“More or less.”
“What's wrong?”
She sighed and stared at the floor and then back at him. “That asshole Paul Stevens has been driving me crazy. I think I might have an ulcer, and I've been feeling lousy for the past few weeks.”
Peter looked at her unhappily. “Mel, will you promise me you'll have it checked out?”
“Yeah,” she sighed, but she didn't sound sure. “I really don't have time though.”
He grabbed her arm. “Make time then.” He had lost one wife, and couldn't bear the thought of losing another. “I mean it, Mel! Either that or I'll check you into the hospital myself.”
“Don't be silly. I just got dizzy.”
“Have you eaten?”
“Not in a while.”
“Then it might have been that. But I want you to check it out anyway.” And he noticed now that she had lost weight, her face was drawn and she looked pale. “You look like hell.”
“Gee, thanks.”
He leaned over and took her hand. “I'm just worried about you, Mel.” He pulled her close. “I love you so damn much. Now will you call tomorrow and have someone check you out?”
“Okay, okay.” And the next morning he gave her a list of names, of internists and specialists. “You want me to see all of them?” She looked horrified and he smiled.
“One or two will do. Why don't you start with Sam Jones, the internist, and let him figure out who else you should see.”
“Why don't you just check me into the Mayo Clinic for a week?” She was teasing but he was not amused. She looked even worse than she had the night before.
“I just might.”
“The hell you will.”
She made an appointment with Sam Jones for that afternoon. It would have been a four-week wait, except that when she told the nurse who she was, miraculously, they found a spot for her that day. She stopped in at two P.M., and she had to be at work by four, and Jones used every minute that he could, to take blood, do urine tests, go over her, take down a history, listen to her lungs, take her blood pressure. She felt as though he had touched and prodded every inch of her by the time he was through.
“Well, so far, you look all right to me. Tired maybe, but basically healthy. But let's see what all the lab tests say. Have you been feeling run-down for very long?” She told him all the symptoms she'd had, the queasiness, headaches, the pressure she was under at work, the move from New York, the change of jobs, Val's abortion, getting married, and adjusting to a whole new set of kids, while living with the ghost of Peter's late wife, in the house she still didn't feel at home in.
“Stop!” He fell back in his chair with a groan, clapping a hand to his head. “I'm beginning to feel queasy too. I think you've just given your own diagnosis, my friend. I don't think you needed me at all. You need six weeks on a sandy beach.”
She smiled at him. “I wish. But I told Peter all it was was nerves.”
“You may be right.” He offered her Valium, Librium, or sleeping pills and she declined them all. And when she saw Peter that night, she told him what Sam Jones had said.
“See, there's nothing wrong with me. I'm just overworked.” They both knew that anyway, but he still wasn't convinced. He was inclined to be overly cautious about her, and Mel knew that.
“Let's see what the lab tests say.”
She rolled her eyes and went to put Matthew to bed. Pam was listening to her stereo, and the girls were doing homework in their room. Mark was out. The grapevine had told Mel a few days before that he had a new girl friend, a freshman at UCLA, and Val didn't seem bothered at all. There was a boy in her class she said was “really cute,” and Jessica had finally found someone she liked who had taken her out on two movie dates. All was well with all of them for once. She returned to Peter with a happy sigh. “All's quiet on the Western Front at least.” She reported on them all and he was pleased. Things were finally settling down after all, or so he thought. But neither of them was prepared for the news they got the next day.
Mel forgot to call Dr. Jones before she left for work, and there was a message for her to call him at home when she got in. Peter saw the message first and called Sam himself, but his old colleague and friend would say nothing at all to him. “Have your wife call me when she gets home, Pete.”
“For chrissake, Sam, what's wrong?” He was terrified but Jones would not relent, and Peter pounced on Mel the moment she walked through the door. “Call Jones!”
“Now? Why? I just walked in, can I at least hang up my coat?”
“For chrissake, Mel …”
“Jesus.” She looked at the worried look in his eyes, wondering what he wasn't telling her. “What's wrong?”
“I don't know. He won't tell me a thing.”
“Did you call him?” She looked annoyed.
He confessed. “Yes. But he wouldn't tell me anything.”
“Good.”
“For chrissake …”
“All right, all right.” She dialed the home number he had left, and Mrs. Jones went to get her husband. Peter hovered over Mel but she waved him away. She and the doctor went through the usual amenities before getting down to why he had called her.
“I didn't want to tell Peter before I told you.” He sounded serious and Mel held her breath. Maybe Peter was right. Maybe something awful was wrong with her. “You're pregnant, Mel, but I thought you'd like to tell him that yourself.” He was beaming at his end, but Mel was not at hers. She wore a glazed expression and Peter stared at her, convinced it was bad news. He sank slowly into a chair and waited until she hung up.
“Well?”
It was difficult to fend him off. He was just sitting there, watching.
“What did he say?”
“Nothing much.”
“Bullshit!” Peter leapt to his feet in the front hall. “I saw your face. Now are you going to tell me yourself or am I going to call him back?”
“He won't tell you a thing.”
“The hell he won't.” Peter was beginning to steam, and Mel felt as though she were in shock. She stared at him and stood up.
“Could we go in your study and talk?” He said not a word but followed her in and shut the door. She sat down again and stared at him. “I don't understand it.”
“Tell me what he said, and I'll try and explain it to you, Mel, but for God's sake tell me what's wrong.”
And this time, she smiled. He was expecting complicated results, but there was nothing complicated about what Jones had told her. The only thing complicated about it was what it was going to do to her life, “I'm pregnant.”
“You're what!" He stared at her in disbelief. “You're not.”
“lam.”
And suddenly he grinned. “Well, I'll be damned. You are?”
“I am.” She looked as though she'd just been run over by a train, and he came to her side and pulled her into his arms.
“That's the best news I've had in years.”
“It is?” She still looked shocked.
“Hell, yes.”
“For chrissake, Peter, that's all we need. We're already drowning in the responsibilities we have. And a baby? Now? I'm thirty-six years old, we have five children between the two of us …” She was horrified at the thought, and he looked crushed.
He tried to sound matter-of-fact as he asked, “Will you abort it?”
She stared into space remembering what Val had said about going to the abortion clinic with Mark.” I don't know. I don't know if I could.”
“Then there's no decision to be made, is there?”
“You make it sound awfully simple.” She stared at him unhappily. “But it isn't as simple as all that.”
“Sure it is. You have a maternity clause in your contract. You told me so.”
“Christ. I forgot.” And then she began to laugh as she remembered how amused she had been at that. And suddenly it all seemed very funny to her. She began to laugh and laugh and laugh and Peter kissed her cheek and took a bottle of champagne from the wet bar. He popped the cork, and poured a glass for each of them and toasted her.