I headed for the door. “I understood that from the Jump. I'll start the wheels going, sir.”
Back in my office I blended some tobacco, was tossing out the ads in my mail when Miss Park returned. She said, “Mr. Connor, why didn't you tell me you were coming back? I would have bought an extra jelly doughnut for this afternoon—”
“I'll share yours. Bring your book in, I have some memos to get out.”
“Yes, sir.” She stopped in the doorway. “Mr. Kelly wants you to call him. And... oh, your wife has been calling all morning.”
“From Paris?”
“Paris?” she repeated blankly. “Why, no. She said for you to phone your house—”
I was put of the office before she could finish the sentence.
It was the most welcome sight of my life to see Michele's clothes strewn around the bedroom, to almost smell her warm odor. But she wasn't home and I sat around impatiently, wondering where she could possibly have gone... and I also had this good feeling that now we were together again, things would work out. I didn't know how, but just having Michele back was a tremendous shot in the arm. And when she walked into our apartment a few minutes later carrying a bag of groceries, the very normalcy of it all delighted me.
She gave me a faint nervous grin as I rushed over to hug her, groceries and all. She looked tired, pale. We kissed like hungry kids and I ran my tongue over the tiny soft hairs of her “moustache.” My hands slid over her green cotton dress and she pushed me away, said, “No, Norm-man. Not for a few days. Sit down, we have to talk.” She finally put the grocery bag down.
“Honey, I've been crazy since you've gone. Darling, no matter what happens, we can never part again. Call the school, your friend will tell you I'm buying the house. It was to be a surprise for you and... oh, Michele, Michele!”
I took her in my arms again. She placed a finger on my lips. “Don't, Norm-man. You sound like a repentant husband, I am the one who has been... wrong.”
“No! It isn't a question of right or wrong, but of our very existence, of our—”
“Norm-man, I've lost our baby.”
“Our... what?” Fear came all over me, clear and so damn strong. Could there be any doubt about it now? Wasn't this the working plot of a stupid novel, the jacket blurb of my future? 'His wife lost his baby but another woman was carrying his child.'
“You're angry, hurt. I felt you stiffen. Oh, Norm, can you ever forgive me?” Her voice was a high moan.
I kissed her, a numb kiss, my head ready
She stared at me, her face almost blank, hysteria mounting. I moved over, held her tightly as I whispered, “Michele, I'm the one who should be asking forgiveness.”
“No!”
I damn near told her about Wilma then and there. Instead, I stroked her soft hair, said, “All that matters is you are with me again. Do you understand, nothing else matters!”
“I lost our baby.”
“Honey, were you pregnant when we battled....?” I suddenly laughed, an insane chuckle that brought me back to reality. “And we were always so damn careful!”
“I thought I was pregnant,” Michele said, her voice dull and flat. “I wasn't sure. You know how I am often late. I was trying to tell you... when things got out of hand.”
“But that was only a week ago, less. What makes you think...?”
“The moment I landed in Paris I went to a doctor—a French rabbit said I was pregnant. My mother convinced me how wrong I was to be apart from you. It was your child, too. I was lucky to get a cancellation... if one can call it luck. All the rushing and traveling... flying makes me nervous. Yesterday I... I came around. And spending all that money for a few days.”
I laughed, her French thrift always showed. “Darling, I don't care if—”
“Don't you, my Norman?” she asked, sadness in her voice. “Can't you see I want you to care? And I know you do, your face is tense.” She shrugged. “I never even cried when it happened... nature's way... unless we both want a child. I have no right to—” She began to cry, tremendous sobbing that frightened me.
I shook her gently. “Honey, nothing matters except you're back. We'll still have a baby, still do everything we wanted.” But I knew my voice was hollow.
“I have more to tell you,” she said, her voice shaking with her sobs. “When I took off, I was almost hoping all the flying would do... what it did. Norm-man, I have done such a horrible thing! Not only the baby, but I made conditions for our marriage... I have no right to dictate your life. I had no right to—to....” Her sobbing began a series of hysterical, tiny screams.
I talked fast into her ear. “Darling, darting, don't. I was the wrong one. You want a child, fine. Truthfully it doesn't matter to me, but I'm not against it. I've learned I'm not against anything where you're concerned. I think I've grown up these last days. I've been inside some people's lives—part of a business deal—and I know now that ambition, real ambition, only means trying for happiness. We had it and I damn near threw it out the window. Michele, what I'm trying to say, we're so much a part of each other that when you left I was a sick man... sick in mind.” Was I trying to prepare an alibi? In the midst of her misery I was setting up my excuse for Wilma. A lousy sick feeling joined the fear in my head.
