Going Home Read online

The episode of the girl in Chris’s bed never repeated itself, and he was more devoted than I’d ever dreamed. Joe Tramino had been wrong. And Chris and I didn’t have a care in the world. Except one small one. I had had what appeared to be sun poisoning twice and food poisoning four times. And in between I had a fair amount of dizzy spells. It didn’t seem like anything serious because the rest of the time I felt fine, but Chris wanted me to see a doctor.

  “It might be an ulcer, Gill. Why don’t you come into town the next time I go in. That’s in two days. You could try for an appointment now.”

  “I just think it’s nerves. But if it makes you happy . . . okay, I’ll go.”

  I made the appointment the day before we went in and tried to forget about it. I didn’t want anything to be wrong. Life was so good just then.

  “Rise and shine.”

  “What time is it?” I felt like hell again, but I didn’t want to admit it to Chris.

  “It’s seven-thirty. That’s plenty late enough. Get up. I made you some coffee.” He was painfully matter-of-fact about the morning, and I tried not to show how I felt as I closed my eyes and attempted not to gag on the coffee fumes.

  We left the house at nine. He had been delayed looking for stuff for his shooting, and I was glad. I felt better by the time we left, but I knew the drive over the hairpin turns on the mountain road wouldn’t help. They didn’t.

  “You look lousy, Gill. Do you feel okay?”

  “Sure. I feel fine.” But I must have looked green. I felt it.

  “Well, I’m glad you’re going to the doctor anyway. My sister had something like you and she ignored it for a year. The next thing I heard she was in the hospital with a perforated ulcer. And that’s no joke.”

  “I bet it isn’t. Is she okay now?”

  “Sure. She’s fine. So don’t worry. But at least you’ll know.” . . . Yeah . . . at least I’ll know. “I want to take you by the house sometime before we go back to the beach. You can see if there’s anything you want me to do before you move in. I have Sam’s room all picked out too. I hope you like it.” He gave me a shy, nervous look that made me smile from deep in my heart. I felt like we were about to be married. There was that funny almost-newlywed feeling about the way he talked about the house.

  “I told my landlord I was giving up my place on September 1. He said it’s no problem to rent furnished places, so he’ll have a new tenant in no time. I’m glad. I felt shitty giving him such short notice.” We had waited till the last minute to discuss it, but things had in fact “worked out,” as Chris had put it earlier. “I can’t wait.”

  Chris leaned across the seat and kissed me, and we drove into town making small talk and telling bad jokes. I was feeling fine again and we were having a lovely time.

  He dropped me in front of the Fitzhugh Building in Union Square a half an hour early, and I decided to go to I. Magnin’s across the square to pass the time.

  I noticed a mime on the corner and laughed out loud as I saw him imitate my walk, and then I disappeared into the fairyland delights of the elegant store.

  I was briefly tempted by the men’s department to the right of the entrance, but decided against it. Chris wouldn’t wear anything I’d find there anyway. Somehow they didn’t look like they’d carry denim shirts. I smiled to myself and walked on until a row of ladies’ sweaters caught my eye, and I started to sift through them.

  Twenty minutes later, I emerged wearing a new red turtleneck in a thin silk knit, and reeking of a new perfume. I needed something to give me courage. I had the feeling that what I was going to hear wasn’t going to be easy to take.

  I checked the directory on the ground floor of the Fitzhugh and found the doctor I was looking for. Howard Haas, M.D., Room 312. The Fitzhugh was a medical building, and as I rode up in the elevator I had the funny feeling that I could walk into any door in the building and come out all right. But my appointment was with Dr. Haas. My doctor in New York had recommended him when we came out.

  I gave the receptionist my name and took a seat with six or seven other people. The magazines were dull, the air was stuffy, I was starting to get nervous, and the new perfume was beginning to make me feel sick.

  “Mrs. Forrester, this way please.” It hadn’t taken long.

  I followed the nurse to a heavy oak door at the rear of the office and followed her as she stepped inside. There was something laboriously old-fashioned about the entire scene, and I expected Dr. Haas to wear horn-rimmed glasses and be bald. He wasn’t though. Instead he looked as though he were about forty-five and played a lot of tennis. He had only slightly graying hair and a warm blue-eyed smile as he shook my hand.

  “Mrs. Forrester, won’t you sit down?” In spite of the winning smile, I was thinking of saying no, but I didn’t have much choice.

  “Thank you.” I felt like a child called in front of the principal in a new school. I didn’t know what to say next.

  “Let’s take down a little of your history first, and then you can tell me your problem. If there is a problem.” He smiled at me again, and I reeled off my vital statistics, which seemed hardly worth putting down. A tonsillectomy when I was seven, a lot of earaches as a child, and Sam. That was about it. “That all sounds very healthy. Now, why did you come to see me?”

  I told him about the dizziness, the nausea, and the vomiting, and he nodded, without making notes. He didn’t seem impressed.

  “And when was your last menstrual period?”

  “My period?” I had wondered about that, but I think I hadn’t wanted to know. “It was a few weeks ago, at least I think it was.” I was feeling faint as we sat there.

  “You think it was? You’re not sure?” He looked at me as though I were very stupid.

  “No, I’m sure of when it was, but it only lasted a few hours.”

  “Is that unusual for you?”

  “Yes.” I would have been amused by his tone, but I couldn’t be. He was speaking to me as though I were a very young, slightly retarded child, and his words came across the desk in slow, painfully deliberated tones like slow-motion tennis balls.

  “What about the period before this one?”

  “The same thing. But I thought it was from the change in coming out here. Or worry, or whatever.” It was a very lame excuse.

  “But you have not actually missed a period?”

  “No.” I wanted to add “sir,” but restrained myself. He had me feeling very humble though. And scared.

  “Any change in your breasts? Fullness?” I hadn’t noticed and told him so. “Well, let’s take a look.” He flashed the dazzling smile at me again, and I started to pray, but it was a little late for that. The entire exercise of coming to see him had been like checking the list of who passed and flunked an exam, when you knew you hadn’t studied anyway. But you always hope. At least I do.

  So Dr. Haas took a look. And he saw. I was two months pregnant. Maybe two and a half. Sonofabitch.

  “Congratulations, Mrs. Forrester. I think the baby is due in March.” Congratulations? “We’ll do the A-Z test just to be formal about it, but there’s really no doubt about it. You’re pregnant.” He smiled.

  “But I’m not . . . that is . . . uh . . . thank you, Doctor.” I had told him about my tonsillectomy, but I had forgotten to tell him I wasn’t married anymore. Congratulations, my ass.

  He told me to make another appointment in a month and I rode down in the elevator, like a stone going down a mine shaft. At least that’s how I felt. And what would I tell Chris? He was going to pick me up downstairs, and I saw by my watch that he had already been waiting ten minutes. Maybe he wouldn’t be there. My spirits lifted at the thought. . . maybe he had forgotten . . . maybe . . . I decided to wait and tell him when we got back to Bolinas, when we’d be sitting under the tree next to the house and things would be peaceful.

  As I stepped outside I saw him waiting for me and my heart sank again. I wanted to cry.

  I opened the door and slid in next to him and tried to smile. “
Hi.”

  “How was the doctor?”

  “I’m pregnant.”

  “You’re what?” The entire exchange was like something out of a Laurel and Hardy movie as we dodged through the downtown traffic. It was not at all what I had planned, but it had just slipped out. I guess I wanted it to. “Wait a minute, Gill. What do you mean, you’re pregnant? You use a thing.”

  “Yeah, okay, so I use a thing. But I’m pregnant anyway. Congratulations!”

  “Are you out of your mind?”

  “No. That’s what the doctor told me.”

  “Did you tell him you weren’t married?” Chris was looking pale.

  “No. I forgot.”

  “Oh for chrissake.” I giggled hysterically and looked up at him and then regretted my mirth. He looked like he was going to explode. “How pregnant are you?”

  “Two or two and a half months. Look, Chris . . . I’m sorry . . . I didn’t do it on purpose, and I’m wearing it for chrissake.”

  “Okay, I know. But this comes as a hell of a shock to me. Didn’t you know when you didn’t get your period? And why the hell didn’t you tell me?”

  “I did get my period . . . sort of. . .

  “Sort of? I can’t believe this thing.”

  “Where the hell are you driving me to, by the way?” We had been roaming aimlessly on Market Street for a quarter of an hour.

  “What do I know?” He glared in the rearview mirror and then back at me. And then his face lit up. “Come to think of it, I do know. We’re going to San Jose.”

  “San Jose? What for?” Maybe he was going to murder me and dump my body somewhere on the peninsula.

  “Because there’s a dynamite Planned Parenthood in San Jose and they set up abortions. I have a friend there.”

  “Bully for you.” The drive to San Jose was accomplished in total silence. We stole occasional glances at each other, but neither of us spoke. I guess he didn’t want to, and I was afraid to. I felt as though I had committed the most heinous crime of all time.

  In San Jose, Chris’s friend was very nice, took down all the information, and said he’d call us, and I walked out to the car feeling lonely and nauseous. The drive out had taken an hour and a half, and it would take us longer to get back in rush-hour traffic, and we still had the drive back to Bolinas to contend with. I was exhausted thinking about it, and I didn’t want to think of the abortion. Anything but that.

  Chris tried to make lighthearted conversation on the way back to San Francisco, but I couldn’t stand hearing it. I could tell he was feeling better. The fact that he’d done something to set up getting rid of it gave him a sense of relief. And me a feeling of desperation.

  “Chris, pull over.” We were just outside South San Francisco when I said it, but I didn’t give a damn, I couldn’t wait.

  “Here? Are you sick?”

  “Yes. I mean no, not like that. Look, just pull over.” He did, with a worried look, and I faced him as we sat in the car. “Chris, I’m going to have the baby.”

  “Now?” The word was a squeak, and he looked like his already frayed nerves were going to give out.

  “No, not now. In March. I don’t want the abortion.”

  “You what?”

  “You heard me. I’ll have the baby. I’m not asking you to marry me, but don’t ask me to give it up. I won’t.” ’

  “Why? For chrissake, Gill, why? It’ll totally fuck us up, not to mention what it’ll do to your life. You’ve already got a kid; what do you want two for?”

  “Because I love you, and I want to have our child. And deep in my heart, I don’t believe in doing that if you don’t have to. When two people love each other enough to live the way we’ve been living, then it’s a crime not to have the child that results from it. I can’t help it, Chris, I have to.” My eyes were brimming with tears as I looked at him.

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yes.”

  “Jesus. Well, you’ve got to do it the best way for you. We’ll talk about it. But you’re taking on a hell of a lot to handle, Gill.”

  “I know that. But it would do worse things to my mind if I got rid of it. I’m going to have it, whether you stand by me or not.” The last words had been sheer bravado, but he didn’t respond.

  “Okay, little lady. The decision’s yours.” He slammed the car back into drive and sped off toward the city without another word.

  10

  We drove back to Bolinas that night, without stopping to see his house on Sacramento Street, without dinner, and without wasting many words. But I was too tired to care. It had been a heavy day and I collapsed into bed and passed out.

  I rolled over in bed the next morning and saw Chris staring at the ceiling with an unhappy expression on his face which matched the way I felt.

  “Chris . . . I’m really sorry.” . . . But in a way, I wasn’t. I was too chicken to tell him that though.

  “Don’t be. And maybe you’re right for you. To have the baby, I mean.”

  “What about for you?” I had to know. And he rolled over on his side and propped himself on one elbow, looking at me, before he spoke.

  “No, Gill. Not for me. But you said yesterday that that doesn’t matter. Do you still feel that way?”

  “Yes.” But my voice had shrunk to the barest whisper. He was leaving me. “We split?”

  “No. You go back to New York.” Which meant the same thing. My heart sank and I wanted to scream, or cry, or die. And I didn’t want to go back to New York.

  “I won’t go back, Chris. You can leave me, but I won’t go back.”

  “You have to go, Gill. If you love me at all. You’re doing one thing you want to do. So you owe it to me to do one thing I want.” He made it sound so reasonable, but it wasn’t. Not to me at least.

  “What does my going back to New York have to do with anything? And then what? I never see you again?” . . . Oh Jesus. . . .

  “No. I’ll come visit. I still love you, Gill. But I just couldn’t handle the pressure of your being here. You’ll be pregnant, and everyone’ll know about it. Hell, Gill, we work in the same business, and don’t you think everyone will know? Joe Tramino will see to it. And there would be others.” He sounded bitter and sad.

  “But who gives a damn? So, okay, we’re having a baby. Lots of people do. And we love each other. So what’s the big deal? Are you suddenly so establishment that you feel we have to be married? That’s pure, total, one hundred percent crap. And you know it.”

  “No, I don’t know it. Besides, it’ll make me feel guilty. You see what happens, I come, I go, I disappear sometimes. I won’t always do that, but right now I need to. Or at least I need to know I can. And if you’re sitting around with a long face and a big stomach, I’ll go crazy.”

  “So I won’t wear a long face.”

  “Yes, you will. And I wouldn’t blame you. I think you’re nuts. In your shoes, I’d get rid of it. Today.”

  “Well, we’re different, that’s all.”

  “You said it. Look, I told you in the beginning, responsibility blows my mind. What do you think this is? It’s like a giant commitment.”

  “What the hell do you want me to say, Chris?”

  “I don’t want you to say anything. I want one thing. For you to go home. And you’re going to, if I have to carry you there. You’ve already given notice on your apartment, so you’re free and clear. All you have to do is call Bekins, pack up your stuff, and get your ass on a plane. And that’s just what you’re going to do, if I have to gag you and tie you up. And if you’re planning to argue with me, don’t bother. You haven’t got a chance. You’ve got two weeks. You can stretch it a couple of days, and stay at my place while you do, but that’s it. Go back to New York and we’ve got a chance, but if you stay in San Francisco we’re through. I’ll never forgive you for it. I’d always think you’d stayed to get at me. So do me a favor . . . go.”

  He left the room as I rolled into my pillow, choked with sobs, and in a few moments I heard him
drive away.

  He came back that night, but he had made up his mind. I was leaving. And by the end of the week, I knew I was. There was no other way. He had finally made me see that. And his forced cheerfulness during the days before I left was crueler than anything else he could have done to me. He was kinder and more loving than I had ever seen him. And I was more in love with him than ever before. He did some brutal things to my heart in those last weeks, but somehow I loved him anyway. He was Chris. And he was made that way, and you could never blame him for anything. In the end, I felt as though I had first done him wrong making the decision I had, and by getting pregnant in the first place. But I had no choice. Morally, I had to have the child.

  He helped me tell Sam we were leaving when her father brought her back, and he packed all my things. He wasn’t taking any chances. Chris Matthews may have loved me then, but he made one other thing a great deal clearer. He wanted me to go. And I was going.

  After what seemed like a thousand days, we got to that all-time horror, the last day. The last this, and the last that. I couldn’t stand it anymore, and the last night was the worst of all.

  “Goodnight, Chris.”

  “. . . ’night.” And then, “Gill, do you understand at all? I . . . I hate doing this to you, but I can’t . . . I just can’t. I think maybe I want you to have the baby too, but I don’t know. Maybe I’ll get it all together. Soon, I mean . . . I feel like such a sonofabitch.”

  “You’re not. I know, everything got kind of screwed up.”

  “Yeah. It did. And I’m sorry you got pregnant. God, I wish. . . .”

  “Don’t, Chris. I’m not sorry. I’m kind of glad, even if . . .”

  “Why do you want to have it, Gill?”

  “I told you. I want to have you near me always. It’s sort of a corny thing to say but I . . . I just want to. That’s all. I have to.” We lay there in the dark, holding hands, and I kept thinking, “This is the last time. The last night. The last time I’ll lie here in his bed. Ever. The last . . .” I knew he’d never come to New York, he hated the place, and he had no real interest in seeing his child.