Helen took her clothes off and went to the bathroom. She looked at the little pouch of her stomach, that was getting bigger like a fire ant mount, in the mirror. She looked at herself facing the mirror, then with her hands raised above her head, then down at her side, then locked in her back, then she stood side way! Yes, she definitely looked pregnant! Her eyes looked pregnant. She was carrying the child of one man she truly loved. She decided that day that she would treasure this gift of life forever, yet she would never let Jacob know that he fathered a child with her. She took another glimpse at herself with a good- natured perplexity.
When Steve returned in twenty days, she already knew he was retiring. He announced it anyway:
"I had enough! I can't take it anymore. If I stay one more day, I lose my sanity!"
He was in mood of talking. He had not yet noticed Helen's small mount of stomach. He was in his own world of despondency and unhappiness. He did not make any comment about the change of the apartment. He was upset of the way people treated the service men who were coming home from Vietnam. He had so much to say that he had not noticed any thing about his wife's look, change of apartment. What was in his mind was more important to him than what he saw around him.
Day time changed to evening and dinner time. Helen had recently become a good cook. She had learned it on her own because she liked good food. She knew this night would be make or break for her. She wished it would be "make"! She had only one wine glass on the table. She had candles, white table cloth, and her best dishes for that evening's meal. Steve had never seen her this welcoming before. He was happy to see her this way.
"Why one glass? Don't you want to celebrate my retirement with me?" He quizzed her!
She frowned slightly and thought to herself: "Do I tell him now or later?" She decided on later.
"I have a little upset stomach!"
They had their grilled pork chop with pasta with homemade sauce that she had made it specially for that night. Steve more than once admired her cooking. They took time to eat their food. He talked and talked. Every time that he was about to put a bite in his mouth, he put the fork and the knife down on his plate and said something more about war, about atrocities, about the horror he had seen. Their dinner time took more than two hours. None of them ate much. It was mostly spent on him talking and she listening.
To Be Continued
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