' Fiction '.
by Barney Jonas
I n the pale blue kitchen of the three
room apartment, Katie Briggs
stood at the cupboard, trans
ferring cans from her enormous
grocery bag to the second shelf. The
second shelf was devoted to baby food
and each time she returned from
Winkler's Super Mart with fresh
supplies, she would smile in anticipa
tion of her heir-to-be's appetite.
The last time Phil had glanced in
the cupboard, his blue eyes had
crinkled in amusement. "You're mak
ing Mr. Winkler rich." And she'd felt
herself blushing as she told him how
wonderful she felt, after four years,
to be a full-time housewife, shopping
at her leisure instead of hurrying
from her job to reach the grocery be
fore it closed. .
Phil had laughed. "You've laid in
enough baby food for triplets." Then,
immediately, his face had grown
apologetic, for he knew as well as she
did that they wouldn't have triplets.
They'd have the single child the adop
tion agency promised them soon.
S0071. That was what young, gentle
eyed Miss Donovan, the newly as
signed social worker, had told Katie
and Phil. That was all that mattered.
She and Phil had been eager to
adopt a child for three years, since
the doctor had said she would never
bear one. Numb with grief, she'd felt
Phil's arms around her as they pressed
through her hospital nightgown.
"We wanted four children," she
murmured feebly, staring up at his
Phil laughed, "You've enough baby food for triplets."
Then he grew apologetic. They both knew they wouldn't
have triplets, just the single child the adoption
aaencv had promised them . . . soon.
ashen face. "We wanted" but she
couldn't continue. There were tears
in his eyes. He seized her roughly,
and his lips were against her ear, a
harsh whisper repeating: "You care
too much!" Everything will be all
right. Darling, don't care too much!"
For months after that Katie had
moved from home to job and back
again, in a sort of daze. Phil bore no
visible scars. Occasionally in the
evening as they sat in the living room,
she holding a book but staring into
space, he'd say, "Don't care too much."
There were times when she wanted
to explain her grief. But as months
passed she would tell herself, no, I
won't explain. Phil should understand
my hunger to be an especially good
wife, an especially good mother. To
give everything I missed getting dur
ing my years in the orphanage.
Of course I care too much, she
admitted to herself. I always will.
Katie liked to believe her life had
really begun when, at 17, after a year
of working days and studying nights,
she came to Connors & Beane as a
secretary. There she met Gwen Stahr,
a vivacious blonde with the easy
friendliness she felt lacking in herself.
One day at five when everyone was
leaving, Gwen stopped at Katie's desk
and said, "Touch up your lips and
grab your coat. We're off to Dutton's
Grille. I meet Stan there."
"I'll be a third wheel," Katie said.
Gwen grinned. "That means we'll
need a fourth."
Good as her word, she came to
Katie's desk one morning a week
later. "Dutton's after work, hon.
"There'll be a surprise for you named
Phil Briggs."
Katie's eyes filled with panic. "My
hair's a mess. And this too-businessy
suit why, I can't I'll make an aioul
impression."
But she went; and met a tall, blue
eyed man with cropped sandy hair
and amiable features. Phil Briggs met
a shy pretty girl with yearning dark
eyes and a slow, vulnerable smile a
girl unlike the glossy independent
types he usually met and exchanged
light-hearted quips with.
Katie told herself: I could love him.
But she didn't let herself dream
further. Even when he continued to
take her out, she didn't believe he was
seriously interested.
Still, she tried to captivate him and
seem a fun-loving, laughing girl like
Gwen. But the pose was hard to main
tain. The punch-line of a well-rehearsed
joke would stick in her throat,
and the bright animation would drain
away, leaving a different girl with
tears beneath the gay facade.
Nevertheless, one evening, walking
her home from a movie, Phil said
casually, "I think it'd be a great idea."
"What would be a great idea?"
"If we got married, Katie. Will
you marry me?"
She'd drawn close and whispered,
"Yes, Phil. I love you, Phil." They'd
walked on silently, and Katie hadn't
? i; ,-,iiS
felt the need to seem gay just then.
She married Phil just weeks after
Gwen married Stanley. The couples
remained inseparable, Katie still try
ing to be as Gwen-like as she could.
On the Briggses' first anniversary,
Katie and Gwen stayed away from
the office for an extra-long lunch
hour. Gwen, with impish laughter in
her eyes, gave Katie a beige-and-
blue silk maternity dress.
"Oh, Gwen," she said mistily,
"there's nothing I'd like better than to
have to wear it!"
Months later, when she became
pregnant, she took the dress
from its box and hung it m her
closet. But after the operation, she
returned the dress to its box.
Katie remained a secretary while
Gwen became the mother of a son.
Then a daughter. All Katie got was
the promise of an adoption agency
that they d have a child lor ner ana
Phil eventually.
That was months ago, and Katie
thought: if it were my own child, my
back would hurt now. I'd feel bulky,
awkward tingling with expectancy.
The phone rang. 'Three guesses!"
cried Gwen's bright voice. "Doc
Simms says I'll have to haul the crib
down from the attic again in six
months." She went on to say that
three-year-old Susan had demanded
the new baby be a sister, while 18-month-old
Tommy had closed his
ears to the announcement.
"I'm happy for you, darling," Katie
said. She babbled on cheerfully,
struggling against a thickness in her
throat, against the question: when
will they give me my baby?
"The kids are yelling for their
lunch," Gwen said. "Why not come
over tomorrow and spend the day?"
"Love to." She'd be able, by then,
to congratulate Gwen without getting
a catch in her throat. And she'd have
a lovely time with the kids. She
adored them.
Katie told herself: our first will
come soon. And that'll be just the
beginning. We'll haue a family like
others. We'll be a family.
She was in the utility room, later,
painting a small play chair, when the
telephone rang.
"Mrs. Briggs?" said a friendly fe
male voice. "I'm Miss Sherwood at
the agency. You don't know me.
You've been dealing with Miss
Donovan."
-JV
0;
fFatig's temples began to throb.
Could it be was there a child
"Mrs. Briggs," the voice continued,
" Tin calling to correct an error." She
. paused. It seemed a very long pause.
"You see, Miss Donovan is one of
our younger staff members. When she
met you and your husband, she liked
you so much that she told you what
you hoped to hear that we'd have a
child for you soon." Again she
paused, and Katie waited, her heart
pounding, tears burning her eyes.
Finally Miss Sherwood said, "Miss
Donovan shouldn't have said that. We
can never promise when, not even
vaguely. I thought I should tell you,
so that you wouldn't be holding your
breath anxiously."
"But we are, Miss Sherwood." As
soon as she spoke she regretted it.
"I understand," Miss Sherwood said.
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"Thank you for calling," Katie
murmured, and hung up. So Miss
Sherwood understood, did she? How
could anyone understand? Even Phil
didn't. What had he said, exactly?
That she cared too much that was it
Tears started, but she squeezed her
eyes shut, refusing to cry. Oh, to be
somebody else! Gwen, for example.
To know that life was beginning, that
love and trust and faith were creating
a child. Katie even envied the months
of ungainliness, the pains.
She went into the bedroom and
drew open a dresser drawer of baby
things she'd been buying for almost
a year, each tiny garment a prayer.
From a corner of the drawer she took
out the box that Gwen had given her
for a first anniversary joke.
The beige-and-blue dress was so
pretty, so delicate, so unworn. She put
vL,
it on over the dress she wore, and
still it was loose. She gazed at herself
in the full-length mirror.
hf atie was about to take it off when
she heard a key in the lock.
A moment later Phil walked
into the bedroom and saw her. He
stopped and all the color drained from
his face, leaving it hard.
Katie could not speak or even go
to him. His lips began to tremble, and
he swallowed hard, looking like a
small frightened boy having trouble
with his Adam's apple.
"Darling " Katie began.
"Take it off!"
She started toward him but he
backed away, his voice rising. "I said
take it off!"
She obeyed, while he stood im
mobile. She folded the dress. "I'm
g-giving it to Gwen tomorrow." Her
voice shook. "I wanted to wear it
just once for a moment."
She moved into his arms, needing
his strength. "Oh, Phil, the agency
called " And she told him what Miss
Sherwood had said, while he stared
at her lifelessly, saying nothing.
And suddenly Phil's face crumpled,
his voice broke. "Why?" he demanded.
"Why? I don't understand."
She couldn't answer. She could only
see the piteous lines in his face, the
misery she had never noticed before
because she had been so concerned
with her own feelings!
Why, he cares as much as I do. He
cares too much, too.
Now she knew what he'd meant
in begging her not to care too much.
If you cared too much, you could kill
yourself with bitterness and heart
break. You mustn't Instead, you had
to go on, learning to wait learning to
live from day to day until the joyous
time came.
You had to accept life, unless you
wanted to die a new death every day.
You simply must not try too hard or
care too much.
"Phil," she said, with a smile she
didn't believe she could manage. "You
care too much. Darling, don't burn
yourself out"
He stared in astonishment, as
- though it were impossible that it
should be she who was comforting
htm. Then he took her in his arms,
possessed by a certain new strength.
"Do you mean what you're saying,
Katie?"
Into his ear she said, "I'm going to
buy baby oil and talcum powder
tomorrow. You know, the agency
could call us soon, no matter what
Miss Sherwood said."
His arms tightened around her. She
knew their marriage had never been
so beautiful as now; they had never
been so close.
"After all," Katie added, "we've got
to be ready."
Phil held her away from him for a
moment, studying her face as though
he saw it for the first time. Then an
exultant smile lit his own features.
"You and I are ready for any
thing," he said.
Family Weekly, Augtut 17, 1)51
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