Margaret Millar - An Air That Kills

“Thelma’s not like that. She wants me to have a good time. She’s a remarkably unselfish woman.”

Turee didn’t argue. It was one of Harry’s most ingratiating qualities, to attribute to other people the virtues he himself possessed.

As Harry slid into the phone booth and closed the door, Turee watched anxiously, thinking, God, suppose Esther’s right for once and Ron’s there with Thelma ... No, that’s impossible. Thelma’s just as crazy about Harry as he is about her.

He began to whistle, almost inaudibly, I’m just wild about Harry .

Thelma was not asleep, as Turee had predicted. She answered the phone on the second ring and her voice sounded alert, as if she’d been expecting the call. Or one like it.

“This is the Bream residence.”

Harry laughed. “I know that, sweetheart.”

“Oh, it’s you, Harry.”

“None other. I hope I didn’t wake you up.”

“No.”

“Are you glad to hear from me?”

“Of course.”

“Cross your heart and hope to die?”

“Cross my heart,” she said flatly, “and hope to die. How you enjoy playing games, Harry. You’re like a child. But isn’t it too late for games? Oughtn’t children to be in bed? I think so. Tomorrow,” she added, “tomorrow you can play all the games you like.”

In their three years of marriage she had never addressed him in such a wearily patronizing manner. Harry colored, as if his face had been slapped. “Thelma, what’s the matter?”

“Nothing.”

“That’s not true. I know it’s not true. What’s happened, Thelma? Tell me. Tell Harry.”

Her only response was a sigh. He could hear it quite plainly; it was long and deep and sad.

“Thelma. Listen to me. If you want me to come home, I will. I’ll start out right this minute.”

“No! I don’t want you to come home!”

“What’s the matter, Thelma? Are you feeling all right?”

Again she made no reply. Harry felt smothered by her silence. He pulled open the door of the phone booth a few inches and breathed in the new air deeply and rhythmically. With the door open Turee could overhear, but Harry didn’t care. He was not timid or embarrassed about sharing his troubles with his friends since he had so frequently shared theirs.

“I’m ill,” Thelma said finally. “I’ve been ill all evening.”

“Get a doctor. Get a doctor right away.”

“I don’t need a doctor. I know what’s the matter.”

“What is it, sweetheart?”

“I can’t tell you. This isn’t — the time or place.”

“Look, Thel, take it easy. Lie down and relax. I’m coming home right away.”

“If you do, I won’t be here.”

“For God’s sake...”

“I mean it, Harry. I’ll run away. I’ve got to be alone for a while to think. Don’t come home, Harry. Promise me.”

“But I...”

“Promise me.”

“All right, I promise. I won’t come home, not tonight, anyway.”

She seemed relieved by his promise and when she spoke again her tone was quite friendly. “Where are you calling from?”

“A hotel in Wiarton.”

“Haven’t you been to the lodge yet?”

“Yes, but Turee and I drove back to find a phone so we could call Ron’s house.”

“Why on earth should you call Ron’s house at this hour?”

“To find out why he hasn’t arrived here.”

“He hasn’t arrived,” she repeated dully. “Is that what you said? Ron’s not there?”

“Not yet.”

“But he left here hours ago. He came before eight and I gave him your message and we had a drink together. And then...”

She stopped, and Harry had to urge her to continue. “And then what, Thelma?”

“I–I asked him — I begged him not to go up to the lodge.”

“Why?”

“Because I had this feeling when he came in — it was so strong I nearly fainted — I had this feeling.” She began to weep and the rest of her words were distorted by great choking sobs. “Oh, my God — warned — my fault — Ron’s dead — Ron — Ron...”

“What are you saying, Thelma?”

“Ron...” She repeated the name half a dozen times while Harry listened, his heart on fire, his face like stone.

Turee came over to the phone booth and opened the door. “Is anything the matter?”

“Yes. But I don’t know what.”

“Perhaps I can help.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Let me try, anyway. Go and sit down, Harry, you look terrible.”

The two men exchanged places at the telephone and Turee spoke briskly into the mouthpiece: “Hello, Thelma. This is Ralph.”

“Go away.”

“Listen, Thelma, I don’t know what the situation is, but calm down for a minute, will you?”

“I can’t.”

“Why don’t you have a drink? I’ll hang on for a minute while you go and pour yourself...”

“I don’t want a drink.”

“All right, all right. just a suggestion.”

“It wouldn’t stay down anyway. I’m ill. I’ve been vomiting.”

“Maybe you have a touch of flu.”

“I haven’t got the flu.” She hesitated for a moment. “Is Harry standing anywhere near you?”

“No, he went outside.”

“You’re sure?”

“I can see him walking up and down on the veranda.”

“I’m pregnant.”

“‘What? What did you say?”

“I’m going to have a baby.”

“Well, for — well, I’ll be double-damned. That’s great, Thelma, that’s wonderful!”

“Is it?”

“Have you told Harry?”

“Not yet.”

“God, he’ll be thrilled to pieces when he finds out.”

“Maybe he will. At first.”

“What do you mean, at first?”

“When he starts thinking about it he won’t be so thrilled.”

“I don’t get the point.”

“Harry and I haven’t taken any chances along that line for over a year,” she said slowly. “Harry didn’t want me to have a baby, he was afraid complications might develop because I’m nearly thirty-five.”

“No method is foolproof. You could have had an accident.”

“It wasn’t an accident. It was quite deliberate, on my part anyway. I wanted a baby. I’m getting old, pretty soon it would have been too late. I talked to Harry, I told him how I felt, many times. But he was terrified that something might happen to me. That’s what he said, anyway. Maybe his real reasons were deeper, subtler, I don’t know. Maybe he was jealous at the idea of my dividing my affections. But whatever Harry’s reasons were, at least now you know mine. I want this child. I love him already.”

“Him?”

“I have a feeling it’s a boy. I call him Ron.”

“For the love of God,” Turee said. “Ron. Ron Galloway?”

“Yes.”

“You’re sure?”

“Now that’s rather insulting, isn’t it? It sounds as though I’ve been promiscuous.”

“I only meant, in a thing like this you’ve got to be absolutely positive.”

“I am.”

“For the love of God,” Turee repeated. “What a mess this is going to be. Think of Harry. And Esther.”

“I can’t afford to. I have my child to think about. Esther never loved Ron anyway. She married him for his money, he told me so. As for Harry, I feel sorry for him, of course. He’s a good man, I hate to hurt him, but...”

“But you will?”

“I will. I must. I have my child to consider.”

“That’s just it, Thelma. Think a minute. For the child’s sake, wouldn’t it be better to keep this whole business a secret? Harry would make a wonderful father, and the child could be brought up without any fuss or scandal.”

“That’s impossible. I don’t want to keep this whole business, as you call it, a secret.”