Beyond the windows, Jeremy saw people eating on the porch, having ordinary conversations, as if they hadn’t a care in the world. But nothing was ordinary about his life anymore.
“I can’t stop thinking about it. We have another ultrasound tomorrow, and I dread it. I just keep imagining that we’ll see that the band has attached. It’s like I can see the expression on the technician’s face and I notice how quiet she gets, and I just know she’s going to tell us that we should talk to the doctor again. It makes me sick to my stomach to even think about. I know Lexie’s feeling the same way. She’s been real quiet the last couple of days. It’s like the closer the ultrasound gets, the more we worry.”
“That’s normal,” Doris said.
“I’ve been praying about it,” he admitted.
Doris sighed and looked up to the ceiling, then back to Jeremy again. “Me too.”
The next day, his prayer was answered. The baby was growing, the heartbeat was strong and regular, and the band still hadn’t attached. It was good news, the doctor announced, and while both Lexie and Jeremy felt a surge of relief, the worries returned again by the time they reached the car, when they realized they would have to be back in two more weeks. And there were still eight weeks to go.
They moved into the house a couple of days later: Mayor Gherkin, Jed, Rodney, and Jeremy helped load the furniture into the truck, while Rachel and Doris handled the boxes and Lexie directed them. Because the bungalow was small, the new house felt empty, even after the furniture had been put in place.
Lexie gave them the tour: Mayor Gherkin immediately suggested that the house be added to the Historic Homes Tour, while Jed repositioned the stuffed boar near the window of the living room, giving it prominent display.
As Jeremy watched Lexie and Rachel move into the kitchen, he noticed Rodney lagging behind. Rodney glanced at Jeremy.
“I wanted to apologize,” he said.
“For what?”
“You know.” He shuffled his feet. “But I also wanted to thank you for keeping Rachel in the wedding. I’ve wanted to tell you that for a while. It meant a lot to her.”
“It meant a lot to Lexie that she was there, too.”
Rodney flashed a quick grin, then grew serious again. “You’ve got a nice place here. I never imagined it could look like this. You two did a fine job.”
“It was all Lexie’s doing. I can’t take any credit for it.”
“Sure you can. And this place suits you. It’ll be great for your family.”
Jeremy swallowed. “I hope so.”
“Congratulations on the baby. I hear it’s a girl. Rachel’s already picked out a bunch of outfits for her. Don’t tell Lexie, but I think she’s going to throw her a surprise baby shower.”
“I’m sure she’d enjoy that. Oh, and congratulations on your engagement. Rachel’s a prize.”
Rodney glanced toward the kitchen as Rachel vanished from sight. “We’re both pretty lucky, aren’t we.”
Jeremy couldn’t answer, for once at a loss for words.
Jeremy finally made the call to his editor, a call he’d been dreading and putting off for weeks. He told him that he wouldn’t be submitting a column this month, the first he’d ever missed. While his editor was surprised and disappointed, Jeremy informed him of the complications with Lexie’s pregnancy. His editor’s tone softened immediately; he asked if Lexie was in danger or whether she was bedridden. Instead of answering directly, Jeremy said that he’d rather not go into details, and by the pause on the other end, he knew his editor was imagining the worst.
“No problem,” he said. “We’ll just recycle one of your old columns, something you did years ago. Odds are people either won’t remember it or never saw it in the first place. Do you want to pick something out, or would you rather I do it?”
When Jeremy hesitated, his editor answered his own question. “No problem,” he said, “I’ll handle it. You take care of your wife. That’s the most important thing right now.”
“Thanks,” Jeremy said. Despite his occasional battles with his editor, the man did indeed have a heart. “I appreciate it.”
“Is there anything else I can do?”
“No. I just wanted to let you know.”
He could hear a squeak and knew his editor was leaning back in his chair. “Let me know if you can’t make the next one, either. If you can’t, we’ll just run another old one, okay?”
“I’ll let you know,” Jeremy said, “but I’m hoping that I’ll have something for you before long.”
“Keep your spirits up. It’s tough, but I’m sure everything will turn out okay.”
“Thanks,” Jeremy said.
“Oh, and by the way, I can’t wait to see what you’ve been working on. Whenever you’re ready. No rush.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Your next story. I haven’t heard from you, so I figure you’ve got something big in the works. You always go into hiding when you’re working on a doozy of a story. I know you’ve got other things on your mind, but I just wanted you to know that a lot of people were impressed with what you did with Clausen, and we’d like to have the chance to publish your next big article here rather than in the newspapers or somewhere else. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about it, and to reassure you that we’ll be competitive when it comes to your fee. It might do the magazine some good, too. Who knows, we might even be open to making a big deal about it on the cover. I’m sorry for bringing this up now—there’s no pressure. Just whenever you’re ready.”
Jeremy glanced at his computer, then sighed. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Though he hadn’t technically lied to his editor, he’d omitted the truth, and after hanging up the phone, he felt guilty. He hadn’t realized that when he’d called him, Jeremy had subconsciously expected to be told to pack it in, that they’d find someone else to do his column or just cancel it outright. He’d been prepared for that; what he hadn’t been prepared for was how understanding he’d been. Which made his guilt even more acute.
Part of him wanted to call the guy back and tell him everything, but common sense prevailed. His editor had been understanding, well, because he had to be. What else could he have said: Oh, sorry to hear about your wife and baby, but you’ve got to understand, a deadline’s a deadline, and you’ll be canned if I don’t have something in my hands in the next five minutes? No, he wouldn’t have said that—couldn’t have said that—especially considering what he’d said afterward: that the magazine wanted a chance to publish his next big article. The one he’d supposedly been working on.
He didn’t want to think about it. He couldn’t think about it; the fact that he couldn’t even write a column was bad enough. But he’d accomplished what he’d needed to do. He’d bought himself four weeks, maybe eight. If he didn’t come up with something by then, he’d tell his editor the truth. He’d have to. He couldn’t be a writer if he couldn’t write, and there’d be no use pretending anymore.
But what was he going to do then? How would he pay the bills? How would he support his family?
He didn’t know. Nor did he want to think about it. Right now, he had enough on his mind with Lexie and Claire. In the grand scheme of things, those were far more important than worries about his career, and Jeremy knew he would have put his concerns about them first even if he had been writing. But the simple fact was that right now he had no choice.
Eighteen
How could he describe the next six weeks? How would he remember them when reflecting back on his past? Would he remember spending his weekends with Lexie as they browsed garage sales and antique shops, finding just the right pieces to finish decorating their house? That Lexie turned out not only to have exquisite taste, but an ability to see how everything would fit into their decorating scheme? That her instincts as a bargain shopper enabled them to spend far less than he’d imagined they would? That by the end even Jed’s gift looked as if it belonged in the house?
Or would he remember finally making the call to his parents about the pregnancy—a call in which he ended up crying uncontrollably, as if he’d bottled up his fears for far too long and only now had a chance to let his emotions flow freely, without worrying Lexie?
Or perhaps he would remember the endless nights he’d spent at the computer, trying and failing to write, alternately despairing and angry, as he felt the clock ticking toward the end of his career.
No, he thought, in the end he would remember it as a period of anxious transition—one divided into two-week increments between ultrasounds.
Though their fears remained the same, the initial shock had begun to wear off, and their worries no longer dominated their thoughts day and night. It was as if some survival mechanism kicked in to counter the unsustainable weight and turmoil of their emotions. It was a gradual, almost imperceptible process, and it wasn’t until several days after the last ultrasound had passed that he realized he’d spent most of an afternoon without his worries paralyzing him. The same gradual change had come over Lexie as well. During that six-week period, they had more than one romantic dinner, laughed through a couple of comedies at the cinema, and lost themselves in the books they read before bedtime. Though the worries still arose unexpectedly and without warning—when seeing another baby at church, for example, or when a particularly painful Braxton-Hicks contraction occurred—it was as if they both accepted the fact that there was nothing they could do.
There were times, moreover, when Jeremy wondered whether he should even worry. Where once he had imagined only the worst possible outcomes, now he sometimes imagined that they might think back on the pregnancy with a sigh of relief. He could picture them telling the stories, emphasizing how awful the period had been, and voicing simple gratitude that everything turned out well.
Still, as the date for another ultrasound approached, both would find themselves growing quieter; in the ride to the doctor’s office, they might not say anything. Instead, Lexie would hold his hand in silence as she stared out the passenger window.
The next ultrasound, on September 8, showed no change in the amniotic band. Six weeks to go.
They celebrated that night with chilled apple juice. As they sat on the couch, Jeremy surprised Lexie with a small wrapped gift. Inside was lotion. As she eyed it curiously, he instructed her to lean back on the couch and get comfortable. After taking the lotion from her hand, he slipped off her socks and began to rub her feet. He’d noticed that her feet had begun to swell again, but when she said as much, he denied noticing.
“I just thought you’d enjoy it,” he claimed.
She grinned at him skeptically. “You can’t tell they’re swollen?”
“Not at all,” he said, rubbing between her toes.
“How about my tummy? Can you tell that’s bigger?”
“Now that you mention it. But trust me, you look a lot better than a lot of pregnant women.”
“I’m huge. I look like I’m trying to smuggle a basketball.”
He laughed. “You look great. From behind, you can’t even tell you’re pregnant. It’s only when you turn to the side that I’m afraid you’ll accidentally knock over the lamp.”
She laughed. “Watch it,” she teased. “I’m a pregnant woman on the edge.”
“That’s why I’m rubbing your feet. I know I’m getting off easy. It’s not like I’m the one carrying Claire.”
She leaned her head back and reached over to dim the lamp. “There, that’s better,” she said, getting comfortable again. “More relaxing.”
He rubbed her feet in silence, listening as she murmured in pleasure every now and then. Jeremy could feel her feet warming as he ran his hands over them.
“Do we have any chocolate-covered cherries?” she whispered.
“I don’t think so,” he said. “Did you buy any yesterday?”
“No, but I was just wondering if you did.”
“Why would I buy those?”
“No reason,” she said. “It’s just that I’ve kind of got a craving for them. Don’t they sound good?”
He stopped rubbing. “Do you want me to run to the store to get some for you?”
“No, of course not,” she said. “It’s been a long day. And besides, we’re celebrating. You shouldn’t have to run out to the store just because I’ve got a silly craving.”
“Okay,” he said. He reached for the bottle of lotion and continued the massage.
“But don’t you think those sound good right now?”
He laughed. “Okay, okay. I’ll go get some.”
She looked up at him. “You sure? I’d hate to put you out.”
“It’s no problem, sweetheart.”
“Will you still rub my feet when you get back?”
“I’ll rub them as long as you want me to.”
She smiled. “Have I told you how glad I am that we’re married? And how lucky I am to have you in my life?”
He kissed her softly on the forehead. “Every day.”
For her birthday, Jeremy surprised Lexie with an elegant black maternity dress and tickets to the theater in Raleigh. He’d rented a limousine, and they shared a romantic dinner beforehand; for later, he’d arranged for a stay at a luxury hotel.
He decided it was exactly what she needed: a chance to get out of town, space to escape from her worries, time to spend as a couple. But as the evening wore on, he realized that it was what he needed as well. During the performance, he watched Lexie, relishing the play of emotions across her face, her utter absorption in the moment. More than once, she leaned toward him; at other times, they turned toward each other simultaneously, as if by unspoken agreement. On the way out, he caught others staring as well. Despite her obvious pregnancy, she was beautiful, and more than one man turned his head when she passed. That she didn’t seem to notice how others saw her filled him with pride; despite their marriage, it still felt like a dream, and he almost shivered when she slipped her arm through his as they exited the theater. When the driver opened the door, he wore a look that let Jeremy know he thought Jeremy was a lucky man.