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Designed Intent

Chapter 22

Early Saturday Evening

Bobby and Gleason drove back to the city in silence. His mind raced with what had happened in his mother's room. This child . . . this child. His head tilted to the left and he calculated, Gleason would be nearly eight months pregnant if, if – he couldn't continue with that thought.

"Do you want to stop anywhere? Do anything?" he asked her.

"No, let's go home."

They continued in silence. Bobby had to park around the corner and they walked hand in hand up the street. "Do you want to get some ice cream," he asked her suddenly.

Gleason smiled at him and nodded. They crossed at the corner and walked to Scoopers, one block east.

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They sat and ate in silence, watching a couple feed their toddler spoons of chocolate ice cream. The young mother and father loved their child and the child loved the ice cream. They seemed so happy.

Gleason ate a little and then set down her spoon; she sat back in her chair and appeared deep in thought. Bobby watched her think as he finished his sundae. Finally, he said, "Everything ok?"

She looked up at him and said, "Bobby, that, that little boy your mum sees," Gleason sat forward and pushed her bowl to him, and said softly, "Bobby that little boy sounds like he could be our son."

He watched her eyes fill, pushed their bowls to the side and took her hands in his. "I know, Sweetheart, I thought the same thing." Suddenly, Gleason's hands flew to her face and she began to cry. Bobby stood, threw bills onto the table and took her by the arm, leading her to the door.

They stood outside, beside the door and he held her. "Honey, Honey, don't; shush." He held her and rocked her as she continued to cry. Bobby was tempted to cry with her.

"Let's walk, Sweetheart, let's just walk," he told her, handing her his handkerchief. Gleason wiped her face and nose and nodded. They continued east with his arm around her shoulders.

Sutton Woods Park was small with two lawns separated by a limited playground. How had they ended up here? Gleason moved to a bench and Bobby joined her. She leaned against his shoulder and he held her tight, watching the people.

A middle-aged man crossed in front of them pushing a double stroller carrying a little girl not yet two and her older brother, probably three. The girl struggled to turn around and look at the man. Bobby and Gleason heard him say, "Elizabeth, turn around. We're going home," as they passed by.

Two little girls ran past, heading for the slide, their nannies following at a quick pace. A man and woman strolled by with a child, each holding a hand, swinging him up between them. Everyone seemed so happy.

"It would have been a boy," she said softly.

"What?"

"The baby, it would have been a boy."

The little boy with dark red curls stood by the tree and watched his daddy and mommy as they sat on the bench. He knew his mommy knew he would have been a boy. He watched his daddy, however; he liked his daddy. He is strong and nice, the child thought, he would play with me. He would push me on the swings.

"Why do you think so?" he replied.

Gleason didn't say anything for a long moment, and then answered, "I just know. I used to dream of a little boy, before we knew I was. . ."

Bobby's arm tightened around her. His lips went to her hair and he whispered, "Oh, Honey." He was fighting tears. He had wanted that baby so much.

The little boy watched his daddy. My daddy is crying, the child thought with surprise. Suddenly, the little boy felt so sad, and a little bit frightened. My daddy is thinking of me and he's sad. The little boy looked at his mommy. She always makes him sad, he thought. He loved his daddy. He loved his mommy, too; but he loved his daddy more.

Gleason heard Bobby hitch a breath and pulled away, looking up at him. "Bobby?"

He turned his head and wiped his eyes with his left hand. Gleason pulled his handkerchief from her pocket and handed it to him with, "Here, Love." Bobby took it and wiped his eyes again. "Are you ok?" she asked so softly.

Bobby removed his right arm from around her, held the handkerchief at his eyes, and cried. It was Gleason's turn to comfort him.

The little boy approached the man and lady, watching his daddy cry. He stood close to his daddy's knees; he wanted to touch his daddy, but knew he wasn't allowed. Instead, he stood and watched his mommy comfort his daddy. They love me, he thought. They would have loved me.

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Saturday Evening

Malcolm climbed the porch steps and used his key to open the front door; Maeve still had not changed the locks. Gus was on the parlor floor, in front of the television. The boy looked over, jumped up and ran straight into his dad's arms. Malcolm lifted up his son and hugged him.

"Hey, laddie! How are ye?" Malcolm missed his family right then. He missed his son. What had he given up?

"What are you doing here?" Maeve asked, coming from the back of the house. She wore jeans and a sweatshirt; her long, black hair pulled back into a ponytail. She looked like a student.

"Hey, lass, I thought I would stop by to see my boy. I was hoping he was still awake." Malcolm looked at the child sitting on his arm and smiled. "Here, Gus, let me set you down. You're getting big."

Maeve watched the interaction. "You can't stay," she said. "He's going to have a bath and then to bed. Right, Angus? It's time for your bath." She reached for her son's hand and they started for the steps.

Malcolm took Maeve's arm as the pair passed in front of him. "Maevie." She stopped and looked at his hand on her arm and then up at his eyes. Malcolm dropped his hand and continued softly, "Let me help. I want to see my son. And you."

She looked down, and then proceeded up the steps. She had not said no.

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Bobby's hands lightly massaged Gleason's shoulders as he stood behind her at the kitchen sink. "I love you," he whispered into her hair.

He removed his hands as she stepped to the left and set the kettle on the burner. "I love you, too." She kissed him lightly, stepped away and headed to the bathroom.

Bobby prepared the tea and set out their mugs, and then he sat in the kitchen and waited for her to return and the kettle to boil, thinking of everything. Bobby had wanted a baby, and he wanted it with Gleason. He was still confused about her not wanting to be a mother. He wanted a baby.

Seeing those people with their children at the park this afternoon, knowing Gleason would have had their baby in a month or so, realizing they would now be buying baby furniture and things – it all pulled on his heart. He slouched in the kitchen chair and slung his left arm over the back, squeezing his eyes with his fingers.

"Are you ok, Love?" Gleason asked, standing at the kitchen entry. The kettle began to shrill and he stood and moved to the stove. He busied himself with the tea and Gleason stepped to him, setting a hand on his back. "Bobby, are you all right?"

He set the lid on the pot, setting it to steep, and leaned on the counter, palms on the edge. His head hung down, eyes squeezed tight. He couldn't say what he wanted to say, he couldn't say he wanted a baby.

"Bobby? What?"

He straightened, turned and said, "Nothing, Sweetheart, nothing." He took her arms and stared into her eyes.

She stared back and then she knew. She looked into his eyes, into his soul, and whispered, "I don't want to have a baby, Bobby." She turned away and went to sit on the sofa. Bobby watched her sit, turned and prepared their tea.

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"Let me wash him, eh? Go take a rest. I'll do it," Malcolm said to his wife. He put his hand on her shoulder and ushered her from the bathroom.

Maeve looked up at him saying, "Are you sure?"

"Aye, aye; I can give him a bath. You go lie down or something."

Maeve looked at her son as he stripped out of his clothes. "Gussie, you be a good lad for your dad, eh?"

The boy looked at his mom and smiled. Malcolm took his son's hand and helped the child step into the tub. Then, he pulled his sweater off and knelt down wearing his undershirt. "Now, laddie, where are your boats, eh?"

Maeve walked down the hall to what had been their bedroom. It was her bedroom now. Malcolm had moved out seven months ago. All of his things were gone. He had moved into a small flat near campus. She did not know where it was and she really did not care. He left; it had been his decision. Malcolm had decided he wanted to be single again – he wanted neither wife nor son. Therefore, he left and began divorce proceedings. Maeve had gotten a much better lawyer and the whole process had stalled. She loved Malcolm today as ever. Their son needed his dad.

Maeve listened as her son's father played with their son. She had never heard Malcolm like that. He sounded as though he was genuinely enjoying himself. Father and son laughed and squealed. Maeve's heart filled, so did her eyes.

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Bobby handed Gleason a mug and stood in front of her. "Gleason," he began,

She shot up and said, "Do not start this, Bobby. Do not. I will not discuss this. Please. I don't want to fight with you." She stared at him.

Bobby set his mug on the short bookcase and turned to her, "Honey, just –,"

"No! Goddamn it, Bobby, I do not want to have a child! Why won't you accept that? I do not want to have a baby! If you want to have a child so badly, then maybe you need to find someone willing to do that for you, because I am not! Maybe you just need to find someone else anyway." She slammed down her mug, tea sloshing and splashing everywhere, and headed for the closet, taking her wrap. She grabbed her bag and Bobby grabbed her arm.

"Don't go," he struggled not to scream at her. Gleason suddenly bent forward, dropping her wrap and bag, clutching her arms and fists to her chest, gasping. Her knees buckled and she slumped to the floor. "Gleason!"

She leaned against the door as he knelt beside her. She couldn't breathe. At all. Oh, god, someone was sitting on her chest. Bobby jumped up and went for his phone. "No," she gasped out. "Don't call!"

He moved to her, "Gleason, lay flat, Honey lay flat." She shook her head and tried to stand. "Jesus Christ, Gleason, lay down!" He stared at her, then flipped open his phone. Gleason reached and grabbed his wrist.

"Wait," she whispered, "wait." She closed her eyes and forced herself to breathe deeply, slowly and it worked as it always had. Slowly her breathing returned to normal and the weight on her chest lifted. Bobby continued to stroke her head.

"Honey? Gleason what happened?"

"Help me up."

Bobby lifted her, led her to the sofa, and sat beside her. "Gleason, tell me what happened."

"It's nothing. It happens. It always ends. I don't want to talk about it."

He stared at her and then said, "This has happened before? How often? Jesus, Gleason, when? Honey?"

She looked at him, "Do not push me on this, Bobby. I'm going to bed." She stood and walked down the hall to the bathroom.

Bobby sat, wondering what had just happened. What is wrong with her, he wondered. Her heart? She needs to see Dr. Creighton again. His mind ran. The idea of having a baby was gone.

He stood and walked down the hall to the bedroom.