Glue, Baby, Gone

by Joanna Campbell Slan

  The door flew open, nearly hitting Jacey. Detweiler came racing in. He dropped to his knees in front of Kiki. “Sweetheart? You okay? Shhh. It’s going to be all right.”

  “I see,” said Dr. Gretski. “Well, it’s a good thing that you stopped in today, Kiki. I think we can get you back on track.”

  PART IV / CHAPTER 1

  ~Cara Mia Delgatto~

  Dr. Wade Gretski wrote Kiki a prescription for an antidepressant, a generic drug called fluoxetine, otherwise known as Prozac. “This won’t kick in for a couple of weeks.”

  “What does she do until then?” Detweiler was standing over his wife, rubbing her shoulders.

  “Uh, she takes it easy,” said Gretski.

  “That’s all you have to offer?” I was almost amused. How could he send her back out into the world knowing that she wouldn’t get relief for two weeks?

  “Jacey? Any ideas?” Gretski seemed eager to bug out, and frankly, I wasn’t very impressed with the man. “Jacey knows a lot about this. She did a paper on it. I’ll let her take over, if you don’t mind. Kiki? Make another appointment with me so I can see you in two weeks.”

  With that he was gone.

  Jacey slipped into his chair. Steepling her fingers, she leaned closer to us and spoke in a calm, authoritative way. “Actually, there’s a lot you can do. This isn’t Dr. Gretski’s forte. You have to understand that in med school, if it can’t be cut or fixed with a pill, they try to ignore the problem. But I’m going to give you the name of a good friend of mine, an acupuncturist. Believe it or not, there are many studies that show a faster relief from depression, a more long lasting relief, and a more profound relief when acupuncture is used. Especially in conjunction with fluoxetine. In fact, while I wouldn’t tell you to toss Dr. Gretski’s prescription away. I’m thinking you won’t need another script. The acupuncture will give you dramatic results, fast.”

  “Needles?” Detweiler rubbed his chin. “How can they help?”

  “In Chinese medicine, the practitioner concentrates on helping the body heal itself. Depression is a problem caused by stagnation of energy. The needles act as conductors, helping the electric pathways of the body reconnect and recharge.”

  “But will they hurt?” I wondered.

  “Not much. Have you ever plucked a hair? That’s what it feels like. Once in a while, the doctor will place a needle in a sensitive spot and that can sting, but it goes away pretty quickly. In fact, most people fall asleep during treatments. Even with the needles waving in the air.”

  Detweiler didn’t look totally convinced. He asked, “What else can Kiki do? Or can we do for her?”

  “I can suggest a great vitamin supplement. Lifting weights has proven extremely beneficial. Doing tai chi is incredibly helpful because it works to harmonize the body’s energy, too. Getting good sleep is a must. I suggest you take a hot bath in Epsom salts with a touch of lavender oil added to them. That lowers the body’s temperature, which in turn, promotes good sound sleep.”

  She wrote all this down for Kiki. We got up and thanked Jacey.

  “Why didn’t you become a doctor?” Kiki asked, after the nurse gave her a big hug.

  “My parents explained to me that women don’t go to medical school. Silly, right? But back then, I didn’t think it was an option. I’m a licensed nurse practitioner, and believe it or not, I love working with Wade. That’s why I married him.”

  “Oh!” I laughed, and so did Kiki and Detweiler.

  “He’s a good guy, but he’s still a guy. He might not know a lot about alternative medicine, but he’s always willing to listen. Did I mention you might want to take yoga classes? Those are helpful, too. Tell you what. Here’s my phone number. If you have any questions, send me a text-message. I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.”

  Kiki took the business card and studied it. “How do you know all this?”

  Jacey’s face changed. “My older sister had postpartum depression. Twenty years ago. It didn’t end well. I vowed then and there to do as much research as I could into the problem. That’s why I’m totally serious about you calling me. It’s my way of reconnecting with my sister, even though she’s gone. Every time I help another woman through a postpartum depression, I’m doing for that person what I couldn’t do for her.”

  CHAPTER 2

  Kiki and I waited in the prescription drop-off line at the local CVS pharmacy. Once we’d gotten Jacey involved, the entire visit to Dr. Gretski had taken less than twenty minutes. On our way out, she’d hugged both Kiki and me, saying, “I’ll have a talk with our receptionist. She’s well-meaning but over-zealous. Cara? I’m glad you stood up to her.”

  Kiki sent me a smile. “You forgive me for being nasty with you? For fighting you about going to see Gretski?”

  “Of course I do. I’ll probably be even more forgiving and more thankful when you feel better. Needles? Can you believe that? Who would guess that being poked with needles would raise your spirits? Doesn’t make a bit of sense to me.”

  “Yup. Thanks heaps, Cara, for turning me into a human pincushion.” To that, she added a playful punch to my bicep. Although we hadn’t walked out of the doctor’s office with a solution, we’d been given a more powerful medicine: hope. Kiki’s whole demeanor seemed buoyant.

  “I bet you’ll find a way to scrapbook this, and the needles.”

  “I’ll certainly do my best.” We got to the counter and Kiki handed over the slip of paper.

  “We’re backed up. This is going to take at least twenty minutes.” The young man wore a badge that claimed he was a pharmacy tech. To me, he looked about the same age as my son, Tommy. That’s life. You get older and the rest of the world gets younger. But then, what’s the alternative?

  “Okay.” Kiki turned to me. “How about if we grab a cart and cruise the aisles? We might as well enjoy ourselves because once we get my pills, we need to hurry back to the store. I’m feeling the need to express myself, if you get my drift.”

  We combed the sale shelves and scored two half-price, cinnamon scented candles, Anya’s favorite. That gave Kiki the idea to run up front and grab a sales circular. From that, we ripped out a coupon for two-for-one nail polish. It took us a while to decide but we chose a sunrise orange and a cool, cobalt blue. Next we hit the snacks display. The Blue Diamond almonds were on sale, so we grabbed four bags. Two were for the store, and two for her house. A circular rack nearby was loaded with postcards. I chose a colorful collage featuring the famous Clydesdales. That would go to Skye Blue, who loves horses. For MJ, I found a picture of the historic Old Cathedral, because she’s a history buff. For Honora, I hoped to get a postcard that showed photos from the St. Louis Miniature Museum, one of my favorite places in the whole world. Instead, I settled for one of the Robert Campbell House, detailing the interior of a home built by a fur trapper. Last but not least, I found two postcards cut in the shape of beer steins. One would go to Sid, my young computer guru, and the other would go to Tommy.

  By the time Kiki’s prescription was ready, we’d loaded up the cart.

  After we pushed it toward the front counter and stood in yet another line, Kiki turned to me. “This is how you know someone is a true friend. You took a risk. I could have gotten so angry at you that it ruined our relationship, but you dared to stay the course. You cared more about me and my health than about me getting mad at you. When that receptionist didn’t want to let me see Dr. Gretski, you had a perfect opportunity to turn tail and run. But you didn’t.”

  “That’s because my idea of fun is running up and down the rows of a CVS drugstore. Do we know how to have a good time or what?”

  “Fun is when friendship collides with the mundane. You mean the world to me, Cara.”

  I hugged her. “Promise you’ll come visit me in Florida?”

  “I promise.”

  CHAPTER 3

  ~ Kiki ~

  I’ll be honest: I had done everything possible to avoid going back to see Dr. Gretski. I could just imagine the wor
d LOSER written on my forehead in neon lights. HYPOCRITE wouldn’t fit because there were too many letters.

  Here I was, bad-mouthing Bernice Stottlemeyer, saying what a horrible mother she would be, and why she was totally unsuited for parenthood. All the while, I was feeling no affection for my baby. Sure, I wouldn’t have hurt him, but wasn’t it as bad or worse to be missing that gushing, overwhelming love that would cause a mother to walk in front of a train for her child?

  To top it off, I spent most of my waking moments puzzling over what had happened to Bonnie Gossage’s baby. Me! The woman who left her infant in the hands of a nanny. The irony wasn’t lost on me.

  Maybe that was one reason that Thelma Detweiler’s comments stung as badly as a hornet sting. See, a bee stings you once and dies. But a hornet can stab you over and over and over. Thelma had found my soft spot. I couldn’t defend myself because she had a point. (No pun intended.)

  But on my way back to the store with Cara, this sense of calm came over me. No, I wasn’t myself. True, I needed help. But it was on the horizon, beckoning me to keep struggling toward the light.

  Just saying out loud how bummed I felt took a huge pressure off. Holding it all inside had been difficult. While I hated seeing the hurt look in Detweiler’s eyes, and hearing him blame himself, I knew I’d done the right thing by explaining how frightened and alone I was. His hug had always made me feel loved and cherished, but never more than when I was sitting in front of Wade Gretski’s desk and admitting that I couldn’t cope. The fact that Detweiler hugged me harder meant we’d tackle the problem together, as I’d once hoped we’d face anything that life threw me.

  Yeah, I got my mojo back.

  This crop was going to be fun!

  CHAPTER 4

  We had two separate projects planned for our evening at Time in a Bottle. Participants could dedicate pages to anyone or anything or any place that they loved. For this, Cara and I had rounded up a ton of die cut shapes, printed embellishments, and stickers. We’d also cut lengths of red and white butcher string, similarly colored ribbons, and lace into smaller amounts and packaged it in baggies. Of course, Margit had ordered a stunning assortment of papers.

  The second aspect had come to me in a flash as we walked through the CVS. We made a quick detour and ran by the nearest Dollar Store. There I swept all the heart-shaped boxes of chocolates into our cart. Thirty dollars-worth.

  “You are welcome to use any of these containers as a vault,” I explained. “By that I mean, you can create those “I love” pages, but cut them into a heart-shape and bind them together to make a miniature album that’ll fit inside an empty chocolate box.”

  The oooohhs and aaaaahs rose to an almost deafening pitch as women sorted through the boxes. “Of course, I would never, ever waste chocolate,” I said. “My beautiful assistant is here to share the spoils with you.”

  Cara took a slow turn around the table, offering every attendee a chance to pick out a wrapped candy or two from a large plastic bowl we’d found. By dumping out all the chocolates and collecting them in one place, we’d emptied the cardboard shells so everyone could see how to fit their mini-album inside. We’d also made sure there wasn’t any fighting over type of candy.

  Lee Alderton carefully chose a milk chocolate covered caramel. “Kiki, I have to say, you really know how to throw a party. As I was leaving the house, Jeff wondered why on earth I’d go out in the cold on a night like this. I told him that you’d make it worthwhile. The ideas you come up with are super, but it’s the little extras that really, really make us love you.”

  I blushed with happiness. Lee’s one of the nicest people I know, and I’ve been to dinner parties at her house where she has a printed out menu card and a place card for her guests. Not to mention, stunning low flower arrangements so you can see across the table. She’s into details herself, so this was high praise.

  A blast of cold air caused the papers on the table to levitate. Margit had left. Clancy wasn’t around. Cara had checked in our attendees. I craned my neck around the shelf units we roll to one side to give us more room when we crop. Deena Edmonds strode in, flicking snow off her heavy coat. With a tug of her cap, more snow went flying off in all directions.

  “Deena! Come join us.”

  “I didn’t sign up,” she admitted. “Do you have room?”

  “Another person canceled at the last minute,” Cara said. “Here’s a spot for you.”

  As Deena got settled, she explained, “My husband told me to leave so he could bond with our munchkin. At first, I thought about staying home, what with the weather and all, but he insisted. It’s probably good for him, right? A chance to be the parent in charge of Emma.”

  “Absolutely,” Kiki agreed. “When you’re there, you’re the default key. The men tend to holler for help rather than figure out what to do. It’s best to get out of their way and let them see that they’re capable.”

  “Easy for you to say,” Lee teased. “You’ve got Brawny. You know that Jeff and I lived in the UK for a year. They consider child care a profession there and take it seriously. You hire a child minder there, and you know you’re getting a person who’s been thoroughly vetted and trained.”

  “That must be a relief,” Amy Romanov said, letting a hand curve protectively over her growing belly. “After what happened with Bonnie Gossage’s baby, I think I’ll be too afraid to leave my child with anybody but family. Has anybody heard any more? I saw the appeal the Gossages made on TV.”

  No one had. That put a damper on the conversation temporarily.

  “Cara, when are you going back?” Deena asked. “You must miss Florida and the nice weather.” “The baptism ceremony is Sunday and I’m leaving Monday,” Cara said.

  A lump formed in my throat. I grabbed a bottle of water and swallowed hard. I would miss Cara, and all she’d done for me. But I reminded myself that I’d promised to fly down and visit her. With that cheery prospect in mind, I unwrapped a caramel and popped it into my mouth.

  The hours flew by. I passed around photos of Ty. Cara shared pictures of her new home on Jupiter Island. Most of my guests shared pictures of beloved grandkids or pets. Lee Alderton had a terrific photo of her family visiting France. Deena’s snapshots of Emma delighted all of us. The tiny pink bows taped to the wispy gold curls proved too cute for words.

  The evening proceeded with nary a hiccup, and with a nod to my friend, I’d encouraged the participants to, “Finish up, ladies. We need to call it a night.” While Cara rang up purchases and tallied open tabs, I went from woman to woman, as a subtle reminder for each to put away her supplies.

  Deena carefully slipped photos of Emma back inside a plastic pouch.

  “Deena, do you remember Jana? From your class?”

  “Uh-huh. I bumped into her at the Kids R Us store two days ago when we had that one warm afternoon. For all of two hours the temp got above freezing. Some of the ice and snow even melted. She was carrying her baby in one of those car seats. All bundled up. She said she hated to take the baby outside, because of how cold it was, and she wouldn’t have done so except she’d run out of diapers.”

  CHAPTER 5

  Saturday I worked only a half day, so I’d have plenty of time to get ready for the baptism on Sunday.

  Detweiler had been raised a Methodist. I’d been raised Episcopalian. Anya was a Jew, and she’d been working hard to get ready for her bat mitzvah later in the summer. Erik had been baptized in an unaffiliated church out in California, where he’d lived with his mother and stepfather at the time.

  Obviously, deciding how to raise Ty could be an ecumenical challenge.

  Over the years, since I first married George Lowenstein, I’d spent many hours in temple. Whenever our family had needed spiritual counseling or plain old good sense, we’d turned to Rabbi Sarah. As a leader of a Reform Judaism congregation, Rabbi Sarah was the most accepting religious leader I’d ever known until Laurel brought Father Joe into our lives.

  Calling Joseph Riley by th
e title of “Father,” totally upset Erik’s apple cart. After losing Van Lauber, the only father he’d known, and coming to accept Detweiler as his new daddy, hearing Anya call Laurel’s boyfriend “Father Joe” freaked our son out. Erik was convinced that he was going to be shifted to yet another household—and torn away from another loving dad.

  Nor was my mother-in-law Sheila thrilled about welcoming an Episcopal priest into our midst and according him a religious title.

  But Joe was the embodiment of the man he followed, Jesus Christ. As such, he was more concerned with calming the restless waters of a storm than sticking to dogma and watching a boat sink. “Call me Joe,” he’d suggested, getting down on his knees so that he and Erik were face to face. “Is that all right with you?”

  Those teary brown eyes that had seen so much sadness and loss already blinked back emotion. Mulling it over, Erik studied Joe’s face and considered the offer. We held our collective breath until the boy said, “Okay. Fine.” A pairing of words he’d copied from his older sister.

  In planning the baptism, I did a data-dump on Joe. “We aren’t members of your congregation, I want Rabbi Sarah there, please be respectful of the Jewish portion of our family, the Detweilers are eager to see this child baptized, Cara Mia and Hadcho will be godparents, but Hadcho is Native American and for all I know he worships the gods of his tribe, and…”