Three Women by Marge Piercy

the hospital bed threaded by tubes, her face twisted, unable to speak, haunted her. A fat tear leaked from her eye. She rubbed both eyes hard and sniffed her nose clear. No point weeping now.
    Everything had happened so quickly, a big wind, a storm out of nowhere. She turned on her computer. Ninety-seven messages awaited her, many from her law and feminist listservs, but a number were personal. Those she would read. Jake had sent two messages:
    I hope you enjoyed the weekend as much as I did. Meeting you at last was a delight. As I told you when you were kind enough to give me a lift to the airport, my meetings went well. I’ll share my notes with my staff and directors. We should come to a decision soon about New England. I’m hoping it will be positive. I felt very positive about our time together.
    This morning another message:
    I haven’t heard from you. I hope this means you’re busy catching up on the time you lost with me last weekend, and not that you arehaving regrets? Don’t second-guess your emotions—what happened was good.
    Jake felt distant to her, irrelevant. She had no energy to spare. Second-guess? He would be insulted if he knew that she had almost forgotten about their time together in fretting about Beverly. Suzanne sighed deeply, could think of nothing to write, and went upstairs to check in with Marta. She found Jim and Elena at the kitchen table just finishing dessert while Marta cleared. “Do you want some supper, Suzanne? There’s leftover chicken cacciatore. Jim made more than enough.”
    Suzanne cocked her head, considering. “I guess I am hungry. I’ve been living on hospital cafeteria sandwiches for three days. I’d love some of Jim’s chicken.”
    Elena got up at once. “Thanks for supper.”
    “Hey,” Jim said. “I never finished telling you my lab rat story.”
    “Later. I’ll remind you.”
    “Elena, there’s a black cat in the apartment. Remember your grandmother’s cat?”
    “Chairman Mao? What’s he doing here?”
    Suzanne explained briefly. “So don’t let him out. Maybe you should put some food down.”
    After Elena left, Suzanne said, “I hope she didn’t invite herself to supper. The way I just did.”
    Jim frowned. “She isn’t an angry teenager any longer. She’s her own person now.”
    Marta asked, “So are you here for a while? I’m not quite up to speed on your sexual harassment case. If there’s a chance I might have to take over, I’d better master it.”
    “I think I can confine my trips down there to weekends, unless there’s another crisis. I paid the rent on her apartment, cleaned out the refrigerator and brought her what she needs in the hospital…. As to what’s going to become of her, Marta, I have no damned idea. One day you’re healthy and making some money and living your life. The next day you’re in a hospital bed with tubes sticking into you, unable to walk or talk or stand or take yourself to the toilet. I can’t think of much that’s scarier.”
    “How’s your blood pressure?” Jim asked.
    “Right now, probably off the scale. That’s one of the reasons I exercise so passionately. It keeps my blood pressure down.”
    “I should get one of those handheld machines and start taking mine regularly,” Jim said. “My father died of a heart attack when he was sixty-two.”
    “I don’t know what my father died of. The widow never told me.”
    “Shouldn’t you know?” Marta sat across the table, sipping decaf while Suzanne ate. “Suzanne, just because you never knew your father doesn’t mean his genes aren’t active in you. You didn’t spring parthenogenetically from Beverly, no matter how much it may have felt that way.”
    “I don’t even have his widow’s address…. She didn’t encourage contact. This chicken is great.” She smiled at Jim, who looked pleased. He had taken up cooking in the past few years. He was the best cook in the house.
    “Suzanne, Jim and I have been talking. Elena needs a job and Jim