The Big Gamble - Michael Mcgarrity [85]
“Sara, I just . . .”
“Don’t talk, Kerney, listen. I’m pissed at you and this whole situation. I think you just want me only for sex, or for carrying your child, or for occasional companionship when I can fly in on one of your rare free weekends.”
Kerney’s cheerfulness evaporated. “What are you talking about?”
“I should have been there today for the house siting, not hearing about it on the other end of a phone call. I should have been there because it’s supposed to be our house. I don’t think you give a damn about me. You’ve just got this fantasy going about a wife, a family, and a ranch, not necessarily in that order.”
“That’s crazy. I thought you said you couldn’t get away between now and graduation.”
“Of course I can’t get away,” Sara snapped. “That’s not what I’m talking about. You could have waited. What’s one month? Shit! I hate to curse. Shit, shit, shit.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“I shouldn’t have had to. It should have been clear in your mind that it was something we needed to do together.”
“I’ve just been trying to move things along.”
“Why? So it can all come together perfectly according to some master plan? The house gets built, the pregnant wife appears, the baby gets born.”
Stunned by the criticism, Kerney tried again to explain. “I just wanted to have everything ready for you and the baby.”
“The place you’re renting is more than adequate for us.”
“You’re being wrongheaded about this.”
“Wrongheaded? If I’m so wrongheaded why do you even bother to know me?”
Kerney heard the phone go dead. He dropped the receiver and stared at it, pulled his hand back from it. Now, he was pissed—beyond belief pissed. He was a jerk, a dummy, an unfeeling, inconsiderate SOB. A bum for wanting to make Sara happy.
Where had all this come from? A few hours ago she was laughing on the phone, talking excitedly about the house plans, consulting the architectural drawings he’d sent her, and asking questions.
The phone rang and Kerney picked up.
“Do you want to talk?” Sara asked.
He could hear her crying. “Yes, of course.” A long silence followed, punctuated by Sara’s sniffling. “Are you still angry?” he asked.
“I’m hurt, not angry.”
Kerney’s indignation abated. “I had no intention to hurt you.”
“I know that. But sometimes you get so single-minded I want to give you a swift kick.”
“I think you just have.”
“I guess I did.”
“Are you all right?” Kerney asked.
“No, I’m hormonal, pregnant, lonely, exhausted, and wondering what’s in store for us.”
“A good life together,” Kerney said, trying for something upbeat.
“Yeah, the rare times we’re together.”
“We still have to work that out.”
“Yes, we do. If you want me to raise this child on my own, tell me now.”
Her words hit Kerney like a sucker punch. “Hold on a minute.”
“Do you?”
“Never, dammit.” He heard her intake of breath followed by another silence.
“Okay.”
“What do you want?” he asked.
“I’d like to reach out and touch you in my bed tonight. Oh, never mind. I have to go. Good night.”
“Sara, don’t hang up this way.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“I’m not sure I will,” Kerney said.
“I wouldn’t embarrass myself by crying at you over the telephone if I didn’t love you. My nose is running, my eyes are red, and I need a big hug.”
“Do you want me to fly in this weekend?”
“No, I won’t have a spare moment.”
“Okay.”
“Just say good night,” Sara said.
“How about if I say I love you, instead?” Kerney countered.
“That will do nicely.”
“I love you.”
“Me too,” Sara replied.
He held the dead phone in his hand until a recorded message urged him to hang up. Then he poured whiskey into a glass and stood on the patio staring at the hill behind the house in the darkness. He felt angry, hurt, above all misunderstood. Suddenly, he was dissatisfied with himself, with everything.
He sipped the whiskey. The quarter moon and the star-filled sky couldn’t hold his interest. The stiff cold breeze against his face felt insignificant even though he started to shiver. The whiskey burned his throat.