York just to pack up. All you’d do is wear yourself out, and we don’t want you to do that, do we? Carrying a baby always has its risks, you know.”
Though there was nothing in Anna’s voice to indicate that she was thinking of her own last pregnancy, Janet decided to use her mother-in-law’s words as an opening. “Laura told me what happened,” she said, softly. When Anna made no response, she pressed a little harder. “The night Mark left—”
Suddenly understanding, Anna’s eyes hardened. “Laura had no right to burden you with that,” she said. “Besides, she doesn’t know the first thing about it. She was just a child.”
“But she wasn’t burdening me,” Janet protested. “She’s frightened. We were talking about you, and I asked her what happened. So she told me. At least she told me about you losing your baby, and Mark never coming home again.” Janet’s voice dropped slightly. “And she said that you never told her exactly what happened that night. I think she’s been terrified ever since. Terrified that the same thing might happen to her.”
Anna stared at Janet for a few seconds, then shook her head. “She shouldn’t worry,” she said at last. And then Anna’s voice took on the same tone of recitation Janet had heard from Laura. “All that happened to me was that I overworked myself and brought the labor on prematurely. It was a breech birth, and the cord wrapped around the baby’s neck.” She paused a moment, then: “That’s what they told me, and that’s what I believe,” she finished. The emphasis in her voice, though, only made Janet certain there was something Anna was leaving out, something she was not about to talk about. Indeed, she had already wheeled herself out of the kitchen to the foot of the stairs, and was now calling to her husband and grandson.
“You mean we’re not going back to New York
at all?”
Michael asked. He’d sat in silence while Janet had explained to him that she’d decided to arrange for movers to pack them and let an agent handle the subleasing of the apartment. Now he was on his feet, his eyes stormy, a vein throbbing angrily in his forehead.
“It just seems best—” Janet began, but Michael cut her off.
“Best for who?” he demanded. “What about my friends? Don’t I even get to say goodbye to them?”
“But you said goodbye when we came out here—”
“That was different!” Michael’s voice began to rise. “When we left, we were coming back!”
Amos rose and moved toward the angry boy. “Michael! Don’t talk to your mother in that tone of voice.”
With no hesitation, Michael swung around to face his grandfather. “Don’t tell me what to do,” he said. “You’re not my father!” Whirling around, his face contorted with fury, he stormed out of the dining room. Amos started to follow him, but Janet blocked his path.
“Let him go, Amos,” she pleaded. “He didn’t mean it. He’s just upset, and he’ll come back down to apologize.”
“He can’t talk that way,” Amos said, his voice firm but bearing no trace of anger. “He can’t talk that way to you, and he can’t talk that way to me. And he’d better understand that right now.” Moving around Janet, he, too, left the dining room. The two women watched each other warily, Janet knowing with all her instincts that Anna would back her husband up. But instead, the older woman seemed to sag in her chair.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I suppose I should have stopped him, but he believes children should be respectful, and even though I know that’s old-fashioned, that’s the way he is.”
And he’s right
.
The thought skittered through Janet’s mind, an alien idea long ago rejected by herself and her husband, and most of their friends. They were modern parents, ever-mindful of the tenderness of the young psyche, ever-striving to allow their son the same freedom of expression they themselves enjoyed. Mark, she knew, would not have reacted to
Though there was nothing in Anna’s voice to indicate that she was thinking of her own last pregnancy, Janet decided to use her mother-in-law’s words as an opening. “Laura told me what happened,” she said, softly. When Anna made no response, she pressed a little harder. “The night Mark left—”
Suddenly understanding, Anna’s eyes hardened. “Laura had no right to burden you with that,” she said. “Besides, she doesn’t know the first thing about it. She was just a child.”
“But she wasn’t burdening me,” Janet protested. “She’s frightened. We were talking about you, and I asked her what happened. So she told me. At least she told me about you losing your baby, and Mark never coming home again.” Janet’s voice dropped slightly. “And she said that you never told her exactly what happened that night. I think she’s been terrified ever since. Terrified that the same thing might happen to her.”
Anna stared at Janet for a few seconds, then shook her head. “She shouldn’t worry,” she said at last. And then Anna’s voice took on the same tone of recitation Janet had heard from Laura. “All that happened to me was that I overworked myself and brought the labor on prematurely. It was a breech birth, and the cord wrapped around the baby’s neck.” She paused a moment, then: “That’s what they told me, and that’s what I believe,” she finished. The emphasis in her voice, though, only made Janet certain there was something Anna was leaving out, something she was not about to talk about. Indeed, she had already wheeled herself out of the kitchen to the foot of the stairs, and was now calling to her husband and grandson.
“You mean we’re not going back to New York
at all?”
Michael asked. He’d sat in silence while Janet had explained to him that she’d decided to arrange for movers to pack them and let an agent handle the subleasing of the apartment. Now he was on his feet, his eyes stormy, a vein throbbing angrily in his forehead.
“It just seems best—” Janet began, but Michael cut her off.
“Best for who?” he demanded. “What about my friends? Don’t I even get to say goodbye to them?”
“But you said goodbye when we came out here—”
“That was different!” Michael’s voice began to rise. “When we left, we were coming back!”
Amos rose and moved toward the angry boy. “Michael! Don’t talk to your mother in that tone of voice.”
With no hesitation, Michael swung around to face his grandfather. “Don’t tell me what to do,” he said. “You’re not my father!” Whirling around, his face contorted with fury, he stormed out of the dining room. Amos started to follow him, but Janet blocked his path.
“Let him go, Amos,” she pleaded. “He didn’t mean it. He’s just upset, and he’ll come back down to apologize.”
“He can’t talk that way,” Amos said, his voice firm but bearing no trace of anger. “He can’t talk that way to you, and he can’t talk that way to me. And he’d better understand that right now.” Moving around Janet, he, too, left the dining room. The two women watched each other warily, Janet knowing with all her instincts that Anna would back her husband up. But instead, the older woman seemed to sag in her chair.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I suppose I should have stopped him, but he believes children should be respectful, and even though I know that’s old-fashioned, that’s the way he is.”
And he’s right
.
The thought skittered through Janet’s mind, an alien idea long ago rejected by herself and her husband, and most of their friends. They were modern parents, ever-mindful of the tenderness of the young psyche, ever-striving to allow their son the same freedom of expression they themselves enjoyed. Mark, she knew, would not have reacted to
Similar Books
