He took two beers out of the chest and took a church key from his pocket to open them. He handed one to me and took a long draw on his. He looked over at me and asked directly, ‘Did you cheat on my daughter with her best friend?’
‘No,’ I answered without elaboration.
‘Edith tells me that all three of you cooked this up together because Mike wanted to have a baby. That’s not just a story made up to hide what actually happened?’
‘No.’ I didn’t elaborate again.
Ian made a motion with his hand to indicate I should drink up. I took a pull on the bottle, but he wasn’t content with that. He again indicated I should drink. I emptied the bottle and he ceremoniously popped the caps off two more beers.
Over the next hour, we talked, between beers, and cleared the air. I told him how Mike’s pregnancy had transpired. I was open about all of it. I left out the fact that Gwen, Mike, and I had become sexually intimate when I met Mike in Paris and the three of re-established the relationship when Mike joined Gwen in California.
By the time Gwen and Mike returned with the twins, Ian was shit-faced and I wasn’t in much better shape. We also seemed on the way back to a normal relationship between a father and his son-in-law. We didn’t quite get there, but we’d come a long way that afternoon. I knew, eventually, we’d be okay again. But our relationship had changed. Ian was in no shape to drive when he decided to go home. Gwen and Mike loaded Ian into the bed of his pick-up and drove him home. I understand Edith had to help them get him into the house and into bed.
Mike’s morning sickness began one Friday in early August. The same day our mail caught up with us. I was in Boston at the foundry, helping Ian to load a sculpture on his pick-up to bring back to his studio for the finishing touches. Gwen and Mike went through the box of mail the mailman dropped. When I got back late that afternoon, it was clear that both Gwen and Mike had been crying. Their eyes were bloodshot. The area below their eyes was puffy and red. Their noses were red and irritated from blowing their noses. I asked what was wrong, fearing someone had died. As far as Gwen and Mike were concerned, I wasn’t far from wrong.
Gwen pointed to an envelope on the dining room table and ran from the room and up the stairs. I could hear her sobbing in the bedroom. I picked up the envelope. It was addressed to me and was from the Selective Service Agency. I opened it and read the letter inside. I had been directed to report to the Selective Service center in Los Angeles for an induction physical. I was already three days late.
Mike tended to the twins while I tried to console Gwen. I told her it was too early to worry. Perhaps I’d flunk the physical or get a deferment because I had young children. I could tell she didn’t buy it. Gwen, Mike and I spent the weekend together. The women split their evening between bouts of nearly uncontrolled crying and making love with me. The twins were upset and cranky all weekend. They sensed something was wrong and it upset them. By the time Monday morning arrived, the three of us were exhausted. Gwen and Mike remained on the verge of emotional breakdown all weekend.