The Only Life There Is

Chapter One

Sarah Davis perched on the rim of the tub, gripping a small plastic square, the fourth this week.  Two little lines weren’t much to ask for.  Outside, the wind blustered, rattling branches against the bathroom window

Her foot rapidly tapped the linoleum, and she fought to keep her breathing regular, as though a frantic exchange of air would jinx her.  She glanced at the clock--two more minutes—she shivered as frigid air seeped in around the panes, especially the one Evan had broken.  The replacement had left a narrow gap, but she hadn’t really expected winter to find it.

One minute.  She chewed her bottom lip, trying not to peek, and gazed everywhere else, thinking maybe looking ahead of time would ruin things, too.

Evan rapped on the door.  “Sarah?  Are you in there?” 

She jumped and dropped the watch.  “Yeah.  I’ll be out in a minute.”  She bent and fumbled for the leather band with nerveless fingers.  The doorknob turned from side to side as Evan tried to open it.

“When did you start locking the door?” he snapped.

“I said I’ll be right out.”  Five seconds.

“Why is the door locked?” he asked, his hand still slowly turning the knob, as if speed and persistence had anything to do with being able to open the door.

“I’m not feeling well,” she called, carefully picking up the test.  She cringed at the feeble excuse, though her stomach did feel a little loopy.

The doorknob stilled, and Sarah focused on the results.  At first, she clutched the plastic in her hand but slowly released her grip to see if her future held a child.

“Are you all right?”  Evan leaned close to the door.

“I’m fine.”  She studied the test and found not only one line but two.  Sarah beamed, thinking, We’re going to have a baby.

“Can I come in?”

“Sure.”  Sarah unlocked the door despite her clumsy fingers.  Evan, dressed in a black turtleneck and jeans, frowned, reaching for her arm.  His thin, John Lennon glasses slid forward, and she resisted the urge to push them back.  She half hid the hand clutching her pregnancy test, wishing he hadn’t interrupted; she’d wanted to tell him some other way, not like this.

He nodded toward her fisted hand.  “What is that?”  Reaching out, he grabbed her hand, his fingers gently drawing hers open.  He took the square, his expression darkening, and he gritted his teeth, eyebrows furrowed.

“I…wanted to surprise you,” she offered, her voice dying at the end.  Although she might have called his expression surprised, it didn’t suggest anything positive.  The pensive frown wrinkled his forehead, and he clenched his jaw, barely restraining frustration.

“I thought we talked about this.  We agreed not to do this.”  He handed the test back to her.

Sarah brushed past him into their bedroom.  “No, you talked about this.”  She pointed to the bathroom window.  “There’s cold air coming in around the window.  It’s freezing in there.”  She sat on the bed and slowly opened her palm, double-checking the results as though Evan’s negativity might have changed it.  Two lines.

Sarah Davis was going to have a child.  She closed her fingers protectively.

Evan sat beside her.  “Sweetheart, I know you want a baby more than anything else in this world.”  He cupped his hand beneath hers.  “But we both know this is dangerous.  We’ve been down this road.”