Falling From Grace (24 page)

Patrick and Steve lied to Mel to borrow his car. “We're going for ice cream.” We hunted town for the boys and their Mustang for an hour, driving every street, the back alleys. “Passing through, I guess,” Steve speculated. “Bastards.” “What's a midget?” I had asked. My brothers exchanged glances. “A mean word for a short person,” Patrick said, staring straight ahead out the windshield.

Grace pulled Rainbow onto her lap and wiped the child's tears away with her apron. “They don't know any better, sweetie. We can educate them.”

“Bullshit.” I spat out. “They know exactly what they are doing.”

The family looked at me in shock.

Mel walked over and placed his hand gently on the top of Rainbow's head. “You're a sweet girl.”

The jolt of his gesture, the tenderness in his words, kept me rooted to the floor.

“Can I hit them tomorrow?” Rainbow sniffed.

Marcel opened his mouth. “Be my g—”

“Get the presents,” Grace interrupted. “It's time for the party.”

The damage was done. I kept a close eye on Rainbow during the festivities. She was a fine actress. She laughed at Marcel's trick candles that played Happy Birthday over and over when hot. When she squeezed her eyes tight for her wish, I wondered if she was asking for a boxing glove or a slingshot. She opened each gift with care: a red and blue store-bought sweater with pockets and a zipper from Grace, an insect collection kit from me, a recorder and a stuffed animal from Marcel, and a box of chocolates from Mel. She hugged each person in turn with a polite thank you. But I knew she was play-acting for the sake of her friends, and when all the presents were open in front of her, she lowered her head and said in a small voice, “Are there any more?” We all understood.
Is there anything from Mary?

Nobody answered. I wanted to punch a wall but instead kissed Rainbow on her cheek and whispered in her ear, “You are a present for all of us.” Sparklers materialized like magic from Marcel's coat pocket and we gathered outside where we wrote our names in fleeting script of light across the night sky. When Grace asked Rainbow what she would like to do next, she didn't hesitate. “Go and see Paul.”

We trooped by the nurse's station laden with cake and ice cream, Rainbow trailing a bouquet of balloons. “What a loving family,” one of the nurses commented.

“I got new felt pens and a hat and mitts Esther made me in jail”—Rainbow chattered on to Paul, not caring that he was unable to say more than a few words without great effort “and”—she held up a stuffed toy that filled her arms—“an old-growth bear.”

Paul stroked the bear's head and managed a crooked smile.

“Marcel said he met the bear in jail,” she said. “He's silly.” She turned and beamed at Marcel, who leaned against the door frame.

Paul pointed at himself, his lips working to form words “No . . . present . . . from me.”

She looped her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek, giggling at the half-day growth of beard. “Know what you can give me?”

He raised one eyebrow; his eyelid fluttered with the effort.

“Come home.”

I wanted to kiss her.

23

The baby
was a dwarf, the test positive. I walked around in a stupor, unable to concentrate on anything else, the questions looming over me, time for decision short. I couldn't tell Grace, my fears about her reaction to the pregnancy palpable. Marcel? I didn't know him well enough. I had no close friends, except Paul. I'd done my best to alienate Bryan, the one person who might offer a unique perspective, his last few emails unanswered. I dialled his number late one night in desperation, hung up, then dialled again, hands shaking.

“I'm pregnant, it's a dwarf,” I blurted out before he'd said more than hello.

He was silent for a moment, then asked cautiously, “What do you want from me?”

I burst into tears.

“Why don't you join me next weekend at the Little People's conference in Seattle,” he suggested. “I'm sure I could get you in.”

“How would that help?”

“There will be women you can talk to. Mothers. Doctors.”

“I . . . I'm not sure,” I stammered.

“Think about it,' he said. “What have you got to lose?”

• • •

The mid
-September sun reflected across the tops of the waves as the high-speed ferry crossed the Strait of Juan de Fuca. The snow-topped Olympic Mountains rose blue and grand above the grey haze of coastline. I scanned the water with binoculars for rare seabirds or pods of killer whales, a distraction from my nerves. I wished the boat would slow down, take a detour through the islands to the west along an unnamed channel, and help me avoid my arrival in Seattle and the reunion with Bryan. In the past twenty-four hours I had almost backed out half-a-dozen times. One more dwarf in my life had been enough of a challenge. But hundreds? After another sleepless night I'd packed my bag, left Rainbow with Marcel, and caught the boat.

The customs officer glanced at my driver's licence and waved me through. No short jokes. No computer probe into my criminal record. Bryan waited outside the terminal, reading a paper in the sunshine. A huge smile lit up his face when he saw me. I hoped he hadn't misunderstood my precise words over the phone. “We're friends, right?”

He gave me a quick hug. “Glad you're here.” He looked attractive, tanned, and fit, wearing a button-down shirt and dress pants, a sports jacket slung over his arm. We took a taxi to a conference centre out by the airport. “I've arranged for you to share a room with a friend,” he said. “Her name's Leah.”

I touched his sleeve in gratitude for the gesture. A true gentleman. I needn't have worried. The cab pulled up in front of the hotel entrance. I took a deep breath and got out, my attention on the grand entrance. Other than us, no little people in sight. Bryan paid the driver and took my bag. I stood at the curb as he moved toward the revolving door. When I didn't follow, he turned around and tilted his head quizzically. “You coming?” he said. When I didn't answer, he returned to my side, took my hand, and together we walked through the revolving doors.

The hotel lobby was a throng of little people milling about, chatting in circles, coffee cups and napkins of squares balanced in their hands. If Bryan hadn't held my hand in a firm grip, I might have turned and fled. What had I expected: instant rapture, a new clan, a rare weekend of anonymity? Everywhere I turned I saw myself, the template, the repeated pattern— stunted arms and legs, broad forehead, average-sized torso, flat face—not surprising, achondroplasia the most common form of dwarfism, a spontaneous mutation on a single chromosome. I felt like a paper doll cut-out in a room full of identical paper dolls. My chest tightened, my stomach rolled. I wasn't as unique as I'd always liked to think. Had Mel done the calculations? One in twenty thousand births. Three hundred thousand worldwide. I hurried behind Bryan, avoiding eye contact with the people we brushed past. I focused on the back of Bryan's head as we threaded our way through the crowd toward the front desk. He collected my key and dropped me off at the room, promising to meet me in the lobby in half an hour for lunch and a lecture by a physician who specialized in people of short stature.

Leah was not there. She'd claimed the bed by the window, her belongings neatly arranged on the dresser and side table. I slid my few items of clothing into a drawer. I hung up my coat in the closet beside a strapless evening gown. I cringed. “There's a banquet Saturday,” Bryan had said over the phone, “Formal. Bring a dress.” I didn't even own one. The dress was gorgeous, teal blue satin, low cut. A pair of midnight blue heels—shoes to kill, my brother Steve had always called them—on the floor below. A key turned in the door. The woman who walked in was as surprising as the dress, short-cropped red hair, green eyes that reminded me of the colour of spring buds, radiant face. She was smaller than me, legs badly twisted, her progress aided by forearm crutches. She lurched across the room, swivelling side to side; the tips of her crutches pressed small round dents into the carpet. “Hi, Faye, I'm Leah,” she said and shook my hand, crutch hanging loose. “Welcome.”

Leah sat on the bed and told me she taught elementary school, Kindergarten and Grade One. She lived in Colorado and skied in a disabled program in winter, canoed in summer. “I don't need legs for canoeing,” she said without embarrassment. “I have clubfoot, hip dysplasia, scoliosis, and hitchhiker's thumb,” she joked, wiggling her thumb in the air to demonstrate. She'd had twelve operations since childhood to straighten her legs. “My parent's idea”—she rolled her eyes—“I've had it with the surgery,” she said. “The only thing they managed to fix was my cauliflower ear.”

“You have lovely ears,” I told her. When I described my work, she listened carefully, then asked, “Would you take me up a tree some time?”

“Bryan's a great guy,” she said suddenly.

“I don't know him very well,” I confessed.

She studied me. “I assumed you were an item.”

“No, just friends.”

She paused and fingered the crutch beside her on the bed. “Did he tell you we were engaged a couple years ago?”

“No,” I said, surprised at the disclosure. “What happened?”

“He wanted kids, I didn't.” She went on. “I'm with kids all day at work.”

I turned away, aware I was blushing, aware of the elusive goldfish in my womb. Leah wasn't going to be any help. Could she even have children?

“I know what you're thinking?” she said. Was I that obvious? “Could a gimp like me give birth?”

I fumbled around for something to say.

“Don't worry,” she said. “It's a logical question. Diastrophic women can have babies. Usually average height unless the father is also diastrophic. And by Caesarean section. But lots of us are mothers. I have chosen not to be.”

I changed the subject. “Do you come to these conferences much?”

“I wouldn't miss one for the world,” she said, then winked. “Great place to meet men.”

The hotel restaurant was crowded and noisy with little people, many who called out greetings to Bryan as we made our way to a vacant window booth. I was aware of the eyes of several women following my every move. Did I have to stand on a table and make an announcement? Leah seemed like a talker. She'd set them straight.

“They all think we're a couple,” I said irritably, sliding onto the padded bench.

“Who cares what they think?” he said. “Besides, it's great to be in the company of an accomplished and elevated intellect.”

I grimaced. “Are size jokes popular at these things?”

He lifted his eyebrows and smiled. “Huge.”

I groaned. “I wouldn't want to ruin your chances.”

He handed me a menu and sought my eyes. “What are my chances?”

“You have to ask?”

He frowned, then spread his hands in contrition. “Can't fault me for being an optimist.”

“You're a nice guy—”

He finished my sentence. “But you're not attracted to me.”

“I didn't say that,” I said, “but I am pregnant.”

He dipped his head apologetically. “Point taken.”

“Leah told me you wanted children.” Did I detect a flash of regret across his face? “Under any circumstances?” I continued. “With the risk of the health problems associated with dwarfism?”

He sat back and pondered my question carefully before answering. “Any child can have health problems.” He paused. “A dwarf baby would make me the happiest man in the world.”

“A dwarf baby?”

“I would abort a normal-sized fetus.”

“What do you mean?” I said, shocked. “Why?”

He paused again. “I couldn't handle having a child who's not like me.”

“Let me understand this,” I said. “If your partner got pregnant and the fetus tested to be average height, you would want to abort?”

“Yes.”

The certainty in his voice infuriated me. “But there are lots of people here—little people—with average-height children.”

“That's their option,” he said. “Some dwarf couples terminate if the fetus is a dwarf. Genetic testing has given us choices.”

“What about the mother? What about her choices?”

“We'd have discussed it before we ever got seriously involved,” he said matter-of-factly.

Was that why Leah hadn't married him? I felt sick. The waiter was on his way over to take our order. Heat surged through my body. I leaned in toward Bryan. “What if she didn't realize how she'd feel? What if she changed her mind once she was pregnant?” I said sharply. “What if she discovered she didn't care one way or the other if her baby was a dwarf or a giant. That the fetus growing inside her was what she wanted after all.” I must have been shouting. People had turned in their seats to stare. I lowered my voice. “Would you leave her?”