facing the street, and she fishes her intake forms, clipboard, and a pen out of her bag.
“How are you doing, Nancy?” Alice asks, smiling. “I haven’t seen you in a few weeks. Everything still going well?”
“Yeah. Seems to be. I find myself tiring out more quickly now. My mum’s having a shower for me in a couple of weeks,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Not exactly my idea of a good time, but it’s a big help. Getting all the baby things together is really starting to make it feel real.”
“But your blood pressure has been good?” Dr. Taylor asks, her brow knitting. “No cramping or bleeding? Have your iron levels been checked? Is the baby kicking and moving regularly?”
Alice elbows Dr. Taylor in the ribs. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”
Dr. Taylor flushes. “Just checking in, that’s all. Pardon me for caring about her well-being.”
“I’m sure Nancy has a good OB who’s monitoring all that.”
“Yes, I’m sure she does.”
Nancy takes a sip of her lemonade and smiles at the bickering pair. Her heart sinks a little at the thought of not seeing them anymore if she does quit the Janes.
“I’m definitely being well cared for, Dr. Taylor, but thank you,” she says.
Dr. Taylor nods in an embarrassed sort of way, then shifts tracks to the business of the day. “Our patient’s name is Brenda. She’s thirty-eight years old and ten weeks pregnant. It shouldn’t be more than a few minutes before she gets here. Once you’re done, Nancy, if there are no red flags, bring her down the hall to the door on the right. It’s an office I’ve converted to a surgery space for the time being.”
“Okay. Sounds good.”
Alice and Dr. Taylor head back to the surgery room, and Nancy only waits a few minutes before seven knocks sound on the front door. She shuffles into the foyer and opens the door for her patient.
“Hi,” the woman says loudly. “I’m Brenda. I have an appointment.”
“Hi, Brenda, I’m Nancy. Come on in.” She shuts and locks the door and leads Brenda into the sitting room.
“Go ahead and take your coat off, make yourself comfortable,” Nancy says, smiling at the woman to help ease any anxiety. Brenda’s eyes flash down to Nancy’s belly as she settles herself on the chair across from her.
“You’re pregnant?” Brenda asks bluntly.
“Yes.” She’s gotten used to this over the past couple of months since she started to show.
“But you work for an abortion network?”
“I volunteer.”
“How long have you been doing this?”
“A few years now.” Nancy is starting to feel like she’s the one being interviewed instead of the other way around.
“Huh. I kind of just figured… I don’t know. I thought you guys were all about abortion.”
Nancy shakes her head. “We’re all about choice.” She can already see the question forming in Brenda’s eyes, so she answers it. “And yes, I’m currently pregnant, but I’ve had an abortion in the past. I know firsthand what you’re about to go through.”
Brenda jiggles her foot on the carpet. “Okay.”
Nancy tilts her head to the side, considering her patient. Her permed and bleached blond hair is pulled up in a messy ponytail tied with a neon scrunchie. A thick layer of concealer doesn’t quite manage to hide the dark circles under her eyes.
“Women’s lives change quickly,” she says. “I think you make the best decision you can for yourself at the time you need to make it. I made a choice six years ago that I wouldn’t make today because my life has changed drastically since then. I’m making a choice to stay pregnant, just like you’re making the choice not to.”
Brenda chews on her cheek.
“So, just to confirm, then,” Nancy continues, “you’re making this choice of your own volition, correct?”
“Yeah. For sure. But, uh, there’s something I need to mention first.” Nancy waits as the woman teeters on the precipice of something. “I’m a cop.”
The blood drains from Nancy’s face. “Excuse me?”
“I’m a cop, but listen, that’s not why I’m here. I’m here because I need an abortion. I know about the undercover operation that raided you guys in ’84. I’m not in the same precinct, but word sure got around, I’ll tell you that. But that’s why I wanted to come clean right off the bat. I’m not here to make trouble.”
“Just…” Nancy holds up a hand to stop Brenda from saying any more. “Just stay right there.”
She heaves herself out of the squishy chair, scurries down the hall, and knocks on the door on the right. When Dr. Taylor opens it, Nancy throws herself inside, slamming the door behind her harder than she intended to.
“Nancy, what—?”
“She’s a cop.”
Both Dr. Taylor and Alice gape at her. “What?” they demand in unison.
“I was doing the intake and she said, ‘There’s something I need you to know.’ Said she wanted us to know beforehand that she’s not here to rat us out. She said she heard about the raid on Spadina.”
Alice and Dr. Taylor exchange a meaningful look. “Shit,” Dr. Taylor breathes.
“Why the hell would she come here?” Alice says, incredulous.
Dr. Taylor turns from Alice’s grave face to Nancy.
“I don’t know,” Nancy answers. “We didn’t get that far. She said she was a cop and I told her to wait.”
There’s silence for several long moments while all three women consider their next move. Memories of the raid hang over their heads like dense fog. The kind where you can’t see the dangers in front of you until you’re right on top of them.
“Is it…” Alice begins. “Is it worth just talking to her, Evelyn? I mean, we haven’t heard her leave yet, so she must really need to be here. Why would she tell us if she was actually a threat?”
“She doesn’t know whose home this is. That’s why we have the volunteers answer the door on home visits,” Dr. Taylor says, more to herself than to Alice or Nancy.
Nancy holds her belly and waits. The tension in this tiny room is palpable, and for a moment the three of them are right back in that tin can of a paddy wagon, sweating in fear and the blazing summer heat.
“Okay,” Dr. Taylor says after a long pause, composing herself with a shivery shrug. “I’m going to go talk to her. Follow me, ladies.”
Dr. Taylor strides confidently into the hallway. Alice follows, with Nancy on her heels. They find Brenda right where Nancy left her in the sitting room. Her foot is jiggling even faster now. She leaps to her feet when Dr. Taylor walks into the room, like a military grunt saluting her drill sergeant.
“So, Nancy here says you’re a cop,” Dr. Taylor snaps. “Tell us about that.”
Brenda clears her throat and extends a hand, which Dr. Taylor shakes, grasping it vigorously.
“Yes, I’m a police officer. I’m, uh, I’m here because I’m thirty-eight and never wanted kids, and I was denied an abortion through the government’s Therapeutic Abortion Committee. I tried to go the legal route but now I have no other option. As I told Nancy”—she makes eye contact with her—“I wanted to be honest about what I do because I want you to know that I’m not here as a police officer. Today I’m just Brenda. I just—I don’t know. I thought it was best to be up-front about it. I’m an up-front kind of girl.”
Alice stands stock-still beside Nancy, whose eyes are now flicking back and forth between Brenda and Dr. Taylor.
“Why did the committee deny you?” Dr. Taylor asks.
“They said it wasn’t medically necessary for either my physical or mental well-being. I have no history of depression or other conditions that wouldn’t tolerate a pregnancy, so, essentially… just not wanting to support a child for the rest of my damn life isn’t a good enough reason. And I’m a tough broad, but quite frankly I know I couldn’t ever give a child up for adoption. I don’t know how those women do it, but they sure as hell must be made of tougher shit than I am.”
Dr. Taylor clears her throat. Nancy blinks rapidly, her eyes on the carpet. Alice sighs and her eyes flicker to Dr. Taylor.
“I thought it would be easier to get an approval,” Brenda says, “so I didn’t think to lie through my teeth. Lying doesn’t come naturally to me. But I see now that’s what I should have done, if I were smart.”
Dr. Taylor licks her lips. A car drives by on the street outside the front window. A dog barks in a neighboring yard.
“Okay. We’ll help you. But as I’m sure you’ll understand, we’re going to have a few restrictions.”
Brenda nods.
“You’ll leave your coat, shoes, and purse here in the sitting room. Normally I ask my patients to undress from the waist down, but since the undercover who paid us a visit had a wire on under her clothes, I’ll need you to get completely naked and use a hospital gown. Can we compromise on that?”
“Of course.”
“Okay, then. Why don’t you go on down the hall with Alice to the procedure room? I’ll be with you in a minute.”
“Thank you,” Brenda says, trying out a small smile.
Dr. Taylor returns it tightly. “See you soon.”
Alice leads Brenda down the hall and the surgery door shuts with a snap.
Dr. Taylor throws herself down on the couch in an uncharacteristic display of frustration. She lets out something between a sigh and a growl. The afternoon light pours in through the big bay window behind her, the stained glass casting rainbow shadows on the carpet. “Thank you for your help today, Nancy. I’m sorry you came all the way here for this.”
“It’s okay, really.”
“Before you go, could I ask you to check her shoes and purse for bugs?”
“Sure.”
Dr. Taylor studies her shrewdly from the couch. “You certainly keep getting all the dramatic experiences, don’t you?”
Nancy chuckles. “Never a dull moment, that’s for sure.”
Dr. Taylor rakes a hand through her hair. Nancy has noticed she’s cut it shorter and shorter each year, and it’s flecked with gray now.
“I hate having to do this,” Dr. Taylor says. “I was probably too harsh with her. But I sure as hell never want another gun pointed at my face. I bet you of all people can appreciate that.”
“No shit.”
Dr. Taylor’s gaze slips into the middle distance, examining the memory of that long-ago day. “I’m willing to compromise one woman’s dignity if it means we can continue helping all the other women out there who aren’t trying to bring the network down.”
Nancy shrugs. “I really don’t think Brenda is trying to bring us down. She told me she just needs an abortion. That’s the only reason she’s here. If the committee denied her…”
“I know.” Dr. Taylor heaves a long sigh. Nancy can see the exhaustion etched in the creases around her eyelids. There’s something else there, too. She’s seen it before. A shadow that Nancy hasn’t been able to identify. Dr. Taylor is usually so professional, one might even call her closed-off. She doesn’t share much.
“We’re getting closer to legalization, but we aren’t there yet. And it can’t come soon enough, for Christ’s sake.” Her mouth tenses and she seems to grapple with what she’s about to say. “The truth is, this has been a long haul, and I’m getting tired, Nancy. I’m frustrated. I know this is all worth it. But sometimes…” She meets Nancy’s eyes. “Just barely.”
Six weeks later, Nancy is reclined in the depths of one of the pink velvet wing chairs in her parents’ living room, surrounded by a large group of chattering women and piles of gifts in pink, white, and blue wrapping paper.
Nancy hated her own wedding shower; being thrust into the spotlight and trotted out on display for her mother’s church friends made her intensely uncomfortable. But Frances is so excited about becoming a grandmother for the first time, and quite frankly, Nancy didn’t have the energy to push back about the baby shower. She hardly has the energy to put on her own shoes these days, let alone get into an argument with her mother.
Nancy’s dad has slunk off to hide in the den at the back of the house, parked in front of a football game with a plate of deviled eggs and sliced ham from the ladies’ potluck buffet, leaving Nancy alone among the twittering mass of women.
“Traitor,” Nancy accused him when they met at the punch bowl an hour before. “Thanks for throwing me to the she-wolves.”
“You don’t seriously expect me to stick around with this lot, do you?” he asked. “If I don’t bail out, your mother will pop a doily on top of my head and use my body for a side table to hold the dessert tray. Good luck, Beetle.”
And so, out of options for a reasonable escape, Nancy has spent the past hour opening gifts to a chorus of feminine gasping. As the pile finally dwindles, she reaches out to take the last gift from her aunt Lois. Nancy opens the box to find a truly gorgeous crocheted ivory baby blanket.
“Oh, Aunt Lois, thank you,” Nancy says, and she means it. “It’s beautiful. Did you make it?” She drapes it across her belly and runs her fingers over the intricate pattern.
“I did!” Lois says, grinning a little soppily at the group as the ooohs and ahhhs echo around the room. “Sometimes you just can’t beat handmade, especially for something like this. I made one for Clara when she had her baby last year, too.”
Nancy meets Clara’s eyes over the blanket, but her cousin looks away quickly. They still have never talked about That Night, and it put a wedge between them. They aren’t nearly as close as they used to be.
“Well,” Nancy’s mother chimes in from where she’s been hovering near the buffet table, refilling the punch bowl. “There was no need to go to such trouble, Lois.”
Nancy’s mother and aunt have a relationship that always seems to be locked on the Combat setting. The fact that Clara got married and had her first baby before Nancy did was a sore point, and Aunt Lois loved to remind her sister of this victory at every opportunity.
“Oh, it was no trouble at all, none at all,” Lois trills, lifting a cup of tea to her lips.
Frances sets down the pitcher of punch and glances at Nancy. “It just so happens that I have a little something of my own to give you. Be back in a flash.”
She bustles from the room and Nancy can hear her climbing the stairs. She still moves a bit slowly, but she’s too stubborn to ask Nancy’s father to go fetch whatever it is. Chatter breaks out among the assembled women and several get up to refill their plates of hors d’oeuvres. Nancy sinks back in her chair, grateful the event is nearly over. Her mind starts to wander to the rest of her day. She and Michael have planned to have a nice dinner together and watch the hockey game, since opportunities for that will be thin on the ground a few weeks from now.
When her mother returns a few minutes later, she’s clutching a small box tied with a yellow ribbon.
“Here you are, Nancy, dear,” her mother says, perching herself on the arm of the couch across from Nancy. One of the guests shifts her ample bottom over to make room for Frances, but is ignored. Frances only has eyes for Nancy. “Open it.”
Her mother has already bought countless outfits for the baby, and her parents have helped fund the nursery furniture. Nancy wasn’t expecting another gift. “Mum,” she says, “you didn’t have to do this.”
Balancing the present on her large belly, she gives the ribbon a tug and opens the box.
All the air gets sucked out of the room. It happens instantly, like the door blowing off an airplane at ten thousand feet. Nancy sits there, stunned, staring down at her mother’s gift.
“What is it?” Aunt Lois demands. Her shrill voice cuts through the buzzing in Nancy’s head.
Nancy swallows hard and lifts out the pair of yellow baby booties. Margaret’s booties. She doesn’t even hear the cooing from her mother’s friends.
“They were handmade with a lot of love,” Frances says, her eyes bright.
“Oh, are you knitting now, Frances?” Lois asks pointedly.
“Not me, no.”
Nancy can hardly stand to ask it, but she does anyway. She has to. “Where did you get these, Mum?”
“At, uh, a craft fair down at the Exhibition,” she says. “A local woman makes them.”
“I’ve wondered about setting up a booth at one of those fairs, you know,” Lois chimes in, nodding into her cup of tea. “Lots of ladies willing to spend good money for quality items like that.”
Several women begin talking at once about the craft fair, and the conversation moves on.
Frances walks over to her daughter. Reaching out, she takes Nancy’s cheeks in her hands and stares into her eyes, blue into brown. As always, Nancy can’t read them. Frances plants a kiss on top of her head and lingers for a moment. Electricity passes between them, and then her mother lets go, and shuffles away again to attend to her guests.
Nancy can’t breathe. Clutching the booties, she mumbles something about having to pee and heaves herself up from the chair. She waddles out of the stifling living room, loud once again with chatter, into the cool air of the hallway. She stumbles into the powder room near the kitchen and shuts the door behind her, sits down on the carpeted toilet seat cover.
Is this a message from her mother? A confession? Is this finally happening? Nancy wonders. She wriggles her fingers down into each of the booties in turn, searching for Margaret’s note.
She checks three times, actually turning the booties inside out to make sure she hasn’t missed it, but it isn’t there.
It isn’t there.
The fresh betrayal slashes open the half-healed wound on Nancy’s heart. She throws the booties onto the floor at her feet and crumples over her swollen belly, clutching at it with shaking hands. Laughter drifts into the hallway from the living room as Nancy begins to sob.
She arrives back home in the passenger seat of her dad’s car. The back seat and trunk are full to the brim with blankets, toys, teething rings, stuffed animals, and baby clothes. Michael comes out of the house when they pull up, grinning at her through the windshield. She smiles back in an automatic sort of way and gets out of the car.
“Did the guest of honor enjoy herself?” he asks, planting a kiss on her cheek. When she doesn’t respond, he peers at her face. “Hey, are you okay?”
“Of course, yeah, I’m just tired. Overstimulated, you know.”
Michael pats her gently on the back. “Well, we’ve got a nice quiet evening planned anyway, eh?”
He helps her dad unload the haul of gifts while Nancy watches, one hand on her belly and the other clutching her purse. The booties are stuffed into an inside pocket, hidden once again.
When the last of the gifts have been brought into the front hall of their town house, her father turns to her. “Looks like you came out unscathed. Thank you for doing that, Beetle. I can tell your mother had a great time.”
He pulls Nancy into a hug that she returns without passion. When they break apart, she looks up into his face. “Dad…”
He waits. “Yeah?”
Nancy doesn’t know what to say. Should she ask him? Confront him right here on the sidewalk? Did he even know Frances was going to give Margaret’s booties to Nancy? Would he have agreed? Would he have included the note if it had been up to him?
She shakes her head, and the realization that there will never be a right time and place for this conversation comes crashing down on her. “Nothing. Thanks for the ride home. We’ll see you guys later.”
“Oh. Okay,” her dad says, nonplussed. “See you later.”
Nancy walks toward the front door. Michael says goodbye to her dad and follows.
Later that night, Michael comes to find her in the nursery. The noise of the hockey game was getting on her nerves, so she left him alone on the couch to come sort baby clothes. She’s passed an hour arranging and rearranging items in the chest of drawers. Her mind is racing and she can’t seem to settle.
“Are you sure you’re okay, Nance?” Michael asks again. He’s standing in the doorway, watching her fuss with a sleeper. “You’ve seemed really off since you got home. Did your mom say something to get to you?”
Nancy takes in her husband’s sandy hair and blue eyes, reflected in the soft light from the bedside table lamp she picked out at Eaton’s a few weeks ago. He’s so handsome, and thoughtful, and she knows she’s lucky to have him. If they have a boy, she hopes he turns out just like his dad.
She looks down at the striped green sleeper in her hands, marvels at how tiny the little feet are. She can hardly believe that in a few weeks she’ll be holding something so small and vulnerable in her arms. Something that she and Michael created together in love.
“Nancy?”
Michael is in the room now, walking toward her with his brow knitted. She steps over to the rocking chair, avoiding him, and settles herself down into it with the usual grunting sigh that now accompanies any kind of exertion.
“What’s wrong? What is it? Is the baby okay?” he asks, kneeling on the rug at her feet.
Nancy is hit with a pang of guilt. “Oh God, yes, the baby is fine. Kicking and moving a lot. It’s not that, Mike. I don’t know. I’m fine. I just got overwhelmed at the shower today, that’s all.”
“Is it? You’ve been quiet and avoiding me all night. I think I know you better than that, Nance.”
Oh, Michael. Do you? Nancy rubs her belly in circles to give her hands something to do.
He rocks back on his feet. “I guess…” he begins, picking at a spot on the carpet before looking up into her eyes. “I guess I’ve just felt for a while like there’s something you’re not telling me. I know you well enough to know there’s something I don’t know, if that makes sense. But I can’t tell if things are just weird because of the pregnancy—I know you don’t feel great—or if there’s something else. Are you having second thoughts about this, or me?”
“No, Mike, of course not.” Nancy reaches for his hand, but his grip is loose in hers.
A shadow crosses his face. “Then why do I feel like I’m on the outside of our relationship looking in?”
Nancy swallows on a tight throat.
“Whatever it is, you can trust me,” he says. “Just tell me what’s going on with you. Let me in.”
Nancy stares down at her husband, considering. She can feel her toes teetering on the edge of truth, but she’s afraid to jump. If she tells him about the adoption, that opens a whole world of questions that she herself can’t yet answer. Michael is practical, straightforward. And he’s close with her parents. She knows he’ll insist she confront them, that the two of them can’t keep this under wraps from her parents for the rest of their lives. And yet, that’s exactly what Nancy’s plan has been. There’s too much on the line. It’s easier for her to keep it to herself. Easier to deny it when she needs to, with no one there to remind her of the truth when she’d rather ignore it.
But she has to give him something.
She can’t tell him about the Janes, and that leaves her with one option. The least threatening one. It’s not the truth that he’s digging for, but it’s still a way to let him in, and hopefully stop any further questioning.
Her mouth has gone dry, but she meets his eyes and says the words anyway. “I had an abortion, Mike. Before I met you.”
He stares back at her. The room is silent.
“You… what?”
“I got pregnant, and I had an abortion. A couple of years before I met you.”
She watches him process the information, emotions sliding across his features one after another. He rises to his feet and starts to pace.
“How did you— Why would you tell me this now? Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“Does it change anything?”
“Well… I don’t know, Nancy! We’ve been together how long? We’re married, we’re having a baby, and the whole time you’ve been keeping something this huge from me?”
“It’s not—” she begins, faltering. “It is huge, but it’s also not, Mike. It doesn’t change anything for you and me.”
“But you didn’t trust me enough before to tell me about this part of your life?”
Nancy hesitates a moment too long.
“Jesus Christ, Nancy! I’m your husband. Do you not trust me?”
“I do, I do! That’s not it—”
“Explain to me how this isn’t a trust issue. Seriously. Explain.”
His features are dark now. Nancy wants to get up and turn on the overhead light. Everything seems more dramatic in the dimness. But she’s frozen in the rocking chair under Michael’s accusatory stare.
“I never told anyone, Mike. Not my parents, my friends, no one.”
“So, it’s not just me you don’t trust. You don’t trust anyone at all, is that right? That’s fucked-up, Nancy.”
“Excuse me?”
An uncharacteristic grimace pinches his mouth. “That’s fucked-up. And let me get this straight: You’ve been pregnant before. You felt sick before, got a positive test before, went through all that before, and you, what, pretended that this was the first time for you?”
“I wasn’t pretending, Mike. It was so different this time. I wanted to be pregnant this time! I can’t even tell you how different it is.”
“Well, I thought this was the first time for both of us, but it turns out you were lying about that. That feels great, Nancy. Really great.” Michael halts in his tracks again, hands on his hips. “What the fuck else have you been lying about?”
The words smack her across the face. She feels a hot flush creep up her neck. There’s no reply she can give him that won’t be another lie.
“I need to…” Michael trails off, runs a hand through his hair. “I need to get out of here. I’ll see you later.”
He turns on his heel and leaves. Nancy listens to his footsteps disappear down the hall. A moment later the front door slams and locks.
Nancy isn’t sure how much time passes while she rocks back and forth in the chair, massaging her belly as the tears run down her cheeks. Their trust was an illusion to begin with, but now even that’s broken. Michael doesn’t trust her, and she sees now that she can’t trust him, either. How would he have reacted if she’d told him about one of her other secrets?
What a stupid move, she thinks. Keep yourself to yourself. Nancy understands now why her parents haven’t told her about the adoption. You can control the internal damage caused by keeping secrets far easier than the external damage. The consequences, as Michael has just shown Nancy, are unpredictable. Lethal.
Because once a secret is out there, there’s no reeling it back in.