Inconceivable! Read online

  John walked over to his father and punched him square in the jaw. Louisa squealed. We walked out of the room.

  We made our way across Belvoir to the wing that now belonged to Henri, Adela, and Juan.

  A staff member I didn’t recognize led us to their sitting room where they were watching a movie.

  “How did you guys get in here?” Henri said with a half-smile.

  “What’s going on? Hatty, I thought you were in Ethiopia,” Adela said.

  “I was.”

  John sat in a chair across from his brother and Adela. “Our father planted that story about me and Hatty being separated.”

  “Planted the story? I thought you guys really were going through a trial separation,” Adela’s eyes grew wide.

  “Hatty and I are leaving in the morning for Ethiopia. Does that sound like a trial separation? Look, our father is determined to break up my marriage and I won’t stand for it.”

  “But if you leave, are you coming back?” Henri’s voice was thick with concern.

  “Yes. I’ll come back, but I don’t know when. I’m going to Ethiopia to be with Hatty, and we’ll decide as a couple when it’s time to leave. She and I have a lot to discuss. But, I’m not coming back to be king.”

  At this, Henri’s mouth fell open. So did mine.

  “Granny just abdicated. You can’t give up your place in the line of succession now.” Henri’s cheeks bloomed with red blotches as he realized what John was saying.

  John walked over to his brother and put a hand on his shoulder. “You’re ready for this. When I see you with Juan, the patience you have and the love you show him, I know you’re going to be the kind of king Toulene needs. And you come with a baby in hand. So maybe everyone can just relax.”

  “Actually, if you’re leaving the country, there’s something I want to tell you face to face before you go, and we know the timing is terrible.” With a furrowed brow, Henri clasped his brother on the shoulder. Adela took my hand, her face full of concern. Oh no. Did one of them have a serious illness?

  Henri continued. “Adela’s pregnant. We’re going to have another baby. I wasn’t sure how or when to tell the two of you because I can only imagine how this makes you feel.”

  To tell the truth, it was a punch in the gut. Even though my life seemed to be moving in a new, exciting direction, my miscarriage still cast a pall over this moment. But, I’d be damned if I’d let the shadow of what might have been ruin Henri and Adela’s announcement. By rote, I squashed my grief, longing, and heartache, making them compact enough to bury in the recesses of my heart.

  John embraced his brother and I enveloped Adela in my arms. “I’m so happy for you. What’s your due date?”

  “June 6th. A late spring baby!”

  I inhaled quickly. “That’s when our baby would’ve been due.” Another punch. The grief threatened to erupt, but I suppressed it. At least we’d be out of the country, and I wouldn’t have to watch her body bloom into fertile fullness. It was a wretched thought because I loved Henri and Adela and would miss them terribly. But my line of thinking wasn’t about them; it was about self-preservation.

  “I’m glad our family will get to welcome a new baby next June after all,” John said. His words brought palpable relief to the conversation. He conferred our blessing, giving permission for the family to celebrate Henri and Adela’s news. I silently thanked John for having the ability to speak those words.

  We embraced them again and said goodbye. A driver took us to Langbroek. In the car, I sat next to John, dabbing at my eyes when they threatened to overflow with tears.

  In our bedroom, John’s suitcase sat open on the bed, partially filled with the clothes he wanted to take to Ethiopia. I shut the door.

  “Okay. Why, why, why did you tell Henri you’re giving up your claim on the throne? You can’t do that.”

  “I can and I will. I once asked you to give up things that mattered a great deal to you: your degree, your citizenship, your career as a reporter. And now, it’s my turn. I’m willing to make the same sacrifice for the woman I love.”

  “But you were literally born to be king. I can’t let you do this.”

  “I’ve made up my mind. My father isn’t going to leave us alone until you give birth. We can’t live under that kind of pressure. It won’t go away unless I step aside. I’m going to call Lars and ask him to get everyone lined up to come over in the morning so I can sign away my life. He can break the news to my father. But first, tell me about this baby in Ethiopia and why you’re so smitten with her. What’s her name?”

  “Tigist. Isn’t that such a cute name? She’s seven months old and she’s very sick. The nannies say she has a throat problem. She can’t get milk from the bottle when they prop it beside her. That’s what they have to do at night because they don’t have enough staff at the orphanage to hold the bottles while they feed the babies. They think she’s choking on the formula as she drinks it, and that’s why she has pneumonia. When we get there tomorrow, I want to ask if I can bring her to the cottage to stay with us. Do I sound like a crazy person?”

  “You sound like a mother. I can’t wait to meet your little Tigist.”

  While John finished packing, I went to my wardrobe and took out the box containing the baby items I’d squirreled away. I transferred each treasure to my small duffle. When I came to the green sweater I’d bought in Ghent, I lifted it to my cheek. Nestled there, the sweater’s softness and petite perfection embodied all my pregnancy hopes. I refolded it and placed it inside my bag. Then, there was the blanket Tilda gave me for Christmas. It, too, attested to my desires to be a mother. At last, I had a baby who needed these things.

  The next morning, John, his father, Henri, family physician Dr. Cloutier, and Lars Franke sat around a table set up in the Regent’s Room. Lars shuffled papers.

  John broke the uncomfortable silence. “Henri, remember how we used to bring paper and crayons in here so we could create our own versions of the paintings?”

  “Yeah. The best part was how all the women we drew ended up with moustaches and beards and the men had oversized bosoms, earrings, and hair bands.”

  “Please tell me you never tried to draw on the actual paintings.” I asked from my chair by the wall.

  “Never. Do you remember how mum laughed when we gave her our pictures?” John chortled.

  Leopold slammed his fist into the table. “Don’t mention your mother as you’re about to piss all over the one dream she had for your life.” Leopold’s sour face looked incapable of joy.

  Lars cleared his throat. “Dr. Cloutier, you need to sign first.” Lars slid a paper across the table. “This document verifies you believe John’s making this decision with a sound mind.”

  Dr. Cloutier signed and rose from the table. “John, I wish you and Hatty all the best. I suppose now that the pressure’s gone, she’ll be able to get pregnant.” He laughed awkwardly.

  He still didn’t get it. Infertility is not a state of mind.

  Leopold shook hands with Dr. Cloutier, and thanked him for his time. As the elderly man left the room, I wondered how a physician could be so clueless as to suggest stress alone had stood in our way of conceiving.

  “John, it’s your turn to sign. I need your signature here, here, and here. Each page outlines the terms of the abdication. As you know, this decision is irrevocable and takes effect the moment you sign. Do you have any questions?” Lars slid off his reading glasses and stared at John.

  “No. I understand.” John was already moving his pen across the signature line of the first page.

  Leopold sighed as John finished. Henri watched, his face uncharacteristically solemn.

  Flipping to another page, Lars pushed the paper to Leopold. “Your Majesty, you sign here, primarily as a witness.”

  John handed the pen to his father who hastily added his signature.

  “And Prince Henri, your signature acknowledges your new place in the line of succession.”

  Henri compl
eted the process by quickly signing his name.

  “That’s all. I’ll just make sure we get the requisite number of copies made, and I’ll file them in the proper places. I know you may not announce this news right away. But the law requires me to place the papers in the public archive today. I’ll be as discreet as possible. But an enterprising journalist could find these.”

  Lars’ words stirred my dormant career aspirations. A part of me still longed to be a reporter. Being a columnist was rewarding, but I missed the thrill of digging and investigating.

  “Thank you, Lars,” Leopold said. Then he turned to John. “You know, I never thought I’d see this day. Your mother wouldn’t believe this.” Leopold drummed his fingers on the table.

  “Mum would be glad I’m happy,” John said with certainty. “I wish you and Henri all the best. Father, I want to apologize for punching you. I know you have the country’s best interest at heart, even if at times, that’s put me and you at odds. I forgive you and hope you’ll forgive me.”

  John turned to Henri and they embraced.

  “I look forward to hearing about whatever you end up doing in Ethiopia,” Henri said, smiling. “I know the Internet connection is unreliable in such a remote place, but do stay in touch.”

  “Of course. And if we’re still in Ethiopia when the baby arrives, I expect to see photos of my new niece or nephew from you before they’re plastered all over Xpress.com,” John said.

  They hugged one last time. Leopold remained seated, and John laid a hand on his father’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

  “Goodbye, Dad.”

  John and I walked out of the room. Lars followed us.

  In the hallway, John shook hands again with Lars.

  “Thank you, my friend. I’m sorry to part on a somber note, but we need to be on our way to Ethiopia. Hatty’s helping take care of a baby girl who’s quite sick.”

  “Is she an orphan?”

  “She is,” I responded. “One of the nannies told me they have paperwork for her adoption, but they haven’t matched her to a family because she’s so sick. When she recovers from pneumonia, I think they plan to find someone to adopt her.”

  “Maybe they already have. Would the two of you ever consider being her parents?

  “I think it’s a possibility. It’s an option that’s on the table now that I’m no longer bound by Toulene’s laws of succession,” John said.

  I looked at John in surprise. “Wait. So, you’re interested in adoption?”

  “I’m free now, Hatty.”

  “If you do decide to adopt her, let me know. I can take care of all the paperwork here, and I have a colleague in Eritrea who can travel to Ethiopia and help with the necessary filings there.”

  John put his arm around me. “I suspect we’ll be in touch.”

  At John’s words, happiness overtook me, causing my hands to shake. Were we going to be parents? And not parents to just any child, but the child who’d already carved out a cozy place in my heart? The possibility conjured up such joy, tears swelled in my eyes. I wiped away the pockets of water with my sleeve before anyone saw.

  amush stood at the arrivals gate, beaming and waving to us as we walked into the busy terminal. Traveling with John meant breezing through customs and immigration thanks to the diplomatic clearances on his passport, a perk afforded exclusively to world leaders and royalty. They could travel anywhere without the usual visa hoops the rest of us faced. John’s passport had no expiration date, a perk that remained in place because he retained his title.

  “Do you know how Tigist is doing?” I hugged Mamush.

  “Still in the clinic, but she is stable. Alemtsehay wanted me to tell you she’s been feeding Tigist herself while you’ve been away.”

  “That’s a relief. I’m sorry, Mamush. This is my husband, John. And of course, you remember Bernard.” Good old Bernard still had to travel with us, even though John abdicated.

  Mamush extended his hand, and John hugged him. “Nice to meet you, Mamush. Show me where we get our bags.”

  Mamush drove us straight to the orphanage. When we arrived, Tigist was asleep, snoring loudly. The IV was gone, and her skin felt cool. Still, they’d kept her in the clinic for observation.

  “She is doing much better,” Alemtsehay said, wiping her hands on her apron.

  John bent over the low bed. Then, he got down on his knees and lifted Tigist’s right hand. He stroked the back of it.

  “She casts a spell, doesn’t she?” I put my hand on John’s shoulder.

  “Can we take her with us?”

  “I don’t know. Alemtsehay, what do you think?”

  “Ask Desta. She will decide.”

  John rested his lips on Tigist’s forehead before we left. Desta must have heard we were here. She met us on the front porch of the clinic building.

  “John. It’s so nice to meet you. What do you think of our little Tigist?”

  “I think she needs to come with us. Is that possible?”

  “We can probably arrange that. But how long will she stay with you?”

  “As long as we’re in Ethiopia,” John said.

  “And how long will that be?” Desta glanced at me.

  “We’ll stay as long as someone needs us,” John replied. “I know you’re short-staffed here. I want to make sure Tigist gets the care she needs. Hatty’s willing to do it and so am I.”

  “Come to my office. We need to sign some papers before I can let you take her.” More paperwork? God help us.

  I cuddled against John on the tiny sofa in the cottage, the rough fabric grating against my legs. Though we had none of the luxuries of Langbroek Palace, I felt completely at peace, truly at home. Actually, there was one remaining luxury: Bernard and whichever guard would come every few months to relieve him. We might have to fold our own clothes, but we wouldn’t have to worry about pickpockets.

  “Does she always snore like that?” John nodded toward the bedroom where Tigist’s breath noisily pushed in and out of her throat.

  “Yes. We probably won’t sleep tonight,” I said, pulling my hair back into a ponytail. The sun was already gone, and evening ushered a nice breeze through the cottage.

  I heard John inhale deeply. “Is the condition in her throat a lifelong problem?”

  “I don’t think so. The doctor at the orphanage said she’ll outgrow it. In the meantime, she needs someone to feed her or she’ll keep aspirating the formula. That’s what causes her pneumonia.” I sounded like Hatty Meinrad, M.D.

  “And that’s where you come in, making sure she has the bottle in the optimal position each time she drinks.” John squeezed my arms as he usually did when he was offering to give me a massage. I repositioned myself to let him work his magic.

  “How did you ever learn to do this? You were a king-in-waiting, so weren’t you on the receiving end of most massages?”

  “True. But when you’ve had so many massages, you figure out how to do it.” He dug his strong fingers into the tight muscles of my shoulders.

  “How long are we staying?” With my back to him, I felt more comfortable broaching the topic.

  “I wanted to ask you the same thing,” he said as he kneaded my back.

  “I don’t know. I suppose it hinges on the health of the little snore machine in the other room. I know she’s not mine, but I can’t take her back to the orphanage. My need to protect her isn’t something I can just set aside.”

  “I understand. She’s so precious. And did you see the way she pulled the spoon to her mouth when I fed her dinner? Then she grabbed my finger with such strength. It surprised me given her size and health problems.”

  I heard a sparkle in his voice. It had been MIA for months. In the span of a few hours since we arrived, Tigist had captured him with her long Venus flytrap eyelashes and sweet smile.

  “So, what do we do?” I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear his answer.

  “I’m here with you now. Isn’t that enough?” he said, stroking my hair in t
he tender way that had become so known to me during our marriage.

  As he removed my clothes, I released my expectations. I let go of my ideas about the way things were supposed to be. We made love by doing what pleased ourselves and each other rather than optimizing sex for procreation. Our passion and inventiveness (let’s give this position a whirl) reminded me of the early days of our marriage, the time before infertility joined us between the sheets.

  After we finished, I rested in John’s arms.

  “You know, we’re completely untethered. At the risk of tarnishing my tough girl image, I have to admit I’m a little scared. You’re out of a job, man. I guess I can keep writing for The Guardian. But what are we supposed to do now?”

  “You make it sound like we’re penniless. We’ll always have access to my family’s resources.”

  “I know. It’s just that we don’t have a plan. For the first time. Ever.”

  He stroked his chin, deep in thought. “I can grow a beard. You keep submitting your columns and finish your degree. We’ll figure it out”

  “I like it. Sounds like a plan, Stan.”

  ilda, we’ll be there, I promise! I wouldn’t miss walking you down the aisle for anything!” I said into the phone.

  I nearly LOL’d every time I thought about me and Tilda strolling toward the front of the church together so I could give her away. Her boyfriend became her fiancé Monday when he handed her a stack of printed bills his boss was co-sponsoring with Assemblyman Aalders. A platinum diamond ring sat on top of the papers.

  “I can’t wait to see you and meet Tigist!” Tilda was practically squealing. We now had full custody of this darling baby, even though she wasn’t legally our daughter… yet. John was the one who suggested we take her to a children’s hospital in London during our trip to Toulene for Tilda’s wedding. A team of doctors planned to evaluate her so we could take whatever steps were necessary to prevent the recurrence of pneumonia.

  “Do you remember how I told you that not getting pregnant made me feel like a complete failure?”