Loving (22 page)

John and Bettina stood side by side outside the church for almost half an hour, smiling, kissing cheeks, shaking dozens of hands. And through it all Bettina watched them, his cousins, his classmates, his patients, his friends. And remarkably they all looked the same. They all looked healthy, youthful, smiling, wholesome. It was all so pretty and bland.

"Happy?" He looked at her for a moment as they stepped into his car. He hadn't hired a limousine. He said it was expensive and silly. He would drive himself.

She nodded as she looked at him. And remarkably she was very happy. There was something very refreshing about this new world. "Very." She didn't have to be sparkling and witty. Didn't have to be charming, or give the best dinner parries in town. She just had to be pleasant and make inane comments as she stood beside John. In many ways it was restful and undemanding after the years she had spent of being eternally "on." "I love you, Doctor." She smiled at him, and this time she really meant it.

He smiled back at her. "I love you too."

They went to Carmel on their honeymoon and spent three heavenly days wandering through shops and walking along the beach. They drove down to Big Sur one afternoon and held hands as they looked at the surf. They had long romantic dinners and spent the mornings in bed. It was everything a honeymoon should have been. And two weeks later, as Bettina sat in the gallery on Union Street, she felt desperately ill. She went home early and went to bed, where John found her later, curled up, looking ghastly, and trying to sleep. He frowned as he looked at her, inquired about her symptoms, and then sat down gently on the side of the bed.

"Can I have a look at you, Betty?" It still seemed funny to her when he called her by that name.

"Sure." She sat up in bed and tried to smile at him. "But I don't think there's much to look at. I just have the flu. Mary said she had it last week."

He nodded and examined her gently: he found her lungs clear, her eyes bright, and no fever. And then he looked at her, wondering, and smiled happily. "Maybe you're pregnant."

She looked at him, startled. "Already?" It didn't seem possible. Two weeks after they had stopped using birth control? That had been his idea.

"We'll see."

"How soon will we know?" Suddenly she felt anxious.

But John was smiling, pleased with himself. "We can find out in about two weeks. I'll have them run a test in the office, and if it comes out positive, I'll send you to an O.B."

"Can I go to Mary's?" Suddenly everything made her feel anxious. What was happening to her? Who had made this decision? She was terrified just thinking about it, and she didn't want it to be true.

He kissed her forehead and left the room. He was back a few minutes later with a cup of tea and some crackers. "Try this." She did and a little while later she was feeling physically better, but still very much afraid. But she didn't dare tell him that.

Two weeks later John came home with a small bottle and put it in her hand before they went to bed. "Use this tomorrow morning. First urine. Leave it in the fridge, and I'll take it to work."

"Will you call me as soon as they do it?" She looked at him grimly, and he patted her arm and smiled.

"I know you're excited, baby. Just hang in. We'll know in the morning. And I promise, I'll call you as soon as we know." And then after he kissed her, "I'm pretty excited too, you know." And she knew he was being honest. He had looked as though he had been floating on air for two weeks. It had made it that much more impossible to tell him how she felt. And then suddenly, in a burst, she had to tell him as they lay side by side in the dark.

"John?"

"Yes, Betty?"

She reached out and took his hand as she pressed herself into his back. "I'm scared."

He sounded surprised. "Of what?"

"Of ... you know ... of"--she felt like an ass as she said it, it was so normal to him--"of being pregnant."

"But what are you afraid of, silly?" He turned around in their bed and faced her in the dark.

"Of ... well ... what if it's like the last timer?" It was hard to get out the words.

"You mean you're afraid you might lose it?" She nodded, but in truth she was afraid of much more than that.

"A little ... but ... oh, I don't know, John, I'm just scared. What if it's awful ... if it's too painful ... if I can't stand it ... I ... what if I can't take the pain?"

There were tears in her eyes as she asked him the questions and he took her shoulders in both of his hands. "Now I want you to stop this, Betty. Right now. Birth is a perfectly normal occurrence, there is nothing to be afraid of. Look at Mary. Did she die of the pain? Of course not." He answered his own question with a smile. "Now, just trust me. When you have the baby, I'll be with you every minute, and it'll be nothing, you'll see. Really, I promise you. This whole pain in childbirth thing is immensely overrated. It just isn't that bad."

She felt comforted, but there was still a thread of terror running through her soul.

She leaned over and kissed him gently. "Thank you ... for wanting the baby. Would we stay here?" She had moved into his apartment, which was spacious and pretty, but it only had one bedroom and a small den, which he used a lot. But there was a long silence after she asked him, and then a chuckle from his side of the bed. "What does that mean?" He didn't often tease, and she looked surprised. "Well?"

"It means mind your own business ..." And then he couldn't resist. He had to tell her. "Oh, all right, Betty, I'll tell you, but don't get excited yet. Nothing is sure. But"--he paused dramatically and she turned around to watch him, smiling--"yesterday I put a bid on a house."

She looked astonished. "You did? Why didn't you tell me? Where? John Fields, you're impossible!" He grinned proudly at her and she looked thrilled.

"Wait till you hear. It's in Mill Valley. And it's next door to Seth and Mary's house." He sounded triumphant and Bettina grinned.

"That's fabulous!"

"Isn't it? Just keep your fingers crossed that we get it."

"Do you think we will?"

"I think we might. But first, let's find out if you're pregnant, madam. That's a lot more important. At least to me." He put an arm around her and they snuggled in the bed.

Her old life forgotten, gone the penthouses, the lofts and the elegant co-ops, the quiet town house ... all she could think of was her house in Mill Valley, her baby, her husband, and her new life.

"Do you realize that this is the hottest June they've had since nineteen eleven? I heard it on the radio yesterday while I was lying on the bathroom floor trying to cool off." Bettina looked at Mary in despair as she fanned herself in Mary's kitchen, and her friend and neighbor laughed.

"I have to admit, I can't think of anything worse than being nine months pregnant in the heat." And then she laughed again as she looked at Bettina with sympathy. "But I've done it both times." Her children were three years old, and ten months now, but both were mercifully down for their naps.

Bettina grinned halfheartedly and picked at the dry tuna fish salad she'd brought. "May I remind you that I am nine and a half months pregnant." With a dismal sigh she looked down at the tuna fish and made a face. "Yuk, I can't eat any more." She pushed it away and attempted to settle herself more comfortably in the chair.

Mary looked at her sympathetically. "Do you want to lie down on the couch?"

"Only if you realize that I may never be able to get up."

"That's all right. If we can't get you up, Seth can push the couch out our back door into yours."

And then Bettina smiled at her. "Isn't it nice being neighbors?"

Mary smiled back. "It sure is."

They had had the house for six months. And it had meant commuting to the city to her job at the gallery for the first four, but finally John had let her off the hook when she had complained that she'd never get the house done unless she quit and stayed home. He had eventually relented, and she was ecstatic to be free. But the ecstasy had only lasted for a few weeks. In her last month of pregnancy she had been so tired, so bloated, so uncomfortable that she hadn't been able to get anything done.

Now as she stretched out on the couch she looked at her friend. Although they were neighbors, they hadn't seen each other in weeks. "Is it always like this for you?"

Mary looked pensive for a minute. "It's different for everyone, Betty. And it's different for every woman each time."

Bettina grinned. "You sound like a nurse."

Mary laughed in answer. "I guess I still am. Everytime I see you, I find myself wanting to ask you questions about what's happening, are your ankles swollen, are you getting headaches, generally how do you feel? But I restrain myself. I figure you must be getting enough of that from John."

But Bettina shook her head, smiling. "Surprisingly he's very good. He never says much of anything. His feeling is that it's a natural process, it's no big deal."

"And what does your O.B. say?"

Bettina looked relaxed as she answered. It had taken her the full nine months to dispense with the last of her fears. Now she knew they had all been groundless. And she knew that she was well prepared. "He says pretty much the same thing."

"Is that what you think?" Mary looked stunned.

"Hell, yes. I've worked my ass off with those breathing exercises in the classes I've gone to. I know I've got it down pat. Now, if I'd just have the baby." She sat up awkwardly on the couch, and for a moment she flinched. "Christ, my back is killing me."

Mary handed her two more cushions and brought over a stool for her feet.

"Thanks, love." She smiled gratefully, and carefully raised her feet. But even the pillows didn't seem to help her back. It had been killing her all day.

"Something bothering you?"

"My back."

Mary nodded and went on. "You know, I was scared shitless before the first one. And actually"--she smiled openly--"I was kind of scared before my second one too."

"And how was it?" Bettina looked at her frankly.

Mary smiled pensively in answer. "Not bad. I was pretty well prepared the second time, and I had Seth with me." And then she looked at Bettina pointedly. "But I was not in any way prepared for the first."

"Why not?" Bettina looked intrigued.

"Because even though I was an O.B. nurse and I'd seen it a thousand times, no one can really tell you what it's like. It hurts, Betty. Don't kid yourself about it. It hurts a lot. It's kind of like a long, hard race for a long time, and then you get to a point when you think you can't take it, from about seven centimeters on. Hopefully that doesn't last too long. And then you get to pushing. That's exhausting, but it's not so bad."

She wanted to ask her how John had let her go to McCarney. He was the coldest, cruelest doctor she had ever assisted in O.B. Twice she had left the delivery room in tears after the patient had delivered. And after that she had always disappeared when she knew he was bringing someone in. "Do you like him?"

Bettina seemed to hesitate for a long time. "I trust him. I think he's a very good doctor, but I don't ... I don't love him." She grinned sheepishly. "But John says he's an excellent doctor. He teaches at the university, he's done a lot of recent research papers. He's apparently working on some fancy new equipment too. John says he's really tops. But he isn't ... well, he isn't warm. But I figured it didn't really matter. If he's good and John's there, so what?"

Mary thought for a moment. There was no point frightening her now. It was too late. "McCarney is certainly a very respected doctor, he's just not quite as warm and friendly as mine. And you'll have John with you." Thank God. "But try to be realistic about a first labor, Betty. It could take a while."

Bettina watched her in silence for a moment, and then shook her head. When she spoke, it was very softly, with an old memory still lingering in her eyes. "This isn't my first time, Mary."

"It's not?" Now she was shocked. "You've had another baby?" But when? With whom? What had happened to it? Did it die? She restrained the questions and Bettina went on.

"I had a miscarriage at four months a year and a half ago, before I moved to California. In fact"--she decided to tell the truth now, she felt oddly close to her friend--"that was how I met John. I had the miscarriage and moved to San Francisco a week later, got depressed, and tried to commit suicide. They called John after they pumped my stomach, and"--she smiled softly--"we got to be friends."

"Well, I'll be damned. He never said a thing to us."

This time Bettina smiled more broadly. "I know. He didn't want me to either. But Seth knows."

"Sethi?" Mary looked at her in disbelief.

Bettina grinned. "He handled my divorce."

"You were married before too? Well, aren't you full of secrets. Anything else?"

Bettina laughed and shrugged. "Not too many. Just a few ... let's see...." Suddenly she wanted to make a clean breast of it to someone, and she had never felt as close to her friend. "I've been married twice."

"Including John?" Mary checked it out.

"Before John." Bettina spoke softly. "Once to a much older man, and once to an actor. I used to work in the theater, my last jobs were as assistant director--"

"You?" Mary looked not only stunned but impressed.

"And my father was a writer. A well-known one." She smiled and sat back against her pillows as Mary watched.

"Who was he? Anyone I've ever heard of?"

"Probably." She knew Mary read a lot. "Justin Daniels."

"What ... Of course ... Bettina Daniels ... but I never made the connection. Jesus, Bettina, why didn't you tell us?" And then she put both hands on her hips. "Or does Seth know all of this too?"

But Bettina shook her head firmly. "He only knows about my last marriage. He doesn't know all the rest."

"Then why didn't you tell us?"

Bettina shrugged. "John's not very proud of my checkered past. I'm afraid." Momentarily she looked embarrassed. "I didn't want to--to humiliate him."

"Humiliate him? How? By being Justin Daniels's daughter? I would think he'd be proud. And as for the rest, your two marriages, so what, I'm sure they made sense or you wouldn't have done it, and your friends would love you no matter what. People who love you will always understand, or at least try to. The others ... who cares? Your father must have known that. I'm sure people didn't always approve of the way he lived."