lightly. “Do you want me to have this baby?”
He continued staring at the taco. Suddenly he wasn’t hungry either. An infant certainly didn’t figure in his plans. And he was too old to be a father for the third time.
Still, somewhere in the core of his mind or soul, he was pleased by the news. He told himself it was a dangerous reaction, some reflexive thing that happened to help ensure survival of the species. Something out of the ooze. But he really was pleased.
“Fred?”
“My gut instinct is to say yes, have the baby.” He tried to tilt the umbrella sprouting out of the center of the table so it blocked the low angle of the sun. Something was wrong with the aluminum mechanism and the umbrella kept rocking back to its previous position. He reached into his shirt pocket for his sunglasses and put them on, wondering if Beth would think he didn’t want her to read his eyes. “There are problems, of course.”
“Of course,” she said.
“But as of this moment. . . yes.” He fought a crazy impulse to leap up and whoop, as he had when Laura had told him about her first pregnancy.
“I’m not sure I’m going to go through with this, Fred.”
He’d somehow known she was going to say it. The prospect of parenthood had been hanging off-kilter over them, like the umbrella. “Is it your decision alone?” he asked.
“I’m not sure. I’m not sure of anything right now. Goddamned hormones or something.”
“You’re not going to cry again, are you?”
“I make no promises.” But she didn’t look as if she was about to cry.
“We talking about an abortion?” he asked.
“Yes.” She looked directly into his eyes, her own dark eyes still with a hint of the pain he’d glimpsed in his office.
He removed his sunglasses and wiped their lenses on his shirt, watching a bus bluster and bully its way through traffic on Magellan until it passed out of sight, leaving behind it a low, dark haze of diesel exhaust that dulled the gleam of sunlight on the lineup of less aggressive vehicles.
“How do you feel about abortion, Fred?”
“In this case, I don’t know. It’s different when it isn’t in the abstract, when it’s you.”
“I always thought it was strictly the woman’s call and that I’d opt out of a pregnancy,” Beth said. “Maybe I still feel that way, but I gotta tell you, it’s weighing on me. And I don’t want to leave you out of it.”
He put his sunglasses back on and smiled. “You want to share the guilt?” He hadn’t meant to say it; he believed in a woman’s fundamental right to control her own reproductive system.
“Dammit, don’t start laying that kind of shit on me, Fred.”
Quickly he said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . . Jesus, I don’t know!” He bit into his taco savagely and dribbled more sauce on his shirt. Quite a mess. He held the taco in one hand and used the other to pick up his napkin and wipe his shirt as clean as possible. “You’re right,” he said, dropping the taco, “these don’t taste good. Not this evening, anyway.”
“I’ve got to think hard on this, Fred. I don’t know what I’m going to decide. What I have a right to do—or not do. It’s a tough decision either way. I never did believe that bullshit about millions of women having abortions as a casual form of birth control. Now I know it’s not true; nobody could take this lightly.”
“A few people could,” Carver said. “You’re not one of them.”
“Who I am is part of the problem, too.”
“Meaning?”
“The child will be biracial. That carries its own troubles.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he snapped, defending his offspring already.
“Not to you or me, obviously. But it matters to some people, and the child would suffer for it. I’ve seen people caught in that cold, empty zone between the races. And it ripples through generations. I’ve seen it cause agony and even death.”
“I’ve seen it work out OK,” Carver said.
“Yeah, some of the time it
He continued staring at the taco. Suddenly he wasn’t hungry either. An infant certainly didn’t figure in his plans. And he was too old to be a father for the third time.
Still, somewhere in the core of his mind or soul, he was pleased by the news. He told himself it was a dangerous reaction, some reflexive thing that happened to help ensure survival of the species. Something out of the ooze. But he really was pleased.
“Fred?”
“My gut instinct is to say yes, have the baby.” He tried to tilt the umbrella sprouting out of the center of the table so it blocked the low angle of the sun. Something was wrong with the aluminum mechanism and the umbrella kept rocking back to its previous position. He reached into his shirt pocket for his sunglasses and put them on, wondering if Beth would think he didn’t want her to read his eyes. “There are problems, of course.”
“Of course,” she said.
“But as of this moment. . . yes.” He fought a crazy impulse to leap up and whoop, as he had when Laura had told him about her first pregnancy.
“I’m not sure I’m going to go through with this, Fred.”
He’d somehow known she was going to say it. The prospect of parenthood had been hanging off-kilter over them, like the umbrella. “Is it your decision alone?” he asked.
“I’m not sure. I’m not sure of anything right now. Goddamned hormones or something.”
“You’re not going to cry again, are you?”
“I make no promises.” But she didn’t look as if she was about to cry.
“We talking about an abortion?” he asked.
“Yes.” She looked directly into his eyes, her own dark eyes still with a hint of the pain he’d glimpsed in his office.
He removed his sunglasses and wiped their lenses on his shirt, watching a bus bluster and bully its way through traffic on Magellan until it passed out of sight, leaving behind it a low, dark haze of diesel exhaust that dulled the gleam of sunlight on the lineup of less aggressive vehicles.
“How do you feel about abortion, Fred?”
“In this case, I don’t know. It’s different when it isn’t in the abstract, when it’s you.”
“I always thought it was strictly the woman’s call and that I’d opt out of a pregnancy,” Beth said. “Maybe I still feel that way, but I gotta tell you, it’s weighing on me. And I don’t want to leave you out of it.”
He put his sunglasses back on and smiled. “You want to share the guilt?” He hadn’t meant to say it; he believed in a woman’s fundamental right to control her own reproductive system.
“Dammit, don’t start laying that kind of shit on me, Fred.”
Quickly he said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . . Jesus, I don’t know!” He bit into his taco savagely and dribbled more sauce on his shirt. Quite a mess. He held the taco in one hand and used the other to pick up his napkin and wipe his shirt as clean as possible. “You’re right,” he said, dropping the taco, “these don’t taste good. Not this evening, anyway.”
“I’ve got to think hard on this, Fred. I don’t know what I’m going to decide. What I have a right to do—or not do. It’s a tough decision either way. I never did believe that bullshit about millions of women having abortions as a casual form of birth control. Now I know it’s not true; nobody could take this lightly.”
“A few people could,” Carver said. “You’re not one of them.”
“Who I am is part of the problem, too.”
“Meaning?”
“The child will be biracial. That carries its own troubles.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he snapped, defending his offspring already.
“Not to you or me, obviously. But it matters to some people, and the child would suffer for it. I’ve seen people caught in that cold, empty zone between the races. And it ripples through generations. I’ve seen it cause agony and even death.”
“I’ve seen it work out OK,” Carver said.
“Yeah, some of the time it
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