Chapter 41 #2
“It happened.”
Marc pressed his lips to the side of my head. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Sorry this is something you have to deal with. It’s my problem. Not yours.”
“Your problems are my problems now.”
I shrugged to let him know I didn’t totally agree.
After a beat of silence, he said, “What are you going to do if you get pregnant?”
“I never wanted to be a mom, Marc. I told you that. My mind hasn’t changed.”
He exhaled. “I know.”
“Okay, then.” I hesitated. “How will you feel about it?”
“I don’t know.” He let out a long breath.
“Despite getting tested, I’ve never given being a father much thought.
I mean, once my high school girlfriend and I broke up, it wasn’t something I really needed to worry about.
It seemed so unlikely, you know? But I’m not going to lie, though, knowing it could be mine is going to be strange. ”
“I’m sorry,” I said again.
He pressed his lips to mine then whispered, “Don’t be. I knew what I was getting into just like you did. And you’re worth it.”
I hoped he still thought that when the inevitable moment came.
Time in the Stanley Hotel was strange. Sometimes it moved at an impossible speed, and other times it seemed to drag on forever.
The week following the insemination moved at a snail’s pace, but the week following that flew by.
Every time I went to the bathroom, I prayed I’d have my period, and each time, I was disappointed.
Days ticked by faster than I would have liked, and nothing changed, until finally two weeks had passed, and my little friend still hadn’t arrived.
I held out hope that it was just late, though.
It was rare but it had happened last month – although there had been some speculation by others that I’d had an early miscarriage – and I knew it could happen again.
Hoped it would because now that the added complication of Marc was in the mix, I knew for certain I wanted the program to fail no matter how much more time it added to my sentence.
I did not want to have to wonder if the life growing inside me belonged to the man I loved or a stranger.
I was disappointed yet again.
“Positive!” Hilary declared, a huge smile on her face as she waved the test. “Congratulations, Miss Murphy.”
I thought I was going to be sick.
“Positive?” I repeated, not believing it.
My head felt light, so I lowered myself onto the chair in the corner of the cubicle, too shocked to speak. It was positive. I was pregnant. This couldn’t be happening.
“Now, now,” Hilary said as she tossed the test in the trash, pulled off her gloves, and threw them away as well, “don’t look so glum. This is good news. Especially now that the pandemic is so bad.”
Was she supposed to tell me that? We hadn’t been told much about the state of the world, but I’d been filled in by Marc and knew how bad things were.
How many people had died – tens of thousands already – and how the CDC was telling people to prepare for even more losses.
I was pretty much alone in that, though, since the phone lines still hadn’t been fixed and we had zero access to the news.
“I know you’ve been through all this before,” Hilary was saying, “but things are slightly different here. Don’t worry, though, I’ll be with you every step of the way.
And I know you’ve had some trouble sleeping lately, so don’t be afraid to ask for a sleeping aid if you need it. And take naps. Rest is important.”
She droned on, but I barely listened. I couldn’t. I was too busy thinking about the new life inside me and wondering who the father was. Wondering how I was going to get through this.
I couldn’t tell Marc. I tried, but that night when he climbed into bed with me, I found it impossible to form the words. I’d practiced all day in my mind and then even once I was in my room, saying it out loud for the first time.
“Marc, I’m pregnant.”
But when he was with me, I couldn’t make the words come out. Then he was kissing me, and I told myself I would tell him after so it didn’t ruin the mood, but even then, as I lay in his arms and he talked about the most recent developments in the pandemic, I couldn’t say anything. I had gone mute.
“The rumors are too rampant for them to deny it any longer, so the government finally came out and admitted they’ve moved all the fertile women to secure locations,” he was saying. “I thought people would be pissed about it, and some are, but for the most part, they’re acting relieved.”
“Relieved?” I was relieved to have something else to focus on, even if the topic was awful. “What does that mean?”
“There are prayer vigils everywhere with people standing in the streets for hours, praying for fertile women and their babies. It’s crazy.”
“Crazy,” I repeated.
It was crazy, but it was something else as well.
Terrifying. The prayer vigils meant people had not only accepted what the government was doing, but they also thought it was for our own good.
It also meant there wasn’t much stopping the Department of Fertility from taking things further.
And the general population would never know.
“Anyway,” Marc said, “things have gotten really bad. The death tolls are through the roof. It’s scary out there.”
I thought of Trevor and what he might be going through, wondering if he was sick, if I would ever get to talk to him or see him again.
If the government had their way, probably not.
Even if I did get out of here eventually, though, he might not be around.
He could die, and I would never have the chance to say goodbye.
I didn’t know if he would be able to do it, but since it didn’t hurt to ask, I said, “Can you do something for me? I mean, if you can, I mean.”
Marc’s mouth turned down in the corners. “Of course. What is it?”
“I want to know if my best friend is okay. Is contacting him possible?”
“You mean Trevor?”
“Yes, Trevor.” I didn’t know if me asking about another man meant Marc would be less likely to do this for me, so I quickly added, “He’s gay, you know. Trevor is gay.”
Marc belted out a laugh. “I did not know that, but you know it doesn’t matter, right? I’m not jealous of Trevor.”
Despite my worry – and the nagging voice in my head telling me to share my news – I managed a smile. “I didn’t know for sure.”
Marc laughed again but quickly sobered. “I can try. I mean, it’s a touchy situation because all our communications are monitored, and it’s not like I can come right out and tell him I know you or anything, but I can send him a Facebook message or something, maybe. If he answers, I’ll know he’s okay.”
That wouldn’t work, but I had an idea. “He won’t answer a stranger, but he is an attorney. Maybe you can message his business or even call and pretend you need some legal advice? I don’t know.”
Marc thought about it for a second before nodding. “I can do that. What’s his last name?”
“Abernathy. Trevor Abernathy. And thank you so much.”
“Anything you need,” he said, his tone dead serious, “I’m here for you, Ara. Forever.”
Forever. I loved the word but couldn’t help wondering if we’d ever get the chance.
I wasn’t able to work up the nerve to tell Marc about the baby that night, or the one after. I just couldn’t make myself do it.
The next night when Marc came to my room, he had good news.
“I got in touch with Trevor.”
My heart leapt, and I had to fight back tears when they sprang to my eyes. “You did? Is he okay? What did you tell him?”
“I emailed his law firm since I thought that would be less suspicious. I told him I was stationed in the area for a bit and needed some legal advice about an incident and was wondering if he could help me via email. I kept it vague so whoever was reading the message didn’t get suspicious, so I couldn’t exactly ask how he was doing, but I figured if he responded that would at least let us know he wasn’t too sick. ”
“Smart,” I said despite my disappointment.
It wasn’t enough, not by a long shot, but it was something and I was so grateful to Marc for taking a risk for me.
“Anyway,” he went on, “he replied the next day, telling me he would be happy to help if he could but that a phone consultation would be better. He said he was available any day, which to me means he’s still working.”
“And he’s not sick,” I whispered.
“Seems like it,” Marc replied.
I blinked back tears. Trevor was okay. He wasn’t sick. At least not now. Thank God.
Days passed, and I continued to keep my pregnancy from Marc, telling myself I was protecting him even though it was a lie. I was protecting myself and nothing more.
Thanksgiving came and went. It was a depressing affair with cafeteria style turkey, lumpy mashed potatoes, dry stuffing, and pumpkin pie that had the consistency of pudding.
The only good part of the day was seeing Marc that night, but like every other time we’d been together since I’d found out I was pregnant, I couldn’t bring myself to tell him the news. The longer I waited, the harder it got.
Three weeks after finding out I was pregnant, it all came crashing down.
Marc and I were in the music room, listening to one of the other women play the piano.
It was an easy way to spend time together out in the open since there was always a crowd, so we did it often.
We stood at the back of the room in the shadows, a reasonable amount of space between us but close enough that we could talk, even trade the occasional touch.
It was risky, but I’d started to suspect we weren’t the only ones sneaking around.
Living here was lonely, and we were secluded, and the temptation to grab something for yourself too great.
“I can’t stay as long tonight,” Marc whispered, his voice low enough that the musical notes drowned it out for everyone but me. “I have an early shift.”
“I probably need the sleep, anyway.”
His gaze darted toward me then quickly away. “Yeah. You’ve been looking tired lately. I must be keeping you up too much.”