“And when exactly did you find out about this?” Eleanor Whitaker shouted.
— Five months ago, but we’re still hoping… sometimes tests are wrong, — Edward tried to explain, but his mother cut him off sharply.
— Five months? And you kept this from me the whole time? — she said, furious.
Eleanor paced the living room, waving her hands, every movement broadcasting outrage. Her eyes flashed so hard it seemed they could burn through anyone who dared disagree with her. Even her flawless makeup — something she never skipped, not even at home — couldn’t hide how pale she’d gone. Her carefully lined lips had flattened into a hard, thin line.
— Mom, we’re hoping for the best. But even if the diagnosis is confirmed, we’re going to love our daughter and raise her the best we can, — Edward said. Against his mother’s raised voice, his own sounded almost quiet.
— What? You’re planning to bring a disabled child into this family? Are you out of your mind? Five months ago this could have been handled. Now you’ve made a complete mess of it.
— Are you talking about ending the pregnancy? The doctor brought it up, but Natalie and I said no, — Edward replied.
— You said no, — Eleanor shot back. — And why was a decision this important made without me?
— Because we’re the parents, and this is our responsibility, — he said, trying to stay calm.
— The parents? — she snapped. — Of a child people will stare at? A child who will bring nothing but hardship and heartbreak?
— Maybe. But those will be our hardships and our heartbreaks.
Suddenly Eleanor softened her tone. She realized that if she kept pushing the same way, she’d only drive him further in the opposite direction. She needed a better plan — something airtight, something that would make her son stop entertaining the idea that there was any other path forward.
— All right, sweetheart, I’m sorry. I was blindsided, and I got upset. We both need time to think, and then we can talk this through properly, — she said.
— I get it, Mom. Natalie and I were shaken at first too. Come by Saturday for lunch and we’ll talk then, — Edward said.
“Two against one,” she thought, and answered at once:
— No, honey. Your wife doesn’t need stress right now. You and I will talk alone.
— Natalie and I make decisions together, — Edward objected.
— Of course. But first, you and I are going to discuss this, — Eleanor said, ending the matter.
After her son left, Eleanor Whitaker, deputy mayor for community affairs, sank into her armchair. She remembered how happy she’d been when Edward and his wife had told her about the baby. She had pictured herself taking a grandson or granddaughter for walks, had imagined the pride she’d feel knowing she’d raised her son alone and given him every opportunity. Tears suddenly filled her eyes. No, she wasn’t grieving for the unborn child. She was grieving for her own plans, the future she had pictured so clearly and now saw slipping away.
For a moment she saw herself holding the hand of a little girl whose face clearly showed her condition, catching the pitying looks — and the not-so-pitying ones.
— That is not happening, — she said out loud into the empty room.
She needed to move fast. The very next day Eleanor was sitting in the office of the director of the regional women’s hospital, who fluttered around her important visitor offering coffee and pastries.
— Sit down, Tanya. I’m here for advice, not an inspection. Advice… and maybe help, — Eleanor said, giving the doctor a meaningful look.
Dr. Tanya Miller had known Eleanor long before Eleanor rose to city office, but even so, she felt uneasy. She sat down across from her and waited.
— This is a family matter. A serious one. And you’re the only person I can ask. Do you remember Frank and Helen Sullivan — killed in that avalanche out in the Appalachians?
