The Unfinished Child Read Online Free PDF Page B

to point at something, she could feel the skin beneath her arms swinging from the bone. Batwings, someone had called them, and she’d hated that term with a passion. No, sleep-deprivation hadn’t aged Elizabeth. She looked ready for anything. Marie looked forward to the possibility of an afternoon nap.
    Sophia moved from Elizabeth’s lap and flung herself at the box of crayons on the floor next to the table. Marie saw a look of longing cross her friend’s face. Look at me! she wanted to shout. I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in three years, and I haven’t showered in three days. I can’t even remember if I brushed my teeth this morning. I’m not doing this well!
    Just then, Elizabeth confided, “We’re off to the clinic after this. Round one.”
    “Really? That’s great.” At least she thought it was. Was it?
    “We’ve been waiting for over a year,” she’d said. “Apparently Ron and I aren’t the only ones having trouble populating the planet.”
    Marie had crossed her fingers and held them up for luck. She wracked her brain for something encouraging. “Good luck,” she finally said. “Let me know how it goes.”
    The doorbell rang. “That’ll be Ron,” Elizabeth said, standing. “He dropped me off.”
    Before Marie knew it, Ron was inside her house, saying hi to the girls and kissing her cheek in a chaste greeting. She felt grubby and overweight under his gaze. If she’d known he was coming she would have showered and made an effort to look good. Marie wanted to cry for the lost opportunity and for the way Ron looked at Elizabeth with a mixture of passion and pride. Almost immediately he had his arm around her, as if he’d been off balance without her by his side.
    Marie smiled ruefully at her younger, vainer self. She’d spent so much time wanting to tidy not just herself, but her house as well. And now her girls were well past the stage of crawling into her bed, day or night, trailing the playground and their last snack along with them. She’d gotten used to having clean sheets; was it wrong to be happy those days were gone? To not want to repeat them?
    Barry was right—she did feel guilty. Why else wouldn’t she have told Elizabeth at dinner the previous week that she’d missed her period? Those were conversations you had with your best friend. Instead, Marie had circled the baby and ordered dessert instead. She’d even licked the plate clean. If she’d been alone, she might have ordered another slice. It would be Elizabeth’s fault if her weight was up again.
    Or the baby’s.
    She did the math again. A late summer baby meant she’d be heavy and hot through July and August. She’d gain at least fifty pounds. Her ankles would swell. Sweat would bloom beneath her heavy breasts that would flagrantly flop onto her damp stomach. She’d been through two pregnancies; she knew exactly what to expect, and much of it wasn’t in the least bit attractive.
    Another cracker slowly softened on her tongue. Nicole would soon be thirteen; how embarrassing to have a pregnant mother. It was hard enough going through puberty; did Nicole need living proof of what lay ahead? A daily reminder that her parents were still doing it? Likely she would want a different mother. A slim mother. One who didn’t so visibly flaunt her sexuality. Not a mother who lumbered about, swollen and sporting damp odours and fatigue. Marie could well remember her own thoughts about her mother when she was Nicole’s age. How disgusted she’d been to know she’d come out from the small, dark space between her mother’s legs.
    Yet at times she’d also secretly admired her mother, who sometimes sang at the kitchen sink and who waited in the foyer to take her husband’s coat and kiss his cheek when he returned home from work. There were sensuous secrets about her, and, for a time, she’d made becoming a woman attractive.
    Now Elizabeth would fulfill that role for her girls. She’d stand straight and thin beside