He drove out to see Jennifer one afternoon, and she showed him around the house and grounds and took enormous pleasure in his delight.
“It’s beautiful, Jennifer. Really beautiful. You’ve done a hell of a job.” He looked at her swollen abdomen. “How long is it going to be?”
“Another two months.” She put his hand against her belly and said, “Feel this.”
He felt a kick.
“He’s getting stronger every day,” Jennifer said proudly.
She cooked dinner for Ken. He waited until they were having dessert before he brought up the subject.
“I don’t want to pry,” he said, “but shouldn’t whoever the proud papa is be doing something—?”
“Subject closed.”
“Okay. Sorry. The office misses you like hell. We have a new client who—”
Jennifer held up a hand. “I don’t want to hear about it.”
They talked until it was time for Ken to leave, and Jennifer hated to see him go. He was a dear man and a good friend.
Jennifer shut herself off from the world in every possible way. She stopped reading the newspapers and would not watch television or listen to the radio. Her universe was here within these four walls. This was her nest, her womb, the place where she was going to bring her son into the world.
She read every book she could get her hands on about raising children, from Dr. Spock to Ames and Gesell and back again.
When Jennifer finished decorating the nursery, she filled it with toys. She visited a sporting goods shop and looked at footballs and baseball bats and a catcher’s mitt. And she laughed at herself. This is ridiculous. He hasn’t even been born yet. And she bought the baseball bat and the catcher’s mitt The football tempted her, but she thought, That can wait.
It was May, and then June.
The workmen finished and the house became quiet and serene. Twice a week Jennifer would drive into the village and shop at the supermarket, and every two weeks she would visit Dr. Harvey, her obstetrician. Jennifer obediently drank more milk than she wanted, took vitamins and ate all the proper, healthy foods. She was getting large now and clumsy, and it was becoming difficult for her to move about.
She had always been active, and she had thought she would loathe getting heavy and awkward, having to move slowly; but somehow, she did not mind it. There was no reason to hurry anymore. The days became long and dreamy and peaceful. Some diurnal clock within her had slowed its tempo. It was as though she were reserving her energy, pouring it into the other body living inside her.
One morning, Dr. Harvey examined her and said, “Another two weeks, Mrs. Parker.”
It was so close now. Jennifer had thought she might be afraid. She had heard all the old wives’ tales of the pain, the accidents, the malformed babies, but she felt no fear, only a longing to see her child, an impatience to get his birth over with so she could hold him in her arms.
Ken Bailey drove out to the house almost every day now, bringing with him The Little Engine That Could, Little Red Hen, Pat the Bunny, and a dozen Dr. Seuss books.
“He’ll love these,” Ken said.
And Jennifer smiled, because he had said “he.” An omen.
They strolled through the grounds and had a picnic lunch at the water’s edge and sat in the sun. Jennifer was self-conscious about her looks. She thought, Why would he want to waste his time with the ugly fat lady from the circus?
And Ken was looking at Jennifer and thinking: She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
The first pains came at three o’clock in the morning. They were so sharp that Jennifer was left breathless. A few moments later they were repeated and Jennifer thought exultantly, It’s happening!
She began to count the time between the pains, and when they were ten minutes apart she telephoned her obstetrician. Jennifer drove to the hospital, pulling over to the side of the road every time a contraction came. An attendant was standing outside waiting for her when she arrived, and a few minutes later Dr. Harvey was examining her.