Margaret Millar - An Air That Kills

“I strongly urge you to think about it.”

“I’ve thought of nothing else for three weeks, ever since I found out I was pregnant. And one thing I’m sure of — I can’t go on living with Harry. He doesn’t even seem real to me anymore. How can I explain it? The only thing that’s real to me is this baby inside me. Ron’s baby. They are my life now, Ron and his baby.”

The simple statement, spoken with such conviction, appalled Turee more than the actual circumstances behind it. For a moment he could hardly speak, and when he did, his voice was cold with disapproval. “I don’t imagine Ron will feel quite so single-minded about it. After all, he’s sired one child by his first wife and two by his second, so this is hardly a unique occasion for him.”

“If you’re trying to make me jealous or angry, don’t bother. Ron’s had other women, other children, yes, but this is special. The baby’s special. I’m special.”

There was no answer to this. Turee could only sit and stare silently and helplessly into the mouthpiece of the telephone, wishing with all his heart that he had stayed home and painted the garage, as his wife wanted him to.

“Ralph? Are you there?”

“Yes?”

“Ralph, I don’t want you to get the idea that I’m — that I thought this all out ahead of time, that I planned it. I really didn’t. It just happened, but once it happened, I realized how right it was for me.”

“Right . Are you out of your mind, woman? What you’re doing, what you’ve done, is completely and unjustifiably immoral.”

“Don’t preach at me. Words aren’t going to change anything.”

“Well, for God’s sake, consider Harry. This will kill him.”

“I don’t think so. Oh, he’ll be upset for a while, but eventually he’ll meet some nice clinging-vine sort of woman who’ll let him fuss over her and pour pills down her throat.”

Turee was shocked. “You sound as if you actually hate him.”

“No. Just the pills. He was making an invalid out of me. I’m really quite strong. The doctor says I should have a fine, healthy baby. It’s what I’ve wanted all my life. I was an only child living with a maiden aunt, and terribly lonely. I used to dream of growing up and getting married and having a dozen children so I’d never be lonely again.”

“You may,” he said heavily, “be lonelier than ever. People around here take a dim view of...”

“Oh, people. I don’t care about them. All I need is Ron and the baby.”

“You’re pretty sure of yourself, Thelma.”

“Yes.”

“Are you equally sure of Ron?”

“Yes. I told him about the baby tonight when he came over to pick up Harry. It seemed the right time to tell him.”

Turee wasn’t certain he agreed with her. “How did he take the news?”

She said defensively, “Naturally I didn’t expect him to be deliriously happy about it right at first. He needs time to think, to adjust to the situation. Any man would.”

“I’m glad you realize that,” Turee said dryly.

“He loves me, that’s the important factor.”

“Is it?”

“Don’t worry, everything will work out fine. I have a feeling.”

Thelma’s was a contradictory nature. This new feeling, that everything would work out fine, immediately eclipsed the old feeling that something had happened to Ron. Thelma could, in fact, superimpose one feeling on another feeling, like bricks, and it was always the latest, the top one, that was valid.

She added, “Oh, I know it’s going to be messy in some ways, the divorce, for instance.”

“Ron can’t get a divorce from Esther. He has no grounds.”

“I meant, Ron will pay her off and she can get the divorce.”

“Suppose she refuses?”

“Oh nonsense. Esther loves money. Besides, why should she refuse?”

“Some women,” Turee said with heavy irony, “aren’t exactly thrilled at the prospect of breaking up their home and family.”

“Don’t sentimentalize Esther. I haven’t done anything more to her than she did to Ron’s first wife. Except that my motives are cleaner.”

“How does Ron like the idea of going through the courts and the newspapers again as an adulterer?”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, can’t you say something cheerful?”

“I can’t think of anything cheerful,” Turee said truthfully. “This isn’t the type of situation that appeals to my sense of humor. Maybe Harry will be able to think of something cheerful. He’s still outside on the veranda. Shall I call him?”

“No!”

“How are you going to tell him, Thelma?”

“I don’t know. I’ve tried, I’ve led up to it, but — oh, it’s all so difficult.”

“You should have thought of that when you and Ron were hopping into bed together.”

“What a terribly coarse remark!”

“The situation isn’t exactly genteel either.”

“Listen, Ralph. About telling Harry. I was wondering, you’re such a good friend of his...”

“Kindly leave me out of it.”

“I only thought, you can be so tactful when you choose...”

“On this occasion, I don’t choose.”

“Very well. But I won’t tell him. I can’t. I don’t even want to see him again.”

“For God’s sake, woman, you owe him that much, an apology, an explanation.”

“Why should I apologize? I’m not sorry. As for an explanation, how can I explain something I don’t understand myself? I didn’t know it was going to happen to Ron and me. If I had, maybe I would have asked Harry for a pill or something, a love-preventative pill.” She laughed briefly and bitterly. “He’s got every other kind.”

“When did it all begin?”

“A couple of weeks before Christmas. I went into town to buy Harry’s gift and I met Ron in Eaton’s by accident. We had lunch together at the Park Plaza and afterwards we went out on the terrace in the snow and looked down at the city. It was so pretty. I’d never cared much for Toronto before, I was brought up in the West, Vancouver. Well, that’s all, we just stood there. There was no flirtation, no hand-holding, we didn’t even talk personally or look at each other much. But when I got home I didn’t tell Harry. I had no reason not to. But I didn’t. I even made up a lie for him, told him I had lunch with a nurse I used to work with at the Murray Clinic in Hamilton. The next day I took a bus into Toronto again because I’d forgotten to buy Harry’s Christmas present. At least that was the excuse I gave myself. I went back to the same store, at the same time, and hung around the Yonge Street entrance for nearly an hour. I had this terribly strong feeling that Ron would show up. He didn’t, but later he told me that he’d wanted to very much, that he’d thought of me all morning but he couldn’t get away because Esther was giving a luncheon party at the club.”

A couple of dimwits, Turee thought contemptuously, dramatizing themselves, out of boredom, into a situation that neither of them was equipped to handle. He said, “And Harry hasn’t suspected a thing?”

“No.”

“For your information, Esther has and does.”

“I thought as much. She was very cold when I called her last week and invited her to go to a séance a friend of mine was giving. I was only trying to be affable.”

“Why?”

“For Ron’s sake. I don’t want him cut off from Esther’s children the way he was cut off from his first wife’s. It’s not fair.”

“The courts seem to think so.”

“The courts in this country, yes. Oh, this place is so stodgy and provincial. I wish we could live in the States, Ron and I and the baby.”

The front door opened and Harry came back into the hotel lobby walking unsteadily and with his feet wide apart like a newly debarked sailor bracing himself against the pitch and roll of a ship that was no longer under him. Although the night air was still balmy, his lips were blue with cold and his eyes had a glassy stare as if unshed tears had been trapped there and frozen.