O+F Part 27

"Tea would be lovely. I _will_ take a shower." She closed the bathroom door behind her, and Oliver rushed to fill the tea kettle. The shower started. Milk? Sugar? Honey?

"Verdi," he called, "Jennifer is here for tea." The words echoed. Verdi was nowhere to be seen; probably he had taken refuge upstairs. Oliver paced back and forth from the stove to the fireplace. Why had she come to him? He felt the future looming, threatening to sweep away the controlled life that he complained about but that suddenly seemed more attractive.

The shower stopped. Jennifer stepped out a few minutes later wearing his Navy blue bathrobe. She was rosy cheeked and much recovered.

"Uh, how do you like your tea?"

"Do you have any chamomile?"

"Umm, no. I should get some herb tea. All I have is English Breakfast."

"Oh, that's fine. Just a little milk, thanks." She sat next to the fireplace and looked around the apartment while Oliver fixed the tea.

"I don't know," he said, handing her a mug. "Whiskey might be a better idea." Jennifer took a sip and sighed.

"That's so good. I forgot how nice your apartment is."

"It's large enough," Oliver said. "Walking distance from Deweys--I like that. So, what happened? You look great."

"I feel great. I'm just starting to show a little--getting into the fifth month." Oliver counted backwards. "What happened is that Rupert freaked out when I told him I was pregnant. He became--I don't know--_distant._ I thought he was just nervous and would get used to it, but he got more and more uptight. I couldn't take it anymore." She drank her tea and sighed again.

"So today, I . . . I said to him: 'Look, Rupert, _what_ is the matter? We're going to have a baby. What is _wrong_ with you?' I guess I should have been more diplomatic. You know--said something like: 'Rupert, I need your affection; I'm feeling all alone here.' But I didn't _feel_ diplomatic. I was mad as h.e.l.l, actually."

Owl's words echoed: "_Anger is the outer face of fear._"

"Scared," Oliver said.

Jennifer looked at him. "Maybe so," she said. "I thought we had a family. I thought we were all set to go."

"Well, sure," Oliver said.

"'So,' Rupert said, 'who's the father?'

"'What do you mean?' I said.

"'It's not me,' Rupert said. I was shocked. Anyway, it came out that he has a very low sperm count. He knew it all the time and never told me.

I told him that you and I had a one time thing last summer, and he freaked out.

"'I'm not paying for his kid, bla, bla, bla.'

"I practically begged: 'Couldn't it be like we adopted him--or her?'

"'It's his problem,' he said. He called my baby a problem. How could he love me if my baby is a _problem?_"

"Good question," Oliver said. "Jesus, Jennifer."

She put down her tea and held her arms out to him. "Come feel," she said. She loosened the bathrobe and guided Oliver's hand to her belly, warm and taut.

"Amazing!" Oliver said.

"I'm still getting used to it," she said. "I'm over the morning sickness."

Oliver withdrew his hand slowly and straightened. "What are you going to do?"

"Tonight?"

"Well, for starters . . ."

"I don't know. I just wanted to see you, to tell you. You weren't here when I got home. I couldn't find a parking place anywhere close." Her voice trailed off. "I've got a credit card; I can stay at the Holiday Inn."

"No way," Oliver said. "You might as well stay here. Your clothes are all wet." A relieved smile brightened her face.

"Thank you, Oliver."

"Music," he said. He was hearing hearing strains from _La Traviata_ in his mind. He wanted to play the opera, but he was afraid Jennifer would find it too heavy. He played a tape of Native American flute melodies echoing down a canyon. Soothing stuff.

"Oh, I love this music," she said.

"Carlos Nakai," Oliver said. "Are you hungry?" He was newly concerned.

There were two of her. Check that--one of her and one of them, a new one. Jennifer looked pleased.

"I've been so upset, it's hard to tell. I think so, actually."

"I have some red beans and rice mix--no canyon greens, though." She looked puzzled. He explained, "I was thinking of the music--what would go with the rice and beans and the music--veggies from a canyon."

"You're so imaginative, Oliver."

"Frozen peas, best I can do." He waved the bag in the air. They ate and watched the news. Oliver slid a clean pillow case on the extra pillow and put a lamp on the other side of the bed. Seduction scenes were easier. They happened or they didn't in a great rush. Jennifer couldn't find a book that she wanted to read. She took a copy of _Wooden Boat Magazine_ upstairs, and Oliver followed her awkwardly.

They lay side by side while she paged through the magazine. "I like this one." She pointed out a 32 footer at anchor in Pen.o.bscot Bay. The builder and his wife were enjoying c.o.c.ktails. A golden retriever was slumped near the bow, his head between his paws.

"Nice," Oliver said. "I wonder if Verdi would like it. Remember Verdi, my cat? Verdi, where are you anyway?"

"I haven't seen him since I got here," Jennifer said.

"He's hiding. Anti-social. He'll come out when he's hungry."

"I'm not hungry now," Jennifer said, putting down _Wooden Boat._ "That was a good dinner. Thanks for taking care of me."

"You're welcome." Oliver turned out his light.

"Nighty night," she said and rolled to her side. The comforter went with her. She switched off her light and snuggled back against him. He pulled the comforter back over him and brushed her hip with his hand.

"I'm glad you came," he said.

"Don't be a stranger," she said, settling closer. Her body was warm and self-contained. He patted her in response and said nothing. A baby? He lay there as Jennifer fell asleep. Her breathing was steady and unhurried. There was a lot to figure out. In the morning . . . He'd figure out what to do in the morning.

He awoke to the smell of coffee and the sound of Jennifer climbing the steps. "Here you are, Sleepy." She put a mug and a small gla.s.s down near his head. "Milk in here. You don't use sugar, do you? I don't remember you taking sugar."