Reborn

2

During the ride from the hospital Carol noticed how Bill kept the conversation light. As they listened to the static-charged radio in St. Francis's battered old Ford station wagon, he commented on the music, on the unseasonably warm weather, and told her how it took every bit of his automotive know-how to keep this old crate running. But his face darkened when the newsman told of Bobby Kennedy's announcement that he intended to seek the Democratic presidential nomination.

"That gutless opportunist! What a creep! McCarthy takes all the risks, wounds the dragon, and then Kennedy steps in!"

Carol had to smile. She could not remember seeing Bill really angry before. She knew what Jim would say. That's politics, Bill.

"Makes me sick!"

They were pulling into the mansion's driveway then, and Carol spotted Emma's car.

"She's already here!"

"I think you could use the help," Bill said as he brought the station wagon to a stop before the front doors. "Don't you?"

Carol shrugged, not wanting to admit that he was right. She was feeling well now—so much better than she had even yesterday—but she was still weak. Dr. Gallen had said she'd lost a fair amount of blood but not enough to make a transfusion absolutely necessary. He'd said he preferred to let her bone marrow make up the deficit. So maybe she did need someone around to lean on now and again. But Emma…

"She's sweet," she said, "and her heart's in the right place, but she never stops talking! Sometimes I think I'll go mad from her incessant chatter!"

"Just a nervous habit, I gather. And don't forget—she's lost somebody too. Maybe she needs to feel needed."

"I guess so," Carol said around the lump in her throat. "But that's another part of the problem. She reminds me of Jim."

Bill sighed. "Yeah, well, she can't help that. Put up with it for a few days. 'Offer it up,' as the nuns used to tell us. It will be good for both of you. And I'll feel better knowing you're not out here alone."

"Thanks for caring," Carol said, meaning it. "It must be hard after that stunt I pulled Friday."

"Already forgotten," he said with a smile.

But the hint of uneasiness in his smile told her that it hadn't been forgotten. How could anyone forget something like that? She had stripped herself naked in front of this old friend of hers, this priest, and had thrown herself at him. Had actually been trying to unzip his fly! She shook her head at the memory.

"I still don't know what got into me," she said. "But I swear it will never happen again. You've got to forgive me."

"I do," he said, and there was nothing forced about his smile this time. "I could forgive you just about anything."

Amid the glow of relief she experienced an intense flash of resentment at his generosity of spirit. It was gone as soon as it came, but it definitely had been there. She wondered about it.

"Listen," he said, hopping out and running around to help her to her feet on her side of the car. "I told my mother you'd be out here by yourself. She's going to check in. And if I know her, she'll be dropping off a pot of stew or a casserole too."

"She doesn't have to."

"She's dying to. She can't get used to an empty nest. She's hunting someone to mother."

Carol remembered the warm, rotund Mrs. Ryan from the days when she had dated Bill in high school. She knew Bill had been staying at his folks' house since Friday and wondered how his parents were doing.

"I'll be fine," she said. "Really I will."

Emma was waiting inside. She ushered Carol to the big wing chair in the library, supporting her arm as if she were an elderly, infirm aunt.

"There!" she said. "You just rest easy in that chair and I'll get you some lunch."

"That's really okay, Emma. I can—"

"Nonsense. I made some tuna salad, the kind with the sliced gherkins, just the way you like it."

Carol sighed to herself and smiled. Emma was trying so hard to make her comfortable and look after her. How could she throw it back in her face?

"Where's Jonah?"

"He's home, calling his foreman. He's got some vacation time coming—lots of it—and he's going to take a few weeks to stay close by and help you get this place in shape."

Just what I need, she thought. The two of them around at once.

But again she was touched by the concern. In all the time she had known him, Jim's father—adoptive father—had been as remote as the moon. Since the funeral, however, his demeanor had changed radically. He was concerned, solicitous, even devoted.

And in all those years she could not remember him ever taking a vacation. Not once.

All this attention was getting to be too much for her.

"Want to stay for lunch, Bill?"

"No thanks. I really—"

"You've got to eat sometime. And I could use the company."

"All right," he said. "But just for a quick sandwich, and then I've got to be getting back to St. Francis."

The sun was so bright and the day so warm that Carol thought it might be nice to eat outside in the gazebo overlooking the Long Island Sound. Emma declined to join them. Bill was already out in the yard dusting off the seats when the phone rang.

"I'll get it!" Carol said, wondering who could be calling her here on a Sunday afternoon. She lifted the receiver.

"Hello?"

"Carol Stevens?" said a muffled voice.

"Yes? Who's this?"

"That is not important. What is important is that you be aware that the child you are carrying is the Antichrist himself."

"What?" Fear gripped her insides and twisted. "Who is this?"

"Satan has transferred himself from the soulless shell of your husband to your womb. You must put Satan out!"

"You're crazy!"

"Will you put Satan out? Will you rip the beast from your womb and cast him back into Hell where he belongs?"

"No! Never! And don't ever call here again!"

Her skin crawling, she slammed the heavy receiver down and hurried outside, away from the phone before it could ring again.