Eligible (19 page)

So Jane was pregnant; Jane was
pregnant.
The most immediate question, of course, was whether this development was attributable to the sperm donor or Chip. If it was the sperm donor, Liz thought, Jane would have conceived eight weeks earlier, in which case wouldn’t she have known? Then Liz recalled Jane’s hesitation about Chip, in spite of her obvious attraction to him—
had
she known? And her comments about moving to Cincinnati—those, too, could have been hints at her condition, though it was equally likely she’d want to stay in town in order to raise a child with Chip or, if she was a single mother, to avoid the expense and hassle of New York. Either way, between Chip and an anonymous donor, Liz couldn’t say which was preferable. Complications were sure to arise from both.

Passing the Gothic church of Saint Francis de Sales, where Liz went south on Woodburn Avenue, she was sweating more than she ever had in her entire life. The potential irony of fainting on the way to see Jane after Jane had fainted didn’t escape Liz; and yet, despite the heat and the fatigue in her muscles from already having run that morning, adrenaline kept her focused. A baby—after all this time, Jane was to be the mother of a baby!

East McMillan, which was the widest and busiest thoroughfare on Liz’s run thus far—there were few pedestrians and many cars—shimmered in the sun. Kitty’s baseball cap was royal blue, with a University of Kentucky logo, though UK was a school no one in their family had attended, and Liz wondered if the cap was making her head warmer. Removing it didn’t seem to help matters, however, and on the Reading Road overpass, she donned it again. She considered slowing to a walk, but Auburn Avenue wasn’t far off, and once she reached it, she was practically there.

By the time the enormous brick edifice of Christ Hospital came into view, Liz felt that time had collapsed and she had been running for several years through a stasis of heat. Behind her sunglasses, perspiration fell into her eyes, making it difficult to see. Glancing at the map on her phone, she followed Auburn Avenue to Mason Street and curved toward Eleanor Place and the entrance of the emergency room. Just outside its automatic door, beneath the porte cochere, she stopped and bent, setting her hands on her knees, to catch her breath.

“Liz?” said a male voice, and Liz stood up straight. Sweat was dripping from all the usual places, her temples and the back of her neck and her armpits, but also from a range of body parts less commonly associated with thermoregulation, including her kneecaps. She removed her sunglasses to wipe her eyes with the heels of her hands, and a droplet of sweat flew through the air and landed on the forearm of Fitzwilliam Darcy’s white coat; she saw it happen, and she was certain that he did, too. In a tone that fell somewhere between confusion and disapproval, he said, “What are you doing here?”

Only at this moment did her choice to run to the hospital appear strange as opposed to merely uncomfortable. It seemed difficult to avoid the truth, though surely the entire truth wasn’t necessary. Still breathing unevenly, she said, “Jane fainted, and they brought her to the ER. But I think she’s fine. What are
you
doing here?”

“Seeing a patient. Does Jane have a history of syncope?”

“If that’s the same as fainting, then no.”

“It
is
a very hot day. And not the time most people would choose to go running.”

“Only mad dogs and Englishmen, I hear,” Liz said. “But there were no cars at our house. Do I go through there?” She gestured toward the automatic door.

“I’ll go with you,” Darcy said, and as they walked inside, he added “Jane’s thirty-nine?”

“Yes.” In spite of the other subjects preoccupying her, Liz couldn’t help noting that her sister’s age must have been a topic of discussion between Chip and Darcy.

“If she’s generally in good health, I suspect it’s heat syncope,” Darcy said. They paused at a reception desk, and Darcy said, “I’m Dr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, and I need to find a patient named Jane Bennet.”

The receptionist typed briefly on her keyboard before saying, “Room 108.” Neither Liz nor Darcy spoke as they continued walking. At a set of double doors, Darcy held a badge on a lanyard around his neck up to a sensor, and the doors opened toward them. They were in a wide hall and had no sooner rounded a corner than they saw Caroline Bingley, who wore such a peculiar expression—it seemed to be a combination of mirth and fury, but was that even possible?—that Liz had the hysterical thought that Jane might have died. “Is she okay?” Liz asked with alarm.

Caroline’s eyes narrowed. Glaring, she said, “Congratulations, Auntie Liz.”

WHEN LIZ PULLED
back the curtain at the entrance to Jane’s small room, she saw her sister in a bed whose mattress was set at a semi-reclined angle. Jane wore a hospital gown (Liz hadn’t expected the change of clothes, which somehow made Jane’s status as a patient official), and a tube inserted into a vein at her left inner elbow delivered clear liquid. Quietly, almost silently, Jane was crying. The sisters’ eyes met, and Jane brought a tissue to her nose. “Oh, Lizzy,” she said. “What have I done?”

Liz climbed onto the bed beside Jane and set an arm around her. “I stink,” Liz said. “Just to warn you.”

Briefly, Jane appeared to forget her distress. “Did you go to CrossFit?”

“I ran here,” Liz said. “There were no cars at home. Are you okay?”

Jane’s lower lip quivered.

“Not to put you on the spot, but is it Chip’s or from IUI?”

A few seconds passed, then Jane shook her head, unable to speak. After another interval of silence followed by an enormous sniff, Jane said, “Everything was so chaotic with Dad’s surgery. I kept meaning to buy a test, to see if the last round at the clinic had worked. Then I met Chip, and we were having such a good time that suddenly it seemed like maybe it’d be better if I wasn’t pregnant.”

“So it’s not Chip’s?” Liz said.

“They’re going to do an ultrasound to figure out how far along I am. Anything is possible, I guess, but we’ve been using condoms.”

“Does he know you’re pregnant?”

Jane sighed. “At the restaurant, the EMT asked if I could be, and I said maybe, but I didn’t mention the donor stuff. Of course, Caroline heard, and she told Chip before I had a chance. I think she called him from her car as I was riding in the ambulance. So he found me, and he was very sweet and worried. I wasn’t even sure I
was
pregnant at that point because they hadn’t done the blood test. But I felt like I had to explain to him about the IUI, and he was a little shocked, and then he got called away for a stab wound before we could finish the conversation. That was an hour ago.”

“Wow,” Liz said.

Jane wiped her nose with the back of her hand, and Liz stood to pluck a tissue from a box on the nearby counter. “At least I wasn’t just stabbed,” Jane said. “It could be worse.”

“True,” Liz said. “But you’re still allowed to be upset.”

“It was so strange at the restaurant, Lizzy. I thought—I never think this—I thought, ‘Maybe instead of sushi, I’ll order teriyaki.’ Raw fish seemed disgusting. But Caroline suggested splitting a few rolls, and I said okay. When the food came, I looked at it and just the smell—I was sure I would throw up. Instead, the next thing I knew, I was lying on the floor with a bunch of waiters staring at me.”

After procuring the tissue, Liz had perched at the foot of Jane’s bed. “So—” Liz hesitated. “Do you
want
to be pregnant?”

“I did.” Jane’s voice quavered. “Before meeting Chip, I wanted it a lot.”

INCLUDING THE TIME
since Jane’s most recent period, the technician who completed the ultrasound placed the pregnancy at between nine and ten weeks; because Jane knew to the hour when the final round of insemination she’d undergone prior to leaving New York had occurred, she could confirm the estimate. “So a late February due date,” Liz said. “A snow baby.”

She didn’t mention Chip’s name, and neither did Jane. Notably, Chip hadn’t reappeared in Jane’s hospital room during Liz’s time there, nor had Caroline or Darcy; Liz had no recollection of bidding farewell to either of them after seeing Caroline in the hall.

Two hours had passed since Liz’s arrival at the hospital, and Jane’s emergency room doctor had just stopped in for a final consultation, inquiring as to whether Jane had an ob-gyn and encouraging her to take prenatal vitamins; Jane informed the doctor that she had been taking them daily for more than ten months. After she was discharged as a patient, it occurred to her and Liz simultaneously that they were without a car.

“Let’s start with Mary,” Liz said. “She’s likelier than Lydia or Kitty to keep her mouth shut.”

“We aren’t calling any of them.” Jane’s voice brooked no argument. “I’m not ready for them to know.”

After a few seconds’ hesitation, Liz asked, “Could Chip give us a ride?”

“He doesn’t get off until seven,” Jane said. “And then he has to do charts.” She was changing from her hospital gown into her clothes as she added, “We’ll take a taxi back to the sushi restaurant and get Dad’s car. And don’t say a word to anyone. Seriously, Lizzy—not even to Dad, in one of those heart-to-hearts you two like to have. Do you swear?”

“Do you have health insurance?” Liz asked.

Jane nodded. “Of course. Do you swear?”

On the one hand, Liz was enormously relieved; on the other hand, there was still a secret bankruptcy
and
a secret pregnancy to contend with. How exactly had her family members found themselves in such circumstances? “My lips are sealed,” she said.

“CHIP’S PARENTS HAVE
a summer house in Maine,” Mrs. Bennet said as Liz chopped cauliflower on a cutting board by the kitchen sink. “In Boothbay Harbor, which is supposed to be stunning. Suzy Hickman’s sister and brother-in-law go there, and Suzy says the views are divine.”

“If you want to help, you can wash the cilantro,” Liz said, and Mrs. Bennet didn’t move from the spot where she stood.

“Obviously, a wedding is usually held where the woman grew up,” she continued, “but if Maine is meaningful to Chip, I’m sure one of you other girls will get married at Knox Church.”

“Has anything specific led you to believe that Chip and Jane are planning their wedding?” Liz asked. “Because that’s not my impression.”

Mrs. Bennet appeared offended. “Well, they’re head over heels!”

“I think they like each other,” Liz said, “but it’s still early.”

“I prefer when a man officiates,” Mrs. Bennet said. “It’s more natural. A lady did Allie Carnes’s wedding, and she had the oddest little squeaky voice.”

Liz had finished chopping the second of two cauliflowers; she lifted the cutting board and dumped its contents into a roasting pan. “I noticed some boxes in Jane’s old room that haven’t been opened,” she said. “What’s in them?”

“Those are presents I’m saving for Christmas.”

It was tempting, but surely ill-advised, to ask which future recipient of the monogrammed royal blue bath towels happened to share Mrs. Bennet’s initials.

“I’ve started thinking about what will happen when you and Dad sell this house,” Liz said. “I wonder if you and I should do some decluttering.”