After the Fall (17 page)

KATE
•

Things came to a head the night Cary arrived home clutching a crumpled brochure. Without saying anything he placed it between us on the kitchen table, the action both deliberate and defiant, like a man in debt playing his final ace. Only Cary has never been a gambler.

“Read it,” he instructed, hands clutched to bloodlessness around the top of a chair. His behavior was so out of character that I could only stare at him, but he didn’t look away. Eventually I picked up the pamphlet.
Melbourne IVF
, it read in tasteful letters, and my heart sank.

“I’ve arranged an appointment for us on Friday,” Cary said. “At lunchtime. I’ll pick you up. It’s just to talk, maybe do some preliminary tests.” When I still didn’t respond he exploded. “God, Kate, I know you’re not keen but it’s been over six months. We’re not getting any younger. I’ve tried it your way; now how about for once you try mine?”

The outburst was so unexpected that I almost burst into tears. Still, that wasn’t saying much—lately the smallest thing would have me damp around the edges. Immediately, though, Cary relented.

“I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s just that I want this so much.” He ran a hand through his ash-blond hair distractedly, and for a second I felt a rush of love and compassion sweep over me. I hadn’t been thinking much about his feelings.

“Okay,” I replied, fighting to keep the panic out of my voice. “Do you mean this Friday?” It was Tuesday. Even if I stopped taking the pill now, wouldn’t it still show up on a blood test?

Cary nodded. “Kate, we don’t have to agree to anything; I promise. I know you’d rather do this naturally, but we might not have the option. Doesn’t it make sense to at least be prepared? I want this so much.”

His eyes were so fervent, his hope so raw that there was no point arguing with him. But I couldn’t risk keeping the appointment either, having to explain why I was still using contraception when we were supposedly trying to get pregnant. Maybe I’d have to invent an urgent meeting or feign illness. Or confess everything, an idea I’d been toying with anyway.

•

I saw Luke the next day, during my lunch hour. As usual we met across town at the botanic gardens, where we wouldn’t bump into anyone from our offices, though the days were getting shorter and I wasn’t quite sure where we would go once winter set in. He was waiting under our tree, scanning passersby and scuffing at the grass around his feet. Usually when Luke spotted me his face would light up and he’d hurry over, grinning, brushing off his pants and embracing me all at once. This time, although he smiled, he rose slowly, as if suddenly old, and waited for me to reach him. Without speaking he took my face in his hands and kissed me, thumbs taut on my cheekbones, mouth intense and seemingly reluctant to ever leave mine. The want between us flared as easily and naturally as ever…. Seven months since we first kissed, and it moved me as much as the first time. When we finally broke apart I rested my head on his chest and wrapped my arms around his waist. Luke’s heart was racing and I waited for it to slow down before I told him about Cary and the appointment he’d made.

Only I never got the chance. Before I could speak Luke was talking about Cressida, naming some fellowship and muttering into my hair how they might be moving overseas for two years. We stayed locked as we were, not looking at each other, my gaze fixed on a family feeding the swans on the other side of the lake. A small boy was gleefully hurling whole slices at one bird while his mother tried to stop him. Luke talked on, explaining and appending, his words scattering like leaves in the autumn wind. I felt suddenly very weary.

Half an hour later I left the gardens without even mentioning my own concerns. Left feeling scared and sick, my head full of words I hadn’t wanted to hear. This was Cress’s dream, I’d been informed, something she’d been working toward for months. It was all she wanted; how could he say no?

“And what do
you
want?” I’d asked him, numb and still afraid to meet his eyes. The family at the lake had gone home.

“I want you,” he’d said, and in a tone that almost made me believe it. Then he lifted my chin so I had to look at him and repeated the words. “I want you, but I don’t know how to handle this. I’m so scared, Kate.”

Well, so was I. Scared and sick and never more in love with him. Loving and losing. They’re such similar words.

LUKE
•

I sweated over the situation for two nights, then realized I should just wait it out. Really, it occurred to me, what was the point of making a decision? If Cress didn’t get a fellowship there wouldn’t be a problem; things could go on as they were. What were the odds? From what I could make out, the fellowships were highly sought after, and she was still only a junior doctor with no track record in research to her name. Cress might be bright, but so were her competitors, no doubt. Once I realized that I felt much better, and cursed myself for having panicked. Kate would still have had to know, but I could have downplayed it, dropped the thing into conversation as if it were of no consequence. Would that have been taking the easy way out? Maybe, but such strategies had worked in the past.

I just couldn’t imagine life without Kate. I’d tried, but it felt empty, stunted. In the weeks since Cress had told me about the fellowship everything between Kate and me had intensified: the sex, our phone conversations, even the weather. There was a sudden last burst of sunshine, unheard-of at this time of year—nine or ten days where the city was flooded with light and you could almost kid yourself summer was beginning all over again. We met every lunch hour we could, making love once in the gardens for what was probably the final time before it got too cold to meet there, Kate pressed up against the trunk of the Moreton Bay fig while I kept an eye out for tourists and held a hand over her mouth to stifle the giggling. Before walking back to work afterward I pulled a leaf from the tree and tucked it in my wallet. Who knew if I’d be coming back next year?

At home life went on as usual. Meals were prepared and eaten, bills were paid, sex, when it happened, was confined to the bed. Cress submitted her application and, after some initial excitement, slipped back into the grind, working long shifts, appearing tired and distracted. She refused to talk about her chances or speculate on where we might live if she was successful, superstitious for the first time in her resolutely scientific life. I’d watch her napping, exhausted, on the couch after dinner and feel both tender and annoyed, torn between the urge to cover her with a blanket or wake her up so I had someone to talk to. On occasion I daydreamed about living with Kate, but the contingencies were too vast to fully envisage. Separating from Cress, the explanations and tears, informing our parents, selling the house—I just couldn’t imagine going through with anything so chaotic. So instead I’d try to picture Cress and me together somewhere foreign: her coming home at a reasonable hour, me watching the Super Bowl and drinking strange beer. Neither alternative seemed possible or indeed likely. But were there any other options? My imagination was my paycheck, but it was failing me now.

KATE
•

Fortunately, I didn’t have to take the blood test. For an hour and a half I sat in dread in the muted surrounds of Melbourne IVF, Cary clutching my hand as if I might run away. The temptation was strong, yet what would be the point? Over the last few days I’d wearily realized that there was no way out. Cary would only reschedule if I canceled; would become suspicious if I refused. As it was, he’d insisted on picking me up from work rather than just meeting me there, as if I couldn’t be trusted to show up otherwise.

During our interview, Cary answered most of the questions while I dully regarded the babies beaming down from the walls around us. Newborns, babes in arms, carefully cradled by parents with proud smiles stretched so wide you feared for their lips. The success stories of the clinic. I suppose they were there as motivation, but I felt nothing. When Cary and I married I had assumed we would have children, but in a distant and detached fashion, the same way you accept that one day you will die. I hadn’t been ready for a baby then, and it occurred to me that I still wasn’t now. Was that because of Luke, or would I have felt this way regardless? Hard to remember what I even wanted before Luke.

A too-calm voice interrupted my ruminations.

“Now, Kate, let’s find out some things about you. Are your periods regular?”

I flushed, but out of guilt rather than embarrassment. Of course they were regular. I was on the bloody pill.

“Seem to be. Regular as clockwork, every twenty-eight days,” Cary volunteered when my silence extended for a beat too long. I wanted to reach across and pinch him, to temper all that enthusiasm with some pain. The nurse conducting the interview was taken in, though, smiling at him as she made her notes.

“That’s very impressive, Mr. Hunter. Most men have no idea at all about their wives’ cycles.”

And how lucky those women were, I thought to myself. Cary had probably set up a spreadsheet on mine once we started trying to conceive.

“So then,” said the nurse, reluctantly turning again to me, “do you experience any symptoms of ovulation that we can work with? Spotting, cramping, maybe some increased discharge?”

Now I did feel embarrassed. I didn’t want to talk about this stuff, and the idea that “we” would be working together was the most unappealing yet. A vision of the woman flashed into my mind, perched on our bedstead with clipboard and stopwatch while Cary made love to me beneath, glancing up every so often to see how he was doing. Mutely I shook my head. She glanced across at Cary, but I dug my nails into his palm in a caution against answering.

“No previous pregnancies? Abortions? No diagnoses of endometriosis or polycystic ovaries, nothing like that?”

I shook my head so often I began to feel dizzy.

“Then there’s just one other thing. We need to check your hormone levels, make sure that you are in fact ovulating normally and that your body could sustain a pregnancy.”

Here it comes
, I thought. The request to roll up my sleeve, clench my fist until veins stood out beneath my skin. Should I fake a faint? Run screaming for the door? Sweat oozed suddenly beneath my arms and behind my knees, warm as blood against my skin. My heart raced, but the nurse had her head down, writing out a referral. She handed me a folded piece of paper.

“There you are. Make an appointment to see your GP ten to fourteen days after you first start your next period. He’ll send the results to us and we’ll take it from there.” Having finished with me she gratefully returned her full attention to Cary. “You should have your test around the same time, though hopefully it will be a little more enjoyable.” She handed him a small plastic cup, practically winking in case he hadn’t caught her meaning. Cary took it uncomfortably, trying to fit it into his shirt pocket before handing it to me instead. I was so relieved that I accepted the squat receptacle with grace, tucking it into my bag as Cary scheduled our next appointment. Late June. I had five more weeks, surely long enough to work out what the hell I was doing. Or wanted.

But my relief lasted for all of about thirty minutes. Despite the reprieve, things were getting far too complicated. I spent the days staring at the computer screen when I should have been working, then spent the evenings catching up on work when I should have been with Cary. Throughout it all my mind cycled incessantly. Should I come off the pill for the blood test and risk getting pregnant to Cary, or own up to the fact that I wasn’t yet ready for a family after all? And what about Luke? If I went off the pill we’d have to use something else. Maybe that was irrelevant, though, if he was moving away. Whenever I remembered this possibility I’d panic and have to see him. We’d meet and he’d reassure me, so unrelentingly calm about the whole thing that I’d be appeased, comforted, at least until we parted and the doubts started up again.

Everything began to slide: my work, my weight, my concentration. It was the not knowing that killed me, and at times I yearned to fast-forward my life a year or so simply to see what happened. Would Luke leave, and how would I cope if he did? Or would he stay, and if so could we possibly maintain things the way they were? I didn’t want to have to make a decision, but I couldn’t bear waiting for one to be made either. I felt as if I were treading water, marking time, and I began to resent it. More and more it seemed to be my life that was being decided by the board of the Stevenson Fellowships, not Cressida’s, not Luke’s. What were a few years overseas compared to a whole relocation of the heart? As I waited for their verdict I became increasingly angry. Angry that after all our passion, all our love, a neutral party would decide our fate. Angry at Luke for allowing this to happen, for letting others make a decision for which he should have taken responsibility. I wasn’t prepared for my life to be determined by the whim of a committee. I loved Luke, and deserved more. If he was going to leave me he had to do just that: choose and be damned, not turn some chance event into an alibi. Besides, I was sick of lying to Cary, sick of hurting him and feeling our own marriage crumble around us without having the energy or will to do anything about it. Someone had to decide.

SARAH
•

Kate called one evening around six o’clock, the worst time for those with young children.

“I need to talk to you,” she said as soon as I picked up.

“Hello to you too,” I replied, jiggling Patrick on one hip as his dinner heated in the microwave. The abrupt greeting was not out of character—when Kate was focused little else was allowed to intrude.

“Are you free now? Or can you get away once the kids are in bed?”

I looked around the bomb site that was my kitchen. Was I free now? I almost laughed. I hadn’t been free for a long time, not since Alice was born. There was always something that needed doing, someone to be fed or bathed or satisfied.

“Uh, no,” I replied, testing the temperature of Patrick’s dinner as I balanced the phone between my chin and the downy head of my son. He smelled of milk and apples. “Alice needs to be bathed, Patrick and the cat need to be fed, then after that there’ll be stories to read, teeth to brush and Rick to be catered to.” I didn’t intend for the words to come out as waspishly as they did, but honestly, didn’t she have any idea?

Apparently not. “What about I come over then?” Kate asked. “I’ll bring a bottle of wine and some chocolate.”

“I’m not up for wine right now and I don’t know when Rick will be home. Can this wait till the weekend?”

“I guess so,” said Kate, then sniffed. For the first time I detected a note of desperation in her voice. Despite myself, I softened.

“Look, make it around nine then. By that time the kids will be asleep, we’ll have had dinner and I can tuck Rick away in his study. I can’t promise I’ll be scintillating company, though.” Then, as an afterthought, I added, “Is anything wrong?”

“Not really,” she said, sounding strangely subdued and very un-Kate-like. “There’s just something I have to tell you. I guess I want to ask your opinion. Maybe even advice, if you’re lucky.”

That was more like it, and I found myself looking forward to the chance to chat. Besides, I thought, my glance dropping to my stomach, I had something to tell her too.

Of course I was curious as to what Kate wanted to tell me, but after I hung up Patrick pushed his food off the high chair and Alice stepped in it and … well, I didn’t have the time, never mind the energy, to think beyond getting them cleaned up and into bed. That’s not a complaint, just the way life is. My life, anyway.

On top of that, since Kate had told me about her affair with Luke things between us had cooled a little. Not on my side—as far as I was concerned I just wanted her to be happy, and I hoped she believed me when I told her that. No, the distance was from her. Partly as a result of spending all her free time with Luke, and partly, I suspected, out of shame. I never meant to make her feel guilty, but under the circumstances I imagine that simply our differing situations would do that. There I was—married with kids, bogged down in the life of my family, defined by them. What could I possibly understand about obsession or attraction, about desire so strong it kept you awake?

Kate gave me a hug as soon as I opened the door to her ring, then bolted inside and flopped down on the couch. I hadn’t seen her in over a month and the change was marked. She’d lost weight when she’d had no need to do such a thing, and the fine lines around her eyes had deepened and spread. As she opened the bottle of wine I noticed her wedding rings hanging loosely on her left hand, catching against the corkscrew and getting in the way. Neither of us spoke until the stopper was out.

“Just half a glass,” I said, and she complied without inquiring why.

“So how’s Alice?” Kate asked, and I smiled, touched that she’d thought of her goddaughter in the midst of whatever it was that had driven her here.

“She’s fine,” I replied. “Though that’s not what you came to talk about.” We were circling each other, suddenly awkward and abashed, searching for a way into the conversation.

Kate swallowed hard and opened her mouth to speak, then suddenly lost her nerve. “No, you first. Tell me about you. I know I’ve been dreadful about keeping in touch.”

“You have, but I guess you’ve had other things on your mind.” She grimaced where I’d expected a smile.

“Well …” I continued when the pause grew too long, “Rick’s really busy at work, though he could be in line for a promotion. Patrick’s cut two more teeth, and Alice is finally out of night diapers. The gutters should be replaced and the cat needs worming. What else? Oh, yeah, I’m pregnant again.”

Kate shrieked in genuine excitement, throwing her arms around me. I laughed at her response—by number three everyone else I’d told had been pretty blasé, including Rick.

“That’s fantastic!” bubbled Kate. “When is it due? Have you been sick yet? Do you know what you’re having?”

“Too soon for that. I’m due in November. And before you ask, it
was
planned, God help us.”

“Well, naturally—everything you do is planned.” Kate smiled.

“Used to be,” I conceded. “And you’d be surprised how many people assume that a third child must be a mistake, particularly when you have one of each sex.”

“Forget about them. What would they know? It’s your family—you should have ten if that’s what you want.”

I was moved by her loyalty. “No, I think three is it. Just pray it’s not twins.”

“A toast,” said Kate, lifting her glass, then bumping it against my stomach. “You hear that?” she addressed my abdomen. “Keep it down in there.”

I started giggling and all of a sudden it felt as if we were back in school, gossiping in the cafeteria with nothing more pressing than haircuts or weekend plans to worry about. Kate joined in and we fell against the couch, laughing inanely in ridiculous whoops and snorts. Finally I sat back up and dried my eyes.

“You know,” I said, “I always hoped that we’d be pregnant together, that our kids would be forever at each other’s houses, going off to school hand in hand. Do you think it’s going to happen?”

As the words left my lips Kate’s face shifted from mirth, crumpling as if she’d had a stroke. She began to cry.

“I don’t even know if I’m going to have children,” she sobbed. “And what’s worse, I don’t know who I’d want to be the father.”

“So it’s still on with Luke?” I asked softly.

“I guess so, though he might be moving overseas. Cressida’s in the running for some fellowship.”

“Well, that might be an easy way to end it,” I mused. Then, regarding the stricken figure on my sofa, I added, “But I take it that’s not what you want?”

“I don’t know what I want,” she wailed, rocking slightly.

“Do you love him?” I asked.

“Yes,” she replied.

“Does he love you?”

She almost shrugged. “I think so. He says he does. But how could he just walk away if that were the case?”

“Are you sure that’s what he’s doing? Has Luke told you it’s over?”

Kate began to cry again. “He says we shouldn’t worry about it until we know the facts. But that’s letting a bunch of total strangers make the decision. I think he should know by now who he wants to be with. God, it’s like waiting for the results of an AIDS test.”

I wondered briefly if she’d ever been through such a thing. If so, I hadn’t heard about it.

“So I take it then that you’ve made your decision?” I felt almost teary myself. This was far more serious than I’d anticipated.

“No, I haven’t.” Kate sighed, tugging at the fringe of a cushion on her lap. Then she looked up, her eyes blue-green and awash. “But I can’t bear to leave it to the toss of a coin. That’s the whole point. This is about
us
, Luke and me, not some chance verdict that doesn’t take into account the first thing of what we have.”

“And what’s that?” I probed, as gently as I could.

“I told you, I love him. But I’ve been in love before, and this is nothing like that. Every time I see him it’s like the first time. Every time he touches me it’s like he’s never touched me before. I want him more and more, not less as time goes on. Six months now and it’s better than it was when we started. Do you know how rare that is? Everything is still fresh, still electrifying. That’s never happened before.”

She flushed as she finished, no doubt realizing how very monotonous that must make my own life. I ignored her embarrassment. This wasn’t about me.

“Don’t you think, though, that that might just be because of how things are between you? You can never know when you’re going to see him next, and it’s all subterfuge when you do. Of course it’s going to be exciting, but you can’t carry on like that for the rest of your life.”

“I’ve thought about that, I really have. But I think you’re wrong. We talk on the phone every day, and my heart still races when I hear his voice. It’s not just sex.”

I sighed to myself. How could I tell her that it, whatever it was, wasn’t about tachycardia or sweaty palms or even about sexual compatibility? She’d been married three years. Surely she knew the gratification of coming home to a man you trusted, of laughing together late in bed with the lights off and his body warm next to yours? Luke was her lover, but was he her friend? Desire ebbs and flows, but friendship—or the lack of it—is what defines a marriage.

I found myself voicing my perennial query. “What about Cary?”

“I don’t know,” she said hopelessly, eyes filling again. “He’s done nothing wrong, but it can’t compare.”

“Would you leave him?”

The question hung in the air while Kate plucked at the cushion. Fat tears rolled down her face and fell onto the velvet fabric, spreading like ink stains. Finally she answered, “I can’t bear the thought of hurting him. But if Luke chose me, I think I would.”

“But what about you? What do you want? Before there was Luke did you want to leave Cary?”

“No, of course not,” she said, sounding genuinely shocked. “And I do still love him, despite everything else.”

“But your choice now is Luke?”

“I haven’t made a choice. I can’t. It’s not in my hands anyway, but I’ll be damned if I leave it up to chance. That’s what I came to tell you.” She sat up, pushing the sodden cushion aside, suddenly determined. “I’ve given Luke an ultimatum. Three weeks to decide who he wants and how it’s going to be. Cressida won’t know if she’s been successful until the end of June—that’s about four weeks away. If he chooses me, with any luck she’ll be leaving anyway, and we can make a fresh start. If he chooses her …” Her words trailed off. When she spoke again there was a tremor in her voice. “Then I still hope she gets it, and they can both go. I couldn’t bear to ever see him again.”

I took a deep breath. Comfort or challenge? What did Kate need more from me: my support or a reality check?

When I finally responded I surprised even myself. “It’s not really fair to put it all on Luke.”

“Well, it isn’t fair to leave it to the vote of some academics either. I just wanted you to know in case you have to pick up the pieces.” She smiled at me wryly, a sad, lopsided smile, and my heart broke for her. “I can’t imagine leaving Cary, but I can’t afford just to let this slip either. The last six months have been like another world. I have to give it a shot. If he wants me, I’m his.”

“But he has to choose?”

She nodded. “He has to choose. It can’t be fate or luck or the fall of the cards. He has to want me as much as I want him. No half measures, no waiting to see how things turn out.”

It was a typical Kate decision, and I admired her for it even as I grieved at the turn things had taken. No good could come of this. Even if Luke did choose Kate, how could any union be built on the foundations of so much destruction? I sighed for all of them: my distraught friend Kate; Luke, who I hoped was just as torn; Cressida, whom I’d never met; and Cary, unknowing, blameless Cary. But there was no point arguing with her. Once she made up her mind Kate saw things through.

“Are you still going to see Luke until then?”

“I thought about that,” she replied, “but why not? He’ll still be seeing Cressida, so why should I just step aside? Besides, I can’t imagine giving him up.”

Words so raw and vulnerable and sincere I felt scared. I think we talked more, but not long afterward I made some excuse, then fled to the study, where I buried my head in Rick’s familiar neck.