it was why they had stayed married; why, even now, he could not contemplate divorce.
Sarah would have worked something out. She would have made him squirm and suffer for a while, perhaps for a long time. But she would have agreed to the adoption, and the one who would not have suffered at all would have been the child. Sarah would have seen to that; she was that kind of person. He thought: if only...
Demerest said aloud, "Life's full of goddamned 'if onlys.' "
He leveled out at six thousand feet, advancing the throttles to maintain speed. The jet whine rose in pitch.
Harris had been busy changing radio frequencies and---now they had passed the handoff point---reporting to Chicago Center. He asked, "Did you say something?" Demerest shook his head.
The storm's turbulence was as bad as ever, the aircraft still being thrown around.
"Trans America Two, we have you in radar contact," a new voice from Chicago Center rasped.
Harris was still attending to communications.
Vernon Demerest reasoned: So far as Gwen was concerned, he might just as well make a decision now.
All right, he decided; he would face Sarah's tears and denunciations, and perhaps her anger, but he would tell her about Gwen.
He would admit his responsibdity for Gwen's pregnancy.
At home, the resulting hysteria might last several days and the aftereffects for weeks or even months, during which time he would suffer mightily. But when the worst was over they would work something out. Strangely---and he supposed it showed his confidence in Sarah---he had not the slightest doubt they would.
He had no idea what they might do, and a good deal would depend on Gwen. Despite what the doctor had just said about the seriousness of Gwen's injuries, Demerest had a conviction she would come through. Gwen had spunk and courage; even unconsciously she would fight to live, and eventually, whatever impairment she suffered, would adjust to it. She would also have her own ideas about the baby. She might not give it up easily or at all. Gwen was not one to be pushed around, or to be told what to do. She did her own thinking.
The result might be that he would have two women on his hands---plus child---instead of one. That would take some working out!
It would also pose the question: just how far would Sarah go?
God!---what a mess.
But now that his own first decision was taken, he had the conviction that something good might result. He reflected grimly: For all it was going to cost him, in anguish and hard cash, it better had.
The unwinding altimeter showed they were passing through five thousand feet.
There would be the child, of course. Already be was beginning to think of that part in a new and different way. Naturally, he wouldn't let himself get sickly sentimental, the way some people---Anson Harris, for example---were about children; but it would be his child, after all. The experience would certainly be new.
What was it Gwen had said in the car on their way to the airport tonight?... a little Vernon Demerest inside me. If we had a boy we could call him Vernon Demerest, Junior, the way Americans do.
Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea. He chuckled.
Harris glanced sideways. "What are you laughing at?"
Demerest exploded. "I'm not laughing! Why the hell would I laugh? What is there for any of us to laugh about?"
Harris shrugged, "I thought I heard you."
"That's the second time you've heard things that didn't happen. After this check ride I suggest you have an ear checkup."
"There's no need to be unpleasant."
"Isn't there? Isn't there?" Demerest came angrily alert. "Maybe what this whole situation needs is for someone to get unpleasant."
"If that's true," Harris said, "there's no one better qualified than you."
"Then when you're through with damnfool questions, start flying again, and let me talk to those duffers on the ground."
Anson Harris slid his seat forward. "If you want to, why not?" He nodded. "I have it."
Relinquishing the controls, Demerest reached for the radio mike. He felt better, stronger, for a decision taken. Now he would contend with more immediate things. He let his voice grate harshly. "Chicago Center, this is Captain Demerest of Trans America Two. Are you still listening down there, or have you taken sleeping pills and quit?"
"This is Chicago Center, Captain. We're listening, and no one's quit." The controllers voice held a note of reproach; Demerest ignored it.
"Then why in blazes aren't we getting action? This flight is in serious trouble. We need help."