Richard Bausch - Before, During, After

“Michael doesn’t know anything unless she told him something. And there’s nothing to know. It was a kiss. One fucking kiss. And I was drunk and I thought Michael was dead and he was needy and crying and I gave him a goddamn kiss.”

“O kay ,” Marsha said. “O kay .”

They went on to the end of the street, past Iris’s, and turned up Swan Ridge. Neither of them spoke as they approached the house.

“Don’t be mad at me, too,” Marsha said. “I don’t have any interest in this except worrying about you, like Constance. And Michael. All of us. Everyone who loves you.”

At the entrance to the house, Natasha faced her. “Don’t worry about me.”

The other waited.

“Don’t worry, okay? I can handle myself. Iris doesn’t worry about me the way you and Constance have. So stop it.”

“How do you stop that? How do you stop worrying about someone you love who’s in trouble?”

“But we’re all in trouble,” Natasha said. “Aren’t we.”

“You know how I mean that,” said Marsha, plainly annoyed now.

“I love my husband,” Natasha told her, and as she said the words, the truth in them startled her. “I love my husband,” she repeated. “And we are still in shock from what happened — like everyone else in this country. And Constance can take her imaginings and go straight to hell with them.”

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. Please .”

“Now I’m going in and have a cup of green tea. You’re welcome to join me if you promise to stay off the subject of my mental state and my marriage.”

“I have to go,” Marsha said in a small voice. She reached for a hug, and Natasha accepted it, without speaking.

4

She drove to Germantown, to the doctor’s office, which was in a tall white building on Poplar Avenue. At the first-floor elevator she waited with a heavy, elderly black woman in a blue scarf, tank top, and jeans. There were darker places on the woman’s large dark arms. The elevator doors opened, and she stepped in with a lumbering slowness and turned. “Where you goin’, young lady?”

“Second floor,” Natasha said.

The old woman pushed the button. “Baby doctor.”

“Yes.”

“I know her. Good doctor.”

Natasha heard herself say, “This might be my first.”

The door opened. “Yeah, I remember that. Coulda been earlier this mawnin’, way it feels. Time goes so fas’.”

“Take care,” Natasha told her.

“It goes fas’, honey. Make sure you ’preciate it.”

The doors closed. She made her way into the waiting area of the doctor’s office feeling as though the world had sent her this message through the kindly old woman. There were messages from the world around you if you paid attention. She signed the sheet at the window and thought about learning to appreciate things more.

The doctor was a short, blocky, red-haired woman with straight shoulders and an erect carriage as if she were trying to look taller than she was. Her name was Bass. She came in with the nurse, who looked no older than a high school student and had blond bangs that came down to her eyebrows.

During the exam, Dr. Bass spoke to the nurse, who took notes. Then she went out, and the nurse drew blood. And after a short wait, Natasha was led into the small office off the corridor. “Well, we’ll know for sure in a few days, but from our little urine sample and the feel of your uterus, you’re expecting.”

Natasha put her hands to her mouth for a second and had to fight for breath a little.

“This surprises you?”

“Not really, no.”

“You’re a little pale.”

“I’m all right.”

“We’ll set you up with some vitamins and prenatal instructions.”

“Doctor — is it possible to have a … is it possible to be impregnated and have a period just after?”

“Well, some women have bleeding episodes.”

“Like a heavy period?”

“Well, yes, actually. I’ve known it to happen that a woman has what she believes is a period or even a miscarriage. Enough blood to think that. And then three weeks later shows up still pregnant, with a healthy and viable fetus. Why?”

Natasha couldn’t speak for a moment.

“Have you had a bleeding episode? Did you think you had your period?”

She shook her head. “But it’s not common. You haven’t seen that sort of thing a lot — it’s rare?”

“I’d say it’s quite rare. What’re we talking about, honey?”

“Is there a test that can tell when conception took place?”

“Well, to calculate your due date, we count forward forty weeks from the first day of your last period. And we can make a pretty good guess at it from the amount of HGC in your blood, but that can vary from woman to woman, and so none of it’s absolutely certain. It’s all estimation mostly until we get a look at a sonogram — and even then we’re really only guessing. Educated guesses, you know.”

Natasha took a long breath, looking down at her own hands.

“Why?”

“When is the latest time for aborting a pregnancy?”

“Excuse me?”

She lifted her shoulders. “Just — look. I want to know.”

“You’re married, right?”

“Yes.”

“But you don’t — you don’t want to have this baby?”

“I want to want it.” The tears came.

“That’s a normal kind of feeling, honey. It is a big thing, and a little scary for some.”

Natasha heard her own low sigh.

“How does your husband feel about it?”

“We both — we want children.”

“So—”

“I don’t know if I’m ready.” She sobbed and coughed.

“A lot of us feel that, the first time.”

“I don’t know,” she said, sniffling. “I don’t know.”

The other stood closer and put a hand on her shoulder. “Honey, do you want to talk?”

Natasha put her hands to her face, covering her eyes, and looked into the dark her palms made. She couldn’t speak. She heard the door open and shut. The nurse had gone, and she and the doctor were alone.

“Tell me,” the doctor said, handing her some tissues.

“I’m sorry,” she burst forth. “I’m so sorry. I’m okay. Really.”

There was a long space while the doctor waited for her to gain control of herself. Then: “This is a happy thing, sweetie. And it’s quite normal to feel scared about it. But it’s gonna be perfectly all right. You have to trust it.”

Natasha nodded, wiping her eyes and her nose. “Really. I know.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being worried.”

“Just — really scared.”

“It’s all going to work as it should. You’re very healthy. Nurse’ll give you a bottle of prenatal vitamins and a pamphlet. There’s a good book called What to Expect When You’re Expecting . And there’re others. We’ll call you with the results of the blood test, but I’m pretty sure. You come see me again in two weeks, okay?”

“Yes.”

“And congratulations. Really.”

“Thanks. Thank you. I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to apologize for. Now you take it easy.”

She was in a kind of daze walking out to the counter and taking the card with the date for her next appointment.

Out in the warm sunlight, she walked to her car and got into the very hot interior and felt sick. She opened the door and put her legs out and sat there for a few minutes, breathing deeply and holding her arms over her stomach.

At last she turned and closed the door and got the car started and drove with all the windows open to Iris’s. When she got out she looked up and down the street. Parked cars. Nothing moving. She daubed at her eyes and nose with the tissues, then got back into the car, left the door open, and used the rearview mirror to put on some lipstick and make sure of her eyes. She walked up to the door and let herself in. Someone was talking in the kitchen. She heard a man’s voice.