Unconditional Surrender

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For Frederick



Unconditional



         Frederick Johnson fought his way through the biting rain and wind.  Leaves whipped at his face as he headed for the sanctuary of his front porch.  “Christ, what a night,” he muttered as he wiped the wet and muck from his shoes.

         “Fred…” a tiny voice wriggled from the darkness.

         Startled, he spun around and called out, “Who’s there?”

         A bedraggled woman stepped from the shadows.  “I didn’t mean to scare you.”  She pushed back her rain-soaked scarf and added, “It’s only me.”

         “Bea…  Beatrice?”  He unlocked the door and guided her inside.  “God, You almost gave me a heart attack.  What happened, honey?  What are you doing out in this weather?”

         “I got a flat tire about half a mile up the road.”  She faced him and gave him a weak smile.  “I could use a towel.  I must look like a drowned cat, huh?”

         “You need more than a towel.”  He ducked into the kitchen, but continued talking,  “Call Joe.  Let him know where you are, and then run upstairs and get into a hot shower.  I’ll find you something to wear home.  You need to be more careful.  You know what the doctor’s told you.”  He reappeared with several dishtowels and tossed them to her.  When she remained mute, he studied her.

         She had draped one of the towels over her still dripping hair and was cleaning the dirt from her face with another.  He knew her too well to not notice her failure to look at him.  Something was wrong, he knew it. 

         “I’m fine, but I won’t call him.  I don’t want him to know where I am—as if he would care.” 

         She’d spat the words out with a vehemence he’d never seen in her before.  “You two have a fight?”

         She peered out from beneath a towel, looked at him with a scowl and said, “It was more than a fight.  I’m leaving that son-of-a-bitch!  I found the bastard with his secretary.”  Her face reddened, her lip quivered and he could hear a tremble in her voice.  “He…  They were in ‘our’ bed.  He brought her home to our bed.”  Then she broke down and sobbed.

         He went over and pulled her into his arms and let her cry for several minutes.  When she’d quieted down a bit, he walked her towards the stairs.  He brushed back her hair, gave her a bear hug and kissed the tip of her nose.  “Hit the shower!  I’ll bring you up some clothes and a cup of hot tea.”

         “Tea hell!”  She managed to flash him a weak smile and added, “I’ll take a double vodka.” Then she climbed the steps.



         Joe had really done it this time.  Fred knew he’d been cheating off and on throughout the more than twenty-five years of their marriage, but to take a woman to their house?  At least he’d always been discreet before.  Old Joe must have gone ballistic when Bea walked in on them, and he wasn’t used to being found wrong and called on the carpet for it.  Fred let a low laugh as he thought, ‘Serves the bastard right.’

         He’d stopped earlier and bought a bottle of Vodka—kind of spooky, but lucky.  He plunked ice into a couple of glasses, grabbed the bottle from it’s brown bag and followed her upstairs.

         He found a pair of old sweat pants and a very old tee-shirt, worn soft from wear, and a short terry robe his mom had given him several Christmas ago—as yet unworn and carried them to the bathroom.  He rapped on the door and called our, “Bea, honey I’ve found you something to put on.”

         Steam seeped from the door as it opened a crack.  A naked, wet arm reached out, snatched the clothes and disappeared back into the foggy room.

         Fred returned to his bedroom and changed his own clothes.  Then he perched on the edge of the bed and broke the seal on the vodka bottle.  A vague notion of playing peacemaker hung in the back of his brain—but, in truth, he wanted her to leave Joe.

         Over the last several years, he’d watched Bea’s growing anxiety over Joe’s increasing coldness and indifference.  He’d become more and more concerned over how all this was affecting her health.  Leaving Joe was probably the best thing to do.  Still…  He decided to follow her lead.

         He poured a generous splash of vodka in the glasses and strolled back towards bathroom.  Bea met him in the hallway, clouds of mists swirling around her, wearing the clothes he’d passed her and a towel wrapped into a turban on her head.  She reached out for a glass, clinked his drink with hers and said, “Cheers…”

         He gave her a toothy grin and announced, “Joe’s an asshole!”  Then he put an arm around her and walked her to the guest bedroom.  “He’s not worth worrying over,” he insisted.

         “I’ve been with him since college.  How he could do this?  How could he betray me after all these years?  I’m his wife!”  She gulped down the better part of her vodka.  “Why would he be so cruel?”

         The words slipped out before he thought about them.  “Because he thinks he can.  You’ve overlooked his previous peccadilloes.”  He held his breath and waited for her reaction.

         She made a frown.  “I thought all that would stop when he started going to AA.”

         He sipped on his own drink, buying time and struggling for the ‘right’ answer.  “Honey, I’m not sure he’s ever been to even one of those meetings.”

         “What?”  She looked at him wearing a stunned expression.

         “I saw him at a bar quite a while back, when he was supposed to be at a meeting.”  He looked away.  He’d always wondered what people meant when they said ‘sheepishly’—now he understood. 

         “And you didn’t tell me?” 

         He could feel her eyes drilling holes through him.  He cleared his throat and in a hoarse voice answered, “I debated about telling you.  I did, but decided that if you were willing to cast a blind eye to his escapades, it was none of my business.”

         “Well, that’s over!” she said in a determined voice.  “I’m not taking him back—not this time.”

         “You know I’ll support you no matter what you decide.”  He waved the bottle in her direction.  He poured a small amount into her glass, then he gave her a sharp look and grated the tip of his tongue against his upper teeth.  Then he answered, “I hope you mean it this time.  You deserve better.”  Well, so much for remaining neutral.  He clinked his glass against hers and added, “Good riddance to him.”

         For one awful moment he was afraid she was going to start crying all over again.  It wasn’t that he wasn’t sympathetic.  He just hated it when Beatrice cried.  He always had.

         He remembered that very first afternoon.  He’d just moved into town and endured the first horrific day at his new junior high school.  He had bolted out the door as soon as the final bell rang.  He’d run the few short blocks home, seeking sanctuary in the cool shadows beneath the huge maple trees lining the driveway of his new house. 

         He’d been lying there, under the largest of them, when he’d heard the taunting voices of boys laughing and the heart-wrenching sounds of a girl sobbing.  He’d pushed his way through a hedge to find a knot of teen boys teasing a girl about his own age.  She was pretty, dark and plump, perhaps a bit taller than he was.

         “What’s going on?”  He demanded in that blustering tone his mother always warned him about.

         The biggest bully had swung around, sneering, “Get lost, creep!”

         “Leave her alone, you jerks!”  He’d grabbed a fallen branch and made a menacing wave at the leader.

         The girl had edged closer, slipping behind him.  He lunged at the boys again with the branch.  He’d never been sure he’d managed to frighten them off, or if they had just become bored with the girl and her knight-errant.  Either way, they’d drifted away, leaving the pair safe and alone.

         “Are you okay?  He’d asked as he threw down the limb and reached out to her.  She’d turned her melting chocolate eyes on him, staring through to his very soul, before she dissolved to tears in his arms.  Her sobs had ripped through him like the blade of a hot knife slicing his flesh.  Never before had someone else’s pain visited itself on him and for a moment he’d been afraid he’d break down into tears of his own.

         They’d been best friends since then, but it had never changed.  After all these years, her crying still affected him that same way.

         He pulled her closer and rocked her as she cried for a while.  Then he stood up, pulled down the covers and patted the exposed sheet.  “Come on, get into bed and try to sleep.  We’ll get your car fixed in the morning.  Then I’ll follow you to your house so you can pack some things.  We’ll call around for a lawyer when we get back.  You can stay here until we find you an apartment. 

         She jumped up, put her head on his shoulder and asked, “Why are you so good to me?”

         “Why do you think, goofy?”  He gave her a playful shove and added, “Come on finish your drink and get to bed.  We don’t want you catching pneumonia, do we?”

         She sat back down again, but pressed on.  “No, I mean it, Fred.  You came to my rescue that first day and have been saving me ever since.  That’s over thirty-five years of me depending on you.”  She swallowed the dregs of her drink and handed him the glass.

         He’d moved towards the door while she started getting into bed when she paused and scrutinized him.  “Why is it we never ended up together?”

         “You went and got yourself engaged to Joe Cooper that last semester of college.  You know you broke my heart.”

         “It was your own fault.  You shouldn’t have graduated early and abandoned me.  I felt so alone and Joe was so charming and attentive then.”

         “Well, never mind.  Get some rest.  We’ll talk more in the morning.”  He flipped off the light and began to close the door, but left it ajar in the end.

         Fred carried the vodka and glasses downstairs, locked up the house and mounted the stairs.  He peeked in on Bea before he went into his own room and went to bed. 

         However, he couldn’t seem to fell asleep, wondering how he could have been so stupid?  How had he let her slip through his fingers?  He slipped into a fitful sleep, and dreamed of what might have been.



         He woke up to the homey smells of coffee brewing and bacon frying.  Halfway down the stairs he was met with the delicate aroma of something baking.  He charged into the kitchen, smiling.  “Everything smells wonderful.”  He peeked into the oven and found a coffeecake topped with cinnamon sugar and nuts.  “Boy!  You should spend the night more often.”

         When Bea swung around to face him, she wore such a horrified expression he burst out laughing.  She colored crimson and dove into the refrigerator as he sat down.

         She reemerged more her usual color, bearing the cream pitcher and asked, “Did you sleep all right?”

         “Once I fell asleep.  Man, what a night?  I haven’t heard the wind howl like that in years.”  He gulped down his juice before he looked back up at her.  “What about you?  Did you get any rest last night?  Or, did you just obsess about Joe?”

         “You know, I fell right asleep.  I didn’t even think about him.  Until the storm woke me up.  I thought as first that someone was trying to break in.  Then I decided it was Joe coming after me.  Stupid, huh?  I even looked out of the window, but all I saw was a branch scraping against the house.”

         She took the coffeecake from the oven and set it on a hot pad on the table.  Then she returned to the stove.  Several minutes later, she carried over a platter of scrambled eggs and crispy bacon.

         She busied herself serving the coffeecake for a moment, and it seemed to Fred that she didn’t want to talk for a while.  So he sipped his coffee and helped himself to eggs and bacon.  When she turned around, he smiled and told her, “I’ll take care of that Saturday.  Did you get back to sleep?”

         “Eventually,” she said and flashed him a smile. “I spent some time thinking about everything.  I know it’s time to move on.  Joe’s never going to change.  I’ve given him too many chances.  It’s time to cut him loose and get on with my life—find someone who’ll love me without attaching conditions on his love.”

         Frederick crunched into his bacon and shook his head.  “All love has conditions.”

         Bea stopped, her fork of scrambled eggs suspended mid air and asked in an incredulous tone, “Do you really believe that?”

         “Absolutely!  There’s no such thing as ‘unconditional love’.”

         “You’re kidding, aren’t you?”  She set her fork down hard on her plate and stared at him.

         “The only possible exception to that might be from dogs, and I’m not even sure about that.”  He jumped up and reached for the coffee carafe and continued, “I mean, even dogs expect things from you.”

         She allowed him to refill her cup and sipped at it for a moment, lost in thought.  Then she looked over the table at him and spoke, “I can’t believe I hearing this—that you really feel that way.  I’ve spent my entire marriage monitoring myself—making sure I never attached any type of condition on my love for Joe.  I’ve never allowed the words ‘I’ll love you if…’ escape my lips.”

         She set her cup down hard, sloshing coffee onto the table, but she ignored it and shook her head again.  Fred could see the disappointment in her eyes, hear it in her voice.  “Love is something freely given, or it is meaningless.  Can’t you see that?  Really, Fred, can’t you?”

         “Gosh Bea, you act like I’m alone on this, but everyone does it.  People can’t help putting restrictions on their love.  They might start out with the best of intentions, but life gets in the way.” 

         He finished his last slice of bacon before continuing, “The car breaks down, the kids need braces or someone loses their job.  Then one partner begins to make excuses for the other, but in their mind, they’re keeping track of every tiny slight.  And the next time tempers flare up, their list pops out.”

         She scowled at him.  “I don’t believe any of this—a good relationship should be bound by a checklist of grievances.  I stand by what I said before, love is freely given or it’s meaningless.”

         “Are you saying you never told Joe you’d love him more if he stopped drinking?”

         “I swear to you, Fred, I never did.”  She leaned in closer to the table.  “I wished he wouldn’t drink.  I asked him not to drink.  But I always loved him—I suppose I always will.”

         He couldn’t believe his ears.  “You still love that bastard?”

         She nodded.  “We’ve been together for almost twenty-seven years.  I can’t just turn off my feelings.  I know he doesn’t care about our marriage or me and that leaving him is the right thing—the only sensible thing—for me to do.  But I realized last night that I was going to have feelings for him.”

         She reached out and took his hand in hers.  “I was hoping that you’d help keep me on track.  I’m going to count on you to keep me on course.”

         He could feel her eyes on him, as if she was waiting for him to say something.  He was sure it wasn’t about his support.  They’d been best friends for too long for her to need reassurances about that.  No, it was something else—he just didn’t have a clue what, though.  He stalled for time.  “You know I’m behind you.”

         She still stared at him and waited.  “I know.”

         “What?” he blurted out in frustration.  “What is it you aren’t saying?”

         “Nothing,” was her answer.  He might never have been married, but he’d been enough ‘relationships’ to recognize that tone.  She became very interested in her breakfast, crunching on bacon and eating eggs.  She was avoiding looking at him.  It wasn’t as though she was angry with him, just kind of annoyed.  Yes, that was it—she was acting confused and annoyed.  But he was clueless as to what he had said or done…or maybe, not done.



         Once Bea knew what she needed to do, she did it.  Fred couldn’t believe how quickly things moved along.  Within days she’d found a divorce attorney, an apartment and even a job teaching software applications at the local computer store.  Fred watched as she moved on with her life.

         About three months had passed, when Fred was blasted from sleep by the phone.  “Mr. Frazier, this is Officer Daily.  Mrs. Cooper asked that I call and ask you to come over to her house.”

         “What happened?  Let me talk to Bea…” Fred’s heart was jackhammering in his chest.

         “Mrs. Cooper can’t speak to you now.  The paramedics are examining her.  She’d like for you to come to her apartment.”  She paused, and then the steady voice began again, “Joe Cooper broke into her apartment and attacked her.  She…”

         “I’ll be there right away.  Please don’t leave her alone.”  He slammed down the phone and grabbed for the jeans he’d discarded on the floor.

         Ten minutes later he jerked the car to a stop, jumped out and ran towards her apartment.  The maintenance man was already there replacing the door. 

         A burly policeman stopped Fred.  “You can’t go in there.”

         “A policewoman…Officer Daily, called me.”  Fred protested.

         “I don’t care.  I was told to keep everyone out.”

         A tall thin policewoman with dark hair pinned up off her neck came into the living room.  “It’s okay, Tim.  I did call him.” 

         “What happened?”  He stepped in.  “Is she all right?”

         “Yes, she’s fine.  The paramedics said her blood pressure was a bit raised, but she told them what medications she took, and gave her something.  They’d have liked her to go to the hospital, but she insisted that she didn’t want to.  She felt you would stay with her.” 

         She walked him across the room as she continued, “He probably intended on raping her, but she heard him and called 911 even before he was inside the apartment.           She’d hidden, but he found her and dragged her into the bedroom.  But we were here in minutes.  Aside for some bruises, she’s okay.  Just scared.”

         Fred glanced over his shoulder towards the closed bedroom door.  “You’ve arrested him?  You’ll keep him in jail, right?”

         She nodded.  “She’ll need to come to the station tomorrow sometime—unless she decides to not press charges.”

         “She’ll be there.  I promise.”

         “Good, I’ll be looking for her.

         “This is all fixed.  There wasn’t anything else, was there?”  The maintenance guy asked, as he picked up his tools.

         Officer Daily shook her head.  She grabbed the sleeve of her fellow officer.  “Come on.  Let’s get out of here.”

         Fred watched the officers follow the janitor down the walk.  Left alone, he discovered he was at a loss.  What should he say?  What could he say?  He took a few deep breaths and gave the bedroom door a gentle rap.  “Bea…  Honey, it’s me…can I come in?”

         He didn’t recognize the hoarse, weak voice that asked, “Fred…?”

         He pushed the door back, letting it swing open in it’s own time.  He stepped across the threshold and froze.  She was sitting in the center of her bed, dwarfed by the pile of pillows behind her, the covers were pulled taunt around her as she hugged her knees to her chest.  There was an ugly red mark on her left cheekbone and a look of terror in her eyes.

         “Are you okay?” he asked in as gentle and soft a voice he could manage. He swallowed down the rage that boiled inside him.  It was a damned good thing that Joe Cooper was in jail.

         She looked at him, her eyes like saucers, her lip swollen and quivering.  He knew she was struggling to be brave and strong and all the things she probably imagines he wanted her to do—to be.  She gave him a whimper and a nod.

         He moved to the edge of the bed and sat down in slow motion, then he held out his arms to her.  She toppled over and he pulled her to his chest.  She relaxed against him and he let out a sigh of relief and gave a silent prayer.

         “I heard him at the door and called the police.  Then I hid…,” she continued in a gravely, shaky whisper, “but he found me…”  The rest was lost as she burrowed herself deeper into his chest and began to cry.

         ”It’s all right,” he cooed, “he can’t hurt you now.  The police took him away.”  He kissed her forehead.  “You try to relax.  Let me get you something?  Tea or some juice?”

         She struggled to sit up, but held onto him.  “No, nothing, thank you.”

         “I don’t understand why they didn’t take you to the hospital.”

         “They wanted to, but I refused.  I knew you’d come—that you’d take care of me.”

         “But I’m not a doctor.  Let me take you to the hospital.”

         This time she sat upright and shook her head with vehemence.  “No.  I’m fine.”

         He tried to coax her relax, but she wouldn’t let go of him.  “I want you to lie back and rest.” 

         She relented and collapsed back against the pillows, but when he stood up, she cried out, “Don’t leave!” as she snatched at the air between them.

         Fred was unnerved by the unbridled panic in her voice, but he just patted her hand and smiled.  “I’m not leaving.  I’m just going to grab a pillow and sack out on the couch.  I’ll be right in the living room.”

         “No!  Stay in here with me.  Please.”

         He tried to quiet her, reassure her with another smile, but could see he hadn’t carried it off.

         “I’ll be all right,” she said, her chocolate eyes melting with tears.  “Just get in bed and hold me.  Please Fred.”

         He kicked off his shoes and began to crawl under the covers, and then stopped.  His jeans were covered in sawdust and dirt.  “I can’t Bea, these pants are filthy.”

         “Just take them off.”  She looked at him and continued, “it’s not as if I haven’t seen you in your shorts.”  And she lifted the covers to encourage him.

         They'd been best friends for nearly thirty-five years.  She’d seen him in his underwear.  He’d seen her in her underwear.  They’d gone camping with a bunch of people for years, and any other time he wouldn’t have thought twice about stripping off his slacks and hopping in her bed.  Tonight was different, though.  She’d been attacked and traumatized and he didn’t want to inadvertently do anything to upset her anymore. 

         She gave him another pleading look and repeated, “Please, Frederick.”

         He could hear the pain in her voice—see the fear in her eyes, and he realized how much she needed the solace of human contact.  She needed him and he couldn’t deny her.  He nodded in agreement, and she released him.  He unfastened his jeans and then sat on the edge of the bed and wriggled out of them.

         He made slow, deliberate movements, so she had time to change her mind, but she just watched in silence.  He climbed into the bed and held out his arms.  She snuggled against him.  But when he draped his arm around her shoulder, she flinched from his touch.  “Bea…?” 

         He leaned forward and drew the wide strap of her gown down off her shoulder.

         An ugly purple bruise revealed just where Joe had grabbed her.  The mark and the violence it exhibited horrified Fred.  He got up and turned on the overhead light and began examining her.  He bit his lip to keep from crying from what he saw.  He bit it until he tasted blood.

         Blue-violet marks encircled her wrists.  Her eye had swelled and darkened, and he could see bruises blossoming from where fingers had gripped her throat.  He could only try to imagine her fear as Joe had attempted to throttle her into submission.

         He switched off the light, and went back to her.  Cradling her in his arms, he  rocked her, as he fought back his own tears. He kissed her hair, her forehead and her cheeks.  Then he moved on, kissing the marks on her face, her neck, shoulders, as if he could obliterate them.

         “My poor baby,” he crooned as he continued to rock her and kiss the bruises again.  He moved on back to her face, his lips seeking hers.

         He found them—soft, warm and waiting for him.  She wound herself around him, entwining them together and kissed him back with a sweetness that left him hungering for more. 

         They had been kissing for several minutes, each one more perfect than the last, when he realized what was happening—what they were doing.  He tried to stop, to pull away from her, but she clung fast.  It was too late, thirty-five years of pent up sexual tension had been set loose.

         He groaned as he pressed himself down on top of her.



         It was early when he woke the next morning—the sun just beginning to pierce through the blinds that shrouded the apartment window.  Bea was still curled around him, with one hand cupped over the hollow of his chest.  A breast had escaped the deep V-neck of her gown, it’s rosebud nipple winking at him as he breathed.

         He looked down at her, at peace in his arms and wondered what he should do.  He needed time to reflect about what had happened.  He couldn’t extricate himself from her arms without waking her, and that was something he didn’t want to do.

         Last night had been glorious—the fruition of a dream.  But at what cost?  He was mortified he’d taken advantage of her panic and fear.  She had trusted him to take care of her and he had made love to her instead.

         She moved, her head tilted back and he saw the mark on her neck.  Joe’s handprint was now so clear it might have been painted on.  She had called him for protection and comfort.  How could he have betrayed her?  How could he have rsiked their friendship?  And now how was he going to salvage their relationship?

         She stirred again, this time rolling away from him.  He took the opportunity to slip from the bed.  He gathered his clothes and crept silently from the room.

         Coward that he was, he let her sleep until it was nearly time for them to be at the police station.  Then he hustled her up and out of the apartment.  Even worse, he pleaded an important meeting at work as he pulled up and deposited her on the curb in front of the building and drove off, after promising to call as soon as he could.

         He found her quite subdued when he phoned her later to say he’d be stopping by after work to talk.



         “Bea…,” he began.

         She cut him off short, “I know.”

         “What?”

         “What you’re going to say—how you feel guilty about what happened last night.  But you shouldn’t.  I don’t.”

         “I can’t help it, honey.  You were hurting and I took advantage of you.”

         “Fred, I had just as much to do with what happened as you did.”  She reached for his hand.  “I needed you last night.  I wanted it to happen.”

         “But…”

         “I could have stopped you in a moment.  All I needed was to ask.  The truth is, I didn’t want you to stop.  I needed to feel love.”

         “Bea…”

         “I know.”

“What?”  He was confused and frustrated and wished he’d never started this conversation.  A part of him had hoped she would fight him.  Argue with him and convince him that they could continue.

“That it can’t go on.  Our friendship is more important to both of us to risk it with a romance.  We love each other, we always have.  But sex could put too much stress on our relationship.”

         She leaned against him and he felt her distress.  He was filled with his own grief—his own sadness, but he knew she was right.  She had spoken exactly what he’d wanted to say.  She understood him—but then she always did.



         Time passed.  Joe Cooper jumped bail and disappeared.  The divorce went through, but they discovered that he’d used the house as collateral for his bond.  She was awarded her divorce, as well as all their debts.  Fred thought she looked pale when they were in court, but she said it was just the stress.  He wasn’t to worry.  Now that it was over, she would get back to feeling fine again.

         Bea announced a few days later that she’d found a second job, as hostess at a swank restaurant, to help her pay the price of her freedom.  Their conflicting schedules meant that they only spoke on the phone, usually while he was at work.  He made sure he spoke to her a couple times a week, but she never seemed able to meet him for lunch.  She’d even forbidden him from coming into the restaurant—claiming that if he tried to talk to her, she’d get fired.  At one point, he’d even suggested a dawn breakfast and was turned down.

This continued, until he realized that, with the exception of her divorce hearing, he hadn’t seen her in over five months.  Enough was enough.  He dialed her number and waited for her to answer the phone.

         “Hello?”

         “Hey, now don’t argue.  I’m coming right over and pick you up.  We’ll go wherever you want.”

         “But, Fred…”

         “I’m not taking no for an answer—not any longer.  I haven’t seen you in ages.”  His voiced softened, “I miss you.”

         There was a plaintive sigh from the other end of the phone.  “All right.  I miss you too.”

         “Great!  I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”



         He could see her peeping out from behind the curtains.  She was watching for him, and she seemed anxious.  He quickened his pace up the walk and to her front door.  She opened it before he even rang the bell.  She was wearing a loose caftan-like thing he’d never seen before, and when he reached out to hug her, she jerked away.

         “Bea..?” he said, unable to hide his hurt and surprise.

         “I’m sorry, Fred, but I don’t want you to get excited…” Then she held out her arms to him.

         He found her words puzzling.  Did she think that he was going to try and make love to her—right there in the doorway?  He embraced her and for one tenuous moment he thought about them, and their night together.

         Then he became aware of how much bigger her breasts were and how hard and swollen her belly was.  He let go of her as if she’d stung him and stepped back to examine her.  She took the caftan by the sides and pulled it back.  She was clearly pregnant.

         “Beatrice!  Why didn’t you tell me?  Does Joe know?”  He couldn’t help but see the shadow that passed over her face.  She was certainly not radiant.  She had no inner glow.  In fact, she looked wan and haggard. 

         She shook her head and said in a low, steady voice, “No, Joe doesn’t know.  It’s none of his business.  It isn’t his.”  She reached out and pulled his hand to her belly, caressing the child within her.  “This is our baby—your baby.”  Then she helped him to a chair.

         His normal breathing had resumed by the time she’d brought him stiff drink and forced a good bit of it down him.  Speech, however, seemed beyond him, so he used the time to organize his thoughts.  It took the rest of his drink and a few more minutes before he regained his voice. 

         “Why didn’t you call?  Why didn’t you tell me?”  Once he got started, he didn’t give her a chance to answer.  “You can’t be serious about doing this?  You should have taken care of this as soon as you found out.  You should have called me and I would have helped you deal with this.”

         “Fred…  Fred!”  She bent down and stared into his eyes, and he was reminded how wonderful they were—all soft and brown and everything.  “Fred…,” she said again, “listen to me.”

         “Bea, I can’t believe you’ve done this….”

         “Frederick Gary Frazier!”

         “What?”  He answered, surprised at how weak his voice sounded.  This must be what shock felt like.

         “I wanted to tell you before I even was sure about it.  Then I thought how you would react—exactly like you just did.  I knew you would be upset and I didn’t want to be harangued by you.  I want this child—our child.”

         “You can not go through with this and you know it.  The doctor didn’t want you to get pregnant when you were trying all those years ago.  We’re nearly fifty.  You know you’re not well enough to do this.”  He stood up, and walked her over to the couch and pulled her down beside him.  “Bea…”

         She put a finger to his lips and sushed at him.  “I am going to do this.  I love her, and I want you to love her too.”  She cocked her head and made the little pout she always did when she knew she was losing.  “I know I should have told you—that it’s a big surprise.  I know it’s a financial burden to you.  But, I swear…”

         “You know I’m not talking about money,” he spit out and regretted it at once.  He tempered his voice and hugged her closer to him.  “Honey, you just can’t do this.  It will kill you.”

         She gave him a little shake of her head and an enigmatic smile.  “I will do this—with or without your help.  I need this child.”

         He switched tacks.  “What does your doctor say?”

         She made a frown.  “Displeased, to say the very least.  Especially since I didn’t go until I knew I was past the ‘point of no return’.”  She pleaded with him, “I know that it isn’t going to be easy.  But I waited so long for this baby—our baby.”

         “Be reasonable.  How can you possibly take care of this child?  You’re never home now.  I haven’t see you in months because of your jobs.”

         “Job,” she said with a frown.  “I got fired from the restaurant.  I missed too much work.” 

         He seized on this news like a terrier on a rat.  He had to make her see how dangerous and foolish she was being.  “And why did you miss work?”

         “All right…I admit, being pregnant is more difficult than I had expected.  I’d thought once the morning sickness stage was over, I’d be fine.  But there are days when I can barely get up from bed.  There were just too many evenings I just couldn’t make it to my second job.  So…now I only have the one.”

         “You see, I’m right.  You just don’t have the stamina for this.”

         “I am not giving up.  I’m going through with this—with or without…” She snatched his hand and placed it on her stomach.  “Wait,” she said, smiling.

         He was about to ask what she was doing when something moved beneath it.  He jerked back in surprise and tried to pull his hand away.  She had other ideas, and held his hand down, maintaining the contact until the baby within her moved again.

         “That’s your baby moving.”  She caressed her belly and smiled again.  “She mad.  It’s past her dinner time.”

         “Huh?”  He felt confused and defeated.  He had a vague feeling of hunger himself.  The fetus continued to move under his hand, as if it was responded to his touch, their voices.

         “She eats when I eat and I haven’t had supper yet,” Bea stated in a flat tone.

         He realized she—they—needed to eat.  “What can I fix for you?”

         She flashed a greedy grin at him, “Do you think we can get a pizza from Roberto’s.  A big one with everything on it but anchovies and black olives?  I’ve been dreaming of one for weeks, but haven’t been able to afford it.”

         He gave up.  “Of course, Bea.  I’ll go order it.”  He staggered out to the kitchen and the refrigerator, where he was sure he would find Roberto’s phone number.  He placed the order and was heading back to the living room, when he noticed an array of prescription bottles on the counter.  The reality of their problem came crashing back down on him.

         “Bea…,” he called out.

         “I’m right here,” she answered in a soft voice.  She was standing behind him.

         He came out of the box, swinging.  “What are all these?” he asked as he gestured at the assortment of pill bottles lining the counter.

         “Well,” she began as she gave him a little shrug, “most are prenatal vitamins and supplements and things…”

         “And the others?”  He thrust out his chin.

{{indent}She made her little pout again.  “Well, there are a few new pills.  The baby has put a strain on my heart.  But I’ll be all right.”

         “No, Bea, you won’t.  Please let me try and find somewhere we can still get an abortion.”

If he’d wanted to get her angry, he’d succeeded.  She went crimson and spoke in a loud, firm voice, “NO!  Don’t even suggest such a thing!  I will not kill our baby.  How could you even think such a horrible thing.”

         “I love you, and I don’t want anything to happen to you.”  He made an attempt to placate her.  “It’s not that I’m against the baby, honey, as I’m for you.”

         “You know I love you.  But I love her too.  Help me bring her safely into this world.  Please.”

         She took his hand and cupped it around her belly, where the child obliged her and moved again.  “But think of what we’ll have accomplished—how much we’ll have gained.”

         “I understand how much this means to you.  I know how very much you wanted a child, and how wounded you were at never conceiving.  Twenty years ago it would have been a marginally safe at best.  Now, it’s foolhardy.  We’re going to be fifty soon.  Do you realize that means we’ll be sixty-eight when this child graduates from high school?           And that’s if he passes right through.  What if he’s not as smart as you are?  What if he takes after me?”

         “First of all, you’re the one who graduated early, so that wasn’t much of an argument.  Secondly, it’s ‘she’…she’s a girl.”  She took a picture from the refrigerator, held it out to him and grinned with pride.  “Your daughter, sir.”

         Her smile clutched at his heart. 



         “I’m stuffed,” Bea sighed and she struggled to get to her feet.

“Where are you going?”

         “I need some milk.”

         “I’ll get it, you stay put.” 

         She relaxed back down again and said, “Thank you.”  He could feel her eyes follow him as he left the room.  When he returned with it, he stopped in the doorway.           Unaware of him, she sat, cradling the infant within her and humming.  She looked so happy.

         He thought back to how disheartened she’d been early in her marriage.  Month after month, for nearly eight years she’d tried—against her doctor’s wishes.  He got to know her cycle better than she did. 

         For each month, there was a week or so when she seemed happy and hopeful.  Then the joy would give way to sadness and despair.  And Joe never seemed to notice.

         Perhaps he was being too protective.  After all, she was so ecstatic.  She wasn’t going to give in on this.  It would be better to help her—watch over her.  At least he could try to minimize the danger.

         He held out the glass.  “Here’s your milk.”  He watched as she downed it, took the glass from her and placed it on the table. He sat down and began, “Bea, I want you to give up your job and the apartment and come live with me.  That way I’ll be able to watch over you…eh…two.

         “Oh, Fred.  You’d take us in—take us on?  That would be wonderful.  I really have missed you. I never meant to be a burden to you.  But that would be the answer to everything.”

         “Wait, you haven’t heard my conditions yet.”

         “Can’t you just do this from the love we have for one another?  For the love of me and your child?”

         “It’s because I love you that I’m going to ask you to think about something.”

         “We’ve had this discussion already, Fred.  Love is unconditional.”  She looked up into his eyes, and he knew he’d probably lose but went ahead anyway.  “God has given us the opportunity to give each other this most precious gift.  Accept it.  Love it—for no other reason than it’s a living creature, struggling to survive.”

         “How can you be so sure there is a God, Bea?”

         “For the millions of things we take for granted everyday.  From the perfect way so many things fit together.”

         He scoffed, “Chance or evolution—nothing more.”

         “No, Fred,” she said with another enigmatic smile, “do you know how far a baby can see?  Where his eyes can focus?”  She didn’t wait for him to answer, but continued, “Eight to ten inches.”

         “So?”  He’d spoken before he thought, and knew by her scowl he’d been harsh.

         “So…that’s the distance between a mother’s face and her baby’s as it’s suckling at her breast.”  She shook her head at him.  “That’s not chance.  That’s divine design.”

         “You think so, huh?

         “No, I know it.” She made that little pout of hers and asked, “What are your conditions?”

         “That we look for a young couple who can’t have a child of their own and …”

         “What!?”

         “Listen to me, please.”  He pulled her closer to him.  “You’re going to be very weak after this—even if we can arranged to get you delivered by Caesarian section early.           You won’t be able to care for an infant…”

         “You would give our child away?”

         She wilted under the suggestion.  But he really did think this was the best solution.  They were far too old to become the parents of a newborn.

         “It’s not that I ‘want’ to, honey.  You must see that, but I do think it’s the only sensible idea.”  He could see the pain in her eyes, and went on, “Think of it this way…We pass on our gift to a couple who are young and strong enough to cope with an infant.  Remember what you went through all those years ago.  Somewhere there’s a couple experiencing that same disappointment.”

         She shook her head and frowned.  “No, Fred.  I will never agree to give our baby away.” 



         She was dying.  That’s why they’d shuttled him out of the delivery room.  His oldest, dearest friend was dying—without him.  And she knew it.  He’d seen it in her eyes.

         It wasn’t until he glanced down at the growing patch of damp on his shirt that he realized he was crying.  He swiped at his eyes with the heel of his palm and cleared his throat.  He had to get control of himself.  That’s what she would want him to do.  He sat down and waited for someone to come and tell him she was gone.

         Time crept and the waiting and silence ate at him, until the indignant bawl of a baby shattered the stillness.  A few moments later, the doctor came through the door, shaking his head.

         “There was nothing we could do.  She just wasn’t strong enough to endure the delivery.”

         “And the baby?”  Fred asked.

         He shifted uncomfortably as he spoke, “I’m sorry, but I have another woman in labor.  A nurse will be out in a few minutes.”  Then he hurried away.

         Fred stared out the window at the panorama before him.  Somehow the sun had still come up and the landscape glittered with morning dew.  Bea loved the mornings…

         A door swished behind him and he swung around.  A nurse, still in scrubs, came to him.  He thought she was carrying a bundle of clothes, until it twitched it her arms and he realized it was a baby.

         She smiled at him.  “Here’s your daughter, Mr. Frazier.”  She thrust the infant in his arms, turned and started to run away.

         “Wait!” he called out, “is she all right?”

         She nodded.  “She had a little rocky start, but she’s perfect.  You two get acquainted for a few minutes before someone comes to take her to the nursery.” 

         She walked away, leaving him alone.  He looked down at the tiny thing, tightly swaddled in a pink cotton blanket and burst out laughing, for the unhappy pout that stared back up at him was all too familiar.

         He gently prodded the blanket away from her face more, revealing a mass of dark curls and shining black eyes.  There was no denying she was her momma’s girl.

         “Hey you!  Who’s got you, hmmm?  Is it Daddy?”  He cooed, “Yes it is.  It’s Daddy.  We’re going to miss your momma, aren’t we?  But we’ll be all right.”

         He was about to remove his finger, when a tiny hand reached up and took possession of it.  Some instinct kicked in and he began to dance her around the room, as he spoke, “Her name was Beatrice—which means friend.  She was my best friend for over thirty-five years.”

         He remembered what Bea had told him about a baby’s eyes, and lifted her up higher on his chest.  “Do you know what your name is?  Hmmm?  It’s Johanna.  Yes it is.  It means ‘a gift from God’, because that’s what you are."