‘OK,’ said the teacher, who wore a flowing, broomstick-pleated skirt, chandelier earrings and was named Mariah. ‘Next week, we’re going to work on timing our breathing. Coaches, very important lesson for you.’ The men in the classroom shifted or straightened in their seats, their faces reflecting a cheerful humility at their standby position in this childbirthing endeavor.
Dena’s face flamed, but she sat silently in the folding chair, staring straight ahead at the teacher. She could feel Jennifer glancing at her sympathetically from time to time, but she pretended not to notice. Dena had stopped looking around for Brian about half an hour into the class. She had been relieved when the teacher showed a film, so that no one could stare at her in the dark. She imagined all those couples looking at her, feeling sorry for her that she was here all alone. She wanted to say, I’m not alone, but even as she thought that, she knew it wasn’t true. She was alone. Brian had never come in, never even bothered to stop in the back to explain. Dena wondered if it had something to do with the obviously unwelcome encounter with Jennifer and her husband. She and Jennifer had not had a chance to talk, since the class was already starting when they walked in.
Oh, what difference does it make? Dena thought. Any excuse would do for Brian.
She tried to concentrate on the class, on the film which showed a woman in natural childbirth, surrounded by her loving husband and a midwife. It had seemed as if the class would never end.
‘See you all next time,’ said Mariah. ‘Be good to yourselves.’
Before Jennifer could ask her any questions, Dena was up and out of the room. She looked around the quiet corridors of the hospital, but Brian was nowhere to be seen. Why didn’t I bring my own car? she thought. She rummaged in her purse for her phone. Her hands trembled as she called the cab company. She managed to keep her voice steady as she gave the dispatcher her information. Hanging up the phone, Dena started to walk across the lobby. Jennifer was standing down near the door of the Ryman room, chatting with another woman from the class, a stocky blonde with her hair twisted up in a barrette, wearing a rain slicker. Dena tried to pass them unobtrusively, hoping not to be noticed. But Jennifer excused herself and hailed Dena with a wave of her hand.
‘What happened to Brian?’ Jennifer demanded.
Obviously, Dena thought, there is some bad blood between them. Although, on one hand, she was curious, mostly she didn’t want to know what it was. ‘I don’t know. I called a cab,’ she said.
‘Let us drive you,’ said Jennifer.
Dena had known that offer was coming. That’s why she had made such a hasty exit. She just couldn’t bear to talk about it. She didn’t want to have to explain why Brian had never come in. Why he hadn’t come back to pick her up; why she was left alone this way. ‘Really, it’s OK,’ said Dena.
‘Is everything all right with you?’ Jennifer asked, and Dena could hear the genuine concern in her voice. ‘I’m worried about you.’
A lie came instantly to her lips, along with the desire to save face, but the look in Jennifer’s clear, hazel eyes was so grave that Dena just shook her head. ‘We’re … having some problems,’ she admitted.
Jennifer reached out and squeezed her hand. ‘Why don’t you come home with me? We’re living on Chestnut Street. We bought the Morgans’ old house. Do you remember it?’
Dena nodded. ‘Thanks. But I’m tired. Not tonight,’ she said.
‘Dena …’ Jennifer began. ‘Listen to me. I’m very concerned about you. Please come with us.’
‘We wish you would,’ said Ron.
Dena appreciated their concern, but found it troubling at the same time. ‘Thanks,’ said Dena. ‘I mean it. But not tonight. I’ll call you. I promise.’
Jennifer reached out for Dena’s phone and entered her information. Then she handed the phone back. ‘Now I’m in your phone,’ she said. ‘I want you to remember that … you have a friend here.’
Dena glanced out and saw the cab pulling up under the portico. ‘My taxi’s arrived,’ she said, putting her phone back in her purse. She began to put on her raincoat and Ron hurried to help her. She and Jennifer exchanged a brief embrace, and Jennifer seemed unwilling to let go of her hand. Dena pulled away, went out and got into the car, giving the address as if she were in a dream.
She looked back to see Jennifer and Ron standing behind the plate-glass doors, Ron’s arm protectively wrapped around his wife, as they watched her go.
Nothing seemed real to Dena. Mercifully, the cabby was not talkative, so Dena was able to collect her thoughts in the dark back seat of the cab on her way back to the Rileys’ horse farm.
There was no escaping the crudeness of this latest slight. How much more of this are you going to take? she asked herself. She had been making excuses for Brian for months. Of course he was depressed, worried about his father, and oppressed by his financial woes. It would be unreasonable to expect him to be anything but depressed. She had even made excuses for his drinking. Told herself it would pass, it was just a way of coping. She had told herself all these things and more. Anything, but face the reality of her situation.
Her own father had died when she was six years old, and she always thought of her life in two parts – the years before his death had a glow of happiness in her memory. And then … Her mother had done the very best she could, supported Dena and her older sister, Marcia, and always told them they could have the life they wanted. Watching her mother’s struggle to keep a roof over their heads, Dena had grown up knowing that a woman needed to be able to support herself. She had never been a great student, though she had forced herself to go to college. But it was not until she attended an adult ed class on cake decorating that she found the work she was looking for. After that, it had been easy to make her career. She had attended the most difficult classes she could find on pastry making. She had even spent six months studying in France. Now, she had a profession, and it was well-paid, satisfying work. She had become the kind of self-sufficient woman her mother had always urged her to be. But, secretly, the life she wanted for herself was very different from her mother’s. She wanted a husband and children. She wanted that glow back. She had just about given up hope when she met Brian, and then it had all seemed possible.
Dena looked out the taxi window at the rainy back roads of Monroe. She had pictured a childhood for her baby that would be different from her own. She had always felt self-conscious about being without a father. When she realized she was pregnant, and her romance with Brian was blossoming, she had thought it could happen. She had come back here on an impulse, and now, perhaps it was time to admit she had made a mistake.
Is this what you want for this baby? she asked herself as the cab whizzed through the drizzly night. Parents who can’t get along, and a house full of tension and misery? Compared to that, wasn’t it better for a child to have a single parent and a home full of love? Isn’t that what your mother would do if she were still here? Her mother had always spoken of her late father in the most admiring way. She never dated after he died. No one seemed to measure up to his memory. Dena had prayed that a man would come along for herself who would be equal to his memory. Maybe she had sabotaged her own chances by expecting too much. But this was definitely not enough, and she had to face it. You can do it alone, she told herself, as angry tears sprang to her eyes. It wasn’t what you hoped for, but you can do it.
‘Where’s the entrance?’ asked the driver, slowing down on the dark highway that circumscribed the town. Once upon a time, when Dena was in high school, all the land back here had been rural, but now, most of it was built up with condo developments or private homes on large lots, and much of the sleepy, rustic charm of this colonial-era town had been lost to progress.
‘There,’ said Dena. ‘Between those lampposts there’s a break in the stone wall.’ The driver nodded, and turned into the Rileys’ farm. In the darkness the taxi rolled slowly down the gentle incline over the gravelly driveway, high beams illuminating the wooden gates of paddocks on either side of the road. Dena had pictured her baby, her child with Brian, growing up to swing on those gates, ride the horses, live close to nature in a way that was all but gone these days. She tried to dismiss the thought from her mind. Face it, she thought. It was all part of a dream.
The taxi pulled up in front of a ranch-style house with an ancient fieldstone stable and a barn just beyond it. She and Brian had been living in the house since Brian had been forced to sell his land and his mobile home to pay the bills. She had tried to make the best of it, to cheer him up, by keeping it neat, and putting flowers around. But, gradually, she had lost the desire to pick up Brian’s beer bottles, bus his dishes, and treat the place like home. These days, the ranch house seemed almost forbidding to her.
Dena paid the driver and got out of the car. She rubbed her back for a minute where it was sore and stood outside, beside her car and Brian’s pick-up, reluctant to go in. The house was dim, but she could tell there was a light on in the kitchen. She could also see the cold, silvery glow of the TV on in the living room. All right, she thought, taking a deep breath. Pull yourself together. You have to think of your baby now.
She opened the door of the ranch house and went in, and looked around. The house was comfortable in an old-fashioned, masculine way. There was a plaid sofa, and a recliner, and a rocker, braided rugs on the floor, and a magazine rack stuffed with hunting and fishing magazines. But the appliances in the kitchen were ancient, and the house still had a landline. Brian’s parents had been divorced for years, and his mother lived in California. There were few reminders of her in the house. All of Matthew Riley’s belongings were still there, however, although the doctors had told Brian it was unlikely that his father would ever be coming home.
The air in the room was stale, and smelled of beer. Brian was slumped in a recliner in front of the television. Empty beer cans were piled up beside the chair. He was staring at the television but the sound was off. He looked up at Dena with narrowed eyes. Then he looked back at the TV.
No apology. Nothing. All right, she thought. Let’s do it that way. She set her pocketbook down on the scarred dining table and hung her coat up on a hook by the front door. She knew that he expected her to say something, to scold or berate him. She was not about to give him the satisfaction. Without a word, she passed through the living room and walked down the hall to the dark bedroom. She snapped on a stiff, frilly bedside lamp, and picked up her book, which sat on the bedside table. With a sigh, she tossed it onto the quilted polyester bedspread with its indistinct pattern of water lilies. There was a closet with louvered doors at the other end of the room. Dena walked over to it and opened the doors. The scent of a potpourri sachet wafted out into the room. She stretched up on tiptoes and wrestled her suitcase down from the top shelf.
As she threw the suitcase on the bed, she heard his footsteps start down the hallway, then hesitate. Then, he strode to the door of the room and stood in the doorway, wobbling slightly as he stared at her.
Dena could feel his gaze on her but she ignored him, picking up her paperback and tossing it into the open suitcase. Then she walked over to the dresser near the bathroom door and pulled open the top drawer.
‘What are you doing?’ he said.
Dena still did not look at him. ‘What does it look like I’m doing?’ She lifted her underwear carefully from the drawer and placed it into the open suitcase.
Brian stared at the suitcase as if he didn’t know what it was. She glanced at his handsome face, now slack from too much beer, his keen blue eyes glazed over. Part of her felt sorry for him. Somewhere inside of him was that rugged, earnest man who had wooed her. The first month or two, when she moved here, had been promising. But even then, there were signs. Signs she ignored. The idea of her pregnancy took some adjustment, but they were managing. And he did drink more than she had realized, but it didn’t really worry her. Not then. Not till later. Not until she realized how insecure he could be, how possessive. At first it had seemed flattering. But then … He even seemed to see the coming baby as a rival for her love. You should have seen it coming, she berated herself. Oh, what’s the difference, she thought. There was no use in placing blame. She could only think of her baby now.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’ he said in a slurred voice and, for a moment, Dena felt a little shiver of fear. No, she thought. He’s not dangerous. He’s just drunk. More drunk than she had ever seen him, she had to admit. But that was all it was.
‘Brian,’ she said, as briskly as she could. ‘This isn’t working. I think it would be best if I moved out of here.’
‘What isn’t working?’ he demanded, his eyes narrowed.
‘This,’ she cried, throwing her arms out. ‘This … us. You, drinking all the time. Your jealousy. You never even showed up at the class tonight. Look, I’m sure I’m partly to blame. I’ve been preoccupied with the baby. And you have a lot on your mind. Whatever. I have a baby to think of. If you don’t care about your own baby, well … I’m not going to try to make you care. But somebody has to think about it. I have to think about it.’
‘How do I know it even is my baby?’ he said.
Dena’s eyes widened in disbelief. She tried to respond, but she couldn’t even form the words. She shook her head. ‘That’s beyond … That’s pathetic, Brian. I can’t believe you said that.’
Brian rubbed his hand over his hair, and for a moment a vaguely sheepish look wavered in his eye. Then he walked unsteadily over to the bed, and lifted up a piece of lacy underwear out of the suitcase. Dena bent down and picked up her slippers from beside the bed, holding them in front of her protruding belly. She watched him warily. Brian rubbed the silky lingerie between his fingers and nodded. Then he tossed it back into the suitcase.
‘Going off with your new boyfriend?’ he asked, an ugly leer distorting his handsome features.
‘Oh, for God sakes, Brian,’ she said. She put her slippers into the suitcase and then reached for a pile of shirts in the drawer. ‘You are unbelievable. I don’t have a boyfriend.’ Then she looked at him ruefully. ‘Any boyfriend,’ she said.
She walked over to the closet and began to slide clothes off the hangers. ‘Don’t you turn your back on me,’ he warned.
She tried to ignore the menacing sound of his words, and keep her voice even. ‘Look, Brian. I’m not going to talk about this right now because you’re drunk. If you want to talk to me tomorrow …’ She started to think about where. She didn’t even know where she was going. I’ll go to the hotel, she thought. There was one hotel in town, the Endicott. It was a stately old place, the one owned by Jennifer’s parents … by her dad now. She could go there for the night. Tomorrow she would think about what to do next. She turned to place her last shirt into the suitcase but, before she could put it down, Brian grabbed the handle of the open bag and hurled it across the room. Dena’s clothes flew everywhere as the suitcase hit the wall and landed with a thud on the floor.
Dena stared at him in shock. Brian looked at the bag crumpled on the floor and then looked back at Dena with a kind of malevolent satisfaction in his eyes. ‘Tell your boyfriend to come pick it up,’ he said.
Dena’s heart was hammering, and sweat popped out in her palms, on her hairline. ‘You … you …’ she sputtered. ‘You stinking drunk …’ She felt almost blind with hatred for him now, but she knew there was fear in her eyes as well. He had never acted like this before. Never …
Calm down, she told herself. Think. What’s important. The clothes are not important. You just need to get out of here. She had left her purse on the dining table as she went by. Her car keys and her phone were in there. She tried to talk to herself in a rational, sensible way. Go downstairs, get your purse with phone and your keys and just leave. Don’t argue about the clothes.
She let the plastic hanger she was holding slip from her hands. Her fingers were icy. She started for the door of the bedroom but he slipped into her path.
‘Excuse me,’ she said, trying to get by him, but he moved, so that she couldn’t. ‘I’m not kidding, Brian,’ she said in a low voice. ‘Get out of my way.’
For a moment he hesitated, and she was sure he would back down, step away from the door and let her go. But instead, he extended a hand against the doorframe and blocked her exit.
No, she thought. This isn’t possible. She couldn’t match his strength. If he wouldn’t move, she was trapped. ‘I’m warning you,’ she said, trying to sound determined, but she could hear the quiver of anxiety in her voice.
Brian gazed at her, sensing her fear, and seemed to find it somehow exhilarating. ‘Don’t you warn me …’ he muttered. ‘I’ll say who goes where and I’ll say when …’
‘Oh, that does it,’ said Dena. More outraged than afraid, she did not try to push past him, but turned, strode around the bed and reached for the receiver of the cordless phone on the night table. ‘That does it.’
Before she realized what was happening, he lunged across the bed, and grabbed her arm, trying to jerk the phone out of her hand. Stymied by the sinking of the mattress, he missed her arm and grabbed the strap of her jumper, jerking her forward and down, so that her knees buckled. With his free hand he reached up and smacked her across the face, and she felt warm blood trickle from her nose, run over her lip.
Stunned, Dena touched her lip and then, as he scrambled up, she raised the receiver of the phone and smashed it as hard as she could across his knuckles. The battery cover popped off the phone and flew across the room. The battery pack hung by a red wire. Dena smashed the plastic receiver down again on his hand, and, when he let go with a cry, she ran to the bathroom, slammed the door shut and locked it, her hands shaking, still clutching the dismantled receiver.
Outside the door, Brian roared and began to pound on it with his fists. Dena saw her face in the medicine cabinet mirror, dead white, with a rivulet of blood running down her upper lip and her chin. ‘Open this door, Dena,’ he shouted. ‘I’m warning you. I’ll break it down.’
Do something, she thought. She was shivering, her fingers icy. It sounded as if the door was going to give way at any minute. With numb trembling fingers she pushed the battery pack back into its compartment, praying the phone would still work despite the fact that she had used it to escape him. She felt her heart hammering as the batteries clicked into place, and then she pressed the button for phone. Over the sound of his shouts and his hammering on the door, she heard the blessed buzz of a dial tone in her ears. It took her two tries, but then she managed. She dialed 911, and pressed the receiver to her face, as tears ran down her cheeks and mixed with the blood on her chin.