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He held up both hands as if he were trying to keep a wall from toppling. “Now, don’t get upset. It was an innocent suggestion. She’s not trying to run anyone’s life. She’s a woman with great experience and insight. We might as well take advantage of her.”
“As long as we’re taking advantage of her and she’s not taking advantage of us.”
He laughed. “How could she do that?”
“Maybe he’s not as bright as you think,” Cassie whispered. “I’m a little worried about how eagerly and how much he confides in her. Don’t say too much more right now.”
“Okay,” I told him. “I’ll put all this in my bank account of ideas.”
He missed my sarcasm, smiled, and kissed me. “Then you’ll stop taking birth control pills?”
I nodded, and he was satisfied, but the whole discussion made me uneasy. We talked no more about it, but the frequency with which Ethan came to my bedroom to make love made me think about it. He made sure to know when my period was supposed to come again and counted days, telling me when I was ovulating. I tried to be as enthusiastic as he was, but it was difficult.
Was I wrong to question why he wanted children so early? Was I so reluctant and skeptical because of my own emotional and psychological wounds? In my mind, I still had not found closure and accepted the fact that I had a daughter who would never know me. True, I didn’t hear the cry of a baby as much anymore, but I didn’t stop thinking about her, about all of it. I even wondered if Porter Andrew Hall, the father of our daughter, ever thought about her, ever had the same curiosity about her that I did.
I imagined myself meeting him one day by accident and him being cordial and apologetic. I knew that he had gotten married and had a family of his own. Daddy would never mention his name, but I had come across it reading the social news. He had become a lawyer and lived in the suburbs of Lexington. Daddy could have destroyed him but had decided in the end just to drive him out of our business and bury the rest of it forever.
But we would meet in this imagined scenario, and he would ask me if I knew anything at all about our daughter. “Did you ever see her?” he would wonder.
Of course, I would tell him no and then ask him if he had ever tried.
“Once,” he would say. “I drove out there and parked across from their house and waited to see if I could get a glimpse of her.”
“I’ve done the same,” I would confess.
He’d nod in understanding. “I never saw her,” he would say, “and then I thought I, of all people, have no right to be here and quickly drove away. Well, it’s nice seeing you, though, seeing you’re all right.”
“Am I?”
His smile would dwindle, and my imagined scenario popped like a bubble.
If I did give birth to another child, I thought, would I look at him or her and always think of my lost daughter?
So, despite what I had told Ethan, I did not stop taking my birth control pills. Cassie wouldn’t let me, anyway. When Ethan asked me ten days before our wedding if I had gotten my period, I had to tell him yes to cover up my deception.
“Don’t be discouraged,” he said. “As I told you, it’s very common for a woman who’s been on the pill as long as you have to have some difficulty conceiving quickly. But,” he added, brightening, “we’re going to have quite a romantic honeymoon, and if I have my calendar planning right, you’ll be in a prime time.”
He was so excited about the possibility that I almost confessed, but I didn’t. I smiled and let it all seem possible. As the days before our wedding ticked down, the excitement seemed to make every sound, every voice in Heaven-stone, louder, drowning out any other thought. The moment Daddy, Lucille, and Ethan returned home, the chatter began. Our pictures were, of course, in all of the social columns. Preparations were made for Ethan’s parents, who would fly in two days before the wedding so he could show them our estate and the department store. Lucille helped with the arrangements, providing the Heaven-stone limousine to pick them up at the airport. She then turned her attention to my wardrobe, because she claimed I didn’t have quite the fashion for the French Riviera.
“You’re going to where the world’s most glamorous and wealthiest people gather to have fun. The women you’ll meet will be very sophisticated. I’m going to lend you some of my best jewelry,” she continued, “but we need to dress you up a bit. You don’t mind my telling you this, do you?”
“Oh, no, I don’t mind,” I said. I wanted to add, I don’t care, but more for Daddy’s and Ethan’s sakes, I didn’t add a word. I smiled and went along with her, permitting her to choose clothing, shoes, and accessories. By the time we were finished outfitting me for my honeymoon, there was no room in my suitcases for anything but the new things.
Ethan thought it was all very amusing but never stopped telling me how grateful I should be and how lucky we both were to have someone like Lucille to advise us. Half the time, I wasn’t sure if he was saying these things for my benefit or hers.
“Tell me,” I asked him one night while we lay together in my bed after making love, “do you ever disagree with Lucille? I don’t mean have out-and-out arguments with her, but do you ever tell her you don’t think so or you don’t believe that, whatever?”
He shrugged. “I avoid any of that. If I don’t agree with her, I’m silent, or I change the subject.”
“You don’t think that’s cowardice?”
“Cowardice? Hell, no. Hey,” he said with a smirk, “I see the way she has your father twisted around her finger, Semantha. Believe me, anyone who crosses Lucille Bennet Heaven-stone will get the boot, and you know where.”
“She wouldn’t dare fire you or even try to now,” I said.
“Yeah, maybe not, but she would definitely make sure I didn’t move an inch further in the corporation. It’s easier just to let her think she’s right about everything. Besides, I don’t see you arguing so much with her anymore. What’s the point of it, anyway? It’s better to have harmony if we’re going to be a family, don’t you think?”
“As long as you don’t surrender your self-respect, Ethan,” I said as soon as Cassie had whispered it. I saw him wince as if I had burned him.
