Karen Young - Belle Pointe

“I don’t see any other way to put it,” he said, shifting restlessly in his seat. “This is something we should have decided together, Anne. Having a baby isn’t like going to the pound and picking out a puppy. A baby changes everything in a couple’s life.”

“And would it be such a bad thing to change our life, Buck?”

He gave her a quick look. “Does that mean you think something is missing?” When she took too long to answer, he added, “I guess you do. And you think having a baby will make it all better? Don’t you think that’s a bit naive?”

“Maybe to you, but not to me,” she said, bracing as he down-shifted and shot past a huge semitrailer truck. If she’d been uncertain about his state of mind, she now had no doubt that he was angry. “You should slow down, Buck,” she cautioned.

He did…barely. “I didn’t realize you were so miserable,” he said after a moment.

She thought about that, trying to fix on her feelings before deciding to get pregnant without telling him. Slightly bored? Somewhat unfulfilled? She’d had an interesting and successful career as a television journalist when she first met Buck at a Special Olympics event. She’d asked for that assignment when her research had revealed that Buck Whitaker was from Tallulah, Mississippi. During the civil rights struggle, her father, a journalist, had spent a summer in Tallulah with a PBS crew from Boston filming a documentary. Anne had grown up listening to him tell about his experience, which had so influenced him that he’d later written a book about it. She’d been thrilled at a chance to meet someone from Tallulah.

She studied Buck’s profile now, sternly set. So unlike that day at the Special Olympics when he’d smiled constantly at the kids. He had been so kind, so natural and at ease with them. She’d thought then what a great father he’d make. And within six months of that meeting, they’d been married.

Deep in her thoughts now, she was blind to the view out her window. She supposed other people might look at her situation and say she had it all. She was married to a pro baseball superstar who was generous and loving. He never forgot her birthday or their anniversary. He was outgoing and sociable on the surface—few people knew Buck was actually an extremely private man—so they had a busy life. Off season, they traveled extensively to interesting and exotic places. As a result of his incredible contract as the Jacks’ star pitcher, they had a fabulous home in St. Louis, condominiums in Vail and Palm Beach. But sometimes—more and more frequently of late—Anne had begun to wonder if she weren’t one of Buck’s possessions, too. Arm candy to his sports hero image. To her way of thinking, the prospect of a baby promised to give some measure of reality to their bizarre lifestyle. Children had a way of grounding a marriage.

In an attempt to make him understand, she said, “We live in a fishbowl, Buck, you posing for fans, me playing the adoring wife and smiling when I don’t always feel like smiling. And yes, I admit it. I haven’t found all that so fulfilling.” She paused, searching for words. “To me, a constant round of fun and games has become sort of…I don’t know…empty, I guess. Maybe I’ve outgrown it.”

“I didn’t hear all these complaints when I signed that last multimillion-dollar contract. And I didn’t see any misery when I bought you that sweet little Mercedes for your birthday. I also didn’t notice any pain on your face when we paid cash for the condo in Vail.” His foot was heavy on the accelerator again.

“I’ve never denied enjoying the things your job makes possible for us,” she said quietly. “But they’re only things, Buck. They don’t take the place of a baby. At least, not for me. I want us to be a real family.”

“What’s a real family? I can tell you from experience that mine is a dysfunctional, screwed-up bunch. You and I don’t need a baby to feel like a family.”

“I know you don’t have a good relationship with the Whitakers, but that doesn’t mean you won’t make a good father. You’d have a chance to change the things your parents did that were wrong.”

He gave a bitter laugh. “I couldn’t live long enough to do that.”

“Just think about it, Buck. Already you’ve endowed a program for inner city kids and almost every year you participate in Special Olympics. You make time to talk to high school athletes about avoiding drugs and getting a diploma. You do any number of things that show you’ve got a good heart. You sell yourself short when you say you wouldn’t make a good father.”

As an adopted only child, Anne’s childhood had been lonely. In spite of having very loving adoptive parents, she’d longed for brothers and sisters. When she married Buck, she’d dreamed of having her own babies, her own family. Buck’s heritage as the son of a “gentleman planter” in the Mississippi Delta was intriguing, so different from her rather ordinary roots in New England. Belle Pointe, his family home, fascinated her. Why couldn’t he see all the reasons they should start their own family?

“How far along are you?” he asked abruptly.

“Ten weeks.” But maybe not for long. While they’d been on the road, the cramping had worsened. Maybe she should call her doctor. Maybe going straight to bed wouldn’t be good enough. She might very well wind up in the hospital tonight. With a glance at the speedometer, she saw the needle pushing eighty and, feeling anxious to get home, she said nothing.

“To tell the truth, I’m having trouble with this, Anne,” Buck told her. He sat hunched over the steering wheel, a sure sign of his agitation. “I’ve got a lot on my mind that we haven’t had a chance to discuss. The Jacks are playing hardball in the negotiations on my new contract. It’s a disadvantage that I’m thirty-seven years old. They claim they’re uncertain whether my arm will hold out. Plus, they’re harping on the bad publicity that came after Casey’s death. I couldn’t help it that he was at my house when his heart gave out, but they don’t see it that way. The press hinted at steroid abuse and no matter how I deny it, I think the Jacks suspect I had something to do with it. So a baby right now is a complication I didn’t expect. I guess you could say it’s…well, it’s just bad timing. Frankly, I feel blindsided.”

He saw their baby as a complication? “When would have been a good time, Buck? I’ve apologized for the way I went about getting pregnant, but I’m not sorry for conceiving the baby. It’s done.”

“I would never have expected you to do something like this, Anne.”

“Well, I did it.” She crossed her arms stubbornly. “And I’m sorry it’s bad timing for you. You’ll simply have to get over it. It’s not like I can just reverse a pregnancy. There’s only one way to do that and I know you don’t want me to have an abortion. Do you?”

The words were tossed off impulsively, but when Buck didn’t instantly deny it, she looked at him in shock. He had a right to be upset, she gave him that, but surely he wasn’t contemplating aborting their baby. Appalled, she stared at his stony profile. “I’m waiting to hear you answer that, Buck.”

“Hell, Anne, it’s just that—” He broke off abruptly. “Hold on!” he shouted over the screech of brakes.

Anne’s startled gaze caught sight of a deer square in the Porsche’s headlights. Later, she’d recall the flash of its white tail as Buck instinctively swerved to avoid the animal. But with the maneuver, the Porsche fishtailed off the pavement onto the gravelly shoulder of the road. As it careened wildly, Anne realized they were going to crash. She had the odd sensation that the whole thing was happening in a kind of distorted slow motion. Her mind took it all in, the blur of trees as the car hurtled at breakneck speed, the sudden specter of a green highway sign and Buck’s desperate wrench on the wheel to miss it, then the drag as pavement gave way to a grassy bank. With the car now moving sideways at a dizzying speed, she realized it was going to tumble down into a deep ravine. Her last thought before the sickening impact was of her baby.