Happy Endings

by Sally Quinn

  She put her arms around him and hugged him. He draped his arms around her and they held on to each other for several moments.

  “Ah, Holy Mother,” he said, sucking in his breath and then heaving it out. “I think I’ll be okay. Let’s go in with Willie.”

  He had been placed on another bed and assigned a nurse. A doctor explained that his I.V. would be changed to 5 percent dextrose and quarter normal saline and that they were allowed to sit with him. The hospital had made available one of the private parents’ rooms, rooms in which Des had already spent too much time.

  They decided to wait with Willie. Sadie sat on a chair on one side of the bed holding one hand while Des sat on a chair on the other side of the bed holding the other. Neither one of them talked, but when they did look at each other it was with the understanding of shared suffering. Sadie found herself kissing Willie’s hand. Des rubbed his forehead. She was struck again, as always, by how much they looked alike; the shape of the eyebrows, the nose, the square jaw, the full lower lip, not to mention the black curly hair. How could anyone not guess immediately that Des was the father? Probably because it was so out of the question. Willie was the President’s son. It wouldn’t occur to anyone to think otherwise.

  She was devouring his handsome little face when suddenly he moaned and began to move around; he blinked his eyes and opened them for a second.

  “Willie, angel. Are you awake?” she was breathless. “Mommy’s here. Mommy’s here and I love you.”

  “Mommy?” came this tiny, weak voice. “Mommy?”

  “Yes, angel. I’m right here. Mommy’s here.”

  He started to whimper and then fell back asleep.

  The nurse had seen Willie and come over to check on him.

  “He’s starting to wake up now,” she said and smiled. “He’ll be in and out for the rest of the night. Do you want to go to the parents’ waiting room and try to get some sleep? I think he’ll be fine. I can get someone to call you if he wakes up again.”

  “I think I’ll stay here,” said Sadie. “I don’t want him to wake up and be frightened about where he is. But Des, why don’t you go and lie down. I’ll be okay.”

  Des looked relieved but he came around to the other side of the bed and put his hand over hers, the one that was holding Willie’s. For just a moment the three hands were entwined.

  * * *

  The next morning the doctors and nurses couldn’t wait to get Willie out of the I.C.U. He was sitting up, wide awake, wiggling, trying to get off the bed, chatting up a storm, so full of energy it was exhausting to look at him. Everyone in the I.C.U. was all smiles at his plucky little grin, at the look of love and relief on his mother’s face.

  Des couldn’t keep his hands off Willie and insisted on carrying him up to Four Blue, where he had been assigned for the rest of the day as a precautionary measure.

  Monica, devastated and racked with guilt, had arrived with a few cosmetics for Sadie, tea and coffee for both of them, and a change of clothes for Willie. She was planning to spend the day. There was really no need for Des to stay.

  He went over to the bed where Willie was playing with a toy Monica had brought him. He picked him up, giving him a huge hug, holding on so tightly Sadie thought he would never let go.

  “I’m glad you’re okay, ole buddy,” Des said. “You had your ole man pretty scared there for a while.”

  Sadie glanced quickly at Monica but she had not picked up on what Des had said.

  “Don’t go, Uncle Des.”

  “I have to, pal,” said Des, trying to tear himself away.

  “Will you come back and roughhouse with me?” He pronounced it “wufhouse.”

  “Yes, I will. I’ll come back and wufhouse with you. That’s a promise.”

  Dear Des,

  You were wonderful the other night with Willie and with me. I could never have gotten through that ordeal without you. I know how awful it must have been for you for so many reasons. What happened made me realize how important you are to Willie and to me. There must be a way that you can play a larger part in his life without compromising your own situation. You are his father. He needs you. So do I.

  Love,

  Sadie

  Dear Michael,

  I’m sure Monica explained why I had to cancel lunch. I had such a terrible scare with Willie I don’t think I’ll ever get over it.

  I’ve been thinking a lot about you recently. And about you and me. It’s very painful for me to admit it, but I think you may be right.

  I don’t think it could work. Even if I could ever manage to convince you that I love you, I think you would always be suspicious and that lack of trust would ultimately cause you to hurt me.

  We’ve talked so much about you in this relationship. Your pain, your fears, your conflicts, your needs. I feel as if I’ve been almost peripheral. But the fact is this latest episode with Willie reminded me that I’ve had a great deal of pain in my life, too. I have fears and needs and conflicts, the same as you. But you seem to be so busy concentrating on yourself that there’s no room for me. You said, when we first met at La Samanna, that you wanted someone with whom to “share the pain.” But you don’t want to share mine. You don’t want me to share yours. You want it all to yourself. You don’t want to share love either. You have never learned to give love or to take love. Until you do, I’m afraid you’ll never really be able to make it work with anyone.

  It’s a shame. Because I really have loved you.

  We seem to have been relying rather heavily on Proverbs in our communications. This time around, I think First Corinthians expresses best what I want to say to you.

  “Love is patient and kind,

  Love is not jealous or boastful,

  It is not arrogant or rude.

  Love does not insist on its own way,

  It is not irritable or resentful,

  It does not rejoice at wrong,

  But rejoices in the right.

  Love bears all things,

  Believes all things,

  Hopes all things,

  Endures all things.”

  We don’t have that. I’m sorry.

  Love,

  Sadie

  16

  She was having trouble sleeping. She had finally agreed to pills, though she hated being medicated. It was admitting weakness but she was exhausted. She simply couldn’t do her work, and without her work she couldn’t survive. It was the only thing that kept her going.

  Even with the sleeping pills she had terrible dreams. Des would have to wake her because she was screaming almost every night. She would sit up in bed, her body trembling, trying to remember where she was. It was when she remembered that the pain struck, compressing her like a vise, squeezing the life out of her.

  Three A.M. That’s when it happened. She never got back to sleep after that. If she hadn’t gone to bed early enough she would be wiped out for the rest of the day. Fatigue made her depressed. Depression made her drink. The booze and the pills kept her from sleeping all night. Then she could barely function the next day. Around and around and around.

  But no matter whether she was rested or tired, drunk or sober, she could never, not for one second of one minute of one hour of one day, forget Kay Kay. Her dead child’s image was engraved on the inside of her brain, a scrim she had to look through in order to see the world.

  * * *

  On this particular Thursday evening in February she had had too much to drink. She knew it was a mistake. She didn’t care. Usually Des would try to keep a lid on her drinking, which she only did after work. Des, who was well known for enjoying his “wee taste” of Irish whiskey, was hardly drinking at all. Allison, who only drank wine, and then rarely more than a glass or two, was beginning to consume nearly a whole bottle every night. Thursday was the late night at the Weekly’s bureau. Des wouldn’t be around to put ice and soda in her glass. The ugliest word in any language had become spritzer. She had knocked off a bottle and more or less passed out around e
leven o’clock before Des came home. She had begun dreaming right away.

  She was on an ocean liner. It wasn’t a very beautiful ship. The floors were covered with sewage and garbage. Mold, spores, and fungus grew on everything. She didn’t want to touch anything. She tried to find her way out of the mire but everywhere she walked green slime came oozing through her toes. It was horrible and disgusting.

  Everyone she loved was on the ocean liner. Her mother, her father, her grandmother, Uncle Rog and Aunt Molly, Des and Kay Kay.

  There was also a famous movie star on board. He wanted Allison to sleep with him. He was tantalized by the fact that she wore only sweat pants and no top, leaving her breasts exposed. She wanted to have sex with him, too, not because she had any emotional feeling for him. It was pure lust.

  Finally he pushed her up against a wall and took her. After it was over he yawned and walked away. She felt dirty.

  The ocean liner capsized and it was complete turmoil and she couldn’t find anyone. She managed to get out and get on a lifeboat. She thought Des had followed her and was safe. But when she turned around she realized that her whole family, everyone she loved, had gone down with the ship.

  Back on land there was a huge parade, with thousands of people lining the streets and in the stands. They were there to welcome back the survivors. Des was supposed to be leading the parade but he had died in the shipwreck. With no one to lead it, the parade was canceled. The crowd became very angry at Allison. They blamed her for the fact that everyone had died. Someone booed loudly at her and then everyone picked up on it. They booed and hissed and screamed, chanting her name in an ominous way. Then somebody threw a rotten tomato at her and hit her in the face. Then more rotten food. Then pails of slop and garbage and sewage. This time she didn’t just have it oozing through her toes. This time her entire body, every single pore, was covered with green slime, as the crowd kept up their chant, “Allison!”

  “Allison! Allison! Allison!” Des was leaning over her, shaking her awake.

  Her nightshirt was completely soaked, her hair damp and matted. Her teeth were chattering. She was breathing rapidly, as if she had been running very fast.

  “Sonny. Wake up. You’re having nightmares again.”

  She sat up, still half asleep.

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” she mumbled.

  “Sonny,” said Des. “It’s all right. It’s okay. It’s just a dream. It’ll be okay.”

  He tried to hold her to him but she pulled away, trembling.

  “Oh Des,” she said finally, when her breathing had slowed and her body had quieted down. “I don’t think I can stand this anymore. Nothing works. I drink or don’t, I take sleeping pills or don’t. I still keep having these horrible nightmares. They’re always the same theme. I’m a vile, terrible, disgusting person. They stick with me all day, like the green slime in my dreams sticking to my body. I can’t get them out of my head. I dread the night so. I don’t know what to do.”

  “Poor Sonny,” he said. “Poor Sonny.”

  He coaxed her to lie back down and he stroked her head gently.

  “Just relax,” he said. “Just try to relax. Maybe that will help.”

  “It won’t help, Des. The only thing that will help is if I have a lobotomy, if they remove half of my brain and destroy my memory. That would help.” She sounded completely defeated.

  They lay together for a while. It was very windy outside and the branches of their dogwood tree were hitting up against the back side of the house. The combination of the wind and the brushing noise made it sound as though someone were being beaten and moaning in pain.

  “Have you thought of… of calling Rachel?”

  “I’ve thought of it. I can’t see what good it would do. My baby’s dead. A shrink won’t bring her back. I would be crazy if I weren’t upset.”

  “I know that.” He was careful not to sound critical, patronizing. “I’m talking about the dreams. She might be able to help you figure them out. She might have some exercises to help you get rid of them. That’s all I meant. She’s really smart and she’s helped you before.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe I’ll think about it. I’m just so tired. So very tired.”

  * * *

  She had been to Rachel Solomon before. When she and Des split up the first time, several years ago. It had been a major crisis and she had finally come to the conclusion that she didn’t want to buy into the pain anymore. It was a very mature, evolved discovery. Rachel had helped her understand that on some level she had been pushing Des away. She had already lost the three people she loved most in the world. As painful as it was, it was familiar. She was used to it. She didn’t know anything else. To lose Des fit into that same old familiar, comfortable pattern regardless of how much anguish it caused.

  She adored Rachel. Rachel was wise and caring. She had learned a lot from her. If she had stayed in Washington she probably would have continued to see her. But then she went to London and was traveling so much she never seemed to have the time to get back into therapy. Besides, it hurt too much. She was much better off, she decided, if she could repress the pain. When she came back, she and Des got together right away and it looked as if they were going to have a happy ending. But it seemed that, for her, happy endings didn’t exist.

  She had thought of seeing Rachel again in the two months since Kay Kay had died. It was the first time she had actively considered it since she had left for London. But as she said to Des, Rachel couldn’t bring back her baby. She had managed to throw herself into her work right after the New Year. Everyone tried to persuade her to take some time off, go somewhere, not rush it. Not rush it? Where the hell was she supposed to go? What was she supposed to do? Would lying on a beach in Bali eradicate the awful sorrow that was in her soul?

  It was only at the office, where she now spent at least twelve to fourteen hours a day, that she wasn’t in absolute hell. Even exhausted, even enveloped in sadness, it was the only thing that remotely served as an antidote to her pain. The newsroom was open, busy, noisy, and, late in the afternoon, frenzied. There was no possibility of being contemplative, of thinking about herself, of dwelling on Kay Kay’s death.

  For this reason she had not called Rachel. She would only have to deal with it if she did. She didn’t want to deal with it. She had not cried once since that night in the shower. She had tried to steel herself against thinking about it. She had tried to shove it way back in the recesses of her brain. She did not want to grieve. She did not want to mourn. It was over and done with. It was time to move on. She had to move on to survive. If only she weren’t having these horrible dreams.

  She also didn’t want to be around Des. The only time they saw each other lately was late in the evening or early in the morning. In the evening she was drunk. In the morning she had a hangover. This was just as well because Des was dealing with his grief differently and it was making her extremely angry.

  Des had fallen back on his religion. He was getting up early every morning to go to Mass, which he had never done in his life. He had a Bible on his bedside table that he read at night. Sundays he would often go to Mass twice. Several days a week he would meet with a priest he had befriended at Holy Trinity Church in Georgetown. He talked regularly to his brother on the phone.

  If Allison had felt excluded before, she was feeling totally alone now. Not only did she not believe in God, but if there was a God it was Des’s God who had taken Kay Kay away. How he could get down on his knees and pray to this evil was beyond her. How he could worship a God capable of, responsible for, this monstrous act was appalling to her. How he could love and look to this hateful God for guidance simply enraged her.

  As if this weren’t bad enough, while she was fighting fiercely to contain her grief and her emotions, Des was also a basket case. She had never seen him cry before Kay Kay died. Now he cried all the time. He cried during commercials while they were watching the news at bedtime. He cried reading the newspaper in the
morning. Every time he mentioned Kay Kay he would cry. He would try to hold on to her in bed at night and he would cry. So far he hadn’t tried to make love to her. She didn’t think she could bear that. She was devoid of any sexual feeling. The idea of it made her sick. In fact, she didn’t really want to be touched by anyone. Des seemed to have just the opposite reaction. He got a great deal of solace out of touching her, embracing her. All she wanted to do was push him away. She felt violated when he tried to put his arms around her. It was as if he were intruding on her privacy, invading the invisible shield she had surrounded herself with in order to protect herself from more pain. Sometimes she felt like screaming at him, “Just leave me alone. Stay away. Don’t inflict your grief on me.” She also didn’t want to ever love anyone again. It hurt too much to lose them. As trite as that sounded she understood at the very core of her being that if she were to survive, this was the only way.

  She was filled with rage. Everything Des did made her angry. Everything he said sent her into a frenzy of fury. That was one of the reasons she didn’t want to be around him. On some level she knew she was blaming him irrationally for Kay Kay’s death, as if he really had anything to do with it. It was his God who was responsible and she didn’t even believe in him, so she took it out on Des. She just couldn’t help it even though she knew it really didn’t make any sense.

  * * *

  Rachel Solomon was not surprised when she called. She had heard about the baby’s death and had written Allison. Allison thanked her politely for the note and made an appointment to see her.

  “I’m having these terrible nightmares,” she told her, very matter-of-factly. “They’re keeping me awake and then I’m almost too exhausted to do my work. I really need to find some sort of exercise to get rid of them and I thought you might be able to help.”