Chapter 23
When Laura had left Daniel's house, she hadn't even hesitated. Stopping at a gas station she bought a map, fueled up the car, then had parked the car in front of a bank of payphones. By the time she'd hung up, she had reserved herself a seat in coach for a five a.m. flight to London. Once there, she'd worry about booking the rest of her flight home.
She'd intended to nap during the two hour flight, but had found that an impossibility.
Only three days ago, the doctor had confirmed her pregnancy. The news, although expected given the readout on the little plastic wand the night before, had been very much unwelcome. She hadn't wanted this. She wasn't ready for this. It was the wrong time for this.
Then, someone just… flipped a switch. That switch, of course, being the ones used to turn on the sonogram and Doppler and that someone, of course, being the doctor.
And, as a thrum-thrum-thrum filled the air… there it was, in grainy black and white: absolute, irrefutable proof that this was real. A baby. Their baby. No matter how many times she closed her eyes, then opened them again or how many times she rubbed at them, that white lima bean was still there, inside the eggplant shaped black space. No matter if she drew a breath or not, that steady thrum-thrum-thrum continued on.
Yet, It had still taken her a half dozen times of looking from screen to her stomach to convince herself that little being was inside of her and it was that little being's heart beat surrounding them in the room.
A mother.
On the way to LAX she'd stopped at a bookstore along the route, and had picked up a book whose cover promised to tell the truth about the good, bad and ugly of pregnancy. She'd slipped that book into her purse, next to the pamphlet from her doctor which explained her options…where they'd waited together for the right time to arrive.
On the flight from Cannes to London, that time had arrived, and before she could read the second, she had to address the first.
The pamphlet had provided the three options she'd expected, and of those three, one was immediately discarded: adoption. While the institution was a valuable one for both those unprepared to be a parent and those wishing desperately to become one, Remington was a living example of the flaws within the system. She'd never have a moment of peace again wondering if it was their child who fell through the cracks this time.
No, adoption was not an option, at all.
And, by the time the bell overhead dinged and the fasten seat belt indicator lit, she'd discarded a second option. In principle, she believed a woman had the right to decide what happened to their body. She'd celebrated the passing of Roe v. Wade when she was in high school as landmark legislation in women's rights. She'd cheered the Court's ruling in Planned Parenthood v Danforth, when it had ruled requiring a woman to obtain her husband's permission for an abortion as unconstitutional.
Yes, in theory she believed in a woman's right to choose, but in reality, as it turned out, she'd discovered it was not a choice for her, at all. Planned or not, ready or not, the little life growing within had become far more than a concept to her in the doctor's office that day. The baby would be a piece of herself… a piece of the man she'd first become friends with, then partners, and somewhere along the way, had fallen hopelessly, head-over-heels in love with.
How different it all might have been had she not given in to her doubts and fears… if he hadn't left.
As she disembarked the first plane, purchased a ticket for the next, then waited for that flight to depart, she allowed herself to indulge her fantasies of those what might have been's. He would have been a remarkable father, with his boundless energy, his interminable knowledge, and the joi de vive an insufferable, unforgiveable childhood hadn't been able to rob him of. They would have balanced one another perfectly as parents, much as they balanced one another perfectly as partners. And that balance would have been sorely needed, as he would have spoiled his child endlessly, making certain they grew up never feeling they'd been robbed of so much as a single moment of childhood joy. It would have taken her firm hand, her logic, to limit his indulgences, to remind him what any child needed most was love and security.
But those fantasies were just that: fantasies. The look on his face, in his eyes, the way he'd ordered her to get out had given certainty to only one part of the future: She'd have find that balance, to supply that love and security, all on her own.
Thus, once the plane has ascended into foggy, dismal skies over London, she removed the book she'd purchased from her purse along with memo pad and pen. She was about to begin a new chapter in her life, a whole new reality she'd never predicted.