It Happened One Night (34 page)

Over the last week, she and Karin had spent a lot of time cooped up together. And they’d been talking a lot about their childhood—dredging
up all those memories, good and bad. Until now, Lana hadn’t wanted to revisit those old moments that she’d worked so hard
to forget. But somehow, the conversations didn’t feel like volunteering for a series of self-inflicted wounds. Instead she
was growing closer to her sister, opening up to her as an equal, healing and getting control.

Yesterday, in the midst of a discussion about the way Calvert had treated his boarders, Karin had convinced Lana that she
needed to talk to their father. When Lana had collapsed in the Wildflower Barn, Calvert had called the ambulance for her and
stayed with her, talking softly and telling her it would be okay. He’d grabbed a sweatshirt from a display and put it under
her head, and he’d found a blanket embroidered with cosmos to help stave off shock. At the very least, she owed him the courtesy
of saying thanks.

Now, she walked slowly out of the bedroom, excruciatingly attuned to the pressure between her legs. She could feel that the
baby was pressing downward now, its little heels tap-dancing on her diaphragm. She had a strong sense that she was carrying
the baby inside her the same way that she might carry it in her arms; even the lightest bundle could become exhausting after
too long. Being pregnant was no longer one of her body’s functions, but had become its first and most basic function. The
baby was impatient to be born and she soothed it, daily, saying,
Just a little more time.

Calvert’s eyes grew wide with worry when she turned the corner that led to the living room. Among the brightly colored tapestries
and spangled saris that decorated the room, he looked completely out of place. He was dressed more nicely than she’d seen
in a while. What hair he had left was slicked flat against the sides of his head; she could see the teeth marks from the comb
he’d used to brush it back.

“Here she is,” Karin said, and Lana could tell that she too was a little nervous. “I guess I’ll just leave you two alone.”

Lana sat down in the armchair on the opposite side of the room as Karin left. She had actually gotten dressed today, and her
maternity jeans and blue sweater felt constricting and itchy on her skin. “Hi, Calvert.”

“Lana.” He shifted in his chair, uncomfortable. “How you feeling?”

“I’m hanging in there,” she said.

“You like being… you know?”

She managed a smile. “I like it very much. I’d like to
stay
pregnant for at least a couple more weeks. For the baby’s sake.” She leaned back in her chair to accommodate her belly and
clasped her hands. She liked that her father really did seem interested in her pregnancy—that he’d thought to ask if she
liked
how she felt. It was a nice consolation from a man who hadn’t seemed to care much what she liked or didn’t like ages ago.

“I brought this for you,” he said, reaching into the bag beside him and pulling out a small present. “Karin told me that with
everything going on, you weren’t able to get together a baby shower. I hope you like it.”

She took the small gift. It was wrapped in a muted yellow paper, smiling ducks looking back at her. “You didn’t need to do
this…”

“Yeah, well… I did,” he said.

She slid her thumb under a bit of masking tape and slowly opened the present. Inside was a kit to grow a child’s garden. It
was too old for a newborn. But Calvert most likely saw the child-friendly colors and baby-sized gardening tools, and it had
inspired him.

“I know how you feel about flowers…,” he said.

Tears came to her eyes, and she blinked them back, remembering too vividly the moment when he’d given her a bit of jewelweed
and shown her what flowers were for the first time. Could he know how much that moment still meant to her? She set the garden
kit down gently on her lap. “Why did you have me?” she asked.

“What?”

“I understand why you had Karin—because it was an accident. But why
me
? Why didn’t you stop at one?”

He took in a deep breath, then sighed. “Well, see, Karin wasn’t totally an accident.”

“Okay…?”

He fidgeted in his seat, and he seemed to struggle for something to look at, something other than Lana’s face. “Your mom and
I… we were young. Dumb. We sorta kicked around the idea of getting married and having kids. And so we stopped being totally
careful all the time.”

Lana couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing. “So Karin was intentional?”

“I wouldn’t put it that way,” he replied. “Neither one of us actually thought Ellen’d get pregnant. We just liked the danger
of it. I imagine Ellen got to telling people it was an accident on account of the divorce. But at the time it felt like we
were daring the gods or something. And when Ellen did conceive, I remember feeling… good. But scared too.”

Lana bit the inside of her lip, not sure how to respond. She couldn’t picture the man sitting before her now being joyfully
reckless, tempting fate. He’d always seemed so insensitive, so resigned to whatever fate dealt him. At least, that was how
he’d been when they moved in with him. He’d always tolerated them, but nothing more. “Well, even if Karin wasn’t exactly an
accident, why did you have
me
?”

Calvert grimaced, deep wrinkles pulling around his mouth. “It was your mother’s idea mostly. And I’m afraid she didn’t get
a fair shake. She told me she wanted another baby, and what was I supposed to do?”

“You didn’t want another baby?”

“No. But I went along.”

“You could have told her no.”

“I thought maybe if we had another one, I’d be happy.”

Lana couldn’t ignore the pang of sympathy she felt for him. “Were you happy?”

“I suppose not,” he said, thoughtful and a little sad. “I wasn’t cut out for a family. For kids. But you don’t always know
these things when you’re young. And I made a mistake.”

Lana turned the little garden kit over in her hands, the bright tulips and daffodils blurring as she spun it around. Her father
looked at parenting a different way than she did. His reasons for having a child extended beyond the simple desire to be a
parent. He’d wanted Karin and Lana to fix a problem—for Karin to be the thrill that kept a young romance going. And for Lana
to be the glue to keep a failing marriage from falling apart.

But Lana wanted her baby only for its own sake. She wanted to search out the joy in life with her son or daughter by her side—to
share that enjoyment. And maybe, if she did things right, to go someday from being called
Mother
to being called
Friend
. She wasn’t giving up on her dreams of traveling—not by a long shot. But she hoped someday to have her child beside her when
she saw the world. The baby had become an important and intrinsic part of the fabric of the future, bonding with her dreams
the same way it had bonded with her body as the months passed.

Calvert slid his palms along his thighs as if they were sweaty. His gaze stayed focused on his hands. His words seemed measured
and deliberate when at last he spoke. “You and Karin turned out real well. No thanks to me. I mean, I ignored you girls. I
know I did. I thought it was unfair the way life turned out, and I took it out on you.”

Lana was quiet, astonished by the simple way he admitted to doing wrong. It took courage, she knew, to be able to apologize
so candidly. She respected him for that.

He looked up, his ice-blue eyes fathomless, when she looked on. “I’m not asking for you to all of a sudden forget everything.
But I’d sleep a whole lot better at night if you’d tell me you forgive me. If you can.”

She nodded and managed to smile. Forgiveness rolled up out of her soul, easy as breathing. She realized she’d been waiting
for this moment a long time. “I’m over it,” she said, to keep the moment light. “All of it. Water under the bridge.”

“Thanks,” he said.

She patted her belly, not quite realizing she’d done it. “So what will you do now?”

He shrugged. “Well, I might stick around ’til the baby’s born. If it’s okay with you.”

“Where are you staying?”

“Karin called the cops off me a while back. So I’m in the Madison again. And I’m working too. Got a job at an office building.
Custodial stuff.”

Lana swallowed. “So, you’re going to stay around here?”

“For a while. But I thought maybe I’d like to learn to drive a truck. I think I’d do good on the open road.”

Lana smiled. “Well, for now, I’m glad you’re here. I want the baby to meet you.”

He looked down. “Thank you,” he said.

December 21

The inside of the exam room at the obstetrician’s office was oddly soundless given how busy the waiting room had been. Karin
had joined her sister for her thirty-four-week appointment, and now Lana sat on the exam table, white paper crinkling beneath
her flimsy gown. Under the harsh ceiling lights, Karin could set a watch by Lana’s visible breathing, her belly rising and
falling in arduous waves.

“How close am I?” Lana asked the nurse. “Can you tell?”

The nurse, who had a pretty heart-shaped face, smiled. “Well, it’s hard to say. You’re two centimeters dilated and about 40
percent effaced. You still have a ways to go.”

“My back is hurting on and off,” Lana said. “I’m worried it’s contractions.”

“It might be. If they’re around ten minutes apart, then you’ll want to head over to the hospital to get checked out. But otherwise,
you’ll just have to sit tight.”

“Are you sure?” Lana asked.

The nurse laughed—a little pity in her eyes—and she patted Lana’s shoulder. “First-time moms always rush off to the hospital
at the first sign of labor. It’s pretty common. But you have time. You have
lots
of time. Believe me. I was in labor for thirteen hours with my first. Just be sure that when your water breaks, you get to
the hospital. Okay?”

“All right,” Lana said. “I guess I’m just a little nervous.”

“All new moms are. Just relax.”

“Is there anything else we should know?” Karin asked. “Anything she shouldn’t do?”

“She’s got about six more days of bedrest. Then, as long as it’s sensible, she can do anything she wants.” She turned to look
at Lana directly, a twinkle in her eye. “You can even go back to having sex.”

Lana gave a weak grin. “Probably not going to happen.”

Karin would have laughed, except that she knew just how Lana was feeling deep down. She’d talked to her husband only a handful
of times since he left. Though she stood next to the phone every night, her hand gripping the receiver, she fought hard against
the urge to call. He’d said he needed space, and she vowed to give it. When she did allow herself to talk to him, she always
hung up the phone feeling farther away from him than before.

After Lana had dressed, she left the exam room as quickly as she could, leaving Karin there with only the nurse at the sink.
She looked around at the posters of reproductive systems and pictures of childbirth stages and all the other incomprehensible
medical illustrations that made her think of Ripley’s “Believe It or Not.” Karin’s gaze lingered on a poster of fetal development,
the way a child grows from an imperceptible speck rendered in miniaturist’s detail to a full-term work of art.

She’d thought this would have been
her
moment. That she would have been here for her own baby by now.

“Do you need something?” the nurse asked, her thin eyebrows politely raised.

Karin paused, strangely paralyzed by the question.

All this time, she’d believed her sole purpose in life was to be a mother. She’d become obsessed—she could see that now. But
her identity was bigger than that. Gene’s absence had forced a realization: Her role in the world mattered deeply to the people
around her, even if she didn’t have a child of her own.

She didn’t need to have a son or daughter to be complete. She wanted a family, certainly. She always would. But she would
never again endanger the family she had now for the family she merely wished for. She
wanted
children. She
needed
her husband. Now it was just a matter of showing him, somehow, what she’d learned.

The nurse’s smile was a little put-off. “I said, do you need something else?”

The answer came from someplace quiet and peaceful within her.

“No,” she said. “No, I don’t.”

•  •  •

December 24

Eli stood on the porch looking out over the countryside, a light dusting of snow glowing faintly on the ground against the
night. He could still hear the sounds of happy laughter inside the house behind him. Some old friends he’d become reacquainted
with at the meteorite convention had invited him to dinner, and he’d been pleased to go. But about halfway through—among the
cheerful adults drinking spiced wine, children crawling on all fours under the dining room table, and plates upon plates of
festive cakes and pies—he’d become aware that his heart was giving a low, resonating cry. He’d had to escape for a moment.
And so he’d excused himself.

On the porch, the air was painfully cold, smelling of snow and wood smoke, but he welcomed its bite. He pushed his hands deep
into his jeans pockets, and when he sighed his breath was thick as white smoke. Above, the sky seemed higher and more endless
than usual, stars punctuating the unthinkable black distance of space. Summer had warm air and friendly haze, but winter…
winter had
this
: the clarity of vision that comes with hard, merciless cold.

He heard the sound of a woman laughing, and he thought of
her
. Always
her.
She hadn’t called or e-mailed, as he’d hoped she might. Nothing indicated that she was at all interested in seeing or talking
to him.

“Hey, man!” Clem, his friend from graduate school, smacked him cheerfully on the back as he came outside onto the porch. In
the silence of the night, his boots made hollow thumps on the wooden slats. “Whatcha doing? It’s freezing out here!”

Eli turned to him and smiled. “Just needed some air.”