Chapter 7

The remainder of their stay, neither Myra nor Chloe had their periods. Home pregnancy tests were something I had no knowledge of, but in reading up on them, we found that once you miss your period, you should take one. If it’s positive, the chances are good you are pregnant. If it’s negative, you should check again in a day or two. With both women, the tests were positive the first time. To get a second opinion, I made appointments for them with my primary care doctor. His tests also came up positive, and he made routine recommendations as to nutrition and told them to see their own doctor upon their return to the UK. He gave me speculative looks but said nothing. Looking back, I realized I hadn’t had this much involvement in my ex-wife’s pregnancies. Go figure.

Concurrent to my interaction with the women’s pregnancy drama, I had regular status reports from Ian, both over the telephone and via email. The overhaul was nearly complete, and he said he’d probably be back home in two weeks. Myra and I decided it best for them to be home before Ian and Hugh, to make arrangements to move out, if necessary. I let them know I would help them if they were displaced by an angry Ian. Thinking I should see them all the way home, Myra told me it was nonsense. So, I saw them off at the airport, having already said our sad and touching goodbyes in the privacy of my home. Flying from Phoenix to New York, they had to wait three hours for a connecting flight to Heathrow, where they took a shuttle home. Myra had repeatedly told me not to worry, as they weren’t worried. I still worried, and on pins and needles until Myra called me from their home. Then, I waited for the other shoe to drop!

I had a coworker once, who’d been to Viet Nam for two tours. He never talked about his experiences, but we were inspecting a piece of equipment at one of our factories when a large piece of metal dropped with a loud noise. My coworker immediately dropped to the floor, and you could read an instant of stark terror in his eyes. Now, I had an idea how he felt; I jumped every time my phone rang, or the doorbell sounded. In my mind, it was Ian, or a hit man! Realistically, I had his permission to bed his wife and daughter, perhaps to assuage his conscience for his numerous instances of adultery, but to impregnate both of the women in his family was surely beyond his permissiveness. Myra and Chloe had been home for two months, and I hadn’t heard a thing from them, nor luckily, from Ian. I was a nervous wreck, and though I still kept up my work, I’d dropped fifteen pounds. Then, one evening just after I arrived home from work, I received a text message from Myra:

“Will, we need to talk. Please call me at home. It will be late here, but I’ll be up. Thank you, again. Love, Myra”

Apprehension gripped me until I convinced myself that if Ian got on the phone, he couldn’t shoot me or strangle me through the telephone. Deciding I needed to know what had happened between Ian and his wife and daughter, I steeled myself and made the call. The connection was made after three rings:

“Will? Thank you, ever so much, for phoning. Let me fill you in on things:

[Things have been a bit difficult here, but I think they’ve calmed down, finally. Chloe and I decided to say nothing about our condition, until we both began showing. Ian didn’t say anything at first, possibly thinking we were both putting on weight. I had wracked my brain, trying to find a way to broach the subject. So, I started to crochet baby booties and baby Afghans. He asked one evening who I was doing them for, so I took a deep breath and told him they were for Chloe and myself. He was speechless for at least half a minute, then all hell broke loose. He jumped up and began denigrating someone named William Strickland, calling him names even I’d never heard of. He berated you and raved about how you’d betrayed him. He went on and on. Not for one instant did I fear he would physically harm Chloe, nor myself, but if you had been here, I’m afraid he would have tried to harm you, although you’re in much better shape. He finally ran out of steam and slumped in his chair and sobbed. I felt so sorry for him and had thoughts of begging his forgiveness for my false treatment of him, but then I realized he was ‘the pot calling the kettle black’! So, I asked him: