I drank the rest of the wine and tossed the leftover food to a circling crow, then lay down and stared at the sky through the bared branches.
Would she really do it? Would Hattie talk to Mary the next time she came into the pharmacy? She’d told me over and over that she would do anything for me, that she was the right woman for me, but which version of her? Even if she wasn’t a born actress, she was still eighteen, for fuck’s sake. What wouldn’t a scorned eighteen-year-old do?
When I couldn’t stand thinking about it anymore, I gathered everything up and walked back to the barn. Hattie was already gone when I got there. Maybe she was home already, planning the best way to ruin me. It wouldn’t take much. A quick phone call to Mary or a confession to her parents, and my life would be over.
I hurled the empty wine bottle against the barn wall, but it didn’t even crack, so I kicked it into the pond that was forming on the far side of the building. It was tempting to toss her picnic blanket in after it. Instead, I left it in a dry corner wrapped around the book.
When I arrived back at the house, Mary’s truck was parked in the driveway. She’d said they were going shopping in Rochester after the doctors’ appointments, but it wasn’t even noon. They were home early.
I tossed the picnic basket in the backseat of my car and then opened the front door quietly. If I had any ideas of sneaking upstairs, they immediately died when I saw Mary sitting on the couch in the living room, staring at me like she’d been counting the minutes until I got home. The TV was off. Elsa was nowhere to be seen. The overwhelming assault of guilt compounded as the seconds ticked by and Mary remained motionless. She’d hardly paused in the last year. Could there be any doubt about the reason for her still life now?
On a completely different level from the nausea and slamming of my heart, I wondered how she’d found out. I started scanning the pages of my life, looking for the subtext that must have spilled over and given me away. Or maybe I hadn’t done anything. Maybe Hattie had already made good on her threat.
“Where were you?” Mary finally broke the silence.
“Out. Walking.” I didn’t admit anything yet.
“Walking where?”
“In the fields. Back there.” I swung an arm in no particular direction. “I wanted some fresh air and didn’t feel like a run.”
Mary laughed without any humor. “You live on a farm and you had to go walking to get some fresh air. That’s it, isn’t it? That’s it right there.”
“What’s ‘it’? What are you talking about?”
“Nothing.”
“Where’s Elsa? I thought you were going shopping.”
“She didn’t want me pushing her wheelchair around. I dropped her off at Winifred’s for a visit.”
“Okay.” I waited for the accusation, the tears and the rage, but nothing came. She kept sitting there with that unreadable expression.
“Is there something else?” I took a step toward the stairs, instinctually retreating.
“Sit down, Peter.”
My ass hit the chair immediately. Part of me even welcomed what was coming next. It was the end of my marriage—new paperwork to file in front of the old—but the end of the deceptions, too, the end of pretending I was anything good.
“What’s going on?” I asked. “You’re acting strangely.”
She took a deep breath and looked at her hands.
“I fainted at the doctor’s office.”
“What?” Surprise rushed through my veins like some delicious drug. “What happened?”
“It was silly. We just had to stay in the waiting room longer than I thought and we were sitting for so long and it was hot in there. When the doctor called our name, I stood up too fast and blacked out. I came around on the floor with a nurse and the receptionist standing over me. They helped me up and made me drink some water.”
“Did you even eat any breakfast this morning? You’re taking care of everything around here except yourself. That’s why you fainted.”
“I know. That will have to change.”
“Do you still feel dizzy?”
“A little.” She nodded. “The doctor asked me some questions and then gave me a test.”
The thought of Mary being sick seemed impossible. She’d become Elsa’s guardian and champion; she’d singlehandedly reinvented the farm; she paid the bills, cooked the meals, and cleaned the house, all with that Reever stoicism. She was the fucking bionic woman.
“What test?”
“It was positive.” Her voice was small. Suddenly I wanted her to look at me; I needed to see her eyes.
“What test, Mary?” I got up and crossed the room, dropping in front of her to make her look at me. When she did, I saw confusion and hesitation. I could tell she was working up the nerve to tell me. Whatever it was—and it was something clearly unrelated to the fact that she had a cheating, lying husband—was tearing her up inside.
“I’m pregnant.”