The Friendship Pact

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Her objections were specific to Bailey. She remained certain that Bailey’s choice to be artificially inseminated was, in essence, a way of hurting herself, robbing herself of the ultimate joy and happiness that could be hers.

“You know, if you didn’t want to get married because you hated the idea of being tied to one guy for the rest of your life—or because you just didn’t like guys, I’d get it. But the problem is, you want exactly what marriage is supposed to provide—a life partner who will be with you every step of the way, no matter what.”

She couldn’t deny that. In theory. Trouble was, it was a pipedream. And she knew it. Even if Kora didn’t.

“It’s not marriage you don’t want, it’s failure. And so, because you’re afraid the marriage will fail, you’re robbing yourself of a chance to have it all.”

Kora was right.

But so was Bailey. For her, marriage would fail. For her, marriage would be a bad choice. Because she didn’t have what it took to make it work. Whatever you called it—a lack of faith, lack of belief, or plain crankiness, she was at least honest enough to spare some more guy a broken life.

And spare her children the same.

The more they talked, the more Kora objected to her proposed plan, for Bailey’s sake and the sake of the child, the more certain Bailey grew that artificial insemination was the only course for her.

“It’s because you know I’m trying to get pregnant,” Kora said as they were doing the dishes at Kora’s house one Friday night in July. Danny was out with the guys, and Bailey guessed that meant out with Jake, so she and Kora had plans to spend the evening hanging out in front of the TV. Bailey was already in the sweats she’d brought to change into after work.

“No, it’s not,” Bailey said now, rinsing plates for Kora to load. Her job had always been rinsing. Kora’s was loading and unloading. In the beginning, because Kora knew how her mother liked things done and where everything went. And later, just because they had their system established and it worked well. She had to trust that, somehow, this whole baby thing would work for them, too. “It’s because I’m positive I don’t want to get married, and because you’re right about part of this. What I want more than anything is a family of my own. You just don’t see that the only way I’m going to have one is to provide it for myself.”

Kora, still dressed in the jeans she’d worn grocery shopping and doing whatever else she’d done that day, paused, plate suspended over the bottom dishwasher rack. “You’re certain about that.”

Bailey met her gaze. “Yeah, Kor, I am.”

“Certain enough that you’re ready for me to back off? To support your decision regardless of how I feel about it? Because I will, Bailey. If you tell me that’s what you need.”

Bailey was all set to agree. But then she stopped. Kora knew her so well. Was there something she wasn’t seeing that her best friend could?

“We’ve always done everything together,” Kora said now. “Can you tell me that you aren’t suddenly feeling this acute need to get pregnant because you know Danny and I are trying?”

Yes.

No.

She couldn’t.

Kora was at least partially right. The acuteness of her desire to do this, the fact that she didn’t want to wait, might be because Kora was getting pregnant. Because they’d always said they’d raise their children together. Because she didn’t want to be left behind.

But the choice to have a child alone? That was Bailey’s true choice.

Wasn’t it?

* * *

I wasn’t just sitting around that whole summer trying to get pregnant and fighting my best friend’s attempt to—as I saw it—sabotage her life. I wasn’t focused all day long on changing Bailey’s mind about artificial insemination. Nor had I tried to set her up with Jake or any of the other eligible men Danny and I knew.

I was working on lesson plans for the next school year, making colorful bulletin board displays to accompany the upcoming major events over the next year, incorporating specific lessons into them. I painted our bedroom and the living room. Tried out new recipes for quick and easy meals that would come in handy when school was back in session.

I attended Thursday night fitness class religiously, and hoarded whatever other time I could get with Bailey. I drove in to meet her for lunch a few days a week—the days Danny had business lunches. She and I spent an entire Saturday at a new outlet mall, went to a couple of movies and she joined us for a Fourth of July barbecue at my folks’ house.

I had hot sex with my husband, went out on the town with him, both of us skipping the alcohol because I’d read that it could inhibit fertilization, attended several major league baseball games, enjoying the box seats his company had provided for us, and saw my parents and his mom, every chance we got.

And twice I drove by the small house rented by Mary Ephrain’s mother. I’d looked the address up online and could see from public records that it was a rental. I could see the landlord’s information.

The house had two bedrooms and at least one mother with three kids living in it. Mary’s older brother had been a student of mine in my first year of teaching and I knew there was another sister, younger than Mary.

The first time I drove by no one was home. I’d hoped that Mary had been off to visit grandparents for the summer. Or was on vacation at the beach. Both things I might have been doing had I been her age.

But spending the summer with grandparents and taking vacations at the beach didn’t usually produce troublemaking nine-year-old girls who asked their teachers if they could see them over the summer.

That last Tuesday morning in July, three weeks before school was due to start, and only two weeks before I was due back in my classroom, I saw lights on at the dingy little rental set in the middle of a block of similar houses. Pulling my Ford Mustang to the curb between an old mattress and what looked to be part of a bumper, I stepped slowly out.

I was glancing around, trying to take in a three-sixty while appearing perfectly calm and comfortable, all the while telling myself that nine-year-old Mary walked these streets every day. And if she could do it, I certainly could.

It wasn’t defaced with graffiti. There weren’t obvious criminals or gang members hanging out, leaning against trees. Scoring drugs.

A young mother walked a baby in a stroller across the street. Further down, a couple of preschoolers played on a porch that was blocked off with makeshift baby gates.

I could hear someone screaming.

The air smelled like stale onions.

With my mace key fob clutched firmly in one hand, I started up the walk. I probably should have texted Danny, told him what I was doing. But I already knew what he would’ve said.

Don’t. If you’re concerned, call the authorities.

I didn’t want to call the authorities. Not yet, anyway. I’d met Mary’s mother, who clearly loved her children and had been willing to do whatever it took to keep Mary in my class, despite the child’s problem behavior. It was also clear that she was doing whatever she could to hold her family together. I saw potential in the little girl, too, who got straight As when she applied herself. Mary’s older brother had been a conscientious child—old before his years, watchful of the other kids in class, too quiet maybe, but nice.

All the indications were that the family didn’t have it easy.

Having social services poking around might just tear the family apart. I raised my hand to knock and stepped back as the door opened before I made contact.

“Can I help you?” A man stood there, in (or wearing)black shorts and a short-sleeved denim shirt that hung over his waistband. He was clean shaven, with a mustache, and his hair flopped over his forehead above eyes that were peering at me suspiciously.

“I’m looking for Mrs. Ephrain,” I said, glad I’d worn my oldest jeans, a T-shirt and tennis shoes. At the moment, the last thing I wanted was to be taken for someone there in an official capacity.

Maybe I should have listened to Danny, telling me not to come. Well, if I’d actually told him I was coming. Or told anyone where I’d be...

“She’s busy. What do you want with her?”

The man didn’t raise his voice. There was nothing overtly menacing about his face. Still, I was...uncomfortable.

I tried to peer past him anyway. Like maybe I’d see Mary peeking around the corner, or her mother or brother in the background. “I actually just came by to say hi,” I improvised. “Are you Mr. Ephrain?”

“I’m Bud Lenowski,” he said.

I wanted to ask if he lived there. But I couldn’t figure out a way to do it without sounding like I was checking up on him. Why that mattered I wasn’t sure yet, but I knew it did.

“My name’s Koralynn,” I said, totally flying by the seat of my pants. “Would you tell Liza I stopped by?” Mrs. Ephrain and I had never addressed each other by our first names. Thank God I remembered hers from Mary’s records.

“I’ll tell her,” the man said and shut the door in my face.

* * *

Bailey was in one of the smaller conference rooms when Diane, the middle-aged receptionist at Mayer and Mayer, buzzed to let her know that Koralynn was in the lobby.

The difficult session she was in—a pretrial conference with opposing counsel, during which she’d hoped to work out an agreement allowing her client, the young mother of two, to move across state lines to be close to her parents, who wanted to watch the children for her while she finished her college degree—wasn’t going well. The soon-to-be-ex-husband had not kept a single one of his visitation appointments since leaving his wife for another woman three months before. But was blocking her at every turn as she tried to get on with her life.

Bailey’s mood lifted the second she knew her friend was there. Seeing that she was getting nowhere fast, she ended the meeting, waited just long enough for the attorney to make his exit, and then hurried out to Kora.

“What’s up?” It was summer so not unheard of for Kora to drop by if she was in the area. But the tight expression on her friend’s face sent Bailey into immediate fix-it mode.

“Can you take an early lunch?”

She had one more appointment that morning.

“Maybe. What’s up?” she asked again.

“I want you to go for a drive with me.” She told Bailey about her trip to Mary Ephrain’s home and the presence of the man who’d introduced himself as Bud. “It’s not like I can tell you he did anything wrong. Maybe Liza wasn’t well. Or doing the laundry or something. But he creeped me out, Bail. The way he stood in that doorway, like I’d have to kill him to get by...When Mary got into so much trouble this year, we ran a check from school and there were no police records or doctor’s reports or any other evidence of abuse, but I’m also afraid that I created a problem for at least two innocent people—Mary and her mom—just by showing up at the door. He had no idea who I was, but he was clearly suspicious of me—a stranger asking for Liza. I don’t want him thinking she asked me for help or something behind his back, and taking it out on her. I feel I can’t leave them there without trying to check out the situation a little more. The way that man shut the door on me...My instincts tell me there’s something off.”

“So you want to go back?” Bailey’s nerves tightened.

“I want you to come with me. We can concoct some story—you know, like I’m a long-lost someone trying to surprise Liza, but blew it. You can be my official person, the one who verifies what I’m saying. My lawyer, or whatever. Or maybe we tell her she’s won some award...”