William Kienzle - Man Who Loved God

“I know … I know.” Barbara was filled with remorse. “I thought I had that all figured out when Al-he was my husband-”

“I know.”

“Well, when Al died I had four guys on the string. Any one of them could’ve been Debbie’s father.”

“You wicked thing, you!” Joyce said with a smirk.

“I thought I could get all four of them to contribute to me and the baby. I thought I had it made. Then, one by one they proved they couldn’t have been the father. Only one had no excuse. He had to be the father, and he knew it.”

“Lou Durocher.”

“Lou Durocher.”

“Even so, Babs, you shouldn’t have married the jerk.”

“What was I to do? I was going to have Lou’s baby. The only way I could get support from him was to marry him. He was virtually destroyed by the scandal. There was no alternative. I had to marry hi-” She looked up, startled. “What’s that noise?”

“I don’t know.” Joyce held the baby aloft and, like a sword swallower, fed the baby into her mouth and down her throat. Somehow, Barbara did not find that odd.

The phone rang. It rang again. And again.

Barbara awakened. She was covered with perspiration. She was alone in her apartment. Instead of a parking lot and a brick wall, she looked out on the magnificence of Belle Isle and the Detroit River.

Struggling to return to the present, she sat up and reached for the phone. “Hullo …”

“Barbara? Is it you?”

“Yes, it’s me, Tom.”

“You don’t sound yourself.”

“I was resting. I fell asleep and had a ghastly nightmare.”

“You’re all right?”

“Yes, I’m okay.”

“Listen, Barbara, I’m coming over now, a little early. I just wanted to call ahead. I’ll be there in a little while.”

“I’ll be here.”

“See you soon.”

She replaced the phone in its cradle.

She had just had one of the most realistic dreams of her life. Where on earth had it come from? With a little thought, the answer was obvious.

Marriage to the father of her child had been among her tentative plans. Not a fait accompli but a possibility. That’s where her dream got its manifest content. Her subconscious was drawing a worst-case scenario. Extremely worst-case.

There was nothing intrinsically wrong with Dallas. But it was terrifying to think of a parking lot or a brick wall as one’s only vistas.

She had no reason to believe that marriage to Lou Durocher would be anywhere near as bleak as her dream portrayed it. Depressing it surely would be. No use even contemplating living with Martin or Jack; they were out of the game. The nightmare had excluded the possibility of Tom’s being the father. It had no right to do that. But dreams followed their own illogic.

Well, then, what if Tom Adams did prove to be the daddy? At this stage, he could only claim it was impossible due to some physical impediment as had Martin and Jack.

If Tom were physically capable of fathering a child only a DNA test would indicate whether it was his or Lou’s. If at all possible, she wanted to steer clear of the DNA thing. Messy! Plus indicating to all that there was more than one entry in the fatherhood stakes.

As things presently stood, if Tom were the father there could be a marriage. As for whether Pat would divorce Lou, that was beyond Barbara’s control. But no marriage to Lou. Send the money.

But there could be no conclusion written yet. It all came down to Tom Adams. What if he proved to be the father? He was single-even in the eyes of his Church. So marriage was possible. Was it practicable?

She would move up several notches in the social register. There would be lots more money to spend. Tom was attractive, even if Barbara was not attracted. On the other hand, she found Jack Fradet the most romantic of the four, so what good was her taste in men?

All in all, marriage to Tom Adams didn’t look bad.

Barbara began pacing in front of the window wall as she considered the ramifications.

There was Mickey Adams. Turned out to pasture because she’d objected to Tom’s intense committed involvement with and considerable contribution to his church. That certainly wouldn’t change. Did Barbara want to-could she-play a subordinate role to the Catholic Church?

One good thing about Tom’s church: it would not condone abortion. So, for different reasons, she and Tom would be in total agreement on that matter.

However, sensitized by her recent nightmare, she would tread slowly and carefully here. For the time being, let’s just pinpoint Daddy. Then, step by patient step, she would map the course for those involved.

It was like a gigantic game of chess. And she had the controlling move.

While waiting for Tom, she wouldn’t try for a catnap; she didn’t want to chance another nightmare. After she met with Tom, she’d be able to dream peacefully. Until his arrival, she would bury herself in a book. Maybe a murder mystery.

The book she’d been trying to read lay on the end table. She just hadn’t been able to concentrate.

The doorbell rang. She went to the door. As expected, it was Tom Adams. He entered without a word.

He was stooped, and seemed drained. In spite of her self-appointed role as grand inquisitor, she felt sorry for him. She took his coat. He wore no hat. “Something bothering you, Tom?” She was all too aware that the bother might well be herself.

He sat down near the window wall and lingered over the view of the city at the height of its midafternoon bustle. “Oh … some trouble at the bank.” After a moment, he added, “Actually, we’re better off than I expected.”

She laughed. “That’s a reason for depression?”

“No. No, of course not. Still, I’d feel better if I completely understood why we’re where we are.”

Was this a poor-mouth rationale for not giving her the generous settlement she was aiming for?

“But we’re not here to talk about banking.” He turned from the window to her. “How are you feeling, Babs?”

None of the others had expressed any concern for her condition.

“Physically, I’m okay. After all, I’m barely into this pregnancy. And this is my first so I’m not even sure how I’m supposed to feel. But I don’t feel much different than I did before I was pregnant. So I guess all goes well.”

Outside of her doctor, her father and mother, and Joyce, no one had known of her prior pregnancy when she herself was little more than a child. Now all those who had known were dead. So, as far as anyone but her obstetrician now knew, the present pregnancy was her first.

“You’re under a doctor’s care?”

“Yes, of course.”

“He’s good, is he? Top-notch?”

“I’ve got an ob-gyn recommended by my GP. So far, I’ve got no negative vibes.” She tilted her head sideways questioningly. “Why this interest in my doctor?”

“I want the best. Give me your doctor’s name so I can check him out.”

“Again: why?”

He seemed surprised. “Why? Because you’re carrying our child. I want you-and the baby-to have the best of care. Why would you wonder about it?”

“It’s just … I didn’t expect …”

“I should’ve told you when it happened.” Adams turned and looked again out the window as if unwilling to face her. “It happened about a little over a month ago … when we were together in my apartment. After you left to go home … well, I had a feeling something was wrong. I was going to dispose of the condom. Just before I wrapped it to throw in the trash I looked at it more closely. There was a substance on the outside that looked like it might be semen. I experimented: I filled the condom with water and watched as a thin stream slowly escaped. Somehow the condom had been perforated.”