HAPPILY MARRIED
The companion piece to 'The Last Name'
LAS VEGAS, NV
1990
"No." Abby Cone hissed softly to herself. "No way."
In the tiny bathroom of the tiny house she shared with her husband of less than a year, Abby was crouched in front of the toilet, holding a recently completed home pregnancy test kit. According to the box, if the strip turned blue, one was knocked up.
And the strip in front of Abby was a violent shade of the deepest azure blue.
"No way."
Seconds later, she was on the phone, making an appointment to see a doctor.
"No way!" Jake Nicholson cried in jubilation, a few days later when Abby told him. He leapt from the chair into which he had slumped once he'd gotten home from another day at the site, and grabbed Abby, pulling her close.
"Watch it!" she shouted, laughing while at the same time trying to pull away; he was covered in dust and grime after a day labouring. He didn't budge. She smiled. "I know, I'm happy too!"
"Happy?" Jake said, letting her go. "Happy doesn't begin to describe what I'm feeling now."
"I suppose it's a good job we did the Grand Canyon job," Abby said, looking away from her husband for a second. "Greenland's already started unfreezing our accounts. We'll buy a house somewhere up north, in New England or Pennsylvania or something." She turned back to Jake. "And I won't have to go to the free clinic for a sonogram."
Jake laughed, the joy in his heart billowing up through his lips.
"This is the beginning," Jake said, smiling so widely it seemed as though he was going to swallow Abby. "I wonder what ability he's going to have..."
Abby's demeanour went cold. "You thought about that straight away, didn't you?"
Jake brow furrowed in confusion. "What are you talking about?"
"Whether or not the baby has an ability..." Abby said, trailing off. "Whether or not the baby has an ability, I don't want that to define who it is. Not the way it's defined us."
Jake nodded solemnly. "Then we're agreed."
NASHUA, NH
1991, SIX MONTHS LATER
"So," the obstetrician said with that warm, familiar smile adopted by doctors when they got to know their patients, "How's Mom doing with the third trimester?"
Abby smiled in return, seated on the thin mattress of the bed in the OB-GYN's office. Jake sat in a chair on the ground beside her, his hand clutching hers, over her massively engorged, very pregnant belly. "I hate it, but you get that," she said, her eyes heavily shadowed. "The morning sickness passed. Finally. Also, I'm getting used to being called 'Mom'."
The doctor, a middle-aged, petite dark-haired woman, laughed. "Good, good." She stood. "Why don't you lie down, and we'll get the ultrasound underway."
Jake moved out of the way, while Abby lay down, and the doctor dragged a portable bench with a TV screen on top and several trays placed in the between the four metal struts holding it up. She took a tube of gel from the topmost shelf as Abby rolled up her shirt, exposing her bulbous stomach. After Greenland had finished unfreezing their accounts, Jake and Abby had bought a large house in New Hampshire, just outside of Nashua. It was a grand, sweeping Victorian, with a large yard, begging for a dog. They'd decided to wait until after the baby to get one of those, but Jake already had his heart set on a Newfoundland.
The obstetrician flicked on the screen, and squirted a few dollops of gel onto Abby's stomach, and pressed a paddle onto her skin.
"Okay, now we're just looking for a heartbeat," she said, moving the paddle around.
Jake stared at the screen, at the grainy black and white shot of what would, in two and a half months, be his firstborn child. They had refused to learn the sex of the baby during previous ultrasounds. Jake watched in wonder, only to be disturbed by the ringing of the phone on the doctor's desk.
"Hold on," the OB-GYN said, setting the paddles aside and reaching for the phone. She had a brief conversation, before hanging up. "Sorry about that," she said, returning. "Just a paperwork mix up I'll have to clear up after we're done here."
"You deserve the death penalty for keeping us in suspense," Abby said, jokingly.
The doctor laughed, and pressed the paddle onto Abby's belly. She moved it around for a few seconds, Jake watching the screen the whole time.
The screen remained a field of hazy black.
"That's not right," Jake said, sharing a concerned glance with his wife. "Why can't we see anything?"
"The baby may have turned..." the obstetrician said, moving the paddle slowly, eyes on the screen. "It's not uncommon..."
Then, Jake made something out. A shape, on the screen. There could be no doubt what it was; a tiny arm.
"There he is," he said, leaning closer.
"Or she." Abby added. Then she frowned. "Why isn't there a heartbeat?" No response. "Doctor?"
The obstetrician was looking at the screen, her expression, just moments ago full of jocularity, had cooled, her face, once smiling, was suddenly set with a frown. She looked slowly from the screen to Jake, then to Abby, sympathy and inexpressible sorrow burning behind her grey eyes.
At that exact moment, the hearts of Jake Nicholson and his beloved wife, Abby Cone, broke in unison.
One week later, when Jake got home from a joyless, empty day at work, he found the bed Abby had not left for more than ninety-six straight hours abandoned, the house's heat turned off.
"Abby?" he said, his voice echoing through the room, through the house. "Are you home?"
She'd spent the night after the news of the miscarriage in hospital, and had delivered the lifeless body of their child; a boy they named Alexander. They'd buried him two days later, in a private ceremony. She'd cried non-stop for those three days, except under anaesthetic. Then, as though she'd simply run out of tears, she'd stopped crying, only lying in the bed she and Jake had, up until then, shared since their arrival in New Hampshire, staring into darkness.
"Abby?" he said again, wandering through the house.
He found her in the kitchen, standing at the back door, a suitcase on the floor beside her. She was fully dressed, her long red hair tied in a simple, elegant ponytail.
"Abby?" he said, taking a step forward. "Are you alright?"
She shook her head, not speaking. When she did, her words were full of conviction, but devoid of any emotion. "I'm leaving. I'm going to Los Angeles."
Jake knew immediately what she meant. "No, Abby, don't. Stay. We can work through this. Together. You don't have to go back to Greenland."
"I do," she said simply, and took a step towards him. She leant forward, kissing his cheek. "Goodbye, Jake. I love you."
With that, she turned, picked up her suitcase, and was gone.
LOS ANGELES, CA
Jake Nicholson had never wanted to be here again. Above Los Angeles, in the lair of the vary woman he had fought so hard to be free of. He was standing in the cavernous office of Louise Greenland, and he was alone, once again.
There were three others in the room; Louise Greenland, sitting behind her desk reading a Time magazine, the ever-elegant Priscilla Adei-Cardwell sitting across from her, reading a copy of the New York Times, and a little blonde boy, lying on the ground nearby, colouring a drawing absently.
Greenland looked up as he entered, Cardwell turned around. The boy just ignored him.
"Welcome back, Jake." Greenland said, simply, a small smile upturning the corners of her mouth.
Jake nodded, unsmiling.
"I'm so deeply sorry for your loss, Jake." Cardwell intoned. "I really, truly am."
Jake nodded again, at Cardwell, acknowledging her sympathy, uninterested in it. It had been two weeks since he had lost the baby, a week since Abby had left. He'd decided to come back to Greenland, to try and find Abby. To rekindle the flame that had died with their child.
"I'd like you to meet your new partner," Greenland said, and Jake felt an odd presence.
A hand appeared out of thin air before Jake, a hand that quickly became an arm, then a man. "Hello," the man said, his tone even, but his demeanour gruff. "I'm Taylor Benn."