Patsy has just managed to get Solomon settled in his basinet when there is a knock at the door. She is still in immense pain, as she sits on the edge of her bed.
"Come in."
The door opens, and Delia appears in the doorway. Patsy motions for her to come in. She takes a seat on the edge of Trixie's bed. It is nearly time for supper, but Trixie hasn't returned home yet. Delia stares at Patsy in silence, uncertain where to begin.
"I realize that I have made quite a mess of things," Patsy begins.
"When you came home you said that you came home because you wanted to be here, with me," Delia recalls.
"I did."
"And you proceeded to push me as far away as you could in the proceeding months."
"I am incredibly sorry that I hurt you."
"You grew more, and more distant, and isolative, and I thought that it may have been because you were grieving, at least at first. Then I considered that it was something I had done. My mind ran through a million different scenarios. I wondered if you had found someone else. Pats, I don't know how to make sense of any of this. I can't say as I understand any of this."
"I don't understand most of it myself."
"Why didn't you just tell me?"
"I was fairly certain that the truth would be more hurtful, and damaging than the omission."
"What was your plan, exactly? Did you think that we wouldn't notice when you suddenly had a baby?"
"I thought that I could keep it mostly confidential."
Delia furrows her brow, "In what world?"
"I had every intention of parting ways with him, after birth."
"Oh, I see."
"I did not anticipate, or plan any of this. I allowed myself to become so consumed by my own thoughts, and feelings that I couldn't handle the thought of anymore disappointments."
"Anymore disappointments? You think that he is a disappointment?"
"I certainly did feel that way at one point, or another. I feel as if I disappointed myself, throughout most of this situation from conception, until now. I never had a desire to be someone's mother."
"How did this happen? How did we get here?"
"I left, and for quite some time I felt very alone, while I was gone. One day a childhood friend came along to visit. There is really no excuse for my behavior."
"I am just trying to understand how this happened," Delia points out.
"He was familiar, and I didn't feel so alone. It was comforting to have him around. We laughed, like old times. We ate, and commiserated, and drank. I drank far more than I typically do, which is no excuse for the event that happened that led to this. I know that it was the ultimate betrayal. That is why I didn't want to tell you."
"Do you love him?"
She shakes her head, "Delia I never loved him. It had nothing to do with that. I allowed my grief, and alcohol to cloud my judgement in a way that I am quite ashamed of, for many reasons."
"Did you tell him?"
"No. It took me far longer than it should have to even admit to myself. I can't count the number of unplanned babies I have ushered into this world. I can't count the number of times I have wondered why women didn't just abstain from activities that would end in an unplanned pregnancy. It is really easy to judge someone when you haven't been in their shoes. This has been a struggle for me. I wanted to tell you. I didn't want to make this your burden, especially when I had not planned on keeping him."
"What happens if this childhood friend shows up on our doorstep?"
"That isn't going to happen."
"He could come for a visit."
"He was in a fatal car accident shortly before my father died."
"Oh," Delia's heart sinks.
"I don't know where we go from here. I will understand if this is more than you can cope with. I am struggling with it myself. I am trying to figure out how to explain to people I care about that I am a midwife with the education to know how to prevent an unplanned pregnancy, and yet I now have a son out of wedlock. It isn't as if I can lock him away, and hide him from the world. I am still processing all of this myself."
"I am upset. I feel a lot of things, but mostly I feel hurt that you felt like you couldn't come to me."
"I am immeasurably sorry."
"You look tired, you should get some rest," Delia suggests.
"I have napped throughout the day. Supper will be ready soon."
"Are you okay?"
"I will be."
"Is he okay?"
"He is absolutely perfect. He is far more… he is just more than I ever pictured."
Delia vacates her seat on Trixie's bed. She tiptoes across the room, and stops next to the young lad's basinet. He sleeps very peacefully in his bed.
"Do you have the heart to talk Sister Monica Joan out of the name Solomon?" Delia queries.
"She saved his life there is no way on Earth that I could change his name."
"I won't argue with that."
"Thank you," Patsy adds, "For saving my life."
"I wish I had been better prepared, maybe then you wouldn't have lost consciousness, or had to go to the hospital. I wish that you had told me. I am not pretending that I understand what happened, but I would like to think that you could confide in me in a time of crisis."
"I am so sorry."
"I am going to go wash up before dinner. Will I see you there?"
"Probably not. We are both rather exhausted."