Mixed Blessings (36 page)

"I don't think I have the right to get married, Beth. Look at you, you have a beautiful little girl, you should have more children."

"Who says I'd even want them? Or even can have them."

She looked at him wisely.

"Wouldn't you? Can't you?" He was surprised, she loved Annie so much that it was hard to imagine her not wanting more children.

"Yes, I can have more children," she said honestly. "I guess it would depend on who I married, if I did. But to tell you the truth, I'm not sure I want more. Annie is enough for me. I never really thought of having more than Annie. But I'd be perfectly happy having just Annie.

I was an only child, it didn't do me any harm. And in some ways, it's a lot simpler. I couldn't afford another one right now anyway.

Sometimes I barely have enough to feed me and Annie." He knew that, and he had been doing what he could to bring her little gifts, and groceries, and take them out whenever they could make it.

"But if you married again, you'd want more children. So would anyone . . so would I . . ." he said sadly. "One day I'd like to adopt some. I've been saving some money this year so I could adopt a little boy. They allow single-parent adoptions now, and I want to find a kid just like I was, stuck in some miserable institution with no one to love him. I want to change his life for him, and maybe for some more kids, if I can afford it."

"How many were you thinking of adopting?" she asked nervously.

"Two . . . three . . . I don't know. It's a dream of mine. I used to think of that even when I thought I could have my own children."

"Are you sure you can't have your own?" she asked solemnly.

"Positive. I went to an important guy in Beverly Hills, and he says there's no chance. I think he's probably right too. I've taken a lot of chances in my life, especially when I was young, and nothing's ever happened."

"It's no big deal, you know," she said quietly. She was sorry for him, but she didn't think it was the end of the world, and she hoped he didn't either. And it certainly didn't change her opinion of his manhood, which was most impressive.

"It shook the hell out of me for a while," he explained. "I always wanted kids of my own, and I was trying so hard to get Barb pregnant to save our marriage." And then suddenly he laughed at the irony. "In the end, someone else beat me to it."

It didn't bother him as much anymore though. He was sad it hadn't worked out with Barb, but in the past few months he had become philosophical about all that, especially since he'd met Beth and Annie. The only thing that bothered him now was that the love he felt for Beth could go nowhere. He still believed, no matter what she said, that he had no right to marry her and deprive her of more children. She was young now, but she might well want more later.

"I don't think you should let it bother you," she said honestly. "I think any woman who really loves you would understand and wouldn't give a damn if you could have kids or not."

"You think so?" He looked surprised and they lay down in the sand again, with her head on his shoulder. "I'm not sure you're right," he said quietly, after thinking about it for a moment.

"Yes, I am. I wouldn't give a damn."

"You should," he said, sounding fatherly. "Don't limit your future, you're too young to do that," he said firmly, and she sat up again and looked down at him sternly.

"Don't tell me what to do, Charlie Winwood. I can do anything I damn well want, and I can tell you right now, I wouldn't give a damn if you were sterile." She said it loudly and firmly and he winced, and looked around, but no one seemed to be paying any attention to them, and Annie was nowhere near them.

"Why don't we put it on billboards?"

"Sorry." She looked mollified and lay down next to him again. "But I mean that."

He rolled over on his stomach then on the sand, and cupped his face in his hands, as he watched her lying near him. "Do you really mean that, Beth?"

"I do."

That changed a lot of things for him, and it made him think seriously about their future, but it seemed wrong to marry a young girl like her, and not be able to give her babies. He knew there were sperm donors, of course, Pattengill had suggested that for him and Barb, but Charlie also knew he'd never do that. But if she meant what she said, maybe Annie was enough or they could adopt some kids. He lay on the sand smiling at her, and then without saying another word, he rolled over and kissed her.

On their anniversary that year, their second one, Andy and Diana stayed home, because there was no one she trusted the baby with, and she was just as happy going nowhere.

"You're sure?" Andy felt a little guilty not taking her out, but he had to admit he didn't mind staying home with his wife and baby.

Diana was enjoying her time off from work, she was spending all her time with Hilary, and she was trying to figure out what to do when her leave was over. She liked being at home, but she was starting to think that she might like to go back to work eventually, maybe part time.

She was even thinking about getting another job, one with more flexible hours. But she still had three months to make her mind up.

Andy was busier than ever at the office now, with new series, new stars, new contracts.

And Bill Pennington had taken a long leave. Denise had had the baby early, at the end of May, and there had been complications, but the baby was home now, and they were ecstatic.

Diana had visited her, and tried to help her out. She felt like an old hand now, after two months. She got a lot of advice from Gayle and Sam, and she got a lot of help from an excellent pediatrician. And the rest of the time, she followed her instincts. Most of child rearing seemed to be common sense. Her father had said that to her the first time he came to see the baby. And when he first saw her, he cried. It meant so much to him to know that his own child was at peace now. He held Diana for a long time in his arms, as tears rolled down his cheeks, and then he smiled at the baby.

"You did a good job," he said, and Diana suddenly wondered if he'd forgotten she hadn't given birth to her, and that worried her. It would have been the first sign that he was failing. And so far he wasn't.

"Daddy, I didn't have her," she reminded him cautiously, and he chuckled.

"I know that, silly girl. But you found her and brought her home.

She's a blessing for all of us, not just for you and Andy He had stood and looked at her for a long time, and then he had stooped to kiss her. A little while later he left, after assuring Hilary's parents that she was the prettiest baby he'd ever seen. And he sounded as though he meant it.

They had christened the baby at the beginning of June, and celebrated at Diana's parents' house in Pasadena. These days, everything seemed to revolve around the baby. So much so that Andy thought Diana was looking exhausted. It was partially lack of sleep, every night she got up three or four times, and for the first month, Hilary had had a lot of colic. But now she was fine, the one who wasn't was Diana. And the night of their anniversary, when they stayed home, Andy noticed that Diana didn't even bother to put on makeup. Seeing her looking so beat almost made him sorry they'd given up the beach house Diana had rented during their separation. They loved it, but now, with Hilary, they couldn't afford it.

"You feeling okay?" He looked worried about her, but at least she seemed happy.

"I'm fine. Just tired. Hilary got up every two hours last night."

"Maybe you should get someone in to help you, you know, a nice all pair."

"Never mind that." She pretended to glower at him. She wasn't letting anyone take care of their baby. She had waited too long for this, and paid too dearly with her soul to let another woman even touch her. The only one she allowed to help her was her husband.

"I'll do bottle duty tonight. You get some sleep. You need it."

He cooked dinner for her that night, while she put the baby down. And they talked for a long time afterward about how their life had changed, and how far they had come in two years. It was hard even to remember a time when Hilary hadn't been with them.

They went to bed early that night, and Andy wanted to make love, but Diana was asleep before he came out of the bathroom. He stood for a moment and smiled at her, and then he gently put the baby's basket next to his side of the bed, so he'd hear her when she woke up for her next feeding.

But the next morning, after a good night's sleep, Diana looked worse.

And she looked absolutely green when he poured her a cup of coffee.

"I think I've got the flu," she complained, and then worried about giving it to the baby. "Maybe I should wear a mask," she said, and he laughed.

"Listen, she's more durable than that. And if you have the flu, she's already been exposed anyway." It was Saturday and he volunteered to take care of the baby all day. Diana slept all afternoon, and she looked groggy that night when she cooked him dinner, and he noticed that she didn't eat anything. She just wasn't hungry.

By Monday, nothing had changed. She had no temperature but she looked like hell. And he told her when he left for work to call the doctor.

"Don't count on it," she said, looking exhausted again, and he hadn't really seen her eat all weekend. "I never want to see another doctor for the rest of my life."

"I didn't say call a gynecologist, I said call a doctor." But she absolutely refused to. And some days she looked okay, others she looked worse; sometimes it depended on how much sleep she got, sometimes it didn't. But worrying about her was driving him up the wall, and she absolutely refused to listen.

"Look, stupid," he finally said to her in July, just before their family picnic on the fourth in Pasadena, "Hilary and I need you. You've been feeling lousy for a month, now go do something about it. You're probably anemic from being up all night and never eating."

"How do normal mothers do it? They seem to do fine. Sam doesn't go around dragging ass." It depressed her to feel as lousy as she did, but she had to admit that a lot of the time now she really felt rotten.

And at their family picnic the next day, Andy spoke to his brother-in-law, Jack, and told him to push Diana into seeing a doctor.

Jack managed to catch a few minutes alone with her, after lunch, when she was feeding the baby. "Andy's worried about you," he said bluntly.

"He shouldn't be. I'm fine." She tried to brush him off, but he wasn't that easy to get rid of, and Andy had warned him, and urged him to be persistent.

"You don't look that great, considering that you're young and beautiful and have a gorgeous baby," he teased. He was happy for them, and he had been immensely relieved when Gayle told him they'd adopted a baby.

He had seen what distress she'd been in, and he had been deeply sorry for them.

"Why don't you go get a blood test?" He tried again, because he'd promised Andy, but it was obvious to him that Diana was stubborn.

"What's that going to tell me, Jack? That I'm tired? I already know that. I've had enough tests to last me a lifetime."

"This isn't the same thing, Diana, and you know that. I'm talking about a checkup. That's nothing."

"It may be nothing to you, but it's something to me."

"Then why don't you come see me? I can do a simple blood test, make sure you don't have some kind of a low-grade infection that's wearing you down, see if you're anemic, give you some vitamins. No big deal."

"Maybe," she said hesitantly, but before they left that afternoon, he pressed her again.

I want to see you in my office tomorrow.øø It seemed dumb to her, but she felt so rotten the next morning when Andy left for work, that she ended up throwing up for an hour, and lying half passed out on the bathroom floor while the baby cried lustily in the bedroom. "Okay," she whispered as she lay there, feeling like she was going to die, "I'll go I'll go . . ." And an hour later, she and Hilary were in Jack's office.

Reluctantly, she admitted to him what had happened that morning, and it had happened before. She had a vague suspicion that, after all the agonies of the year before, she might have wound up with an ulcer.

He glanced at her as she explained, and then asked her a few questions, about the color of the vomitus, did it look like coffee grounds, had she ever thrown up blood, to all of which she said no, and he nodded.

"What's all that about?" she asked anxiously, while Hilary slept peacefully in her basket.

"I just want to check your ulcer theory out, and make sure you've not vomiting either old or fresh blood." He was a gynecologist, but he wasn't totally unfamiliar with these kinds of questions. "If we suspect an ulcer, you should have an upper GI series. But let's not worry about that yet." He drew some blood and made some notes, listened to her chest, and then palpated her stomach and lower abdomen.

And then he looked at her, over his glasses. "What's this?" he asked, feeling a small mass low down in her belly. "Was that there before?"

"I don't know," she looked frightened and reached down to touch it. It had been there for a while, she knew, but she couldn't remember how long, weeks, months, days. She was so tired she just couldn't think of when she first felt it. "Not long. Maybe since we had the baby." He frowned at her again, felt some more, and then sat down across from her in a chair with an odd expression.

"When was your last period?" he asked, and she tried to think. It had been a while, not that it made a difference.

"I don't know," she tried to think. "Maybe not since Hilary came, a couple of months maybe. Why, is something really wrong?" Maybe now, in addition to all the other things wrong with her reproductive tract, she had a tumor. "Do you think it's a growth of some kind?" Oh, Christ, that was all she needed. Maybe she had cancer. What would she ever say to Andy? Sweetheart. . . I'm really sorry . . . but I'm going to die and leave you with this baby. Her eyes filled with tears as she thought of it, and her brother-in-law patted her hand.

"I think it could be that, but I think it might be something else. What do you think the chances are that you might be pregnant?"