Harold and LInda

Harold and Linda were married in a church neither of them had ever attended. They held hands during the ceremony as the sunlight passing through the stained glass shown pale red on Linda’s dress and blue on Harold’s tuxedo. At the minister’s command, they kissed and the onlookers clapped.

They moved into a reasonably priced apartment two and a half miles from the university where they’d met and from which Harold had graduated. They had friends still attending the university and Linda picked the apartment with an eye to convenience.

Harold found a job fitting his field of study. Entry level with a decent starting salary. The company was large, but his team wasn’t. His coworkers were young, and he was the youngest. Half were married and three had children. Once in a while, usually on a Thursday evening, three or four of the group went out for beers. They invited Harold to join them any time.

Linda took a part time position as a receptionist at the university’s clinic. She worked afternoons three days a week and every other Saturday. Her job was to hand a clipboard to red-nosed, or sometimes red-faced, students and ask what insurance they had. She spent much of her time surfing the web until one afternoon in line at the market, she spotted a book of crossword puzzles. She took to these puzzles and soon had a stack of books and newspapers at the reception desk and another at home.

Seven months after they were married Harold and Linda began making the rounds to friends and family announcing Linda’s pregnancy. Both of their mothers were thrilled and Harold’s father vigorously shook his son’s hand and took him into the garage for a cigar. Linda’s friends screamed, and Harold’s punched his arm and kidded him about being a grown up.

Despite their intentions the apartment’s second bedroom had become storage. A place for unwanted wedding presents, childhood memorabilia and other unused items. Soon after their announcement Harold rented a storage unit and they began the process of making piles. To keep. To store. To toss. Linda started touring yard sales with her mother and aunt, and visiting the mall with her friends. By her eighth month she joked that they had brought in more than they’d taken away.

Harold and Linda were home when Linda felt the first contraction. Harold grabbed her bag and they hurried to the hospital. On the way Linda called her mother and left a message with Harold’s parents. Once at the hospital Linda was placed in bed in a small room, and Harold stood by holding her hand. He winced when she cried out. And when the pain subsided he patted her head with a damp cloth. When her head rolled to one side he spoke a word of thanks that she could rest.

Things moved quickly once the nurse spotted blood. Linda was rushed into an operating room while Harold was led into a waiting area. Linda’s mother arrived. Then Harold’s parents. They hugged, spoke softly, and waited. Harold paced and his mother watched him. Three times she started to rise, but each time Harold’s father laid a hand on her arm. Linda’s mother sat with her feet curled beneath her.

When the doctor appeared, she walked toward them slowly. The three parents rose. Harold stopped and stood. The doctor approached, scanned the waiting faces, then focused on Harold. Linda’s mother exhaled sharply. Harold’s parents held to one another. The child, the doctor said, is fine. And Harold collapsed into tears.