John Strickland was in town for most of July, and when Will wasn’t occupied with other university responsibilities, John kept him busy with plans and meetings—and on the golf course, as well.
“I’m going to shoot six under par by the end of the summer if it’s the last thing I do,” Will said one morning on his way out for a round of golf with John.
Becca waved him off from her half-reclining position on the leather sofa in their peaceful, window-enclosed family room. Sewing sequins to a silky appliqué, she pondered Will’s parting remark. She’d had no idea he felt such passion for his performance on the golf course. She’d known he enjoyed the game, of course. How could she not, considering the number of times a year he played? She’d just never realized his actual score was important to him. Or what under par meant, for that matter.
Was it the first time he’d ever mentioned it? Or had she just never listened before?
Becca had a terrible feeling it was the latter.
The time they had free that summer, they spent in the company of others. With Sari and Bob, Randi and her friends, sometimes John. Sometimes Martha, who—other than receiving a generous check every two weeks from someplace in Connecticut—had not heard from her estranged husband at all. When Becca and Will were alone, their conversations were too fraught with pitfalls that neither of them understood.
They spoke little.
Becca made sure she did any business she needed to do while Will was out of the house, leaving his office to him when he was home.
Which also helped keep them apart.
On the first Monday in August, in her seventh month of pregnancy, she and Will drove to Phoenix for an ultrasound. They were also picking up Todd’s replacement, Phyllis Langford, from the airport while they were in town. During the drive, Becca questioned Will about the new psychology professor. Anything to take her mind off the upcoming ultrasound.
“She seems a very down-to-earth, dependable type of woman,” Will told her. “Highly intelligent.”
Sounded as though Phyllis was someone Becca would like. Right now, though, she liked the excuse of not thinking about what lay ahead even better. “Describe her appearance.”
“Red hair, a bit overweight, medium height, dresses tastefully. Pretty.”
They still had a few miles to go. Thank God.
“She’s not married?”
Of course she wasn’t; she was coming alone.
“No,” Will said patiently.
“Has she ever been married?”
He shot her a sideways glance. “Yes, Bec, she has, though my teachers’ love lives aren’t part of the interview process. She simply happened to tell me in conversation.”
“She’s coming from Boston College, you said?”
“That’s right.”
They were getting far too close to the clinic for Becca’s comfort. She could hardly breathe.
“Is that her alma mater?”
“No. She graduated from Yale.”
Will made a left turn, and they were only a few streets away from the ultrasound place. Please, God, let my baby be all right. Let them find both heart ventricles, all the valves and organs—everything they need to find.
“How old did you say she was?” Becca asked.
Will reached over and held her hand. “I didn’t, but I’d guess she’s about thirty-four.”
“Just a bit older than Randi.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“And she’s never had any children?”