Chapter Ten: Lunch, and a Confession
Author's Note: Thank you all for reading and reviewing!
Though Hannah Gruen had recently moved out of the Drew home and into a house of her own, Nancy usually still felt as though she were coming home when she entered Hannah's kitchen. There was something welcoming, something healing, about the place, as though the room reflected the nurturing spirit of its owner.
Today, however, as Nancy stood in the kitchen doorway, she detected a distinct element of suspicion in Hannah's welcome.
"It's not real," she said hastily, raising her arm for her surrogate mother to inspect. "I wouldn't broadside you like that. It's just an accessory for a case we're taking on."
"Hmph," Hannah remarked. But then she added, in a conceding sort of way, "It's pretty enough, I suppose. Come in and tell me about it while I clear the table."
"Don't you mean set the table?" Nancy asked, following her inside.
"No, I mean clear it. I'm afraid I lost track of time and left my knitting cluttering the place."
"Are these the things you've been working on for Callie?" Nancy said, hurrying over to inspect them. She lifted what looked like an impossibly small sweater from the basket. "Oh, Hannah, this is exquisite."
Hannah looked pleased; but, in the self-deprecating manner of all craftspeople, shook her head. "I'm not sure about those buttons. I might try a different set."
"I think they're perfect," Nancy declared. "Miles Hardy is going to be the best-dressed baby in Bayport this winter."
"I hope I made it big enough. Of course it's always a gamble, knitting for a person of unknown size," Hannah said good-naturedly. "How is Callie feeling? She must be almost ready to deliver."
"She seems fine. Impatient, I think," Nancy said, and watched Hannah nod in that sympathetic way all women seemed to nod when discussing pregnancy. Even the childless, Nancy had noticed, responded the same way. She supposed it was not too difficult for any woman to imagine growing weary of sharing her body.
She folded the tiny sweater reverently and handed it to Hannah, who replaced it in her workbasket.
"Maybe someday I'll be knitting for you and Joe," Hannah said, with teasing and yearning mingled in her tone.
"That'll be the day," Nancy said lightly. Her throat felt tight. She turned away and busied herself retrieving plates from the cupboard to relieve the pressure of Hannah's shrewd gaze. "Can you imagine us hauling a baby along on stakeouts? Joe would probably want to outfit her with an infant-sized pair of night vision goggles and a Baby's First Fingerprint Dusting Kit."
Whether she took Nancy's joking at face value or was simply being kind, Hannah let the matter drop. As the two women sat down to share their meal, the conversation turned to lighter things; and Nancy was grateful. It was both comforting and comfortable to sit at Hannah's table and discuss nothing of great importance- to hear the latest gossip from Hannah's sewing group and discuss her neighbor's ongoing home renovations, to talk about Nancy's shopping trip and refer to the store in question as 'Turtles' rather than 'Tuttle's' because that was what toddler-Nancy had christened it long ago, to chat about George's move and Carson's vacation and Nancy's new case.
But the reprieve did not last forever. Eventually, Hannah poured herself a fresh glass of lemonade and leveled her gaze at Nancy.
"Forgive me for prying, dear, but you've seemed burdened lately. Would you like to talk about it?"
Her last bite of bread seemed to stick in Nancy's throat. She swallowed hard and forced her voice to come out calmly.
"I haven't been sleeping well. That's all. It's that dream again."
"Are you sure that's all?"
Nancy kept her eyes fixed on her hands, watching herself slip her mother's claddagh ring up one finger and down another. Proximal, middle, and distal phalanges, up and back again.
She intended to hold her tongue. She intended to look up and smile reassuringly and change the subject. But here and now, in the safe haven of Hannah's kitchen, her overburdened heart seized its chance to be vulnerable.
"I went to the gynecologist in June," she heard herself saying.
She felt more than heard Hannah's swift intake of breath.
"Nancy?" Hannah said tremulously.
Nancy shook her head quickly, cutting off the question she knew was about to follow. There were tears prickling at the backs of her eyes, now. Her ring was a blur, her hands were a blur, her whole damn future was a blur.
"I'm not pregnant," she said. "It's not that."
She hesitated again, swallowing back the rising tears; and then, when Hannah very wisely said nothing, Nancy found herself filling the silence, spilling and surrendering the pain she had kept to herself all summer long.
"You know I've always had an irregular cycle," she said. She waited for Hannah's nod, and went on. "Well, I went in for my annual checkup, and they decided to do some extra tests to determine why that is."
"But Dr. McKenna never thought it was a problem before," Hannah objected. "And she's known you since- well, since before you were born."
Nancy nodded. "I know. That's why I never questioned her. But she retired this past spring- "
"Oh, I didn't know that," Hannah clucked.
" - and her replacement disagreed with her opinion." Which was putting it mildly, Nancy thought. She vividly remembered the way Dr. Hallam had frowned at her chart- remembered the chill of the air conditioning through her paper gown, the crinkle of paper on the exam table, the furrow between the doctor's brows as he read out "Oligomenorrhea resultant from intermittent work-related physical stress" under his breath, the noncommital "hm" noise which he had made as he lowered the chart and looked at her.
"All right. What did they find?" Hannah asked, getting straight to the point.
"Scar tissue blocking my Fallopian tubes," Nancy said, equally straight-forward. "It probably wasn't my fault," she added, since that was something every medical professional she had spoken with had seemed compelled to assure her. "It probably happened years ago, when I was so sick after my appendix burst. It probably wasn't anything that happened on a case. And it's not a complete blockage. There's still a small chance- " She broke off. Swallowed again. "Anyway, what it comes down to is that you shouldn't bother picking out any baby patterns for me."
"Forgive me, Nancy. I ought not to have teased you about that, earlier."
Nancy shook her head. "It's all right."
There was another brief silence. Nancy's eyes dropped to her ring again.
"That's not all," she confessed, running her thumb over the little silver crown and heart."I've been...no, I still am. I'm being terribly selfish, Hannah."
" 'Selfish' isn't a word I associate with you," Hannah said tenderly.
"It's true, though," Nancy insisted. "I know Joe wants babies. His whole face lights up when Callie lets him feel her baby kicking. And my body probably can't give him that." There it was again, that damned probably. Nancy sniffed. "I love him too much to hold him back from the future he wants. Or I thought I did, anyway. But it's been months, now, and I can't bring myself to let go of him, and- "
"Nancy," Hannah interrupted. "Oh, you poor lamb. Heaven knows there is more than one way to build a family. Why don't you try talking to the boy before you let some misguided sense of nobility uproot a thriving relationship?"
"In other words, be honest with him and give him the benefit of the doubt?" Nancy said, laughing suddenly through a fresh wave of tears. It was her advice to George, come home to roost.
"I don't see why that should be funny," Hannah remarked.
"I just finished telling George the same thing," Nancy said ruefully. "And now that I'm in George's shoes, I can see that it isn't that easy. If I talk to him, Hannah...if I tell him, that makes it real."
"From where I sit, the facts are the facts whether you speak them or not."
"I know." She sniffed. "I thought I had all the luck, before this. I really thought I was going to have it all. Joe, and our work, and someday a family. Now I just feel broken."
In typical Hannah fashion the older woman now left her seat and came around the table to pull Nancy into her arms.
"You're still going to have it all, sweetheart. The Nancy I know does not give up on her dreams."
"Don't," Nancy said helplessly. "I'll cry."
"Then cry, darling. I'm here," Hannah said, rubbing gentle circles on Nancy's back.
It dawned on Nancy, as she nestled into Hannah's arms, that Hannah had never borne any children of her own- that Hannah, herself, must be intimately acquainted with this particular flavor of heartache. And she saw the confirmation in Hannah's eyes when the embrace finally ended: sorrow and empathy and support, flowing from one woman whose body had betrayed her to another.
Nancy had expected the truth, once confessed, to hover malevolently overhead like a putrid cloud, casting a pall over everything which followed; but instead she found that the air felt clearer and her heart lighter. The afternoon ended with coffee and pie, laughter and tears, and a sense that the already-deep bond between the two women had grown even stronger that day.