The Astronaut's Wife

13

The first mother of twins said, “For the first three months I was pregnant—every time my husband touched me, I threw up. True. I’m not making itup.

The other women laughed. Some of them nodded knowingly and looked a little sad.

A second woman chimed in with her tale of woe. “I’m okay during the day—really. Just fine. But at night I have the worst thoughts about them. I lie in bed tormenting myself for half the night. Are they still alive? When did they last move?”

A third: “Yeah… I know those sick thoughts. Real sick thoughts. Like I convince myself that one of them is dead and the other one is alive. In there… you know, with it.”

It was not the sort of thing she would have done under normal circumstances, but Jillian steeled herself and went to the support circle for prospective mothers of twins. To her great surprise and delight she enjoyed it immensely and derived a great deal of comfort from hearing the stories of others in the same position as she.

There were about a dozen of them and they met once a week, changing apartments every week. Some were older than Jillian, a number were younger; a couple seemed to be richer, but Jillian’s husband’s position put her in the upper income bracket. They were all in different stages of pregnancy. But they were bound together by a single common bond—they all had two lives growing inside them.

“My husband,” said a fourth woman, “he tries to give me that look. You know that ‘I understand, honey’ look. Hah! I don’t care how long he rubs my feet, I know he doesn’t understand a thing about what I’m going through.”

“He rubs your feet?”. exclaimed one of the women. The rest of them laughed.

“I know what you mean,” chimed in another woman. “We’re supposed to be going through this together, but I’ve never felt further away from him. There’s this thing going on inside my body that he knows nothing about.”

“Wait, let me get this straight. He rubs your feet? You actually get your feet rubbed?”

All of them laughed again, including Jillian. Her face was lit up, glowing with health. She felt good and happy and she would never tell these women that her husband often rubbed her feet.

“Anyone have memory loss?” asked someone. “This morning I was looking for my glasses…”

Another woman filled in the punch line. “And they were on your face all the time, right? You think that’s bad. Yesterday I got into the bathtub with my socks on.”

Before she knew it, Jillian found that a month had passed and she was back at her doctor’s office for her next checkup. The support group and Spencer’s kindness had helped her enough.

She had not needed to call her doctor for assistance, not once. But she had achieved one breakthrough—she now called her doctor by her first name: Denise.

Jillian lay on an examination table while Denise palpated her belly, her finger probing, feeling for irregularities and abnormalities. She did not find any.

“Let me take some blood,” Denise said. “Just to make sure that you’ve got some nice rich blood for the kiddies.” She tied a rubber tube around Jillian’s upper arm and put a needle into the vein in the crook of her arm. She filled a vial, marked it, and put it in a tray. “Now that didn’t hurt, did it?”

“Hardly felt it,” Jillian said.

Want to hear the heartbeats of those two you have tucked away down there?’ Denise asked.

“I would love that, Denise,” Jillian said. “Can we do it here? In your office?”

Denise nodded. “Yup, with this thing.” She held up a stethoscope that appeared to be attached to a small amplifier. “It’s a Doppler stethoscope. It picks the frequency of sound waves and that thing”—she pointed to the speaker—“converts them into sound.”

“Fine,’ said Jillian. “Let’s do it.”

Denise put the membrane of the Doppler stethoscope on Jillian’s belly and fiddled with a couple of knobs on the body of the machine. Suddenly the room was ripped by the horrible noise—the insect shrieking—as loud as an anguished scream.

Jillian jumped and paled as the noise. screamed from the speaker. Denise jumped too and adjusted a couple of knobs. Abruptly the noise ceased.

“What was that?” asked Jillian, still trembling at hearing the sound of her nightmares.

“Just a wrong setting,” said Denise. “That was just feedback or something.” She could tell that the noise had spooked her patient. “Hey, don’t worry about it, Jillian, that sound did not come from you. Here, listen to your babies.”

The speaker reverberated with the sound of two heartbeats, rhythmic and sturdy.

“Do they sound healthy?” Jillian asked anxiously. “I mean, they’re okay, aren’t they?”

“Perfectly healthy,” said Denise firmly. She cocked her head and listened for a moment longer. “I’m going to send you to a colleague of mine for an ultrasound.”

Jillian started and her eyes widened in alarm. “Why? You’ve done ultrasounds on me. Why can’t you do one here the way you always have, Denise?”

“Hey,” Denise replied. “Calm down… Jillian, at twenty weeks I send everyone to him. Everything’s fine. You are perfectly normal. It’s just that he’s got specialized equipment; I don’t have it here. With the more sensitive equipment we’ll be able to get a good look at their spines, count their fingers and toes…” She smiled broadly. “It’ll be like their first checkup. You’ll even get a picture… The first one for the photo album, okay? Relax…”

It didn’t take long for Jillian to calm herself down from the slight shock of the examination and by the time she got home she had convinced herself that her visit to another ob/gyn specialist was just as routine as Denise said it was.

She got even better news that evening when she answered the phone and found that it was her sister Nan—and she had a big announcement to make.

“I’m coming to New York,” she squealed.

“Oh, Nanny!” Jillian yelled. “That is fantastic news. Really great. When?”

“Next Tuesday,” Nan replied, “that is, if Tuesday is okay with you. I mean if the whole trip is okay with you. You don’t mind putting me up or anything. And if you’re sure Spencer won’t mind.”

“Spencer will love it and so will I.”

“Are you sure?”

“Oh God yes.” Despite the successes of recent weeks Jillian had not realized how much she craved the sight of a familiar face. A visit from her sister was just what she needed. “Nanny, I can’t wait. I wish it was sooner. Just wait until you see how fat I am.”

“Oh yeah, right,” Nan replied. “I’ll bet you’re that kind of woman that you can’t even tell is pregnant when you look at them from behind… By the way, is it true what they say about your boobs getting bigger when you’re pregnant?”

Jillian giggled. “You’ll have to ask Spencer for his expert opinion. He’ll know.’”

“Ooooo, really,” said Nan. She laughed happily. “I have to say you sound a lot better, Jilly. In fact, you sound great.”

Jillian nodded. “Yeah,” she said. “I do, don’t I?””

“Okay, sis, I’ll see you on Tuesday,” said Nan. “Now you have Spaceman kiss your belly for me, okay? You make sure to tell him to do that.”

“I love you, Nan.”

“Right back at ya, Jilly-o.”

Jillian hung up the phone happy. She threw herself down on the living room couch, smiling broadly at the thought of her sister’s forthcoming visit…, then her eyes settled on the radio. She looked at it for a moment, then reached out and touched it. Then she turned it on. This time hot, brassy salsa music poured out of the speaker, music with a pounding bass line and heavy beat.

Jillian smiled. “It’s just music,” she said. And then, not quite knowing that she was actually doing it, she jumped to her feet and started to improvise a mambo. She put her hands on her bulging belly and held it tight, as if dancing with her two unborns. She danced and dipped and spun until she turned and saw Spencer standing in the doorway.

Jillian yelped and stopped dancing. “Spencer! How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to see you do the mambo,’Spencer replied. “I learn something new about you every day.”

“Would you like to see some more?” she asked, starting to sway to the music again.

“You bet.”

Jillian danced over to where he stood, put her arms around him and rubbed up against him like a cat.

“Are you ready to serve me, slave?” It had become a joke between them since that night he bathed her. She pushed him toward the bedroom, a lascivious look on her face.

“As my mistress desires,” Spencer intoned.

“Oh, I have desires,” she said. She took his right hand and put it on her swollen belly. “Can you handle all three of us?”

“As my mistress desires.”

She leaned into his face and kissed him hard, then pulled back. “You love me?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“You love this big belly of mine?”

“Yes,” said Spencer again.

“That’s good,” Jillian said emphatically, “because I love the big belly, too.” There were no windows in the high-tech ultrasound imaging room that Jillian and Spencer Went to the next day. The only light came from the monitor. A technician moved an ultrasound wand across her belly, bare except for the conducting gel that had been slathered on her skin once again.

The increased power of this machine was obvious, the pictures from inside of Jillian’s womb were clear and distinct. It took the technician only seconds to find the fetuses.

“There they are;” he said. “Right where they are supposed to be. Nice and cooperative.’

Spencer and Jillian looked at the dark, shadowy images from within Jillian’s body, and fuzzy though they may have been, the two bodies were obvious and alive. They were floating in the amniotic fluid, peacefully waiting their time to emerge.

Jillian had never been so excited. “Oh God, Spencer, there they are.’ The fetuses seemed to hear her and they wriggled and kicked slightly as if they recognized her voice. “Oh, I feel them moving… Oh look, Spencer. Look.’

The technician pressed a button on the machine and an instant black and white picture of the twins emerged from a slot, as if from some kind of photomachine one might find at a carnival.

“How’s that for a photo op?” the technician asked with a wide grin. “Not bad, huh?’ Jillian showed the picture to her support group the next day. Of course all the other women oohed and ahhed over it, but it was mostly for Jillian’s benefit rather than from any genuine admiration. Most of them had similar pictures in albums or stuck to their refrigerators at home and they had all realized that an ultrasound picture is beautiful only to the parents-to-be. But there was no harm in playing along. They had all done it for others and had had it done to them.

But as Jillian played the beaming proud mother, a young woman approached her. She wasn’t a member of the group but a nanny who worked for the woman who was hosting the meeting this week.

“Mrs. Armacost?”

Jillian looked up. “Yes?”

“I just got a message from your husband,” the girl said. “He said that he wants you to meet him on the main concourse at Grand Central Station.”

“Grand Central Station?” said Jillian, puzzled. “When?” Of course the more likely question was why.

“He said right now. As soon as possible.”

“Did he say why?” Jillian asked.

The young woman shook her head. “No. That’s all he said. For you to meet him there as soon as possible.” Of course the traffic on Park Avenue was terrible and everyone and his brother in New York seemed to be looking for a taxi and Jillian had not been living in the city long enough to have begun to have mastered the labyrinth that was the New. York City subway system. So she was flustered and frustrated when she pushed her way through the Vanderbilt Avenue entrance of Grand Central Station, stumbling down the stairs to the wide expanse of the Grand Concourse.

The vast room was thronged with rushing commuters and travelers sitting on their suitcases waiting for their trains to be called. Hundreds of feet above the travertine floor was the ceiling, which was painted a deep blue and speckled with golden stars and the figures of the constellations. But the bustling commuters didn’t notice it and neither did Jillian. She was too preoccupied looking for her husband.

Near the circular, ornate information booth set in the middle of the concourse, Jillian stopped and scanned the crowd. Next to her a woman played the cello her instrument case open and littered with currency—everything from quarters to dollar bills. She was working her way through the beautiful suite #1 in G minor by Johann Sebastian Bach. At another time Jillian would have taken pleasure in the music, but she was too busy scanning the crowd for a glimpse of her husband.

Then, suddenly, she felt him, sensed him standing directly behind her.

“I know you’re there,” Jillian said. She did not turn around to face him.

Spencer smiled. “Now tell me, how do you know that?”

“I can feel you,” she said.

“Because we’re connected?” As he spoke he reached around her body and took her hands in his. She pulled his hands to her body’ cradling her belly.

“Connected,” Jillian said, she looked for the words to explain it. “It’s like…”

“Like what?”

“Like when even we’re apart, we’re together It’s silly, I know, but I—”

Spencer whispered in her ear. “No, it’s not silly. I feel it too, Jill. Sometimes I think I know what you’re thinking. Sometimes when I’m at work I close my eyes and I feel as if I can almost see what you are seeing. Feel what you’re feeling.”

Spencer looked at the ceiling of the station. Jillian looked up, too, the two of them looking at the figures of the constellations painted on that field of gorgeous cerulean blue.

“Can you see what I’m seeing?” Spencer asked.

Julian nodded. “Yes,” she said. “The twins.”

“Castor and Pollux,” said Spencer.

Up there on the ceiling were beautiful renderings of Castor and Pollux, the twin sons of Zeus known as the Dioscuri. The two young men had been brave warriors and great horsemen. To honor their courage and purity Zeus created the constellation Gemini.

“How do you feel?" Spencer asked his wife.

“Like there’s a part of you always inside me,” she answered. “It’s nice. I always know where are.”

“Inside you,” Spencer whispered.

“Yes, that’s right.”

The music the cellist was playing changed. She had finished the Bach suite and swung into something a little faster. A big smile on her face, she started to play “Let’s Face the Music and Dance.” Jillian turned around and embraced her husband.

“Happy anniversary, Jillian,” Spencer said. He kissed her warmly and held he close.

“Anniversary?” She put her hand to her mouth and looked worried for a moment. She had completely forgotten that today was their anniversary. She searched for a look of disappointment or hurt in his face. But it wasn’t there. He smiled down at her and she could tell that he was secretly glad that he had remembered and that she had forgotten their great date. It was one of those sexual role reversals he loved to pull. He never played the oafish insensitive husband if he could help it. But both he and Jillian had forgotten his brutish lovemaking that had put those twins in her in the first place. But that was in the past and neither of them wanted to dredge it up again.

So she had forgotten their anniversary? So what? For the first time in a long time life was good…