Man, woman, and child(5)

He watched her fight to keep control. This was worse than he had even imagined. Then she looked at him and asked:

"And you kept quiet all these years?"

He nodded.

"Why didn't you ever tell me? I thought our marriage was based on total honesty. Why the hell didn't you tell me?"

"I was going to," he said weakly.

"But...?"

"I—I was waiting for the right moment" He knew it sounded absurd, but it was true. He had really wanted to tell her. But not like this.

"And ten years was the right moment?" she said sardonically. "No doubt you thought it would be easier. On whom?"

"I—I didn't want to hurt you," he said, knowing any answer would be futile. And then he added, "Sheila, if it's any consolation, that's the only time. I swear. It was the only time."

"No," she answered softly, "it isn't consolation. Once is more than never."

She bit her lip to hold back tears. And he had more to say.

"Sheila, that was so damn long ago. I had to tell you now because—"

"—you're going off with her?" She couldn't help



it. Half a dozen friends had lived (or rather died) through this scenario.

''No, Sheila, no. I haven't seen her for ten years. I mean—" And then he blurted out, ''She's dead."

To Sheila's shock and hurt was added consternation.

"For God's salce, Bob, why are you telling me all this? Am I supposed to write someone a letter of condolence? Have you lost your mind?"

I only wish, thought Bob.

"Sheila, I am telling you because she had a child."

"And we have two—so goddamn what?"

Bob hesitated. And then whispered, barely audibly, "He's mine. The boy is mine."

She stared in disbelief. "Oh, no, it can't be true." Her eyes were pleading for denial.

Bob nodded sadly: Yes, it's true.

And then he told her everything. The strike in France. The meeting with Nicole. Their brief affair. Then this afternoon. The call from Louis. And the boy. The problem with the boy.

"I really didn't know about it, Sheila. Please believe me."

"Why? Why should I believe anything you tell me now?"

He couldn't answer that.

In the awful silence that ensued. Bob suddenly remembered what he'd long ago confessed to her— so unimportant then. That he would like to be the father of a boy.

"J wouldnt mind a little quarterback.'*

*'And what if ifs another girl?''

*'Well, then well keep trying. Isnt that the best partr

At the time they laughed. The "quarterback," of course, was Paula. And the operation at her birth made further children impossible. Sheila felt "un-



lovable" for many months. But Bob kept reassuring her, till gradually she once again believed that what they shared was far too strong for anything to change. They healed into an even tighter bond.

Until tonight, which was a requiem for trust. Now everything was a potential source of pain.

"Sheila, listen-"

''No. I've heard enough.''

She rose and fled into the kitchen. Bob hesitated for a moment, then went after her. She was seated at the table, sobbing.

''Can I get you anything to drink?"

"No. Go to hell."

He reached out to stroke her blond hair. She moved away.

"Sheila, please . . ."

"Bob, why'd you have to tell me. Why?"

"Because I don't know what to do." And because I somehow thought you'd help. And I'm a selfish bastard.

He sat down across the table and looked at her.

"Sheila, please." He wanted her to talk. Say anything to end the ache of silence.

"You can't know how it hurts," she said. "Oh, God, I trusted you. I trusted—" She broke down again.

He longed to embrace her, make it better. But he was afraid.

"You can't forget so many happy years. . . ."

She looked at him and gave a tiny wistful smile.

"But that's just it," she said. "I've just discovered that they weren't happy."

"Sheila, no!"

"You lied to me!" she shouted.

"Please, honey. I'll do anything to make it right." You can t.

He was scared by the finality of her statement.



"You don't mean that you want to split. . . ."

She hesitated.

''Robert, I don't have the strength right now. For anything."

She rose from the table.

"Fm gonna take a pill, Bob. You could do me a big favor."

''Anything/' he said with desperate eagerness.

"Sleep in your study, please," she said.



Who died last night, for heaven's sake?"

For once the gloomy philosopher Jessica had been wiser than she knew. They were in the kitchen eating—or in Jessie's case, dieting. She was ingesting Special K and half-and-half (half skim milk, half water), and commenting on the familial ambience.