SARAH LENNOX WASN'T SURPRISED the soufflé fell. It was
difficult to focus on creating frothy dinner concoctions
when you'd just discovered you were pregnant.
Minutes later, the soufflé began to burn, but she didn't
get up to rescue it. Instead, she sat on the edge of the
tub, letting the acrid odor of scorching eggs fill her
nose while she stared stupidly at the little pink x on the
test strip.
It must be a mistake. It had to be a mistake.
She wasn't going to have a baby. Not right now. She wasn't
even getting married for another fifty-nine days. And she
wouldn't begin having children until two years after that.
That was the plan. The master plan. Ask anyone who knew
her. Check any of her diaries since she'd been twelve
years old. College. Career. Marriage. Wait two years just
to be sure. Then children.
That was the plan. So this...this nonsense had to be a
mistake.
But the counter was lined with these little strips, and
they all had pink x"s on them. This was the fourth home
pregnancy test she'd used tonight.
It was a mistake, all right. But it was her mistake, not
the test's.
The master plan was toast, just like her soufflé. She was
definitely, disastrously, terrifyingly pregnant.
In the living room, the stack of Christmas CDs she'd put
on an hour ago clicked and shifted and began playing "What
Child Is This?" Cute. Very cute. She felt a faint urge to
get up and break the CD in two, but she didn't have the
energy to follow through. Apparently shock and horror
worked like a tranquilizer dart. She couldn't move a
muscle.
When the doorbell rang, she was confused, momentarily
unable to remember whom she'd been expecting. It rang
again, then again, short and hard, as if whoever it was
didn't much like waiting.
Her subconscious recognized that irritable ring. Of
course. Ed. Her fiancé was coming for dinner. They'd had
an 8:00 p.m. date. It was now 8:01, and he didn't like
tardiness. He had a master plan, too — and, if anything,
it was even more rigidly scheduled than Sarah's own. It
had been one of the reasons she chose him in the first
place. It was definitely one of the reasons she stuck with
him, even though lately their relationship had been...a
little rocky. Just a tiny bit unsatisfying.
Still, all relationships had their rocky moments. And Ed
would make a good husband. She wasn't the type to run
around breaking off engagements. She wasn't like her
mother. When she gave her word, she meant it.
And now she had no choice. She was pregnant with Ed's
child. Pregnant. She made a small gasping sound, as if she
couldn't breathe around the fact.
She stood numbly, instinctively sweeping all the tiny test
strips and empty pink boxes into the waste-basket. For a
long moment she stared down at the debris, which seemed to
represent the bits and pieces of her shattered master
plan. How solid could the plan actually have been, she
asked herself numbly, if it had been so easily destroyed?
Ed had given up ringing and was knocking now. Sarah
actually half smiled at the frustrated annoyance in the
sound. Poor Ed. If he didn't like her being slow to answer
the door, he was going to really hate the rest of his
evening.
"Good God, what is that smell?" As Sarah opened the door,
Ed started to signal his annoyance by one disapproving
glance at his watch, but almost immediately his horror at
the odor in the apartment superseded everything else. He
wrinkled his aristocratic nose into a disgusted
twist. "Sarah, for God's sake. Have you burned dinner?"
"I think so," she said. And then, because he was looking
at her with an expression of complete incredulity, she
realized that something else probably needed to be said.
She wondered what it was. She felt as if she were speaking
a foreign language. "I'm sorry?"
"Me, too," he agreed curtly. "I haven't eaten since
breakfast." He sniffed the air again. "Have you turned off
the oven?"
"I don't think so," she said, trying to remember. "No. I
don't think so."
He narrowed his eyes. "Are you all right?" He didn't wait
for her answer. He moved into the kitchen with the assured
purpose of a man in charge in his own home. But it wasn't
his home, Sarah thought suddenly. It was her home. Why did
he feel that he was in charge?
Because somebody had to be. She obviously would burn the
whole apartment complex down if somebody didn't take over.
Already the kitchen was filling with smoke.
After he flicked the thermostat off and determined that
dinner was completely ruined, Ed let the oven door slam
impatiently. He punched the exhaust fan to High, then
returned to the living room, closing the kitchen door
tightly behind him. The Christmas CDs were still playing,
and the gentle pine scent of her tree fought with the
nasty burned smell of dinner.
"I'm sorry," Sarah said again, although she no longer felt
very sorry. It was just a soufflé, after all. Why was Ed
making such a big deal out of it? His handsome face
couldn't have looked sterner if she had just charbroiled
the original copy of the Magna Carta. "Maybe we could
order pizza."
He looked at her silently, as if he didn't trust himself
to speak. Sarah felt the beginnings of rebellion stir. Was
burning dinner really such a sin? In the early days she
had thought Ed's perfectionism was admirable, a sign that
he possessed high standards. He expected a lot from
others, but he required a lot of himself, too. For
instance, Sarah knew that he would require himself to be a
faithful, reliable husband, which was exactly what she
wanted. What she needed. She had no intention of repeating
her mother's mistakes.
After Sarah's father had been caught cheating, when Sarah
was only eight, her mother had promptly divorced him.
She'd spent the next several decades trying to find a
replacement. But she was a rotten judge of men.
Sarah couldn't remember a time when she hadn't been
determined to choose more wisely. She wanted someone
sensible. Strong. Faithful. Someone with a plan.
Several times during the past few weeks, however,
traitorous thoughts had crept in. He had sometimes seemed
not admirable, but...pompous. Petty. Dictatorial.
Out of nowhere came a chilling thought. Someday he would
turn that expression, that cold, unforgiving blue gaze,
upon their child. Over a broken toy, a soiled diaper, a C
in math. She felt a quick, primitive burning in her legs,
as if they were straining to run somewhere far, far away —
somewhere he couldn't find her. Or the baby.
But this was crazy. It must mean that her hormones were
already acting up. She'd better pull herself together, or
she'd never find the courage to tell him.
"Chinese. How about Chinese?" Ed liked Chinese food. Maybe
he was just hungry. Maybe he'd be less tense after he ate
something. She smiled as pleasantly as she could. "My
treat."
"No." He sighed from the depths of his diaphragm.
"Oh, maybe it's just as well. I really shouldn't stay very
long anyhow. I've got a lot to do tonight."
He gestured toward the sofa, which was decorated with
small needlepoint pillows that read "Peace on Earth"
and "Joy to the World."
"Sit down, Sarah," he said somberly. "I have news."
"Oh," she said. She moved the pillows out of the way and
sat. She looked up at him, trying to find the man she had
fallen in love with, that handsome, twenty-eight-year-old
former math teacher whose extraordinary maturity had made
him the youngest high school principal in the state of
Florida. That worthy man couldn't have disappeared
overnight.
She smiled the best she could. "I have news, too, Ed." He
sat on the chair opposite her. "Let me go first," he
said. "Mine is very important." He winced. "Oh, hell. I
didn't mean it like that."
Somehow, still smiling, she waved away the insult.
He'd know soon enough that her news was important, too.
Life shattering, in fact. She tried to compose her face to
look interested, but her mind couldn't quite focus on
anything except the new truth inside her.
What would he say? How would he feel? How, for that
matter, did she feel?
After a moment she realized he wasn't speaking. She
glanced over at him, surprised to see him looking
hesitant. Ed was rarely at a loss for words. At Grove-land
High School, where they both worked — Ed as principal,
Sarah as Home Economics teacher — Ed was legendary for his
ability to subdue hostile parents. He smothered every
complaint under a soothing blanket of verbiage.
He cleared his throat, but still he didn't begin. He
looked around her tiny living room, then stood
abruptly. "I can't breathe in here, with all this smoke.
Let's go outside."
Sarah felt a new unease trickle through her veins. What
was this news that he found so difficult to share? But she
followed him out onto the small balcony that overlooked
the complex swimming pool. The air was balmy, typical
December weather in south Florida. The colored holiday
lights looped along nearby balconies blinked rather
desperately, as if reassuring themselves that it really
was Christmas, in spite of the heat.
Ed went straight to the railing and leaned against it,
looking down at the turquoise pool, where several of
Sarah's neighbors were having a keg party. They were all
dressed in Santa hats and bathing suits.
Sarah was suddenly eager to postpone whatever Ed had to
say. Eager, too, to postpone her own devastating
news. "Uncle Ward had hoped we could come spend Christmas
with him in Firefly Glen," she said. "Wouldn't that have
been lovely? White mountains and sleigh rides, and
marshmallow roasts, and —"
"And four days snowed in with a bad-tempered, senile old
man?" Ed shook his head. "No thanks."
Sarah stared flatly at the stranger in front of her. "I
never said he was senile."
"Well, he's almost eighty, isn't he? Besides, I didn't
have the time, you know that." Ed turned around, squaring
his shoulders as if he had finally come to a
decision. "Sarah. Listen."
She stood very still and waited. A drunken chorus
of "Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer" wafted up from the
party below, but she could still hear Ed's fingers
drumming against the railing.
"All right," she said. "I'm listening."
"They offered me the job, Sarah. The superintendent's
position. I'm going to California."
She didn't take her eyes from him. But she had heard the
telling pronoun. "I'm" going to California. Not we. "I."
"Congratulations." She'd known he was applying for the
job, a plum assignment as superintendent of schools in a
small, affluent Southern California county. But she hadn't
really believed he'd get it. He was so young. He'd been a
principal only a couple of years. But apparently he had
wowed them in California, just as he wowed people
everywhere, with his good looks, his sharp mind, his glib
conversation.
"Sarah, do you understand? I'm going to California. Next
month. Maybe sooner."
"Yes, I understand." But she didn't, not really. "Are you
saying you think we should postpone the wedding?"
He set his jaw — his square, well-tanned jaw...he really
was so incredibly handsome — and licked his lips. "No. I'm
saying I think we should call off the wedding."
"What?" She couldn't have heard him correctly. He shook
his head. "It's not working, Sarah. I know you've sensed
that, too. You must have. It's just not the same between
us. I know we haven't wanted to admit it, but I don't see
how we can deny it any longer. And now, with me leaving..."
She waited. Her whole body seemed suspended in a
weightless, airless space.
He looked annoyed, as if he had expected her to finish the
sentence for him. "Well, now, with me leaving, it's the
right time to just admit it isn't working, don't you
think?"
"What's not working? What exactly isn't working?" He made
an impatient noise, as if he felt she were being
deliberately dense. "We're not working. You've changed
lately, you know that. You've been — well, to put it
bluntly, Sarah, you've been bitchy for months.You
criticize everything I do, for God's sake, at school and
at home. And it's been weeks since you've wanted to make
love, really wanted to. I know some of it is my fault.
I've been busy. Preoccupied. Maybe I haven't been as
thoughtful as I should. I know I forgot your birthday."
She closed her eyes on a small swell of nausea. He hadn't
forgotten her birthday. His florist had. For every major
holiday, anniversary or birthday, his florist had a
standing order to send her white roses. Ed had never even
asked her whether she liked white roses. Which she didn't.