The Consequences. Colette Freedman
been empty, and by that time they were in the throes of passion and the thought of getting dressed and heading out to CVS was unthinkable.
Almost unconsciously, her hand moved down to rest on her almost flat stomach. Her breathing was shallow, and her skin felt clammy, and she felt a bead of sweat gather in her hairline and trickle around to curl by her ear.
Pregnant.
Maybe.
Possibly.
Unlikely.
She tried to think of anything that might account for her late period. There were any number of factors: There was the pressure of her affair—she’d known for the past couple of weeks it was coming to a head, and that, coupled with the intense pressure at work to get everything finished for Christmas, certainly hadn’t helped. She’d been traveling a lot—usually day-trips in and out of New York, D.C., and Miami, and she knew that air flight played havoc with regular periods. Too much exercise? She’d been going to the gym every Monday and Thursday night as well as religiously doing Tony Horton’s DVD program, P90X. Or was it her diet? She’d gone on the Atkins Diet for a few weeks—could that have affected her system and knocked her cycle out of kilter?
Stephanie felt queasy again, and was it her imagination or did her breasts feel especially heavy and tender? And wasn’t that supposed to be a sign?
Oh dear God. What if she were pregnant?
She was thirty-three years old; she knew her body, knew its rhythms and cycles. Her breasts often became tender just before her period. She was sure what she was feeling now was the onset of the delayed period coupled with extreme stress and exhaustion.
But what if it wasn’t? What if she were pregnant?
Stephanie was exhausted and emotionally fragile, and she suddenly found that there were tears on her face. Tears of confusion and self-pity, mingled with fear. If she was pregnant: What about her career, her home, her lifestyle? She’d have to either give up her job or take maternity leave, probably have to sell the condo and irrevocably alter her lifestyle. What was she going to do?
And what would Robert think?
That sudden thought made her bolt upright in the bed. Would he have gone back to his wife so willingly if he knew she was pregnant with his child? Would she have allowed him—even pushed him away—if she had suspected that she was pregnant?
What would Kathy think? There were two children in the Walker marriage, a seventeen-year-old boy and a fifteen-year-old girl. Stephanie wondered if Kathy had ever wanted more. How would she feel if she knew her husband had fathered a child with his mistress?
Would she tell Robert, she wondered, and the answer was immediate. Of course she would; if she was pregnant, she wasn’t going to do it alone. Robert had gotten her into this situation. She was going to make sure he knew about it and took financial care of the baby.
So much for trying to cut all ties with him, she thought ruefully.
Before she made any decisions, she needed advice.
And she needed to be certain.
CHAPTER 9
“Merry Christmas!” The phone was answered with a breezy chirpiness that immediately lifted Stephanie’s spirits.
“That sounds like the voice of someone who got engaged last night,” she said quietly.
“Stephanie!” Izzie Wilson’s voice rose to a high-pitched squeal.
Holding the phone a little away from her ear, Stephanie asked, “Tell me everything. Are you officially engaged?”
“He got down on one knee, the whole nine yards.” There was a clinking sound on the other end of the phone. “What you are hearing is the sound of a diamond in surprisingly good taste tapping the phone. We’re officially engaged, and we decided not to have a long engagement, probably September. You’ll be my maid of honor, of course.”
“Of course.” Although she was lying flat in bed, Stephanie felt as if everything had lurched. If—and it was still a big, huge, monstrous if—she was pregnant, then the baby would be due in September.
“Izzie, I’m so happy for you and Dave.”
“I knew you would be. So what’s going on? You got there all right? You must be zonked.”
Stephanie had rehearsed her conversation. They’d chat about Izzie’s engagement, talk about Christmas, compare presents and families and how crazy they were, and then, and only then would Stephanie indicate her fears to Izzie. That was the plan.
Instead she blurted out: “I think I’m pregnant.” She was surprised to hear the crack in her voice. She was thirty-three; yet, she was sounding as scared as any teenager.
There was a long silence on the other end of the line. In the background, Stephanie could hear the muted explosions and gunfire of a Christmas Day movie and overloud and slightly drunken laughter. Abruptly the background noise went away as Izzie stepped into another room and shut the door.
“Talk to me.”
Stephanie cupped her hand over the mouthpiece and dropped her voice to little more than a whisper. “I think I’m pregnant,” she repeated.
“And I think I’m rich, but I’m not,” Izzie said pointedly.
“I’m maybe ten days late. . . .”
“I’ve often been ten days late.”
“I know. Me too. But, I’m also feeling very queasy.”
“That could just be the stress of it all,” Izzie said reasonably.
“I know. I thought of that. Or it could be my mother’s cooking. But my breasts are heavy and sore, and I sort of fainted this morning.”
“Sort of fainted! What does that mean? You don’t sort of faint; you do or you don’t.” Izzie immediately went into her doctor mode.
“Just like I said. I was sitting outside on the porch having a cup of coffee and then next thing I know my brother is carrying me in. Plus, my mother asked me.”
“Asked you? Asked you what?”
“If I was pregnant.”
Stephanie could hear Izzie draw in a deep breath.
“She asked if you were pregnant?”
“Yup.”
“Mothers always know,” Izzie said glumly. “My mother could always tell when my sister Rosie was pregnant. And that was usually weeks before Rosie herself knew. And she had four kids. What do you think? Is there any chance you could be?”
“There’s a chance.”
“Didn’t you use protection?”
“Most of the time, but not all the time and not for the last two times.”
“Oh, Stef!”
“I know, but in the throes of passion . . .”
“How do you feel about being a mother?”
Stephanie licked suddenly dry lips. A mother. Izzie would make a great mother; Joan, her youngest sister, would make a great mom, but no, not her. Not now. In a couple of years’ time maybe, when she had a little more money saved, a bit of the mortgage paid off, and she was farther up the corporate ladder. The last time she and Robert had talked about children, she’d suggested in about two years’ time. . . .
“I don’t know. I guess I’m scared,” she admitted finally in a whisper. “I’m scared, Izzie. What am I going to do?”
“First you’re going to confirm that you are pregnant. You need to get