Whispering Rock

“Not nearly as much as I’ll miss you,” he whispered to her departing back.



Jack woke a few mornings later to the sound of David’s fussing, but instead of hearing his wife’s usual cooing and cajoling as she took care of his early-morning needs, he heard a very different sound. A very unpleasant sound. Retching. He sat up, found his boxers on the floor and shrugged into them. He went to his son’s room and lifted him out of the crib. “Morning, pardner,” he said to his boy, hefting him onto the changing table to get off that all-night diaper. “Whew,” he said as he removed it. “That’s gotta be ten pounds of pee. I don’t know how you do it.” He gave David’s bottom a wipe, diapered him and carried him to the bathroom doorway.



Mel was kneeling in front of the toilet holding her hair back with one hand.



With David on his hip, Jack wet a washcloth with the other hand, squeezing it out. He handed it to her. “Come on, Melinda. You can’t avoid it forever. We both know you’re pregnant.”



“Ugh,” she said, accepting the cool, wet cloth. She pressed it to her face, her brow, her neck. She didn’t have any more to say.



But Jack knew. There had been tears, exhaustion, nausea. She turned watering eyes up to him. He shrugged and said, “You eased up on the breast-feeding, popped an egg and I nailed it.”



Her eyes narrowed as if to say she did not appreciate the explanation. He held out a hand to bring her to her feet. “You have to wean David,” he said. “Your body can’t completely nourish two children. You’ll get weak. You’re already exhausted.”



“I don’t want to be pregnant right now,” she said. “I’m barely over being pregnant.”



“I understand.”



“No, you don’t. Because you haven’t ever been pregnant.”



He thought this would probably be a bad time to tell her that he did so understand, since he had lived with a pregnant person and listened very attentively to every complaint. “We should go see John right away, so you can find out how pregnant.”



“How long have you suspected?” she asked him.



“I don’t know. A few weeks. It was a little tougher this time….”



“Oh, yeah?”



“Well, yeah. Since you haven’t had a period since the first time I laid a hand on you. God, for a supposedly sterile woman, you certainly are fertile.” Then he grinned, fully aware it would have got him smacked if he hadn’t been holding the baby.



She whirled away from him and went to sit on their bed. She put her face in her hands and began to cry. Well, he’d been expecting exactly this. There’d been a lot of crying lately and he knew she was going to be mighty pissed off. He sat down beside her, put an arm around her and pulled her close. David patted her head. “It’s going to be okay,” he said. “I’m not delivering this one. I want that understood.”



“Try not to be cute,” she said through her tears. “I think my back already hurts.”



“Can I get you something? Soda? Crackers? Arsenic?”



“Very funny.” She turned her head to look at him. “Are you upset?”



He shook his head. “I’m sorry it happened so soon. Sorry for you. I know there are times you get damned uncomfortable and I wanted you to get a break.”



“I should never have gone away with you.”



“Nah. You were already pregnant. Wanna bet?”



“You knew before that?”



“I wondered why you were so emotional, and that was a possible reason. I never bought your whole sterile thing. But I don’t have a problem with it. I wanted more kids. I like the idea of a larger family than the three of us. I come from a big family.”



“There will not be five, I can guarantee you that,” she said. Then she bored a hole through him with her eyes. “Snip, snip.”



“You’re not going to blame this on me, Mel. I suggested birth control. A couple of times, as a matter of fact. You were the one said it could never happen twice. And then explained that whole business about not ovulating while you’re nursing. How’s that working for you so far? Hmm?”



“Screw you,” she said, not sweetly.



“Well, obviously…”



“I’d like you to understand I wasn’t relying on that breast-feeding thing. I’m a midwife—I know that’s not foolproof. I really didn’t think it possible that… Shit,” she said. She sighed deeply. “I just barely got back into my jeans….”



“Yeah, those jeans. Whoa, damn. Those jeans really do it to me. No one wears a pair of jeans like you do.”



“Aren’t you getting a little sick of having a fat wife?”



“You’re not fat. You’re perfect. I love your body, pregnant and unpregnant. I know you’re trying to get me all worked up, but I’m not going there. You can try to pick a fight with me all day and I just won’t play. It wouldn’t be a fair fight—you’re out to get me and we both know it. Do you have appointments this morning?”



“Why?”



“Because I want to go to Grace Valley for an ultrasound. I want to know when I have to have the house done.”



All the way to Grace Valley, she ragged on him. She threatened him with dire consequences if he got all puffed up and studly about this. It was easy for him to take it in stride—exactly how many eight-pound babies had he pushed out? And if he joked about this even once, she was going to make him pay. Perhaps for life.



Jack had some premonitions. His patience was going to be severely tested for the next several months. He was not going to be having much sex. John Stone, her OB, was going to think this was hilarious. He might have to kill John.



“Well, Melinda, you little devil,” John said, grinning.



She rested the back of her hand over her eyes while John and Jack studied the ultrasound, examining that little heartbeat in a barely moving mass. John pointed out small buds where arms and legs would be growing.



“When was your last period?” John asked her.



She took the hand off her eyes and glared at her husband. “Um, she hasn’t exactly ever had one.”



“Huh?” John said.



“That I know of,” Jack said with a shrug.



“A year and a half ago, all right?” she said crisply. “Approximately. I’ve been nursing. I’ve been pregnant. I’ve been cast into hell and will live out my days with sore boobs and fat ankles.”



“Whew. Going right for the mood swings, huh? Okay, looks like about eight weeks to me. That’s an educated guess. I’m thinking mid to late May. How does that sound?”



“Oh, duckie,” she answered.



“You’ll have to excuse my wife,” Jack said. “She was counting on still being infertile. This might cause her to finally give up that illusion.”



“I told you if you made one joke—”



“Melinda,” Jack said, his expression stern, “I was not joking.”



“I would just like to know how this is possible!” she ranted. “David is like a miracle pregnancy, and before I even get him off the breast, I’ve got another one cooking.”



“Ever hear the saying, pregnancy cures infertility?” John asked her.



“Yes!” she said, disgusted.



“You know what I’m talking about—probably better than me. I guess you didn’t think it would apply to you, huh?”



“What are you talking about?” Jack asked John.



“A lot of conditions that cause infertility are made better by pregnancy—endometriosis being one. Often when you finally score that first miraculous conception, the rest follow more easily. And when you change partners, you change chemistry. You’re going to want to keep these things in mind,” he said. And he grinned. “You want to continue nursing?” John asked Mel.



She got tears in her eyes. “I wasn’t quite ready to quit,” she said.



“Mel was going to breast-feed right up to basic training,” Jack said.



“I thought he’d be my only baby and I didn’t want to rush him,” she said, a tear spilling over. She got a very pathetic look on her face.



On that note, Jack leaned down and scooped her up from behind, holding her. He had a unique sense for when it would work and when it would get him smacked. Right at that moment, she needed a little human contact, support from her man.



“Then how about let’s evaluate your vitamin program, add some supplements and maybe you can get David down to a couple of meaningful feedings a day—the ones that comfort you and him most. You’d better add lots of water to your regimen—you have to keep the fetus in fluids, too.” John grabbed her hand. “Easy does it, Mel. You’re in good health, you had a very successful delivery and at one time you would have said this was the answer to your prayers. Try not to make Jack feel like shit.”



That night, lying in her husband’s arms, she asked, “Did I make you feel like shit?”



“Only a little bit. It’s not like I tricked you. As I recall, you were an incredibly willing accomplice.” He sighed. “Incredibly.”



“I’m just in shock. Stunned. Not quite ready.”



“I know. Do you have any idea how gorgeous you are pregnant? You shine. There’s light around you. Your eyes are brighter, your cheeks rosy, you smile and feel your belly all the time—”



“You smile and feel my belly all the time….”



“I can’t believe I’m getting all this,” he said wistfully. “You and a couple of kids. A few years ago I thought I’d be alone the rest of my life.”



“Do you know how old you’re going to be when David graduates from college?”



“What’s the difference? Does Sam look old to you? I think I can hang in there.”



“Snip, snip,” she said.



He rolled onto his back and looked at the ceiling. “Everyone around me is in a mood,” he said.



“Is that so?”



“Well, there’s Preacher—he’s pretty prickly when it’s not ovulation day, which you might have warned me about….”



“That would have been confidential.”



“Well, not anymore. I think Paige might be a little put out that he told all the boys he was staying home to have sex.”



“You think?” she asked, laughing in spite of herself.



“And Mike is past moody. I think that’s because my sister isn’t here—and believe me, I don’t know how to take that. I want Brie to be happy. It would be nice to have Mike happy, but not if he’s getting happy on Brie, if you get my drift. I’m celebrating, I’m celebrating,” he said before she could scold him. “And this little surprise has had an effect on your mood, if you don’t mind me saying so.”



“I mind,” she informed him.



“I just wish things would get back to normal,” he said.



And Mel thought—when has anything been normal for us?



The notebook Jack had been using to make all his building calculations was getting worn and bent. He had been folding it in half to stuff into a back pocket while he worked on the house, and some of his numbers were wearing thin and faint. But he was attached to it and that was what he had out, along with his calculator and pen, while he was on the phone. He had pulled up a stool to the kitchen counter and gone down a list of general contractors, all highly recommended and all men whose work he had seen at one time or another.



Everyone, it seemed, was pretty busy. Booked.



He called Paul Haggerty in Grants Pass, Oregon. “I know this is a shot in the dark, Paul, but is there any way you can help me with this? I’m on a real deadline here and I can’t find any general contractors or crews.”