Ed King by David Guterson Read Free Book Online Page A

isn’t easy to be alone on the island day in and day out, especially at your age, but we have to bear up, and we’re getting there.”
    “It’s not just that it’s a baby,” Diane said, “it’s that it’s
my
baby, growing inside of me.” Then she cried while her Rocky Road ran down the cone onto her hand.
    Walter convinced Diane to opt for an induced birth. She was to say that she lived on San Juan Island and was afraid of having her baby on the ferry, but the real reason, of course, was that an induced birth meant Walter could schedule.
    One week before the day he’d marked on his calendar as TRAVEL TO BALTIMORE , they had to listen to a lecture from the adoption agency’s director. By law, Diane would have forty-eight hours following the birth of the baby to change her mind. After that, there would be a third day for the baby in the maternity ward, to make sure it was healthy. If there was anything wrong, if the baby didn’t meet certain standards, the new family wouldn’t come for it, as stipulated in their adoption papers. If nothing was wrong, as everyone expected, then, on the fourth day, the new family would take the baby without seeing Diane, or Diane’s seeing them. Thereafter—out of this the director made a full-blown disquisition—Diane should think of herself as having done the right thing, as having provided love and a good life for her child by relinquishing it to adoptive parents, who subsequently would in fact be the
sole
parents in all legal regards. Was that understood? Did Diane know what she was doing? Did she get the nuances, the legal principles, the injunctions? Odds were that she did, thought Walter, because it had all been plodded through with Biblical depth and thoroughness. There it all was, a lot of spelled-out mumbo-jumbo, no doubt arrived at by lawyers and politicians and, he hoped, irrelevant in his case. Let the counted-on scenario begin, he thought, with no “if”s intruding.
    The appointed day arrived. For the trip to the mainland hospital, they took two cars, Diane in her beater without a license or insurance, and Walter in his workhorse Lincoln-cum-taxi, so that afterward they couldgo separate ways. But not really separate ways, because Walter would remain tethered to Diane to the tune of—she’d made clear what she wanted—one hundred fifty a month. How would he swing that? It was a question for later. A big one—but later. For now, on the ferry, they sat in his car together, Diane with her hands supporting her belly, Walter in the driver’s seat with his fingers twined behind his head, feeling, for the first time, that this episode might indeed draw to a close without ripping him apart. Maybe he would get away scot-free. Maybe, soon, the danger would pass. “Hey,” he said, “how are you doing over there on the passenger side, Diane?”
    “Scared.”
    Walter nodded as if he understood. “That’s got to be normal. On the other hand, the odds of complications during childbirth that doctors can’t handle are extremely low these days. What else?”
    “Odds,” sneered Diane. “Don’t be so stupid. I’m not worried about the odds on what’s happening today. I’m worried about the odds for tomorrow.”
    “I know,” answered Walter. “I know, I know. But I think it’s good for us to take this one day at a time. Right now’s not the moment to plan your whole life. Let’s think about what’s on our plate today, and we’ll think about tomorrow tomorrow.”
    Diane said, “Easy for you to say. Tomorrow you go back to your cute children, your wonderful wife, your summer cottage, your car, your house, your wage packet—all of that, Walter. It’s no wonder you’re not thinking about tomorrow. You know pre
cise
ly what tomorrow looks like.”
    “That’s true,” he countered. “Whereas you, young lady, when this unpleasantness is done, will be young and beautiful and have your whole life in front of you, an open book, a wonderful adventure, while I’m