Rachel's Hope

But no matter what the problems now, Rachel reminded herself, once her marriage had been good. At least, until—when was it? When did she and David really begin to grow apart?

There was only one answer to that question, and she felt guilty even thinking it. It was after she met Marlene. When was that? Five, six years ago? Yes. Brian was nearly eight. Marlene moved into the condo next door, alone. Her husband had died of a heart attack several years before. They had no children.

In spite of her loss, Marlene was a generous, funny, wonderfully open person. She had a quality of love and warmth about her that drew Rachel. In this one plain, lovely, outspoken woman Rachel found the sympathetic understanding of a mother, big sister and friend.

It hadn’t taken Rachel long to discover that Marlene had fascinating and deeply entrenched opinions about many things—what it meant to be a woman, a Christian woman; what her responsibilities were to herself and to others; what her relationship ought to be to God. Marlene had related her opinions one afternoon while they had coffee in Rachel’s apartment

Even now, sitting stiffly, impatiently in Dr. Oberg’s waiting room, Rachel recalled Marlene’s words—the quiet, direct way she’d spoken of Jesus Christ and His resurrection and His desire to live in a person’s heart.

Rachel’s amazement had turned to curiosity, then to hunger. Here was Christianity as she had never heard it before—beautiful, powerful, capable of giving life a meaning she had always wished for but never dreamed possible. It involved so many things she was familiar with—Jesus of Nazareth, Christmas and Easter. Things everyone knew about. But then, why hadn’t anyone told her that religion was just the periphery, that the center of it all was Christ?

“Rachel, honey, Jesus got off that cross a long time ago,” Marlene had assured her. “He’s not lying in that tomb anymore. He’s alive, He’s God and He loves you.”

Marlene had prayed with Rachel that day and led her like a child to Christ. For a long while after that, Rachel had felt the wonder of innocence and the amazement of childhood in her blood again. She was free, clean. Even her daily routine took on purpose. It had all been so good.

It was still good, Rachel noted silently, but things were different now. She couldn’t deny that some of the sparkle was gone. The sheen of her brand-new faith had worn thin and faded with the passing of months and years.

It wasn’t entirely Rachel’s fault. If only her faith hadn’t become a wedge in her marriage. If only David shared her faith instead of resenting it. If only he would encourage Brian’s faith by attending church with them occasionally, things would be so different.

And now, in recent weeks, there were other things—vague, disturbing things Rachel hardly dared put into words: David’s preoccupation, his aura of secretiveness when she questioned him about his activities. He inevitably brushed her off with an excuse that he worried about work.

But was it the truth? Or was her marriage in even deeper trouble than she suspected? Could it be that David had found a new interest…someone else? Until now Rachel hadn’t dared to put the thought into words.

She chastened herself for harboring such suspicions. But the nagging questions could not be erased. Rachel’s mind wavered between two poles—the agony that her suspicions might be correct and a gnawing guilt over the fact that she did not trust her husband.

Was it any wonder she didn’t want to face a pregnancy now? Marlene just didn’t understand. How could Rachel bring another life into the tangled web of her marriage? It was all she could do to cope with David and Brian. And lately, she was hardly able to cope with anyone—or anything—at all.

“Mrs. Webber? Mrs. Webber! The doctor will see you now.”

Rachel frowned, attempting to swing her thoughts back to the present, struggling to recognize the voice that spoke her name. Who called her? But of course—the nurse.

Marlene gave her a nudge. “That’s you, gal.”

Rachel tried to rise casually, but she felt herself on the verge of leaping from her chair. The rotund lady seated across the room glanced up momentarily from her book, a flicker of interest lighting behind her eyes. The two teenagers offered curious stares, and Rachel felt an inexplicable impulse to apologize for something, to say, at least, “Excuse me.”

She said it with her eyes but kept her lips tightly closed as she met the starched woman’s professional gaze, then passed through the open door to the examining room.

Twenty minutes later, wrapped in a disposable paper gown, Rachel sat facing Dr. Oberg, a tall, lanky man with a bountiful head of curly hair.

“Well,” the mild-mannered physician declared brightly, “the results are in.” He glanced at the slip of paper he held as if it were a cue card and, with a smile, informed her, “As you probably already suspected, the test was positive, Mrs. Webber.”

“Positive?” she echoed. She felt the color rise in her cheeks. “Are you sure? Couldn’t there be a mistake?”

“Oh, no, Mrs. Webber. My examination confirmed it. You are pregnant.” He patted her hand gently, almost a fatherly gesture. “Is there a problem? It is Mrs., isn’t it?”

“Yes, but my husband and son—they’ll be…surprised.”

“Pleasantly, I hope.”

“So do I.”

“Do you have other family nearby…to offer support?”

Rachel averted her gaze. “No. My parents died in a car crash when I was a teenager. And my husband’s family lives in a small town in Ohio. We rarely see them.”

“I see,” said Dr. Oberg. He studied her chart for a moment. “I notice your son was a breech birth. There’s no reason to expect another breech, you know. We’ll anticipate a normal, healthy pregnancy. Tell me, do you have any questions?”

Rachel shook her head, her mind numb.

“Well, then,” said Dr. Oberg, resuming an air of formality, “if you’ll check with my nurse on the way out for your next appointment…”

Moments later Rachel walked out of the office, dazed, telling herself, This can’t be real. It must be someone’s clever prank, a hoax. Pregnant! What would she tell David? Surprise! We’re going to have a baby. Just what our marriage needs.

Marlene caught up with her on the sidewalk, breathless. “Rachel, honey, don’t forget me.”

“I’m sorry. I—”

“The test?”

“Positive. Oh, Marlene, how will I tell David?”

“Maybe…pray about it?”

“I can’t. I’m past praying.”

On the way home Rachel had a daring idea. She would not tell David anything at all. Not yet. Why stir up trouble? Why muddy the waters? It would be weeks yet before she began to show. Anything could happen. The future was anybody’s guess. There was time to work on her marriage, to improve her relationship with David, to prepare him for this so-called “blessed event.”

Yes! Why not? For the present her pregnancy would remain her secret.

Chapter Two

It was late October, cold and storm-cloudy. David Webber gazed for a few moments into the dusky, smog-tinged dreariness outside his office window, then turned his attention back to his computer and the work at hand. The prints for the anti-icing design for the new regional jet had to be ready for the customer by 5:00 p.m. He fished through his desk drawer for paper clips, but as usual, couldn’t find anything when he wanted it. Rubber bands, pencils and erasers, scratch paper and marking pens. But no paper clips. Impatiently he slammed the desk drawer, saying something unintelligible under his breath.

David caught a glimpse of his scowling reflection in the expansive windows beyond his desk. He wasn’t one to think often about his looks, but when he did he had to admit to a modicum of conceit. Although nearing his mid-thirties, he had managed to maintain his athletic physique. It helped, of course, having good genes and being over six feet tall. Weekends of tennis and jogging under a hot California sun had tanned his skin a deep reddish brown, giving him a rugged, weather-beaten, even seafaring appearance. Rachel used to tell him with an admiring smile that he looked like one of those macho film stars—he could never keep up with the names. Come to think of it, it had been ages since she’d said anything like that.

These days it was Kit Kincaid, the engineering secretary, who fed his ego with effusive praise. She had even teasingly remarked that it must have been his double in that ubiquitous TV ad showing a smiling, virile, more-than-handsome workman chugalugging a diet soda while the office girls swooned with admiration. The comment had secretly pleased David. He was glad Kit considered him handsome—a man’s man and, yes, a woman’s man.

He looked back at his desk. Paperwork was strewn about like gigantic pieces of confetti. Before David could make sense of the chaos, Ralph Mercer, one of the draftsmen, came striding his way. “Webber, have you gone over the check prints of my drawing?”

“Which drawing?”

“Last Friday’s. The top assembly for the anti-ice system,” Ralph reminded him.

“Yeah, it’s here—somewhere.” He riffled through a mound of papers. “Yes, here it is.” He had merely set the Wellman test report on top of it. “Look, I’ll check the drawing once more and get it right back to you.”

The draftsman left abruptly, only slightly mollified.

David scanned the drawing, remembering now that everything was all right. If the draftsman had waited a minute, he could have taken the check print with him. Now David would have to deliver it personally. Irritated, he wrapped the check print around a roll of vellums for the Hiller job. Might as well deliver everything at once.

Casually he aimed his vision at Kit’s desk. With her curly, honey blond hair tousled around her ivorysmooth face, she looked younger than her twenty-five years. He’d never have guessed they’d become such close friends. Yet Kit had a certain mature, even worldly outlook that had impressed David from the start. She was easy to talk with and he always felt relaxed and more positive about life in her company. Once Rachel’s company had made him feel that way. But those days were long gone, he reflected sadly.

Kit was typing something, unaware of his gaze. With drawings in hand he headed for her desk. Paper clips were a good excuse—a reason to interrupt her work, talk to her, make her smile.

“Talk a minute?” he asked when she looked up, startled.

She smiled. “Okay, David. Sure.”

He lowered his voice a degree and assumed what he considered a tone of stern authority. “Miss Kincaid, you are the secretary to the engineering department, are you not?”

She studied him with a curious half smile. “You know I am.”

“Then you, my dear, are responsible for keeping us supplied with such indispensable items as paper clips, right?”

“Yes, I suppose so…”

“Now I must warn you, Miss Kincaid, if you forsake these small but important duties, you’ll only go on to greater negligence in the future.”

She stifled a laugh. “Come on, David. Are you out again? What do you do? Eat them?”

He winked. “Sure. It gives me an excuse to talk to you.”

Her voice softened. “Since when do you need an excuse, David?”

He inhaled sharply. “All right, young lady, give me six boxes now, or I’ll find your supply and pilfer the entire stock. Then where will you be?”

She leaned toward him and raised her face to his. “Right here, where I want to be. With you.”

She looked delightfully impish, as if there were many wonderful secrets locked in her head, which she would share only when she chose to, with whom she chose.

“Here are your paper clips,” she announced brightly, removing a small cardboard box from her desk. “Are you planning to make me a necklace?”

“Yeah, but not out of paper clips.” He fumbled with the drawings he forgot he was holding. “Say, Kit,” he added softly, making his voice sound as if they were still talking about paper clips. “Kit, how would you like to get a bite to eat after work?”

Her face showed surprise. “Tonight? Don’t you need to be home?”

Although they’d had lunch together a few times, David had never before asked to spend time with her after work. As he observed her reaction, he felt surprised himself at what he’d done and almost hoped she’d turn him down.

“I just phoned Brian a few minutes ago, and he said Rachel is out shopping. He doesn’t know when she’ll get back.” He thrummed his fingers on her desk. “So I told him I have to work late. I thought we’d at least have time to grab a sandwich. But if you’d rather not…”

“No, that’s all right. I’d like to. But I’ll have to call my roommate. She thought I’d be home. She was going to try something fancy for dinner. A soufflé or something. She won’t want to bother just for herself. I’ll just let her know I won’t be joining her.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t let you know sooner.”

“That’s okay. I’m just glad for the chance to be with you. You know that.”

“Yeah, me, too.” He glanced around guardedly. “Meet you in the parking lot, okay?”

“Sure.”

David delivered the check print and vellums, then returned to his desk and shuffled idly through the odds and ends of paperwork—government specifications, purchase orders and engineering estimate forms. He worked mindlessly with the paper clips, attaching them to the corners of papers, but his eyes—and his thoughts—remained on Kit across the room. Finally, to appear occupied, he scanned the current issue of Aviation Week.

After work, because their time together was so limited, David drove Kit to the nearby Hamburger House, where they took a back booth and ordered promptly. This place was perfect, only blocks from Kit’s apartment and halfway between work and David’s condo. It was a spot usually crowded at this hour with the after-five teenage traffic from the nearby junior college. It was a place where the two of them could be unnoticed, ignored, lost in the crowd.

As he sipped his cola, David watched several teenagers swaying to a rock tune, their limber bodies graceful as velvet sashes strung in the breeze. His son, Brian, was a teenager now. One day a child you could wrestle with and jounce in the air. One day a child, and the next…Now Brian was reaching into another world. Perhaps he would be swept up like all the other kids his age, forced to join and conform or to test and try the limits. Most likely, he would attempt to defy the established order of things. It was expected these days.

Still, it startled David to find himself massing his son with all the others—the rebels, the freaks, even the majority of good kids who still experimented with one thing or another. Morals were like that now. Everyone saw what he wanted to see, even David. He did what he pleased, stretched the limits and rearranged the boundaries. Brian would be no different—no better and no worse.

“Are you coming back soon?”

“What?”

Kit was sitting across from him in the booth, beaming, a peculiar half smile on her polished red lips. “I said, if you don’t come back soon from wherever you’ve wandered, I’m going to steal your dill pickle and carrot sticks.”

“Be my guest.”

“Where were you?”

“Thinking about Brian.”

“Is he in some kind of trouble?”

David grimaced. Not as much as I am. “No, not at all,” he said with a note of defensiveness. Why had he even mentioned Brian? Now he felt compelled to assure Kit everything was fine. “He loves eighth grade. He’s doing well. No complaints from anyone, as far as I know.”

“Well, then?”

David hated being put on the spot. “I was—I don’t know—just imagining him being like these kids. They’re a whole new breed.”

“And it’s hard to picture Brian being one of them, right?”

He shrugged. “He’s my son. I love him.”

“He’ll do okay. From what you’ve told me, he’s a great kid.”

“He is,” David agreed, shaking steak sauce on his sandwich.

“I wish I could meet him.”

David glanced up, startled. He felt his neck muscles tighten. “I wish you could, too, Kit. But it’s just not possible. You know that.”

Kit flushed. “David, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything. It was just an idle remark. I’m not trying to push you. Really, I’m not.”

“I know, Kit. I’m sorry. I get wound up sometimes and shoot off my big mouth.”

“But I know I don’t make things any easier for you.”

“It’s not your fault. It’s just the way things are.”

“For what it’s worth, David, I adapt easily,” she said. “If a friendship is it—just what we have now—fine. If more comes, that’s fine, too. If not, I understand. Do you know what I’m saying, David?”

“I know what you’re saying, Kit. And I know you understand. I guess that’s why I like being with you so much. But relationships aren’t static. They grow and change. They take on a life of their own,” he added, thinking about his own marriage as much as his friendship with Kit.

She traced a water ring with one long, polished nail. “Like you’ve said before, we’ll just take our time…and see what happens.”

Chapter Three

The late October sky was rain swollen and color streaked. It had not started to storm yet, but it would, and soon. As Rachel aimed her teal green sedan homeward through late-afternoon traffic, she tried to imagine how the evening would be. After two weeks of guarded silence, tonight she would tell David about the baby. Before he arrived home, she would toss a salad and put in potatoes to bake. Then she would cook fresh broccoli and broil the porterhouse steaks she had just purchased at a special butcher shop. She had forgotten to pick up sour cream, but she could whip up David’s favorite cheese sauce, and there were fresh mushrooms in the refrigerator. Perhaps they could even eat by candlelight, or was that considered gauche now? She would decide later.

Once dinner was started, Rachel thought she would change into something else, perhaps one of her long gauzy skirts that David liked so much. She hardly wore them lately. She would wait until they had eaten—probably wait even until Brian was in bed—before telling him about the baby. She would be calmer; so would he. They would discuss things intelligently. Perhaps it would not really be so bad. Perhaps a baby would not be a catastrophe after all.

But on entering the condo, Rachel felt an immediate surge of irritation. Brian was home, sprawled on the sofa, staring impassively at the six-o’clock pro football game on television, his heavy hiker boots propped on her glass coffee table. And he was scarfing down greasy potato chips, the crumbs scattering all over her rose velvet sofa. His straight, light-brown hair spilled over his high, ruddy forehead, shading his heavy-lidded hazel eyes. He was wearing a striped rugby shirt and baggy jeans. He looked up from the flickering screen and must have sensed her displeasure, for he swung his feet to the floor and moved the bag of chips to the coffee table.

She forced the irritation out of her voice, inquiring, “Have you been home long, Brian?”

His wide, chiseled mouth settled into a pout. “Yeah, a little while.”

“You came right home from school then?”

“Uh-huh.”

Rachel set down her purse and removed her suede patchwork jacket, her annoyance lingering. “I thought maybe you’d be out with your friends.”

“Naw, they got soccer practice.” It was still a sore point that he hadn’t made the team. He hesitated. “I was wondering though,” he began, a sudden lilt in his voice. “I met this guy at school today, Ronnie Mayhew. He’s ahead of me—in the ninth grade. He’s a real cool guy, Mom, and I wondered if he could come over tonight? He’s going to bring some of his CDs.”

“You want someone over tonight, Brian?” Rachel’s mind raced. Tonight had to be special, and there was still so much to do. She stalled. “This is a school night, remember?”

“Yeah, but Ronnie’s mom said he can come if it’s all right with you. He found this cool chat room on the Internet, and—”

“You know I don’t like you surfing the Internet. You don’t know who’s out there.”

“Come on, Mom, it’s totally safe. Would you rather have me out on the streets, hanging out or something?”

She stared him down. “I’d rather have you here in your own room doing your homework. Especially your algebra.”

“It’s done, Mom. No lie! I did it in my free period. So can Ronnie come over?”

“Oh, Brian, please!”

“Listen, Mom, most of the time ninth graders don’t even want to hang out with guys in eighth grade.” Her son sat up, leaning forward, his neck and arms angular, his shoulders taut, as if somehow he had to impress upon her physically the importance of his request. She chose to ignore it.

“Brian—Brian, not tonight, please. Maybe tomorrow. Ask him for tomorrow night.”

The boy scowled. “Yeah, sure. He probably won’t want to come then.”

“Then he’s not much of a friend.”

“Aw, Mom, come off it.”

“That’s enough, Brian.” Rachel wasn’t winning this one at all. She didn’t want to contend with Brian now when there was so much on her mind, so much to do, to plan. She had already endured a couple of weeks of morning sickness, hiding out in the bathroom until David left for work so he wouldn’t guess the truth. She’d finally had enough of covering up her condition. She was determined to tell David tonight. But should she take Brian into her confidence? It might help to have him as her ally. She looked at him, searching his face, and wondered for a moment just who her son was now.

Last year, when Brian was twelve, he’d seemed small to Rachel; his face was plain and round, unmarked, still sweet, a child’s face. His body was still child-like soft and smooth. Young girls and boys seemed alike, all soft and smooth. They all had untouched faces, open and wide and wondering.

Now Brian was thirteen, and already his face had begun to close, to change, to take on new facets and meanings somewhere behind the eyes. Now his body was suddenly stretching, breaking through the softness, making angles of his arms and legs. In just one year a shrewdness and a new curiosity had registered on his face, around his mouth.

As if to confirm the unseen changes, Brian’s face was no longer smooth. Hints of pimples appeared on his chin and forehead. He was becoming someone Rachel wondered if she knew. It was too soon for this sort of thing, too soon. The changes, coming so fast, left Rachel a little bewildered at times, confused as to how she should handle her son. Should she treat him as a child? As a man? He was Brian, whoever Brian was becoming. But she could not think of Brian now.

She sat down beside him and put the potato chip bag on her lap. She rolled the slick edges of the bag between her fingers, unaware she was doing so. “Brian,” she said, “I didn’t want to go into this until I talked with your father, but I guess there’s no reason you can’t know now.”

“Know what, Mom?” He had slouched back against the cushions, his hazel eyes impassive, watching her.

“Do you remember when I went to the doctor’s for a checkup a couple of weeks ago? Well, I found out…I found out I’m going to have a baby.”

He sat up, suddenly alert The amazement in his voice was genuine. “You’re kidding, Mom.”

“No, I’m afraid not.”

His wide mouth curled at one corner. “A baby? That’s really something. I mean, I never thought of a baby. You aren’t too old or anything?”

Rachel’s irritation was returning. “No, I’m not too old,” she snapped. Then, more softly, “But it was a surprise to me, too.”

“Does Dad know?” he quizzed eagerly.

Rachel shook her head. “No, I haven’t told him yet.”

“Boy, will he be flipped out. When are you going to tell him?”

“I’ll tell him tonight, after dinner. That’s why I’d rather your friend come over another time.”

“Yeah, sure. Okay,” he said, nodding, then added, “But Dad won’t be home for dinner.”

A knot of disappointment tightened in her chest. “Why not?”