Short story part IV

Part IV

“Thanks for that.” Eric placed his utensils in the bowl and pushed it to the table’s edge. “I really don’t need to be picturing a woman I barely know naked.”

John laughed. “Lighten up. It was a joke.”

The waitress came back bearing their checks, and, again, looking at John. He pointedly ignored her, although Eric sighed, picked up his pen, and wrote his own phone number on the back of his receipt. “Might as well give her something,” he said.

“AS long as you didn’t put my number.”

“Nope. All mine, John.”

 

*

 

“Eric wants to go to dinner with us sometime,” John told Grace  as they got into bed that night.

“Eric? Why?”

“Why not? We’ve worked together for awhile…he wants to get to know you better.”

“Mm hm.” Grace stuck a bookmark in Jude the Obscure and looked at him. “Isn’t he sort of…weird?”

John shrugged. “What is weird?”

“Different from you.”

“Yes. Very. But that doesn’t make him weird. Just makes him unlucky.”

Grace laughed. “Yes. It does.”

“So you’ll go?”

Grace stretched and put the book on her nightstand. “I guess.”

“I thought I’d have to twist your arm.”

“He’s your friend, John. And we’re leaving. How many more chances we will get?”

“True.” John hadn’t really thought about leaving his friends and family yet. His job, their apartment complex—leaving those was a thought he relished. But leaving everyone else…

“Have you talked to your mom?” He asked her.

Grace shook her head. “I don’t know what to say. ‘Hi, Mom, I’m finally pregnant, but we may have to leave the country and never see you again?’ Right.”

“Might as well wait until we know. The baby could be just fine.”

“She could be.” But John could tell Grace didn’t take this view of things.

“She’s got a75% chance of being fine,” John reminded her.

“I know. It’s just…I’m not used to the odds working in my favor. Usually they don’t.”

“I have a feel about this.”

“Are your hunches any good?”

“Sometimes. I knew I’d marry you,” he said. She hit his shoulder and laughed.

“All right. That was a good one.” She switched off the lamp and pulled the sheets over her. “Hopefully you’re right here, too.”

“And even if I’m not…” he said, wrapping his arms around her, “we will be fine. No matter where we end up.”

“I know.”

*

“Dinner on Saturday?” John poked his head into Eric’s cubicle the next morning.

“Sure. I’ll find a date.” Eric scrolled through his PDA and clicked. “Jamie. She’s always good for these things.”

“What, it she like your date retainer?”

Eric snorted. “No. Old college girlfriend. She still has a thing for me.”

“And you take an unfair advantage of that.”

“I do.”

“That’s wrong.”

“She’s pretty good-looking. If we’re both still single in a few years I could settle down with her.”

“I need to warn this girl. She needs to go far, far away.”

“Not a chance. Totally into me.”

John rolled his eyes. “OK. Is the Ocean Bar OK? It’s one of Grace’s favorites.”

“Sure.” Eric entered the date. “Time?”

“Probably about 6:30.”

“OK. I’ll call.”

“Thanks.”

“And then I’ll call Jamie.”

“Poor girl. I hope she’s busy.”

Eric reached for his office phone. “She won’t be.”

*

Eric was right—he showed up at the Ocean Bar with a petite, chestnut-haired woman on his arm, wearing a black silk dress. Diamonds were nestled in her ears. Eric had told John and Grace that Jamie did mergers and acquisitions for a multi-national company.

A jazz pianist was playing in the background as the group was shown to a booth that was tucked into a small, blue velvet draped alcove. The bar lived up to its name by being painted and adorned in various shades of blue, creating the feeling of being underwater.

 “So, Jamie, how long have you known Eric?” Grace asked as she placed her napkin on her lap.

Jamie tossed an adoring look at Eric, which he missed. “Oh, since we were in high school. We were in AP American Government together.”

“Wow, awhile then.”

“Makes me feel old,” Eric added.

“Not that old, silly,” Jamie said. “We’re not that old.”

“ Didn’t say we were…just feels that way.”

Jaime smiled at him and opened her menu. “So what’s good here?”

“Hope you like seafood. It’s the specialty here,” Grace said.

“I would hope so, given the name.” Jaime’s eyes scanned the lists of offerings. “I think I’ll have the scallops.”

“I love those. Good choice,” John said.

“Steak and shrimp?” Grace asked her husband.

“Of course.”

“Steak?” Jamie wrinkled her nose.

“John loves a good piece of cow,” Eric said.

“Don’t you find that…disturbing?”

John looked at her askance. “Why?”

“Well, it’s a cow. It was probably mass fed in some dirty Big Ag barn somewhere. How do you know it’s any good?”

“Ohio has animal protection laws, Jamie,” Eric said, a bit annoyed. John knew he had been planning on ordering the lobster and filet special.

“If that law is actually enforced I’ll resign my job tomorrow,” Jamie said. “It’s just so inhumane.”

“How long have you been a vegetarian?” Grace asked.

“Since I was twenty.”

“A change of heart,” Eric muttered. “You used to love the pulled pork sandwiches at the fair.”

“Well now I know how it got there,” she said.

Conversation lulled as the couples decided on their orders. A white-shirted waiter came over to the table, his electronic device poised to record their orders.  Grace and John ordered first.

“I’ll have the scallops,” Jamie said. “Does that come with asparagus?”

“It can,” the waited said. Jamie added that to her plate.

“I”ll have the fillet and lobster,” Eric said, handing his menu to the waiter. John flashed him a grin.

“Oh, Eric,” Jamie sighed. “Really.”

“Sorry. I like meat too much to give it up.”

“Men,” Jamie said, taking a sip of her cocktail. “Do you eat meat?” She asked Grace.

Grace cleared her throat. “Right now I’m trying to cut back. But normally, yes. I do.”

“She makes great burgers,” John added.

“Why are you cutting back?”

“She’s pregnant,” Eric said. “Don’t want to have too much red meat. All vegetables and stuff like that.”

“You’re pregnant?” The words dropped from Jamie’s lips like she was spitting them out. “Really.”

“ ‘Congratulations,’ is the standard response, Jame,” Eric said, drinking his lager.

“Well, sure, babies are great. If you go for that sort of thing.”

“Rather have cows?” John asked, a bit caustically.

“I just think there are too many people as it is.” She took a delicate bite of the bread that had just been placed on the table. “Look at India and China.”

“You do realize that vast portions of China are unpopulated,” John said.

“Because it’s uninhabitable.” She turned to Eric. “You know, I was just in Hong Kong. Amazing the changes that have taken place.”

“Always evolving,” Eric deadpanned.

“As long as we can provide for children, and give them a loving, secure home, I don’t see why we shouldn’t have them,” Grace said. “I love children. We both do.”

“We want to have a lot,” John added, taking Grace’s hand and squeezing it.

“It’s too bad we didn’t pass that population growth bill,” Jamie mused. “DIdn’t you work on that, Eric?”

“No. I just did some prelim research for the firm.”

“Good thing it didn’t pass. You can’t regulate people’s fertility like that,” Grace said.

“Oh, but we do,” Jamie said. “That new bill—I think it’s fantastic. We can’t have people bringing more diseased children into the world. We need fewer people in general, and if we’re going to have more at all, they should be extremely self-sufficient. None of this government assistance for ridiculous health conditions.”

“Ridiculous.” Grace’s voice was edgy.  “Don’t you think people have a right to exist, even if they’re not perfect?”

“I believe in people being self-sufficient.” She finished her cocktail and signaled the bartender for another. “WE shouldn’t be giving birth to people who will just drain the system.”

“Charles Dickens had something to say about that,” Grace said.

“Who?”

“Charles Dickens. The writer?” Jamie looked at her blankly. “A Christmas Carol?”

“Is that a book? Oh, wait…it was a movie, wasn’t it? Back in the ‘80s?”

“It’s been a few movies, Jamie.” Eric said, embarrassed.

“Whatever. I didn’t study literature in college.”

“Did you read ever?” John muttered.

“The point is,” Grace said, “that we can’t just aarbitrarily decide who gets born and who doesn’t. IT’s wrong. All of us have a right to life.”

“Please. That’s so cliché. It went out the window in the 1970s.”

“Doesn’t mean that the new ideas are right,” Grace fired back.

“You should’ve been a lawyer,” Eric said as their entrees arrived.

“Almost was,” John said proudly. Grace had taken a few undergraduate law classes, with emphasis in constitutional law, but didn’t find the law school admissions process palatable.

“Look, Grace,” Jamie said, “I’m sure you mean well, but think about the ramifications. IT’s a huge burden on society. And no life that’s so handicapped can possibly be worth living.”

“Jaime,” Eric said quietly. “Stop.”

“Well it’s true.” She speared  a scallop with her fork and ate it in one bite. “I’m just being practical.”

“No, you’re being an ass,” he said under his breath.

“Like you’d feel any differently.”

“I do,” he said, cutting his filet. “I feel much differently.”

Grace looked at his askance. She knew he wasn’t keen on the idea of her being pregnant. “What?”

Eric looked at her and John. “I mean, I think it’s great that you two are having a baby. No matter what, it’s a good decision. You’ll both be good parents. And the kid will certainly be good-looking.” Grace smiled.

“Thanks,” said John.

“As long as you can provide for it…I guess it’s all right.” Jamie took another scallop onto her fork.

“Well, thank you, Jamie,” Grace said icily. “I’m so glad we have your approval.”

“And anyway, if there’s anything wrong with it, you don’t have to worry. Sort of a win-win, eh?”

Grace’s eyes narrowed and John squeezed her hand under the table. “Not here,” He murmured in her ear.

“That was the worst thing you coud have said,” Eric told Jamie. “They’re Catholic, for pete’s sake.”

“Oh.” Jamie shot Grace a piting look. “Sorry about that.”

“We’re not,” Grace said fiercely. “We’re proud of it.”

“Too bad you won’t have a choice.”

“You always have a choice,” Grace said through gritted teeth. “It’s just a matter of making it.”

Jamie looked thoughtful. “True. I suppose if you knew that something could be wrong, you just wouldn’t get pregnant.”

“Everthing OK here?” The waiter interrupted, flashing a brilliant smile.

“We’re fine,” Eric said. The waiter took the empty glasses and left the table.

The rest of the meal was dominated by the men talking business, or, as Jamie called it, “talking shop.” She continued to fawn on Eric and ask him all sorts of questions about current law and the research he was doing. Grace picked at her food but was in a hurry to leave.

The bill came (after an interminable conversation on property rights), and Eric picked up the tab. “My treat, since I invited all of you,” He said, flashing his charge card. “No problem.”

“We should get going,” John said, after thanking him.

“We should. I’m tired. Lots of work going on here,” Grace said, patting her still small stomach.

“I bet,” Eric said. “See you tomorrow, John?” John nodded.

Grace turned to Jamie, who was on her fouth cocktail. “Nice to meet you,” She said.

Jamie nodded sloppily. “You too. Good luck with the kid.”

“Thanks.” John and Grace left the table and headed for their car. As John was opening Grace’s door, his phone beeped. He removed it from his pocket and found a message from Eric:

Removing her number from the list.

John laughed. 

Short Story Part III

(this is rapidly becoming a "Not short story", but oh well) 

Parts I and II here. 

Part III

At five o’clock, the alarm rang. As John reached over Grace’s body to silence it, he realized that his wife’s side of the bed was empty.

He stood, rubbed his face and walked out of the bedroom. In a pool of light cast by one lamp, Grace was curled up on the couch, a large scrapbook open in her lap. She turned the pages slowly, reverentially, her fingers occasionally lingering on a face or a memento.

John sat beside her, careful not to disturb her position.

He looked at the pages with his wife. These were old scrapbooks, from when Grace was in college—before they’d met. But John knew most of the people in the pictures—her large extended family, her best friend, her sorority sisters, cast shots from the community theater shows she’d done.  It was clear which ones had been taken before her transplant. In those, Grace was a shadow of a girl, her eyes the dominating feature of her face. Her cheekbones were sharp ridges against her smooth skin, and the color of her lips evoked a child’s tongue after she’d eaten a pints of blueberries. Her clothes hung on her. In the ‘after’ pictures, she has color and curves—hips are visible under her jeans, and her hair is glossy and thick. Her face has filled out so the heart-shaped look of it is no longer starkly evident; instead, it’s merely suggested.

“I like this one.” John tapped at a photo, protected under the plastic sheet. It was of Grace and her cousin, Charlotte, at the State Fair. The two were about twenty-four in the photo. Charlotte’s red hair flamed in the sun. They were waiting to go on the Sky Ride. John wondered who had snapped the photo.

A ghost of a smile lit Grace’s face. “I miss Charlotte.” Charlotte lived in Israel with her husband, who worked for the State Department, and their four children.

“Invite her to visit,” John suggested. Grace didn’t respond—she just turned the page. Thanksgiving. Christmas. Another show, Grace’s face changed by stage make-up and a wig.

 “If this law had been around when I was conceived…” her hands traced the pages. “None of this would have happened.” John looked at Grace’s face in the photographs. She had been caught mid-line, her eyebrows raised and her mouth a perfect ‘O’. She’d been singing.  John could summon Grace’s voice in an instant—her singing was always in the corners of his mind, reminding him of her when they were separated. Unbeknownst to her, he’d made an audio recording of her practicing one day and kept it saved on MP3 player.  She was singing “The Beauty Is”, from The Light in the Piazza, and “I Don’t Remember.”  

Cautiously John reached for her, and she yielded, folding her body into his. “Grace,” he said, smoothing her hair. “We will do everything we can. Believe me.   I will not let anything happen to you, or the baby. We will be fine.”

Her eyes bored into his. “Do you trust me?”

Grace snorted. “Aladdin?”

“Do you trust me?” John held out his hand, mocking the movie he quoted.

Grace slipped her hand into his, and squeezed it. “Yes.”

*

Getting Dr. Wallace to transfer the records was simple. As Leo had said, he praised John for his foresight—“better to get the termination done as soon as possible, if need be,” he said, his tone confidential, like they were lovers exchanging secrets. Leo had called within minutes and said he had Grace’s files. “It’s all in order, so we’re ready.” He had scheduled Grace for her first appointment the following week.

John went to work and studied cases and looked up statutes that meant nothing to him. Soon he wouldn’t even be working here. Eric asked him to lunch a few times, and after the third invitation, John knew he’d have to take it, or Eric would get difficult. More difficulty was not what John wanted to deal with, right now. Act normally, Leo had told them. Right.

Eric chose Traviata, a nearby Italian restaurant with a well-stocked bar and a proscuitto appetizer that Grace loved.  It wasn’t anything special—just long strips of meat presented on a cutting board, the paper-thin slices resting on a sheet of wax paper. To Grace, whose father’s family was from Calabria in southern Italy, it was heaven on a plate. She kept proscuitto in the refrigerator at home for a snack.  Once a month she made carbonara and served a white wine from Portugal. Those were the nights, usually, that they made love.

“About time you accepted my invitation,” Eric said, a slight hint of accusal buried behind his bonhomie. “What have you been working on?”

“Oh you know…” John perused the menu, stalling.  “Ken’s got me busy since I’ve been back.”

“Good. I wouldn’t be surprised if you landed a partnership soon.”

John snorted. “No. That’s for you.”

“Nice try, but I’m not paying for your meal.” Eric grinned. “I might be quick with a web search, but you, my friend, have brains. You’re good at strategy, at seeing all the different options available. That’s what  the partners are looking for.”

“We’ll see.” A lithe waitress came up to them, toying with a strand of long black hair. The men placed their orders and Eric saw the waitress toss John a look as she went through the swinging doors into the kitchen.

“She’s got eyes for you, man.”

“Didn’t notice.” John sipped his water.

“How could you not notice?”

“It’s pretty easy once you’re married.”

“Can’t test that.” Eric was a confirmed bachelor, who had a different girl each week. John had long since lost track of his various conquests within the firm. “I don’t like the whole idea of marriage. As an institution…too binding.”

“Heaven forbid you make a commitment,” John teased.

“Really. I haven’t found anyone worth that kind of sacrifice.”

“Maybe you will. If you ever stay with a girl for longer than a month.”

“Not fair. I stayed with Amber in accounts for three.”

“Wow. An entire quarter. Bravo.”

“One small step for man,” Eric grinned as the bread was deposited on the table (not by the waitress, but a teenage busboy). “She was nice.”

“Nice. That’s a ringing endorsement.”

Eric shrugged. “Wasn’t any more than that. It will take a lot more than nice to get me to commit.”

“AS we’ve seen.”

“So how’s Grace? And the kid?”

John’s throat tightened and he took a sip of water. “They’re both fine. We’ve got a gyneclogist who specializes in genetic research. He goes to our church, actually.”

“Is the kid OK?”

“We haven’t done the tests yet. Grace has it scheduled for a few weeks from now.”

“For your sake I hope the kid’s OK.”

“Just for mine?”

“Well, Grace too,” he clarified. “She’s a nice girl.”

“There we go again with the ‘nice.’ Please, give me something else.”
“I don’t really know her. Nice is about as far as I can go without having more information.”

“Please.”

“Invite me over for dinner sometime. Or, better yet, bring her downtown. We can all go out to eat sometime. She must eat, right?” John nodded. “So bring her out this weekend. I’ll find a girl, we’ll go somewhere where things are happening. See and be seen. All that.”

“Grace isn’t really a ‘see and be seen’ girl.”

“She’s an actress, isn’t she?”

“Sort of. Ocassionally.”

“If I remember correctly, she was a professional at one point.” Eric swirled the water in his glass and took a bite of bread. “I’m sure she’ll have no objection to going out on the town for once. When was the last time you went out?”

John thought of their dinners with Leo and Karen. “We don’t get out much.”

“Well there you go. Come on.”

The waitress arrived, bearing their bowls of pasta. John did notice her attempts to catch his eye this time—she wasn’t very subtle. But he managed to avoid  eye contact.

“She’s got it bad,” Eric muttered between bites.

“You ask her out then.”

“Nah. I’m just second string. No one wants that. I want to be the first round pick.”

“Please.”

The men ate in silence for a few minutes, working methodically on the large plates of steaming pasta and marinara sauce. Wen Eric had finished he wiped away the sauce ring from his mouth and sighed. “Wish I ate that every day.”

“I’ll talk to Grace, OK? It’s up to her. I don’t know how she’ll be feeling—“

Eric blanched. “Say no more. I don’t need to hear about pregnant women things.”

“You are so ridiculous. How squeamish are you?”

“Very.”

“I’ll remind Grace not to show you her scars.” Eric made a face. “Kidding. You can’t see them anyway, unless she’s naked, and that is something she definitely will not be in front of you.”

“Thanks for that.” Eric placed his utensils in the bowl and pushed it to the table’s edge. 

Short Story Part II

Part One here. 

The rectory was empty, except for Fr. McGee in his study, pouring over the documents of a recent episcopal council.

“John. Have a seat.” John took a seat in the carved chair placed before the priest’s desk. “What brings you here today? It’s not a Finance Committee meeting, is it?”

“No, Father. That’s next week.” John cleared his throat. “Grace and I…we have a problem.”

Fr. McGee closed the text in front of him and knit his fingers together. “What is it?”

“Grace is pregnant. And that’s not the problem. We’re so happy about it…”

“It is the law, isn’t it.”

“You know?”
“The Church was one of the few lobbying agents against it.”
“Then you know our problem.” The priest nodded. “Father, we will never….”

“I know. I know you and your wife would not.”

“But what are we supposed to do? The doctor is expecting us for the tests in a few weeks’ time. And Grace will need a doctor, a good one, for this.”

Fr. McGee sighed. “Have you been tested?”
John shook his head. “Grace, obviously, doesn’t need to be. She will be sterilized…forcibly, from what I understand.”

“Yes. She will be. So will her sisters, and her brother.”

“But they might not be carriers!”

Fr. McGee shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. The law says anyone with any immediate family….”

“That’s a huge amount of the population!”
“It’s how they decided to control it. The population. Resources are limited, John. They have to be distributed equally.”

“The 30^th amendment,” John murmured. Ratified four years ago, it was a utilitarian’s dream, prescribing that limited government resources were to go to the most amount of people. People like Grace were stricken from government insurance plans, and without her father’s generous help, she could never afford the medications she needed—not even with John’s large salary.  

Fr. McGee nodded. “Limit the amount of people who can have children, and whether or not the offspring will be healthy.”

“They can’t predict that. Any geneticist can tell them that. What about spontaneous mutation?”

Dr. McGee shrugged. “Any scientists that are saying that are not taken seriously. Their research funds are pulled. Hospitals won’t have them.”

“This is…this is outrageous.” John buried his head in his hands. “What are Grace and I supposed to do? These are sins, Father.”

“They are.” He drummed his fingers together.  “I think I can help.”

“You have an idea?”
“Perhaps. It is dangerous for you both—if you are found out—and the child…but I see no other way.” Fr. McGee jotted down a name on a piece of paper. “Take this. This doctor is a good man. He is practicing in secret…has already begun. Many others from the parish are going to him. If you call, he will give you the address. His wife is a nurse-midwife, so they are working as a team.”

John nodded and crumpled the paper into his pocket. “Thank you, Father.” He stood. “Pray for us.”

The priest nodded. “Yes. Always.”

*

Grace was floating in the bathtub, reading a book, when she heard John come in. “John?”

He poked his head through the door. “Can I join you?”

She splashed some water at him. “No! Where were you?”

“I went to St. Jude’s.”
“Today’s not a finance meeting day.”
“I know. I went to light a candle for you and the baby.” He had done that. After he’d talked to Fr. McGee.

Grace’s face melted. “Aw, John. That’s so sweet. Thank you.”

“Anything to help.”
“I should have my sister visit that Marian shrine near her house,” Grace said. “Light a candle or something. Remind me to call her later.”

“OK.”

“Hey, what did Eric say about that law?”

John closed his eyes and turned back into the bathroom. “Oh, it’s nothing. Just pre-birth genetic testing.”

“Do we have to have it?” Grace stroked her belly. “I don’t want to. It doesn’t matter to me. I just want a baby.”
“Me too. No. It’s no big deal.”

Grace sighed and poured water over her body. “Good. I don’t want all those ridiculous tests. Whatever we get, we get. Right?” John nodded. She closed her eyes and tipped her head back. “If my parents had done that…I might not even be here.”

John swallowed, his throat tight. “I know. Don’t worry Grace. We’ll be fine.”

“I know.” She smiled at him, confident in his ability to protect their family.

“Hey, I’ve got to make some phone calls. You just…melt,” he said as he shut the door. Grace’s laughter followed him into the kitchen, where he reached for the phone and dialed the number Fr. McGee had given him.

“The Masons’,” A woman’s voice jangled over the line.

“Is Dr. Mason there?” John gripped the paper in his hand.

“Sure. I’ll get him.”

“Hello?”

“Dr. Mason?”

“Yes. How can I help you?”

“My name is John Connor. We go to St.Jude’s—“

“Sure, John Connor. You’re on the finance committee, right?” John nodded. “I am too but I can never make the meetings…babies always seem to be born on that day.” He laughed. “So what can I help you with?”

“Um…my wife, Grace—“

“The lector, right?”
“Right. Um..,she’s pregnant.”

“Ah. And you need a physician that specializes in high-risk pregnancies?”

“Yes. Fr. McGee gave us your number…”

“Great. How about you both come over on Tuesday, for dinner? My wife would love to meet both of you—she helps me in my practice, and I with hers, you know—so just come over, say, around 6?”

“Sure, sure. Um..we went to our regular OB today…what should I…?”
“Tell your wife it’s just a dinner invitation. Does she know?”

“No.”

“OK. Try to keep it that way. We’ll talk at dinner.”

“Thank you. So much. We…”

“Don’t mention it. We’ll see you then.” Dr. Mason gave him his address, his voice lowered. “And if you have any questions, just call.”
“Thank you. Have a good weekend,” John stammered. He replaced the phone, heart pounding.

“Who was that?” Grace was behind him, wrapped in a towel.

“Um…Leo Mason. He’s on the finance committee with me?” Grace nodded. “He wants us to come for dinner on Tuesday.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful. I’ve been wanting to meet some more people in the parish.” “Well, here’s our chance. His wife will be there too.”
“What’s her name? Karen?”

“ I think so. I haven’t met her.”

“Neither have I. I mean, I’ve seen her, at church, and she’s just gorgeous.” Grace’s face fell. “What am I going to wear?”

John laughed and embraced her, kissing her neck. “Don’t worry. We can go shopping tomorrow.”
“You have to work.”

“I turned in the report to Ken, and I can videoconference if I need to. Jet lag is a real pain. Don’t worry.”

“All right. I’m working here anyway, until I get this article written. It’ll be nice to have you home for a change.”

*

At 5:00 on Tuesday, Grace stepped into a black shirtdress, quickly buttoning the small black buttons. She misted hairspray over her wavy hair and slid grey pearl earrings into her ears.

“Nice dress.”
“Thank you. Glad I can still wear it.”
“You’ve got months until you start showing.”
“Not that long.” She sprayed perfume on her neck. John adjusted a blue tie. “You look nice. I love that tie.”
“I know you do. Want to make a good impression.”
“You know Leo.”
“I meant on Karen.”

Grace swatted him with her powder brush. “Don’t even.”

“Kidding.”

John entered the address into the car’s GPS system and they drove through the late afternoon sun. “They live close,” Grace said, looking at the GPS map. “Good.”

“What, if they lived far we wouldn’t be going?”

“Ha. No, I just like knowing people that live close. Like neighbors.”
“Better than the ones we have,” John muttered.

“Should we start looking for a bigger place? We only have one bedroom, and it won’t hold a crib.”

“Sure.”

“You sound distracted.”

“Just concentrating. Don’t want to get lost.”
Grace tapped the GPS unit with her finger. “John…we can’t get lost.”

“Sorry.”

The house, when they pulled up to it, was large, rambling, really.  Almost like a compound. Grace could see outbuilding, small and white, with clapboard shutters, behind the Georgian brick main house. The serpentine driveway curled lazily up to the font door.

A tall, lanky man and a woman who looked so similar to him she could be his sister emerged from the blue front door, heading for the car. The woman opened the door on Grace’s side and squeezed her hand as Grace exited.

The woman scanned her face, looking for something she couldn’t find. Her eyes rested on Grace’s unstretched abdomen. “Ah.”

“Excuse me?”

The woman—Karen, she assumed—shook her head, as if dislodging a particularly stubborn thought. “Nothing. I’m Karen.” Her smooth hand, bedecked with sapphire rings, was cool to the touch. Her skin reminded Grace of cocoa powder.

Grace could hear the men talking behind her—they were already well acquainted, and walked up the stone steps ahead of the women. “Come,” Karen said. “Everything’s ready.” Grace took Karen’s hand and followed her inside.

 

*                        *                        *

She didn’t want to believe any of it—nothing that Karen and Leo were telling her could possibly be true. It sounded too Orwellian to exist anywhere except in a future designed by writers.

She shook her head. “It can’t be true.”
“It is, Grace. That’s why your husband called me.” Dr. Mason sipped his glass of red wine.

Karen laid her hand over Grace’s. “It might be true, but it doesn’t have to be. Not for you. Not for any of the couples that come to us.”

“You can help.” Grace felt like a very slow child as she processed what Karen and Leo had told her.

“If you want us to.”
“Of course I want you to. Why would I…why would I want anything else?” Karen squeezed her hand again. “This is my child, and I don’t care what happens to me, I have to have him…”

“We know, Grace. That’s why we’re going to help you.” Leo stood and motioned to Karen, who helped Grace up. Wordlessly, John wrapped his arm around Grace and helped her out the back door, across the dark lawn, to one of the out building Grace had noticed earlier.

Here, Leo helped her onto the examining table and began to conduct an ultrasound. “There he is.”

“He?”
Leo focused the picture and zoomed in on an area. “Sorry. She.”

“A baby girl,” John said. “Our daughter.”

Our daughter. “She looks beautiful.”

“She is beautiful.” Karen said firmly.

Leo clicked and zoomed on another area. “We can’t really see her face…she’s turned away from me. But we will, at some point.”
“She’s going to look like her mother,” John said in Grace’s ear.

“If we can keep her that long.”

“You will.” Karen’s voice was sharp. “There is nothing to it.”

Leo turned off the machine and wiped the probe’s fluid off Grace’s abdomen. “Call Dr. Wallace and say you have switched doctors—that you’d feel more comfortable with one who deals especially with genetic research.”

“He’ll think that you’re being proactive, having the termination so early.” Karen’s voice was brittle.

“He won’t question it,” Leo said smoothly. “Ask him to send the records here.”

Grace and John nodded.

“Once we have them I will list you as my patient. As for the genetic test he mentioned—we’ll simply use the genetic make-up of another child.”
“How can you do that?” John asked. “Everyone’s genetic make-up is catalogued in Washington.”
“Not if they were never born.” Leo stood and reached under a stainless steel cabinet. A drawer popped open. “I have DNA from babies who were stillborn, or miscarried. I’ve saved them for years. We can simply use their DNA.”

“It won’t compare with mine,” Grace said.

Karen shook her head. “We’ll manipulate the pairs. The important thing is to ensure that, genetically, it looks ‘clean’. Don’t worry about how we do it.”
“The important thing is that we do.” Leo pushed the button and the drawer vanished.  “Once we submit those results to Washington, your baby will have her unique DNA strand entered. That will be her number for the rest of her life.”
“After she’s born we’ll make up fake documents with the altered DNA information,” Karen said.

“But what if she gets sick, or needs a blood transfusion?” Grace asked.

“Obviously that’s the tricky part,” Leo conceded. “What we’re giving you is a short-term option, to get you and John and your little girl out of the country. We are sending most of our patients to Portugal.”

“They’re the only country—besides Vatican City—that doesn’t have genetic coding law,” Karen said. “Vatican City still had diplomatic immunity. But it’s so small, we are sending most people to Portugal now.”

“The country’s all but been evacuated,” Leo said. “It’s almost all ‘genetic refugees,’ as the government calls them. And they aren’t being denied entrance.”

“So,” Karen said, “After the baby is born, it’s in your best interest to immigrate. Obviously you don’t have to, but with the risks Grace just brought up, it is much safer. Their medical system is superb, and the quality of life is excellent.”

“Suppose I should learn Portuguese,” John said.
“It doesn’t matter. English is the second official language of all EU countries.”

Grace clutched at her abdomen where her baby girl lay peacefully. “I…Is this the only way?”

Karen nodded. “To save your child? Yes.”

“And yourselves,” Leo added. “The sterilization procedures are not without risk.”

John shuddered, thinking of Grace in the hands of a surgical hack. “What do we have to do to immigrate? ”

“We’ll do the paperwork,” Leo said. “The only thing the two of you have to do is act like none of this is happening.”

“Once the baby is delivered, you can take her home. But you must get out of the country before her first birthday.”

When a child turned one, genetic testing was done again, to rule out any spontaneous mutations. If any were found, the child was taken away and “institutionalized”—but John knew that the children were euthanized, their bodies dumped in mass graves. After he had met with Fr. McGee, he had studied the law more closely, and found gruesome pictures of dismembered corpses, tossed in heaps behind clinics in Vermont and Nevada.

“You will have 11 months to do it,” Karen said. “It shouldn’t take that long to get the papers.”

“You don’t immigrate directly to Portugal. You do it through Italy, then Vatican City, and then to Portugal. The settlements in Portugal are currently divided by country of origin, so it won’t feel very foreign at first,” Leo said.

John and Grace nodded. “We want to do this,” Grace said.

Leo nodded. “All right. Get your files transferred to me, and tell Dr. Wallace that I will do the genetic blood work. He won’t question it—one less test he has to run. I will want to keep a close watch on you, and the baby, to ensure a smooth delivery.” Grace nodded.

Karen handed a book to John. “Our basic What to Expect guide for high-risk parents,” she said. “Nothing Brave New World to worry about.”

“I don’t think this is the brave new world Miranda was talking about,” Grace said as Leo helped her down.

“No. She was thinking of princes,” Leo said.

The pair escorted John and Grace to the car. “Call me tomorrow,” Leo said. Grace nodded and John drove the car down the driveway, towards the avenue.

Grace was silent the entire way home, tears making silent tracks down her cheeks. When they entered their apartment, Grace slipped off her shoes and headed wordlessly to the bedroom. John checked the messages on the videophone and saved the few that pertained to work. In the bathroom he undressed and, carrying his clothes in a bundle, went into the bedroom.

In the dark he said Grace huddle don her side of the bed, clutching her stomach. Her quiet sobs echoed in the room. “Grace.” John dropped his clothes on the floor and lay next to her.

“Tell me this isn’t happening,” Grace said. Her voice was a thin thread in the dark. “My baby does not have a death sentence. We are not leaving our families behind. I am pregnant and it will all be fine. We will have a dozen children.”

He stroked her hair. “We will, Grace. We will. Leo and Karen will make that happen for us.”

“But not here,  John. Somewhere…here, my baby…and you..and me…and my family….we aren’t wanted. We’re…”

“I want you.”

“But no one else does.” She said it so softly John wasn’t sure she had actually said it.