The Consequences (16 page)

CHAPTER 29

H
alf the country awoke to a white Christmas. Ten inches of snow had fallen across the entire East Coast, while certain areas of Connecticut and Providence, Rhode Island, were coated in fourteen inches, with more forecast for the afternoon. Parts of Massachusetts were impassable, and AAA was advising drivers only to venture out if it was absolutely necessary.

The sky had cleared with the dawn, and the sun was a flat gold disc that shed no heat, but touched everything with a thin veneer of amber light. The morning was spectacular, and Robert thought it ironic that the last Christmas they would spend together should be so memorable. Brendan and Theresa would be sure to remember that their last Christmas as a family was the time it snowed.

Robert and Kathy were outwardly polite to one another in the presence of the children, but when they were on their own, an icy gulf separated them. They went as a family to eleven o'clock Mass, the only time of the year when the four of them attended church together. Although both Robert and Kathy had been raised Catholic, they had lapsed and were unwilling to force their children to join any organized religion. They hoped that when the kids were old enough they would make their own decisions, though so far, neither showed an interest in any particular faith.

Robert felt deeply uncomfortable in church. He had never been particularly religious—but he did like to think of himself as spiritual. He believed in God; he just wasn't sure why it couldn't be a more private relationship, not molded by the church's principles. When he'd stood at the altar eighteen years ago with Kathy by his side, he remembered dutifully repeating the priest's words: “I, Robert Walker, take this ring as a sign of my love and fidelity. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.” He had disappointed not only Kathy and himself; he had disappointed God. Eighteen years ago he hadn't intended to break those vows. And yet, here he was standing in church on Christmas morning, actively planning to break those solemn oaths without causing his wife too much pain. Maybe he didn't love Kathy enough to want to spend the rest of his life with her, but he still cared for her; she was the mother of his children, and he wanted her to retain her dignity. There was no stigma attached to divorce anymore; in fact, most marriages failed.

“Let us share with one another the sign of peace. . . .” The elderly priest's voice boomed across the loudspeakers.

Robert turned toward Kathy. While other couples around them were embracing or kissing, she stuck out her hand like a stranger. After a moment's hesitation, Robert fixed a smile on his lips and took her hand. “Peace be with you,” he murmured.

Kathy didn't respond.

He was going to have to find himself a divorce lawyer. He'd call Jimmy Moran after Christmas; Jimmy would be sure to know.

 

“Dad, phone.” Brendan didn't move from the couch.

Robert opened his eyes and blinked at the TV. His late night had finally caught up with him in the early afternoon, and, despite
Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom
blaring from all five speakers, he'd fallen into a deep and dreamless sleep. “You get it,” he mumbled.

“It'll be for you. It's always for you.”

Robert rolled out of the chair, moved into the dining room, and grabbed the phone from its cradle before the call went to the machine. He licked dry lips and squinted at the clock, wondering who was calling them on Christmas Day. Julia probably. “Hello?”

The line echoed and popped, ghost sounds clicking and whispering.

“Hello?” he asked again, squinting at the caller ID. Unavailable, it read, so either the call was from abroad or the caller had withheld his or her number.

“You may want to move away from the TV and find someplace private where you can talk.” Stephanie's voice, loud and clear in his ear, shocked him fully awake.

He swallowed hard. “Sure . . . sure,” he said, forcing a smile onto his face, turning to look at the children, but they were both ignoring him. Kathy was working in the kitchen, and he saw her glance curiously at him, obviously wondering who was calling. “And a Merry Christmas to you too,” he continued. “Let me just step out of the room away from the TV. . . .”

“It's Jimmy Moran,” he said to Kathy, the phone pressed against his chest, “just calling to wish us Merry Christmas.”

Kathy nodded. Wearing a striped cook's apron, she was staring into the open oven, slowly sinking a skewer into the turkey. “Don't talk too long; I'll be serving dinner soon.”

Robert moved out into the hall. “I'll be just a minute.” He hurried upstairs, heart pounding, stepped into his office, and locked the door behind him. Then he changed from the portable phone to his office line. “Are you okay?” he asked immediately, slightly breathless from his run upstairs and the shocking surprise of the call.

“Yes . . . no . . . I don't know.” Her voice sounded strained.

He figured she was probably hung over. No doubt she'd only now gotten around to checking her messages; maybe she was even a little embarrassed about her outburst earlier.

“I've been worried out of my mind, and when I couldn't get hold of you, I didn't know what to think, and then before, when we were instant-messaging and you said you didn't want to see me again, I was devastated.”

There was a long pause, then Stephanie said simply, “I think I'm pregnant, Robert.”

There was a moment, a long moment, as the words sank in. Thoughts tumbled through his mind—this was a joke; she was punishing him; she was lying—because he knew that she couldn't be pregnant. Simply couldn't.

Before he could reply, she snapped, “What? No quick comment, no witty retort, no congratulations?” She was unable to disguise the bitterness in her voice.

“I . . . I . . . No. I don't know what to say.”

“Well, think of something.”

His mouth was dry and felt like it was stuffed with cotton wool, and he had difficulty swallowing. He looked around the room, but could find nothing to drink. He finally cracked open one of the windows and dipped his fingers in the snow crystals, and then brought them to his mouth. Ice cold, they burned their way down his throat. Staring out at the backyard, now sheathed in snow, he asked, “How did this . . . I mean, when did this happen?”

“Who knows? We've had sex a couple of times without using protection.”

Pregnant. Dear God. She was pregnant. “I said you should have gone on the pill.”

Stephanie didn't respond. She'd refused to go on the pill, and they had ended up using condoms, which he hated.

“Are you sure? Certain?” he asked carefully.

“Reasonably.”

Reasonably. Reasonably. What exactly does “reasonably” mean, he wondered.

“My period is ten days late.”

“Ten days isn't a lot, is it?” he said desperately.

“It's long enough.”

“But you've taken a test, haven't you? Confirmed it?”

“It's Christmas Day, Robert, just in case you've forgotten,” she snapped. “Where am I going to get a pregnancy test kit today?”

He licked his lips. “But you really think you could be?”

“Yes, I do.”

Taking a deep breath, he asked, “Have you decided what to do about it . . . about the baby?”

“No,” she said icily. “But you're the father. I wanted to talk to you first. Make some joint decisions. Real decisions.”

“Yes, yes, yes, of course.” This was a nightmare. If she were pregnant, they would have do something about it. Soon. He wondered how far gone she was. “Look, can we meet? Not today obviously . . .” he amended quickly. Getting out of the house now, with Christmas dinner about to be served, would be impossible. There would be too many awkward questions. “Tomorrow. Can we meet tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow might be a little difficult for me. . . .”

Robert shook his head in frustration. Why was she making things so difficult? “I really need to see you, to talk to you,” he said. “I can meet you. Anywhere,” he added.

“Anywhere?”

He thought he heard a touch of amusement in her question. “I'll go anywhere,” he insisted.

“Fine then. I'm at my parents' house.”

Robert frowned, trying to make sense of the statement. “In Wisconsin?” he asked finally.

“Yes.”

“What are you doing there?”

“Having a family Christmas,” she snapped. “Robert,” she hissed, “what did you expect me to do? Sit around in an empty house on Christmas Day reminding myself just how stupid I'd been?”

“Look, about yesterday . . . ,” he began.

“Dinner's ready!” Kathy's voice echoed faintly up the stairs.

“Not now,” Stephanie snapped. “I don't want to talk about the past. I want to talk about our child.”

Our child. Robert felt a chill wash over him. Our child.

“You know, I had no intention of ever seeing you again, of having anything to do with you. But that's changed now. If I am pregnant, I have to see you.”

“Yes, yes, of course you must.” A child. Our child. Robert drew in a long breath. “How sure?” He licked dry lips. “I mean how certain are you that you're pregnant?”

“You've asked me that already, and I'll give you the same answer: reasonably sure.”

“When will you know for certain?” He grasped at the straw: Reasonably sure was not the same as dead certain.

“Tomorrow,” she said.

“When are you coming home?” he asked.

“I don't know. I wasn't planning to come back until after the New Year, but I think this changes everything. I'll see if I can get back before the weekend. I'll check flights later.”

“Let me know what flight you're coming in on. I'll pick you up. We can talk. Make decisions. See what you want to do about it.”

Stephanie's voice was flat and unemotional, almost businesslike. “Robert, it's not what I want to do—this is our baby. It is all about what we want to do.”

“Well, let's talk about options. . . .”

“What do you mean by options?” she snapped immediately.

This was definitely not something they should be discussing over the phone; this was something that had to be handled face-to-face. If she'd just discovered that she was pregnant, then she was bound to be emotional and upset. He needed to give her a little time to think about things. “I mean what's best for you and the baby,” he finished lamely.

“Dad, dinner's on the table!” Brendan called.

“Look, I've got to go,” Robert said quickly. He didn't want the children coming up and finding the door locked, and he wanted to take a few moments to compose himself before he went down for dinner . . . though right now, he had absolutely no appetite. “It's great to hear from you, and good to know that you're okay.” He attempted a laugh, which sounded hollow even to his ears. “Though how you got to Madison on Christmas Eve, I'll never know. What were you thinking?”

“I wasn't. Bit like when I began my affair with you, Robert. I simply wasn't thinking of the consequences.”

The phone went dead before Robert could respond.

CHAPTER 30

T
hey had just finished their soup when the phone rang again.

Brendan and Theresa turned to look at their father, but Kathy said, “Let the machine get it. This is one of the few meals this family sits down to together.”

Robert nodded dubiously. What if it was Stephanie calling back? The last thing he needed was her voice calling out into the room. “I'd better get it. I'll just be a minute.”

Kathy sighed as she carried the soup bowls out to the kitchen.

Robert snatched up the phone. “Hello?”

“Robert Walker?”

“Yes, this is Robert Walker,” he said, puzzled. The caller ID showed a 617 area code.

“This is Sharon May Reed. I'm a nurse at Mass General. . . .”

“Hi,” Robert said, more puzzled than alarmed. “What can I do for you?”

Kathy came to the kitchen door, eyebrows raised in a silent question.

“I'm phoning on behalf of Mr. James Moran. . . .”

“James . . . I don't know . . . Oh, you mean Jimmy.”

“Yes. Jimmy Moran.”

“Is he okay?”

“Mr. Moran has just been admitted for observation. He's asked me to contact you. He said he'd like to see you.”

“Today?” Robert covered the mouthpiece and muttered to Kathy, “Mass General. Jimmy's been admitted.”

“But you were talking to him less than half an hour ago,” Kathy said, but Robert wasn't listening to her. The nurse was speaking again.

“Mr. Walker, are you there?” Nurse Reed asked.

“Yes, yes, I'm here. . . . It's just it's . . . Christmas, and I'm with my family. . . .”

“I fully understand,” the nurse said, in a tone that suggested that she didn't.

“Is it an emergency?” Robert asked.

“Is Mr. Moran a friend of yours?”

“Yes, yes, a good friend.”

“Then I think you'd better come.”

“Tell him I'm on the way.” He hung up and looked at Kathy. “It sounds really serious. I'm sorry, but I've got to go. . . .”

“I know. You should go. But how did he sound when you were talking to him earlier?”

Robert looked at his wife blankly, then remembered that he'd used Jimmy's name as the excuse for the previous call. “He sounded fine,” he said lamely. Lies upon lies upon lies. Where did it ever end?

“Go. Get your coat and gloves. I'll fill a thermos with coffee.”

 

The late afternoon sunlight was blinding, and Robert found himself squinting against the light as he drove to the hospital, wishing he'd brought his sunglasses. He could feel a headache—a combination of the light, lack of sleep, and stress—beginning to throb behind his eyes.

Robert sipped the hot over-sweetened coffee as he drove. What had happened to Jimmy, and why had he asked for him? Surely either Angela his wife or Frances his girlfriend would be with him?

He was surprised that Kathy had let him go so easily—though he had seen the expression of distrust in her eyes when she'd been questioning him about the earlier call. Why had he used Jimmy's name? If he got a chance, he might have a quick word with his old friend and ask him for an alibi, just in case Kathy asked. He'd given Jimmy alibis often enough in the past, though he had never thought he'd be needing a similar favor in return.

He was happy to be able to get out of the house. The conversation with Stephanie had shocked him to his core, left him feeling slightly shaky, almost as if he were coming down with the flu.

He was also stunned that following the dramatic confrontation between Kathy, Stephanie, and himself yesterday, Stephanie had managed to book herself on a flight back to Wisconsin. It was all so improbable. Maybe she was sitting at home, or in her friend's house, or somewhere in a bar in downtown Boston, just spinning him this story to keep him away from her. That also begged the question: Was she really pregnant? They'd broken up only yesterday, and suddenly she was pregnant. It was too much of a warped coincidence. He'd tried to get a straight answer out of her, but all she'd said was that she was reasonably sure that she was pregnant. Well, either she was or she wasn't.

And if she was . . . Well, Robert couldn't help but wonder how this impacted his New-Year, New-Start fantasy.

 

There is no place more lonely than a hospital on Christmas Day, Robert decided, following the directions the young woman at the reception desk had given him. Although there were Christmas trees on every floor at the nurses' stations, decorations on the walls, and Christmas cards and flowers everywhere, it had all the appearance of a movie set—everything was in place, but nothing belonged. Many of the rooms he passed were half empty, or held a single occupant, usually surrounded by a large family group, and there were far fewer nurses than he would have expected. He saw no doctors.

Jimmy Moran was in a private room on the side of the hospital that overlooked the Red Line. Robert checked the number on the half-open door and peered inside. It took him a single shocking moment to recognize the shrunken, pallid figure in the bed as his friend and mentor. Jimmy's fine, elegant features were sharply outlined against his skin, giving his face a skull-like appearance, and his flesh was the color of off-white paper, which highlighted the threads of broken veins in his cheeks. His jet-black hair was spread out on the pillow in a greasy swirl.

Conscious that his heart was hammering, Robert fixed a smile on his face and tapped on the door as he stepped into the room.

Jimmy turned his head to look at his visitor, tired eyes struggling to focus. Then he nodded and stretched out his right hand. A tube attached to a drip was taped to his left hand. “Robert . . .” He licked dry, cracked lips. “Robert,” he said a little more strongly, “thank you for coming.”

Robert pulled over a chair and sat down beside the bed. He took off his coat and laid it across the back of the chair. Jimmy was fifty-two years old—three years older than himself—but today, he looked older, much, much older. “You knew I'd come.”

Jimmy nodded. “I knew I could depend on you.” He glanced sidelong at the bedside table. “Pass me some water, would you?”

Robert stood to pour a glass of water. “I'm sorry I didn't have a chance to get you anything—flowers or chocolate or something like that—but when the hospital called I just came straight here.”

“I wasn't expecting you to woo me.” Jimmy laughed feebly. “I'm sorry to have dragged you away from your family on Christmas Day.”

“It's not a problem. Really. Kathy sends her love.” He held the glass to Jimmy's lips while he sipped, then helped Jimmy lie back on the pillow. When his friend was settled, Robert sat back down again and took his hand. “What happened?”

“Looks like a heart attack.” Jimmy grinned wryly. “I thought it was indigestion. I was cooking the turkey, and I'd been picking away at it all morning, just testing to see if it was cooked through. Plus, I'd had most of a bottle of an indifferent South African red.”

“But, Jimmy, you can't cook! Do you remember that barbecue we had at your Quincy house when you'd finished renovating it? I spent a week with Montezuma's revenge after that.”

Jimmy laughed. The laughter turned into a quiet, wheezing cough that seemed to catch in the center of his chest. “I remember. You and me both, though the women were unaffected.”

“Yeah, because they didn't touch the sausages. I think both Kathy and Angela pretended to be vegetarians.” Robert kept his tone light and the smile on his lips. The color of Jimmy's skin, the blue of his lips was frightening him. “So how did you get in here?”

“I knew there was a problem when the indigestion didn't go away, and then I knew there was a bigger problem when it moved into my left arm. I'd a good idea what that meant. Shit, Robert, how many people in our business do we know who've had problems with their tickers?”

“Too many,” Robert agreed. The lifestyle combination of too much business conducted over too many rich meals, coupled with incredible amounts of stress, meant that heart problems, high blood pressure, and high cholesterol were endemic in the business. He'd been meaning to have his own cholesterol checked recently, but he'd never had the time.

“I dialed 911,” Jimmy went on. “And then I waited. And waited. And waited.” He attempted a shrug, which hurt. “Of course it's Christmas Day, and the roads are shite. I was waiting about forty-five minutes before they got to me. I could have walked to the hospital in that time.” His eyes filled with tears. “It felt like an eternity. I think I might have had another attack sitting in the chair. Felt like I'd been stabbed in the shoulder.”

“Where were you?”

“In the apartment in the North End.”

“Alone?”

Jimmy nodded.

“Jimmy, why didn't you say something to me the other night? You could have spent Christmas with us. I didn't even think to ask; I thought you'd go to Frances or that maybe Angela would have you home for the day.” Frances, a former actress, was Jimmy's girlfriend who had given him a son eighteen months earlier. Angela was Jimmy's long-suffering wife who was in the process of divorcing him.

“I didn't want to impose on you,” Jimmy whispered. “Actually,” he admitted, “I was hoping that Angela would have me back . . . just for the day, as you say. But she's done with me. Really done this time. I tried calling her from the apartment, but she wouldn't answer. Frances picked up her phone, but put it down again when she heard my voice.” There were tears on his cheeks now. “All I wanted to do was to say good-bye . . . just in case.”

“Why didn't you go up to Concord and stay with Frances?”

“I spoke to her yesterday morning and suggested it, but I could tell she wasn't too keen on the idea. She said she was snowed in and that I'd never make it up. I wasn't sure whether to believe her or not, but I got the impression that even if she wasn't snowed in, she didn't want me around. I've a feeling,” he added with a wry smile, “that she's found herself a nice young man, with the emphasis on young. More power to her.”

“Jesus, Jimmy—what a mess.”

“I always did have a flare for the dramatic.”

“Have the doctors seen you yet?”

“I was checked in about two hours ago by some young fella who looked like he was about twelve. All he'd tell me was there was some arrhythmia—as if I didn't know that—but that they'd take me in for observation and they'd have to do some tests, take some X-rays and scans to be sure. He said they'd have to wait for a little while because the alcohol in my system would mask the results, and it also means they couldn't give me any meds. Let me give you a piece of advice, son, don't ever come into the hospital on Christmas Day. Any other day of the year, you're fine—but not Christmas.”

“I kind of figured that. How do you feel now?”

Jimmy pushed himself up in the bed. Robert adjusted the pillows and helped Jimmy to sit a little straighter. “Considering everything, not too bad. Better now that you're here. I'm feeling a little guilty now that I dragged you away from your family.”

Robert shook his head. “I would have been annoyed if you hadn't.”

Jimmy reached over and squeezed Robert's hand. “Waiting for the ambulance to arrive, feeling the pain in my chest getting worse, watching black spots before my eyes . . . You know, I thought I was going to die.”

“Why didn't you call me?”

“Because if I did die, I didn't want you to find my dead body.”

“Thanks . . . I think,” Robert muttered. His own father had died fifteen years ago. Although he'd been living on the other side of Boston, less than an hour away from where Robert lived, they had rarely seen one another. When Robert had seen his father laid out in the open coffin in the funeral parlor, he hadn't recognized the bloated figure.

Jimmy tilted his head toward the gray window. A train squealed by, oblivious to the storm. The sky was leaden, and the snow was falling heavily now, coating the piles of grimy slush in a new layer of white; heavy, fat drops hit against the windows and curled slowly down to gather at the base of the frame in a lattice of ice crystals. “A white Christmas,” Robert said, glancing over his shoulder. “I don't remember the last one we had, do you?”

Jimmy shook his head. “Never forget this one though.”

“Amen to that,” Robert said grimly. He wasn't ever going to forget this Christmas.

“Will you do me a favor before you go?” Jimmy asked.

Robert spun around. “Go? Go where? I'm not leaving.”