She wore an anklet the next day, a flash of silver just above her foot and over the subtle hue of her stockings. Austrian silver, another apology for another business trip, which matched the slender chain around her neck. She wore it, still awash in a cloud of new perfume, as she left the present tilted and waiting on his game console. Pale green long-sleeved coat and knee-length skirt, silk camisole, hair gathered in a pearl clasp at the back of her head, muted flash of polished fingernails. She looked warm and professional, badge clipped to her lapel, as she took in her husband. Tanned flesh gleaming in a natural hue that took her a week of careful sunbathing to achieve, one loosely clasped fist flung across her pillow, lips parted slightly to allow for his perceptible breathing.
"Ned," she said softly.
The clasped fist became spread fingers that rubbed over his stubbled face. "You're dressed, aren't you," he said, mock irritable. Liquid brown eyes blinking open, then gazing into her carefully made-up face.
"Three minutes before I have to go."
He sat up and opened his arms, and she walked toward him smoothly, diamonds flashing from the rings he had given her, and then he nuzzled his face against the linen buttoned across her midsection. "Tell them you can't," he mumbled. "Tell them my plane was late, tell them I've handcuffed you to the bed--"
Nancy stifled a laugh at the thought of what Agent Roberts' pointed reply would be to that excuse. She ran her fingers over his unruly hair. "You going in today?"
He shook his head, his breath warming her skin even through the fabric.
skirt, gaze, orange prison jumpsuit
"All the more reason you should stay here." His fingers plucked at the fabric layered over the small of her back.
She blinked and the hazy image was gone. "All the more reason I should go," she said. "I left your present in the study and I wouldn't want you neglecting me all day because of it."
"Present?" His eyes lit up, face tilted back to look into hers.
She leaned over and kissed the corner of his mouth, smudging the mark her lipstick made in a possessive gesture. "Don't forget to eat while I'm gone," she advised him.
--
Ned commanded a corner office. She knew that. She had seen it, mahogany wood and black leather and the scent of money in the crisp power suits and shining wingtips. She had commanded her own corner office, still maintained a managing interest in the agency, still checked in every now and then. A few times even with Ned along, his hand in hers, Nancy's secretary giving them a knowing glance that made Nancy blush even after their union had been sanctified and blessed a second time.
Now, however, Nancy was in command only of a cubicle in the bullpen and the joint ownership of a conference room, a pot of stale coffee, and a totally inappropriate sense of happiness over the fresh pack of pens the supply closet had deemed her worthy of receiving.
Black Bic stick pens. Ned could afford truckloads of them, and one unopened box equaled the wonder of Christmas morning.
She shook her head, resisting the entirely unprofessional impulse to reach down and toy with her anklet, knowing Ned was nowhere around, would not insist upon dragging her to the nearest semiprivate space to have his way with her.
Her voicemail flashed on her phone, and she checked it, inwardly groaning. "Field trip to the morgue today." She had seen at least a thousand dead bodies in various states of decay and circumstance, but why did it have to be on an anklet day?
I sound like Bess, she thought in dull wonder.
--
At the beginning of her trek through the enormous warehouse of a store, she paused in the line at the pharmacy counter. Three people ahead of her, and she sized them up without thinking. A white-haired man in a blue windbreaker, shuffling his weight back and forth, one hand in his pocket. A woman with gleaming cheeks, hair pulled back in a hasty ponytail, the hems of her jeans legs worn by shoes into frayed white strings. A mother with a round-cheeked toddler in the basket of her shopping cart, grubby fingers grabbing at any available purchase on her cardigan, a furrow already leaving a faint mark down the skin between her eyebrows as she lectured the uncaring child.
I can change my mind.
Nancy studied the fiber caplets and dietary supplements, dusty on metal shelves, and then the bored girl smacking her gum was extending a hand for whatever proof Nancy could give that she needed some pill or unguent or insulin drip.
She handed over the creased prescription, cool lack of importance, lack of weight. She would pick it up on the way out; fine, fine, Mrs. Nickerson, see you in a little while.
Mrs. Nickerson.
And exactly what gives you the right, you with your piles of made and married money, spacious house, unsullied womb, to prevent yourself from experiencing the miracle committed by shocked fumbling teenagers in the backs of borrowed cars every weeknight and twice a weekend.
Only fate and circumstance, thank you, but I prefer neither. I prefer no mingling of my tainted blood into some innocent.
"We'll see what happens."
Maybe nothing will, maybe nothing will.
Scrutinized vegetables, a box of pop-tarts, box of midgrade teabags. A serious-faced preteen was playing a demo of the game she had given Ned, fingers on the controls made slick with continual use. Enormous bottles of soap, stacks of rough towels.
She could leave now, leave the teardrop case behind, come back another day or leave it until she had some stuttering plea on her voicemail to come pick up her birth control.
leave it
But she was back in line, crinkling paper bag
(pregnancy test)
in hand, express lane, smooth merge back onto the freeway.
She could hear it when she walked in, hear his frustrated shouts at the television even from the doorway. "Son of a bitch." She smiled in his direction and put the bags on the counter, put things away, took out the meat she had set to marinate before leaving in the morning. The evidence of his foraging was on the kitchen table, visible only to her eyes; the few crumbs, unexpected jar of peanut butter, one or two fewer cans cooling on the refrigerator shelves.
"Nan?"
"Yeah," she called back. "I'll be up in a minute."
Slice the potatoes, layer them in the casserole dish with cheese, slam them in the oven for an indeterminate length of time, check; meat on the roasting tray for same indeterminate time, check; big inexplicable glass of orange juice which she half-finished before even walking out of the kitchen, check. He had pulled on his boxers and brushed his teeth, but then she was pretty sure he'd found the game, because he had made no other concessions to civilization.
"You are the best," he said when she walked in, his eyes glued to the screen. He paused the game and pulled the other bean bag close to his. "Have you seen this game before?"
She shrugged, glass cupped between her palms, anklet still gleaming above her bare feet. He gestured for her to sit down, and she did, nestling into the bean bag. "All I heard is that it was on every guy's list this year."
"And it's not supposed to be out for another month." He shot her a sidelong glance. "Do I want to know?"
"It was nothing bad," she replied, laughing slightly. "Just a friend of a friend I helped out once."
"How long until dinner's ready?"
She mentally calculated, absently noting as he took the glass from her hand and lifted it above her head to place it on a desk. "Thirty minutes."
His eyes gleamed as he unfastened the single button on her jacket, pushed the hem of her skirt up her thigh to show the tops of her stockings. "I have it all," he said, sighing contentedly. "Assuming you're wearing a thong."
"Ahh," she said, shaking her head.
"Ned, I... I know how much you want this, but, I'm going back on the pill."
No. The words stuck in her throat. He was unfastening her garters, careful not to rip her stockings, palm warm between her thighs. Her throat was dry. She needed water, something wet, something against her throat.
Besides the obvious.
She hadn't taken the pill yet. It was downstairs, in her purse, in unbroken blister pack. Not like it was the morning-after pill, either, not like some miracle couldn't happen in the next twenty-eight days. She hadn't expected to come up here and find him half-clothed, pushing her skirt up around her waist, tugging the lace tanga down her thighs, silk strings of her garter belt hanging useless. The anklet
bare and wasted
silver thread through the underwear he tossed aside, the uncomfortable texture of the bean bag against the heels of her hands as his weight pressed her into it.
dammit, she thought, unseen tears pricking at her eyelids.
"You okay? I don't think I've ever ravished you on a bean bag."
"I'll try anything once," she said, forcing a smile at his sly response, but she felt sick, as though she had told him some glaring lie.
He played one last game as she closed herself into their bedroom, stifling her sudden violent burst of sobs as she peeled off her stockings and balled them up, threw them into a corner, unhooked her garter belt and threw it. She could smell his scent on her palms before she scrubbed her face almost raw, the ache just beginning to pulse in her thighs. She unbuttoned the skirt and stepped out of it, found a thong and a pair of jeans, swept her hair up into a ponytail.
Between plating the meat and serving the potatoes, still sniffling, she dug the crinkling accusing bag out of her purse and buried it under the trash already in the can. Because if he found it he would be so angry at her. She would discuss it with him first. Maybe while they were in bed, after she did something he particularly liked and he was stroking her hair and would agree to almost anything. Some other pharmacist on the way home from work, and it would be done.
"Honey, could you pick up my birth control?"
God, she had been so tense, how had he not felt it? Not that he noticed much, once she started touching him that way. He'd promise her the moon for that touch.
promise her that the uncertainty would fade in time, that she would grow to want it, that he thought no worse of her for every worthless month, every shake of her head
The yellow room filled her with dread. Yellow wall-paper.
And she heard Strathman's voice in her head. How has he made you feel inadequate, how has he made you feel badly, give me examples, tell me what he says, tell me why it makes you nervous, tell me exactly how you feel you're not performing, tell me, let me dig my fingers into your soul, let me find what inside you is so afraid of being tied to him for the rest of your life.
"Hey." Her knees trembled at the kiss as he embraced her lightly from behind, grabbed the plates in a choreographed motion after hundreds of meals at the table. "Looks great. I promise I'll cook tomorrow night, it's just, the game, and..."
"I understand." Smile on her suddenly pale lips. She grabbed silverware and finished setting the table.
He really was apologetic, she saw, after the meal, after they scraped plates into the trash can. He gathered it up, tied the string, lifted it out to carry it outside.
"Let me do that," she said, as though the paper bag would burn through the thin plastic like some scarlet letter and reveal her. She carried it out, made sure the evidence was covered, and walked back in just as he finished loading the dishwasher, washed his hands.
"Hey," she said, pulling the curtain over their back window. She held her hands behind her back, and he met her gaze.
"You want me to wipe off the table?" His eyes were warm.
"Not right now," she said, twining her arms up around his neck.
always can do it later
"You look really, really hot in those jeans," Ned commented, sliding his hands down her sides, tracing her curves.
"But I'd look hotter out of them," she suggested.
The phone rang. The machine picked up, but she couldn't even hear the greeting, all she could hear was the rush of blood in her ears, the way he was gasping her name.
"Nan, you know that favor Ned owes us? Well, we had something come up this weekend, so can you pick up the kids tomorrow on your way home from work? Thanks."
The recorder clicked.
"Favor?" Ned asked thickly.
Her fingers were curled into claws, against his shoulder blades. She spread them, let them rest on his shirt. She had to blink a few times before she could translate what he was saying.
"Bess," Nancy said, dragged a hand through her hair. "Nate babysat while you were out of town, so Bess could come over here, and, the kids, and, damn..."
"So, they'll be... over here?"
"Guess so." She leaned forward, let her forehead rest on his chest, and sighed.
Ned reached up and ran a hand over her head, let his fingers slip through her hair. "I have a great idea," he said in a low voice, after a few minutes. "Let's go upstairs and I can play the game some more."
"You can play the game?" She pouted. "What will I do?"
"Oh, I can think of a few things."
--
Nancy's mood was black the next day. Entirely, utterly black. Because, despite having had a day off, Ned hadn't restocked their freezer with child-friendly food. Not that either of them had known about the sudden babysitting assignment, but that was beside the point. Her Jag was a two-seater, so she took a cab to work, called her agency and had one of their sedans dropped off to drive home after. She had budgeted plenty of time, but a teleconference had gone long, and now she was standing in the grocery store, wearing a wool suit she desperately wanted to strip from her body and burn, considering two brands of chicken nuggets.
"Chicken nuggets, bake some french fries, it's just two nights, you're a darling," Bess had said when Nancy had called her back. So simple.
Two nights. One of which was a Friday night. The other, Saturday. And of course Bess would breeze in, not a hair out of place, sometime early Sunday afternoon, to leave Nancy and Ned exhausted and wishing for a real weekend.
Or, at least, that was how Nancy had pictured it.
"I'll be home later," Ned had said after the perfunctory phone greeting. "Something came up."
"You mean one of your friends invited you out."
He had hesitated perceptibly, and Nancy had snarled something into the phone, then hung up. She had done how many unspeakably nice things to him last night, how many times, and he had the nerve to do this? Well, be damned if she'd even talk to him before going on the pill. She wished for a second that she hadn't removed the evidence so thoroughly, but it would be easy enough to get her prescription filled again.
If she hadn't left it in the Jag.
Which she had.
"Dammit, dammit, dammit," she muttered. Applesauce and chocolate milk and fruit snacks and fruit juice and, what would a kid like for breakfast? What would she like for breakfast? She'd like some damn pancakes. Homemade pancakes. Homemade by her husband who as far as she was concerned would be in the doghouse until he handed over his gold card and/or the keys to his Jag. Banana nut. She tossed some cartons of disturbingly neon yogurt into the cart; no use in having anemic children in her care.
Bess was waiting at the door for her. Stephanie's eyes lit up when she saw Nancy; Madison looked drowsy in her fleece coat and stocking cap. Bess supervised the careful latching of car seats into the back of the car, then gave Nancy a hug once the car doors were safely closed.
"You look like a storm cloud," Bess said. "I'm sorry, was today a bad day?"
"Well, if it's any indication of how he'll behave once we really have kids, I'll never see him again," Nancy said, her eyes still bright with anger. "Anything special I should know?"
"Stephanie's just getting over a cold, but she'll be fine," Bess said. "If she says she hurts anywhere, I packed some liquid tylenol. Maddy's been pretty good to put down the past few days, but if she's not, I really don't know what to tell you, unless you want to call my mom and have her sing into the phone. That always seems to work."
"I'll try that if I get desperate," Nancy said, and attempted a parting smile.
--
By eight o'clock, Nancy's anger at her husband had become a white-hot ball at which she flung epithets every few minutes. She'd had to cook dinner, and keep an eye on them while doing so. Madison was nearly ambulatory, so Nancy strapped her into a high chair early, strapped her into anything to keep her from crawling under coffee tables and into shadowed corners. She'd had to unpack the trunkload of assorted toys and supplies Bess had given her, thank God for the collapsible playpen Bess had left at Nancy's house for when they came over and had no babysitter. Thank God for the Nemo doll which Stephanie seemed content to talk to nonstop. Off-white had been a terrible choice for a couch covering, Nancy felt, seeing Stephanie's small body dwarfed in it, her inexplicably sticky fingers wrapped around a plastic juice cup, eyes bright as she watched one of the many DVDs Bess had packed.
Madison was teething and howling.
Nancy broke the oddly shaped chicken fingers and french fries into pieces and watched as Madison eyed them suspiciously, then settled on one and brought it none too carefully to her mouth. Half of her meal ended up on the floor. Stephanie said she wasn't hungry after three chicken fingers and half a dozen french fries, and wanted to go watch another DVD, even though the first one wasn't halfway over.
She made Stephanie swear she would stay on the couch with Nemo as she carried Madison upstairs, to the antique white changing table, how had it been a good idea to make the nursery a high-ceilinged room upstairs? Oh, yes, it hadn't been her idea at all, had it; if they didn't have a nursery, they could have separate studies, he could have his damn game console in his own room so he could play that damn game she had called in a damn favor to give him and she wouldn't have to listen to it. But no.
Madison cooed as Nancy changed her diaper expertly, powder and cream and wipes and fresh diaper covered in some cartoon character Nancy definitely didn't recognize. She'd kept the door cracked as she'd stripped off the business suit from hell, swearing for the tenth time that she'd never wear it again, paranoid that the children would somehow start a fire or fall down the stairs, stick their fingers in the gaping unsafe outlets. Now she was in a fleece sweatshirt and jeans, her hair in a ponytail.
"Yeah, baby," Nancy said, looking down at Madison, her voice soft and sweet. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"
Madison's eyes were set on something in the crib. Bess had left a few of Madison's less popular toys there, so Nancy placed her in the crib and backed tiredly to the rocking chair. She settled in, her weight sinking into the cushion.
Madison pulled herself to her feet and extended her arms, howling.
Nancy's eyes popped open and she cursed Ned for the thousandth time that night as she lifted Madison out of the crib and propped her on her hip. When she came downstairs Stephanie was digging in her purple backpack and had found a coloring book and a box of overlarge crayons.
"All right," Nancy said, putting Madison in the crib and ignoring her howls for a minute. "You want to color?"
"Yeah." Stephanie bobbed her head enthusiastically.
"'Kay." Nancy brought an old sheet out of the linen closet and spread it on the floor, next to the coffee table, in front of the television. "Right here, okay?"
"Chicken too?" Stephanie closed and opened her fists in the direction of the table. Madison's screams somehow grew in pitch. And Nancy realized there would be no way she could watch her regular Friday night crime drama, not with Stephanie's slightly glazed eyes locked on their wide-screen television.
Stephanie just never ran out of energy. Never. She played wildly improvised card games with a grubby deck of Old Maid; she wanted to play dress-up with anything and everything in Nancy's closet, and shot her a strangely sophisticated and dubious glance when Nancy ad-libbed a reason they couldn't; she wanted to twirl and dance and sing along with the cartoon characters on the screen. Madison didn't want to stay in the playpen that long, so Nancy would sit with the baby on her lap, Stephanie tugging at her hand or pants leg every five minutes to get her attention, to get her to play.
At ten o'clock Nancy had already planned where she would bury Ned's body, assuming he was ever stupid enough to show his face where she could find it again. Madison was cranky, but she lay down easily enough, in her footie pajamas, under her own blankets in the crib. Nancy heard Stephanie's voice warbling along with the movie downstairs, and she pulled the papasan cushion into the nursery. Stephanie had napped on it before. She found a few extra warm blankets, then looked over at Madison.
Madison was asleep. Nancy stared at her, watching for the rise and fall of her chest, and her own heart started beating again as she found it.
After Nancy's firm insistence that they both needed to go to bed, Stephanie acquiesced with poor grace to the turning off of the television. "So, you've slept on the big cushion before. Do you want to sleep in here with your sister? Or if you're feeling like a big girl, we have a big bed in the other room."
Stephanie looked down at the big cushion, from the vantage point of Nancy's hip. "Can I watch Nemo?"
"It's time for sleep."
"Oh. You're going to sleep?"
"Yeah. I've had a long day."
"Juice?"
Nancy put Stephanie down on the floor. "I can go get some juice," she replied. "You gonna lay down?"
Stephanie nodded, holding her Nemo doll to her chest. She rubbed a fist over her eyes as Nancy went downstairs and refilled her juice cup.
"You remember where the bathroom is," Nancy said, handing her the cup. Stephanie nodded. "I'm going to be just across the hall, okay?"
"Okay."
"You ready to go to sleep?"
"No light?"
Nancy looked around. "I'll leave the light in the hallway on. Is that all right?"
Stephanie walked to the door of the nursery and peered out, her lower lip pushed out. Then she nodded. "I guess."
Nancy sprawled on her back, half-watching the television, in a brushed cotton camisole and flannel pants, waiting for the phone to ring. He was going to call, she knew it, he would call half-sloshed from some bar in downtown Chicago and she would have to go pick him up and she couldn't leave the kids alone, she'd have to bundle them up, the finally sleeping baby and the rambunctious three year old, and they'd see him sloppy drunk and leaning all over her and she'd have to not say anything profane to him, even though that was all she had been thinking all afternoon and night.
She wanted to go downstairs and change the alarm code, put the phone off the hook, turn off her cell, and let him sleep on the porch.
She flipped through a few dozen channels, settling on a British comedy with a half-hysterical laugh track. First thing in the morning, happy little trip to the park if they had nice weather, and a stop by the friendly local pharmacist.
"Nancy?"
Stephanie hadn't knocked. She stood half in the doorway, blond hair spilling over her shoulders, Nemo clutched in a fist. Nancy pushed herself up and turned down the volume.
"What's wrong, honey?"
Stephanie directed a glance over her shoulder, then looked down at the carpet. "Can I stay in here?"
"Do you want me to bring the cushion?" Nancy threw back the covers.
Stephanie ran over the carpet like she was being pursued and climbed up onto the bed. "Up here?"
Well, not like I'd let Ned sleep in here, she thought, as she arranged the covers around Stephanie, put Nemo securely in her grasp, put a pillow between them. Stephanie sprawled with her head propped up, taking in the Brits with a carefully serious face, and Nancy tried to hide her smile.
Her yawns were echoed by Stephanie until she finally looked over once, and Stephanie was slumped over, her face pressed against Nemo. Nancy took her gently and arranged her a little more comfortably, pulled her under the covers. She settled there with a slight noise and Nancy felt herself drifting off.
At the overloud click of the bedroom door Nancy opened her eyes but didn't bother to check the clock. "Babe, I'm so sorry," she heard Ned say, as he shuffled over the carpet, pale shirt gleaming in the moonlight.
She shot a glare at him. "Hush," she said, glancing over to make sure Stephanie was still asleep. "Grab some couch, and you'd better be damn glad I'm letting you do that."
--
Ned woke to the sound of crying. Nancy, he thought blankly, and opened his eyes, the space behind them throbbing slightly.
He was facing the back of the couch.
He turned over, legs tangled in the blankets, his limbs numbed with cold, and saw Stephanie standing over him.
"Hi," she said.
"You got downstairs," he said, slowly.
Her face puckered in anticipation of punishment. "Can we watch Nemo?"
Ned sat up and scrubbed at his face with his palms. "I think we should go check on your sister."
"And then watch Nemo? And have breakfast?"
He doubted that even at full wakefulness, he could have figured out what she was saying, until finally he guessed "pancakes" and her eyes lit up. "Aunt Nancy said we would have pancakes," she repeated.
"Okay, okay," he said, then swept her up and held her to his side. "We'll go get Madison and then have pancakes."
"Yay," she said, and clapped her hands.
He changed Madison's diaper, put her in a fresh suit with a textured frog on the front, gave her a rattle, but she still didn't seem happy. "Is her bottle stuff downstairs?"
Stephanie shrugged an answer as she smacked at the flat toy fastened to the crib. "No bottle anymore."
"Juice, then," Ned muttered, and took them both downstairs. He remembered at the last second to spread the old sheet over the table before letting Stephanie settle in with her coloring book and crayons. The last thing he saw was Elmo decorated in a shade of bright blue before he set to work making the pancakes.
Banana nut. Man, she was pissed.
"Do you like nuts in your pancakes?" he asked Stephanie, and she scrunched her nose in disgust and shook her head. "How about Madison?"
Madison's chubby fingers were grasping in Ned's direction. "She likes anything," Stephanie announced.
"Maybe some applesauce?"
"Sure." Stephanie was connecting the dots in a violent zigzag entirely unrelated to their location.
But applesauce wasn't finger food, he realized belatedly, after the high chair was smeared in drying transparent goo. Madison seemed happy enough, though, especially once Ned had given her an unadulterated pancake torn into incredibly small pieces. Stephanie attacked hers with her hands, too, and Ned was a bit wary of giving her syrup.
He had just finished the first plate of banana nut, and topped them in whipped cream, when Nancy walked into the kitchen, mild panic in her eyes, her hair askew. She looked around and he saw visible relief on her face at having the children accounted for.
"Here," he said, handing her the plate. "I'm sorry I was out so late last night."
She didn't say anything, but took her plate to the table and ate her pancakes. While he was making a batch for himself, Stephanie's infinitesimal attention span faltered, and she demanded another viewing of Nemo. Nancy put it on for her and refilled her juice cup, his elbow brushing her arm, and their gazes locked for a minute.
"Sorry," he said.
The minute he put his food down Madison started attempting to climb out of her seat, so he wiped her face and hands and put her in her playpen. She crawled around, investigating, and he returned to the table after checking to make sure Stephanie's gaze was suitably fixed.
"If you can keep an eye on them, I'm gonna take a shower. The pancakes were good," she said grudgingly, pushing her chair back. She scraped a few crumbs off her plate and put it in the sink.
He didn't trust himself to make an answer, so he nodded, then settled on the couch to watch the movie with Stephanie. She looked him over, after a few minutes had passed, while some fish on the screen were urgently conferring about something.
"Want to play dress up?"
--
"You have to wait until it's cool, okay?" Ned said, handing Madison a few overlarge soft chunks of the inside of a biscuit. She took them happily, crushing them in her fists before trying an experimental bite.
The day was breezy and unseasonably warm. A few other families were grouped on weighted quilts, a few couples, in the dappled sunlight in the park. The lake gleamed a few hundred feet away, and Stephanie kept looking at it, asking why they were not wearing their swimsuits, sampling the kids meal they had picked up in addition to the instant picnic meal.
"Baby, it's freezing out there," Nancy explained. "Feel how windy it is?"
Stephanie was still pouting, blue eyes focused out in the distance where Nancy would not let her go. With a pang Nancy realized that any uninformed observer would think the children theirs; Stephanie's resemblance to Bess was too strong to be mistaken when they were together, but the three of them shared blond hair and blue eyes. Madison's hair was still so wispy as to be indeterminate, her eyes dark like Ned's.
He wasn't speaking to Nancy more than necessary, his remarks brief and nonconfrontational, but he'd suggested the picnic, had driven the car, packed everything, and had only left her alone with the kids long enough to take his own shower. Stephanie had balked at rotisserie chicken, but Madison was happy with the steaming pieces Ned had split and allowed to cool on her plate, along with a spoonful of mashed potatoes that Nancy could sense imminent mess in.
Ned took a sip of his soda and Madison opened and closed her fists in his direction. Nancy watched as he put his cup down, made sure her juice cup was full, and handed it over. Stephanie was turning in dizzy circles on the grass next to them.
The carrying seat came complete with shining flashing noisy toys on a panel easily accessible to Madison's less than graceful movements, and Nancy watched her sleepily. She had only been able to fall into deep uninterrupted sleep once she'd known Ned was home.
"I want to go run," Stephanie announced seriously.
Ned finished the last bite of his chicken and wiped his hands thoroughly. He darted a glance at Nancy, who was still drowsily watching Madison, then climbed to his feet.
"You sure you don't want to play airplane instead?"
After a few more listless bites of her food, Nancy swept up the scraps and leftovers, put them into their respective bags, and watched Madison's head tilt in a narcoleptic fit. Ned had Stephanie up on his shoulders and they were swooping in wide circles around the field, Stephanie crowing with laughter, her eyes bright.
He really was good with them. Even though he'd left her high and dry the night before, he hadn't said a negative word all day, he'd made pancakes and cleaned up after them and stood guard at the bathroom door for Stephanie, made interested comments about Nemo even during the third time in a row they had watched it. He was keeping out of Nancy's way, too, and she almost wished that he would make some comment.
But not while he was being so good with them.
Madison moved restlessly and Nancy unhooked the strap holding her in, let her sprawl on her back on the quilt. She grabbed for the pacifier and sucked it contentedly once Nancy popped it into her pink mouth.
After twenty more minutes her husband returned to the quilt. Ned was flushed and laughing, but Stephanie's giggles had an edge to them. One minute she was busily tearing blades of grass to shove them into a careful pile; the next, she was sprawled on her back next to her sister, the skin around her mouth red with juice, utterly oblivious.
"They're so cute when they're sleeping."
"Yeah," Nancy agreed. If circumstances had been different, she would have put her head on his chest, let her hand rest in his.
"And nowhere near anything that can play Finding Nemo."
"Mmm," she replied.
"Why didn't you tell me you were going back on the pill?"
He said it in that same conversational tone, so Nancy didn't comprehend the meaning of the words for a few seconds. A few responses filtered through her head, but nothing came out. She shot a quick glance at the children, then looked over at him. The line of his jaw was hard.
"I'm not back on it," she said.
"I didn't know what I'd do if I came back home, so I stayed out last night. And I know you're mad but that's kind of beside the point."
"You didn't want to come home and talk about it?"
He shrugged. "Obviously it wasn't important enough for you to talk to me about. And that hurt."
She closed her eyes. "It's because I knew how you'd react if I told you that I was going to go do it."
"How would I react?"
"The way you're acting now," she said. "Angry and hurt."
"I'm angry and hurt because you didn't talk to me about it."
"That's bull," she said, watching the children for any signs of stirring, and found none. "You want me to get pregnant, even if I don't want to."
Ned propped himself up on an elbow, his jaw working silently for a minute. "Okay, when exactly did you tell me you didn't want to do this? And don't make it sound like that's the reason I'm sleeping with you, either, like it's just some duty--"
"But that's what it feels like to me!" she hissed, wanting to shout at him. "Something I can't do! And you want a kid so badly, and our life is great right now, for the most part, why can't you be happy with being Stephanie and Madison's uncle?"
"Because I didn't know that was where you were drawing the line. What if I decided to have a vasectomy tomorrow, would that be okay with you? For me to just go do it, and not ask how you felt about it?"
"You wouldn't get a vasectomy. You want to have children."
"That's not the point." He chuckled darkly, shaking his head. "Do you think I care that little for how you feel?"
"I think you want this," she said, slowly. "And I want you to be happy."
"And I want you to be happy. And this is stupid," he said. "I'm happy with you. I'm happy being with you. Except right now because you're acting like I'm some psychotic jerk who would rape you to have children--"
"I never said that."
"And you never said you were uncomfortable with the thought of having kids, either."
She sighed. "It's not that. I feel like you're disappointed in me every time I tell you I haven't gotten pregnant yet."
"It's not a race!"
"Yeah, but we have the--" she dropped her voice. "The darn nursery. That just sits there, across from our bedroom, reminding me. Seeing you with Stephanie and Madison and the way you look at me after. The money you have sitting in the bank waiting for it to happen."
He let himself fall onto his back, ran his hands through his hair. "I didn't do those things to make you feel uncomfortable. And I told you from the beginning that if you wanted to redecorate the nursery, we could."
"But you put it in there without asking me anything."
Ned closed his eyes. "Think back. What color was that room when we went through the house?"
Nancy closed her eyes, furrowed her brow in impatience. "Same color it is now."
"Mom saw it and said my cousin was giving away her baby furniture, and it would look absolutely gorgeous in that room, and she would not take no for an answer."
Despite herself, Nancy smiled, admitting the truth in that statement. When Edith set her mind to something, it was the devil to dissuade her. "And you told her it was okay."
"I could have said hell no and it would have made no difference. And, Nan, I can't help it. I do like kids. I would like to have some of my own. But maybe we never will, and I'll be content to be Stephanie and Madison's uncle, and that room will just be theirs when they come over. Damn, half the stuff in there is theirs anyway."
She glanced over at him, her face turning serious again. "I just keep feeling this pressure," she said, her voice small. "From you, from almost everyone. When are we going to have a baby, when are we going to give my dad and your parents their grandchild, grandchildren, when, when. I like my job, Ned. I like to go there and feel productive. I've never, ever said I married you to get barefoot and pregnant."
"I never said that's what I expected of you."
She sighed. "But I still feel like you do."
Ned was quiet for a minute. Then he pushed himself up on his elbows and looked at her. "Do you think I want you miserable?" he asked softly.
She shook her head.
"Then talk to me," he said. "Tell me when I'm doing something that's making you unhappy. Because I'm smart, but sometimes I can be pretty dumb. Especially when I don't know there's something wrong."
"Okay."
He shook his head. "So you haven't started back on it?"
She shook her head. "I threw them away without even taking one. Becauseā¦" She looked away. "I don't know. I think I felt uncomfortable having them and you not knowing. And I knew you would be angry."
"Only because you didn't tell me."
She shrugged. "I don't believe you."
"Do you think I'm going to divorce you if we find out, for whatever reason, that we can't have children?"
"No, because you could still adopt."
"Why would I want to do that if you didn't?"
"Ahh," she said, raising her index finger. "Yet you watch football."
"That's it," he announced, and rolled over onto her, wrestling her into submission. "Say you like football."
"I do, I do!" she cried, laughing. "When you're playing."
He relented slightly. "Good point."
She looked up into his eyes. "You don't hate me for this."
"I hate the idea of you keeping secrets from me," he said, his eyes clear. "I hate the idea that this isn't a partnership. That you're not comfortable enough with me to tell me when something's wrong, even when it's upsetting you this much."
"I am comfortable with you."
Ned searched her eyes for a minute, then sat up, releasing her. "Don't buy any more pregnancy tests."
you can stop buying the tests
She blinked, and Jean's voice was gone, but its taste remained. "Why?"
"Stop stressing yourself out," he said. "If you go get some more pills, I want you to tell me. If you decide you'd be happier as a barmaid in Germany, tell me."
She batted her eyelashes at him. "Besides as an idea for a Halloween costume, I doubt it."
"I'm serious," he said. "I won't bring it up again. I won't ask, I won't pout at you when we can't have sex for a week, I just..." he shrugged. "I'll just be Uncle Ned."
"Just?" she repeated, a bloom of anger rising in her.
"For as long as you want to be Aunt Nancy."
--
He made dinner. Hamburgers for the grownups and hot dogs for the little ones. French fries, of course; Nancy wondered how Bess ever managed to set her eyes on a french fry without gagging. Afterwards he microwaved s'mores which Stephanie found amazing, made hot cocoa with milk and gave her a dose that was cooled nearly to room temperature, and rocked Madison on his knee as they sat through a fifth viewing of Nemo. Nancy could hear the insistent chipper voices chiming in from the relative safety and comfort of her own head, in time with the images on the screen.
Ned leaned over and kissed Nancy on the cheek. Madison was busy trying to eat the hem of his shirt. Stephanie had pulled a bright jangling telephone on wheels from some dark region of hell and was dragging it along behind her as she made an unchanging circuit of the living room.
"I think bedtime should be in exactly thirty minutes," Nancy murmured into his ear.
"That sounds great," he replied.
With a quilt and a flashlight, the quilt stretched between the back of the rocking chair and the rail of the crib, the lights off, the four of them sat in the dark in the nursery, hiding from what Stephanie called an evil dragon. Or at least Ned was pretty sure that was what she was saying. Madison was gurgling in Nancy's lap, pulling at her shirt, and Nancy looked down at her and said clearly, "You know better, if you want juice you can say so."
"Ned go fight the dragon," Stephanie demanded, and pushed at his side with deceptive strength for her size. He acquiesced, but not before he found the blankets Nancy had put around Stephanie the night before, draped them back over the papasan cushion, crept back out of the room. Madison was already yawning, her eyes drooping. After Ned had retreated to the study and spent ten minutes playing his game, Nancy walked in, her hair falling loose over her shoulders.
"They're asleep," she said, yawning. "For right now."
Ned tapped a button a few more times and something exploded quietly on the television screen. "I'm sorry I left you with them last night instead of coming home and talking it over with you."
"I'm sorry you did that too," Nancy said, a half smile on her lips, her arms wrapped around her waist. "I told Bess that if this was how you were going to be if we had kids..."
"Yeah," he said. "It was immature of me."
"How drunk did you get?"
"Not that drunk," he said. "I mostly played pool. And tried to stop being angry but it took a damn long time."
"Yeah," she replied, softly. "I didn't know."
"But it's all right." He stood and turned off his game console, leaving them in the faint artificial blue darkness. "We're good now, right?"
She met his gaze. "Depends. You ever had quiet makeup sex?"
--
"So, let me guess, there's no way you two will take care of them during the wedding." Bess looked back and forth between Nancy and Ned.
They exchanged a glance, and Ned shrugged first. "I'm cool with it," he said, too casually, a smile twitching the corners of his mouth.
"Did you even come home?"
Nancy rushed in. "Yeah, he did, and he was great, as usual. He just has the knack with them."
Bess smiled. "All right," she said. "In return I'll come stay with you next time Ned's out of town, Nan. Even bring the kids over."
"That's not repayment, that's double punishment," Nancy groaned.
