Childless: A Novel (14 page)

Julia’s eyes
landed on two passing images, as if a spotlight had selected each from the faceless herd of travelers rushing across her path. Troy had suggested she wait with the carry-on bags while he spoke to the airline boarding agent, the perfect occasion for a bit of people watching. Both scenes conspired to answer an unspoken question her day with Angie had posed.

The first spotlight framed a gentleman talking to no one, or rather someone out of sight, apparently using one of the new phone implants popular with techies. But he didn’t look like a techie. He was strikingly handsome. A rugged shadow on his face suggested he had risen early, possibly for a power breakfast with a congressman or foreign ambassador. He wore a dark-gray suit, a deep-blue tie, and a casual grin that suggested an intimate chat rather than any kind of official conversation.
Of course
, she thought.
His office would be closed at this hour
.

Julia mentally filled in details. He was talking to a beautiful wife or partner back home in—what city? Phoenix. The man’s smile was in reaction to a playful flirt from the woman he loved. Both anticipated a passionate reunion after their long week apart.

Before she could complete the script, however, Julia noticed a different sort of smile as the man’s eyes followed a passing woman clearly dressed to attract attention from the opposite sex. Not a quick, discreet glance. A long, hungry gaze that began the second he caught her approaching wink. It continued until she sashayed around a corner that took her beyond his line of vision. He stopped his advance, checked the time, then hastily wrapped up the phone conversation. He turned to follow the woman’s path, presumably in pursuit of contact information for a possible rendezvous during his next trip.

Julia wondered if her husband had ever ogled other women while talking to her on the phone. She scowled at the man’s back as the spotlight moved her eyes toward a second scene.

A heavyset woman, perhaps in her mid-forties. Too wide to be called glamorous, but pretty in the face. She shifted a purse from one shoulder to the other. That’s when it became clear that she wasn’t overweight, but pregnant. Julia guessed seven or eight months along. Seconds later the woman vanished from sight, slipping into the unisex restroom facilities after nearly colliding with a man rushing out the same door.

Julia again imagined the details. The woman appeared exhausted from a business trip that would have been much less taxing when she was young and skinny. Did she have a husband, like Troy, eager to become a dad? Or had she swallowed the same myth Julia had once advanced in her weekly columns?
Better to go it alone to defy outdated social constructs
.

She thought of Angie while sighing at her former folly. Of course things worked better when a man and woman partnered to raise kids. She thought of Kevin’s Bright Spots presentation. Married couples with kids, for whatever reason, were much more likely to thrive than solo women. Even those bravely bearing kids without a partner ended up dependent upon someone, usually parents or the government. Or a sibling, like her own sister Maria who would have never made it without Julia’s help during Jared’s early years.

Julia scanned heads in a crowded line to find Troy standing at the counter. He appeared to be wearing down the defenses of an overworked agent. Then she looked back toward the restroom door. The pregnant woman exited, then checked her tablet for some urgent detail. Gate change information, Julia guessed. The woman shifted the weight of her purse from the side of a protruding belly.

Julia thought of what that belly meant for a woman midway between forty and fifty. Her child would get its driver’s license when Mom turned sixty. If the baby was a girl who followed in her mother’s footsteps she would have her own child in four decades, making the woman a grandmother at the age of eighty. Unless, of course, Grandma had already passed away or volunteered.

Julia felt her own tummy. Flat. Firm. Lifeless.

She noticed Troy walking in her direction. He winked at Julia, eyes so fixed on his bride that he failed to notice a passing miniskirt.

“I did it!” he announced triumphantly.

She smiled. “Did what?”

“I got us upgraded to first class.”

“Nice.”

“Only the best for my gal.”

The achievement had augmented her husband’s already excellent mood. The time spent with Kevin had lifted his spirits, as Julia had hoped.

She couldn’t wait to cap off his day with the news now forming in her heart.

Thirty minutes later the flight attendant refilled Troy’s glass while Julia pretended to read a novel. Despite a Pulitzer-winning journalism career, she found herself losing a battle to find the right words for such a big moment.

Are you ready to become a father
? Not quite right. He’d always been ready.

I think it’s time we moved toward parenthood
. Way too prim. Besides, you didn’t “move toward parenthood.” You got pregnant.

Let’s make a baby
! Fun, but too abrupt.

“You OK?” Troy asked after sipping his soda. His voice betrayed concern.

She looked up casually from her tablet. “Fine,” she said, reaching toward his torso and offering a slight squeeze. “Why do you ask?”

“You’ve been staring at the same page for about ten minutes.”

She blushed. Time to fess up. “Yeah. I’m not all that interested in the story.”

“And?” he pressed.

“And I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

He shifted his weight to face her.

“I’ve been thinking about last night,” she began. “I’m really sorry for shutting you down so quickly. You know, about having a baby.”

“Me too,” he said eagerly. “I shouldn’t have pushed like that. Will you forgive me?”

She nodded silently, not sure whether she felt relief or disappointment.

“You’re right,” he continued. “We should wait a little longer.”

“But I thought you wanted—”

“I did,” he interrupted. “I do. But there’s no need to rush. We have time.”

He offered a supportive smile to seal a decision made on her behalf: another heroic gesture by the noble Troy Simmons.

Julia opened her mouth, but no words came.

“Which leads to the other thing I wanted to tell you.” He looked like a boy eager to tell his mommy he had made a touchdown.

She felt a vague dismay, as if something important was rushing past them too quickly. She leaned forward to sort through feelings she had not known possible. Not for her, anyway. Her mind screamed words she had never spoken. Could never speak.

I want us to have a child.

Let’s make love tonight, as soon as we get home.

No more caution.

Just spontaneous, abandoned love!

“Julia,” his voice interrupted, “did you hear me?”

“Sorry,” she returned. “Yes. You said Kevin needs something.”

“He needs our help.”

“Help with what?” she asked without interest.

“Things are moving fast with the Bright Spots proposal. It looks like Franklin wants to include it as a major emphasis during his campaign. Figures it will help him with a growing segment of the population.”

She forced her full attention back into the conversation. “To raise money?” she asked.

“And votes. But yes, his campaign needs to raise money. I think he’s struggling in dark zone regions where the austerity cuts hurt most. He needs bright spot support if he hopes to win.”

She reached for her glass and sorted her thoughts while sipping cherry Fresca.

“Do you really think he’ll back away from the Youth Initiative?”

“No, I don’t. He’ll speak out of both sides of his mouth, saying he wants to expand the economic potential of bright spots while continuing to glean the savings transitions generate.”

“How does Kevin feel about that?”

“Same as me. He hates it.” Troy borrowed Julia’s tablet and began tapping the screen. “But we think it creates a window of opportunity.”

“What are you looking for?” Julia asked.

“Here it is.” He shifted the screen in her direction. “Kevin and I spent the afternoon outlining the framework for an organization he wants to launch called the Center for Economic Health.” He gestured for her to read his draft document.

“You talked about a new project?” she said without noticing the words. “What about getting you some help with the business you already run?”

“If we don’t help turn things around our business will sink along with the rest of the economy.” He said it as if he was quoting Kevin. “Anyway, take a look.”

She read the screen displaying a classic Troy Simmons template summarizing an organizational mission, strategy, and high-level budget.

“What does this mean?” She pointed to the fifth item listed under the Strategy section.

“It’s one of the things I wanted to talk to you about,” he replied. “The most powerful weapon in the battle for public opinion will be the media. And we don’t have a prayer of getting a fair shake with any of the syndicates.”

She knew what he would say next. Julia’s journalistic star had been rising ever since the
Breeders
feature nearly destroyed Kevin Tolbert’s reputation.

“You can’t be serious,” she protested. “You actually think RAP Syndicate will let me advance the Bright Spots agenda? The current editorial board would kill any attempt to—”

“They would kill any attempt by the average journalist,” he interrupted. “But there’s a certain managing editor who might be open to a series of stories from a former columnist who resigned on his watch.”

“Paul Daugherty?” she nearly shouted, then softened her voice to a vicious whisper. “Give me a break! I have no intention of asking Paul Daugherty for any favors. The man can’t be trusted.”

“No, he can’t. But he owes you big. And he happens to work for the second-largest media empire in the nation.”

“In case you’ve forgotten, I quit my job with RAP last fall. I haven’t spoken to Paul in nearly a year. And I don’t intend to talk to him for at least a few more decades!”

Troy held his tongue to let Julia’s simmer cool.

“Listen, babe, you’re one of the most widely read feature writers in journalism.” Troy began stroking Julia’s arm as if to caress away her tension. “Imagine the impact if RAP ran a series of features that put human faces on bright spot trends.”

“But they won’t. I know these people, Troy. They have editorial directives a hundred-eighty degrees opposite of Kevin’s agenda.”

“And the last feature you did for them hit very, very big,” he reminded her. “I’m sure they’d love to snag a series with the famous Julia Davidson.”

“Julia Simmons!”

“Not to them. They don’t know or care that you’re sleeping with the enemy.”

He was right. Media syndicates didn’t like it when a writer with a huge following suddenly started working for the competition. And since Julia remained an independent journalist, she could accept contracts from anyone.

“What would I say to Paul? ‘Remember me? I’m the gal who knows you stole my work on the
Breeders
feature to violate every rule of journalistic integrity. I don’t trust you any farther than I could throw you. Wanna hire me back?’”

Troy smiled wryly. “Actually, yes.”

She flashed a puzzled look.

“Think about it, babe,” he continued. “Daugherty knows one word from you could end his career.”

She didn’t argue.

“And landing a series with you would be a feather in his cap.”

It was true.

“But even Paul can’t override the editorial board,” she said. “The new owners of RAP Media are even less breeder-friendly than when I was on payroll, in part thanks to my feature.”

“Which can serve our purpose. Imagine approaching Paul Daugherty with a series that explores the tension between economically disadvantaged neighborhoods and neighborhoods on the rise.”

“Go on.” She felt her creative juices begin to flow.

“The features could tell human interest stories highlighting the downward spiral of dark zone choices and the upward momentum of bright spots.”

“I guess that could work,” she confessed flatly.

“Not to mention leveraging your influence to sway public opinion on Kevin’s proposal. All while maintaining the highest journalistic ideals.”

“By implicitly blackmailing the editor?”

He laughed. “No. By presenting the reality of both sides. Communities with fewer kids and more transitions are in decline. That’s a fact. Communities with higher fertility and lower transition rates are doing relatively well. A good journalist will put a face on both realities.”

He leaned in to give her a peck on the forehead. “And you, Julia Simmons, are a very good journalist.”

As Troy pulled back from the kiss Julia breathed the echo of his scent. Despite the two hours before they would arrive in Denver, the aroma made her feel at home.

“What do you say, babe?” he asked. “It
is
a key bullet on my strategy outline.”

They shared a smile as Julia looked deeply into her husband’s eyes. She thought of the man in the airport who pretended fidelity while chasing skirts. Troy would never do the same. She hoped it. She knew it.

She remembered another airport spotlight cast on a pregnant woman only five or ten years older than Julia. Had that woman’s partner also agreed they had plenty of time, that they shouldn’t rush into parenthood? Would accepting this assignment be the first of many postponements that might put Julia in the same boat a decade hence?

“You really think it would help?” she asked apprehensively.

“I do,” Troy assured her. “And so does Kevin.”

A fitting penance
, she thought while pulling his hand toward hers to intertwine fingers. A tender squeeze gave the answer he wanted.

“Thanks, babe,” he said, kissing her palm.

Julia reached for her glass and lifted it slowly to her lips. She didn’t sip, distracted by the gentle, lingering presence of Troy’s forearm on her abdomen. Flat. Firm. And lifeless.