Chapter Sixty-Six Dottie
Chapter Sixty-Six
Dottie
I violated every rule on The List. When Dickie returned home from work today, I did not put a bow in my hair or make any effort to appear attractive and “fresh.” I did not attempt to be gay and interesting. Instead, I accosted Dickie the moment he entered the house.
“We need to talk,” I demanded.
He seemed to expect this. Had they coordinated it? Was Peggy supposed to break the news first, to soften me up, and then he’d follow up with the hard sell?
“Let me change first,” he said abruptly.
I waited on the back porch in a rocking chair. Peggy made a gin and tonic for him. The drink sat on the little wicker table, sweating beads of moisture onto my mother’s monogrammed linen cocktail napkin, a silver bowl of mixed nuts placed thoughtfully beside it.
I heard his footsteps and glanced inside. She said something I couldn’t hear, and his laughter filled the room. The knot in my stomach twisted a little tighter.
He came out on the porch and sat down in the other rocking chair.
“Have a nice day, darling?”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked.
“Tell you what?”
I heaved an epic sigh and rolled my eyes. “That Peggy is pregnant.”
He shrugged. “I was going to. I just hadn’t gotten around to it yet.”
“Is the baby yours?”
“What a ridiculous question,” he said mildly.
“Just answer the question, Dickie.”
“The father is a mechanic from the garage. A coward who abandoned Peggy as soon as he found out.” His voice was rote, expressionless, like a child reciting a poem he’d memorized.
“What was his name?”
“The mechanic?”
“Yes, the mechanic.”
He waved his hand dismissively. “Oh gosh. I don’t know. But he’s long gone. Took his last paycheck and skipped town or something.”
I willed myself not to react, keeping my face carefully neutral.
I’ve known every mechanic in that garage since I was ten years old.
Danny was the only new addition to that group, and he died in Viet Nam shortly after Peggy arrived.
If someone else left suddenly, Oscar would tell me.
That means Dickie is the father of this baby.
I kept my face blank. “And you want us to adopt her baby?”
“Yes. Don’t you?” he asked, looking puzzled.
“Do I have a choice?”
He turned to me with his most earnest expression.
“This is your opportunity to do something good. For Peggy. And for her poor infant. She’s giving her child up for adoption no matter what we do, and you and I can give him a loving family, a good home.
You can be a mother, and I can finally have a son. ”
He seemed to assume the baby would be a boy, I noticed.
“You’d do that, for me?” I asked, attempting to hide my loathing for him, for his schemes and his lies.
“I just want you to be happy, darling.” He took my hand. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
I swallowed my revulsion and forced myself to smile. “I think it’s a wonderful idea. But I’d like to sleep on it. Think about it just a little bit more. Is that all right?”
“Of course, darling. Anything to make you happy. I’m doing all of this for you.”
My fingers itched to slap him.
Instead, I rose from my chair, kissed the top of his head, and went up to my room. I shut the door, locked it, and collapsed onto the bed, trying to think.
Is Dickie the father of this child? Does it even matter?
For some reason, it does.
Is my husband bringing his pregnant mistress into my home and then demanding that I raise their child and pretend it’s my own?
Or could this really be an act of kindness? Helping an unwed mother find a home for her child? Finding a way for me to become a mother?
Which explanation is true?
I need to find out if Dickie is the father.