Life in Death

by M. Ullrich

  “She can stay—”

  “It’s fine.” Suzanne interrupted Marty and gripped her wrist slightly.

  “Come on, Abigail.”

  Abigail was quick to hop to her feet and follow the nurse.

  “This isn’t good.” Suzanne’s thoughts left her head and came out from her lips unknowingly.

  “What do you mean?”

  “They took a lot of blood, the doctor wants to talk to us alone, and the nurse wouldn’t even look at us.” Suzanne crossed her arms over her chest. The bulky sweater she wore did little to ward off the chill fear brought to her skin and bones.

  “It’s probably just a formality.” Marty walked toward Suzanne slowly and placed her hands on Suzanne’s rigid shoulders. “I need you to believe everything will be okay.”

  Suzanne looked up at Marty, curious of her phrasing. Each passing second they had been in the emergency room, Marty had managed to keep Abby smiling, but once Abby left, Marty’s confidence disappeared.

  “Oh, sweetheart.” Suzanne pulled Marty into a hug, relishing her comforting heat. The sound of a clearing throat pulled them apart. Suzanne took a deep breath as Marty wiped away a tear.

  “I’m sorry.” The doctor spoke quietly as he shifted uncomfortably in his worn loafers hidden slightly by baggy navy blue scrubs.

  “Hey, this is your hospital, not ours.” Suzanne forced her best smile. “No need for apologies.”

  “Okay, well.” The older gentleman shuffled over to a rolling stool that looked almost as aged as he did and sat with the force that accompanied fatigue.

  Suzanne stood in front of Marty and leaned back against her. She didn’t trust her legs alone to support herself. “We took a look at some of Abigail’s blood test results, the ones we could expedite anyway. Her blood platelet counts are concerning.”

  “What? Why?” Marty said. Suzanne felt Marty grip her waist.

  “They’re low, very low.” The doctor looked between the mothers. “Has Abigail been bruising easily or have you noticed any more bruises than usual?”

  “She’s a kid!” Suzanne couldn’t remain calm any longer. Her voice was now high and shaky. “Kids are constantly getting hurt between athletics and recess at school and rough housing at home. I don’t think twice about bruises.”

  “There’s been more.” Suzanne spun around at the meek sound of Marty’s voice. She eyed her wife angrily and curiously. Why had she never said anything? Marty looked Suzanne in the eye sadly, and then she turned her attention back to the doctor. “I didn’t think much of it because she’s a rambunctious six-year-old,” Marty said with a small smile. “But I think, maybe, since the summer she’s been having a few more bruises than I’ve been used to seeing.”

  “Why wouldn’t you mention that to me?” Suzanne asked.

  “I didn’t think of it at the time.”

  “What about bleeding?” The doctor interrupted the women, clearly wanting the conversation to move forward.

  Suzanne took a deep breath and looked around the room. “Her gums…” she whispered.

  “I’m sorry?” the doctor said.

  Suzanne looked at him. “Her gums have been bleeding when she brushes her teeth. I just kept telling her to ease up. You know kids—” She stopped mid-sentence and stared blankly at the wall, blinking rapidly. Her breathing fell shallow. “What’s wrong with our baby?”

  “Mrs. Dempsey, I—”

  “What have we been writing off as childhood naïveté or innocence or childish misbehavior?” Suzanne’s question was sharp and loud, and it broke down the polite wall the emergency room doctor was hiding behind like a sledgehammer.

  “These symptoms could be indicative of many things, but I would like for you to follow up with a pediatric oncologist in Pennsylvania. His name is Dr. Jeffrey Fox, and he’s one of the best.”

  “An oncologist?” Marty sagged against the exam table.

  “We already made a phone call. He’s expecting you tomorrow morning.” The doctor stood and placed his hand on Marty’s shoulder. “Nothing is confirmed, but when test results come back like this, you want a specialist to take a look at it right away.” He looked at Suzanne again. “The receptionist will give you all the office information when you leave. Give them a call just to confirm for tomorrow. Take care.” He squeezed Marty’s shoulder and left.

  Suzanne stood in the center of the room with her arms wrapped around her midsection. Just that morning, she’d been planning out their Thanksgiving menu. Everything had changed in an afternoon.

  In the next twenty-four hours, Suzanne would realize she had nothing left to be thankful for.

  Chapter Twelve

  Marty may have been a laid-back realtor, but she was neither flighty nor forgetful. It had to be here somewhere. She rifled through her large satchel purse, a slew of expletives following every handful of empty gum wrappers and old receipts she clawed out from the bottom. She distinctly remembered putting the business card in her purse. She needed that card. Important information about her contact for a multimillion-dollar beach house her latest clients were interested in was on it. Yes, Marty could easily Google the information, but she continued her search out of principle. When had she become so careless?

  “Are you okay over there? I’ve heard the alphabet being spelled out with curse words for the past fifteen minutes.” Charlotte chuckled as she took a sip of her afternoon tea.

  “I’m fine,” Marty said through a clenched jaw.

  “Listen, Marty.” Charlotte stepped closer to her friend’s desk and leaned slightly on the corner. Marty never looked up. “I know it’s usually Annmarie’s job to be nosy, but you’ve not been yourself ever since we all went out.”

  “I said I’m fine.” Marty nearly impaled Charlotte with her stare. She backtracked and took a deep breath at Charlotte’s wounded look. Charlotte was just doing what she did best: caring. “I really am okay, Charlotte. I promise.” Marty smiled the best she could while she lied. “I just haven’t been sleeping well, and we all know how grumpy I can be when I’m tired.” She wondered if Charlotte believed one word she had just said. She just stood there with narrowed eyes, gently dipping the teabag up and down in her tropical colored mug.

  What else could she say? She and Suzanne had a moment the other night that left her feeling guilty and confused and pissed off for the past few days? As the uneasy seconds of silence passed, Marty wondered how she could explain something even she thought was bizarre. She wanted Suzanne back, had plotted to make it happen, but when Suzanne had advanced, Marty had run away with her tail between her legs. Why?

  “Fine,” Charlotte said. “What are you looking for?” she asked, hovering over Marty.

  “A business card for the realtor in charge of the three-story Victorian by the Manasquan Inlet.”

  “Do you have someone interested?” Charlotte’s big eyes lit up.

  “I do.” Marty stood and dumped the contents of her purse onto her desk. “It’s got to be here somewhere. I never lose—” Marty halted everything as she looked down at the small pile before her. Not a breath left her lips, not a hair moved on her head, and her eyes remained unblinking.

  “Did you find it?” Charlotte reached out and touched her forearm gently. “Marty?”

  Marty fell into her chair, all energy leaving her body. A chill ran down her spine, and she reached out for the small strip of colorful entwined yarn that hung from the edge of the desk.

  Best friends forever. Abigail’s voice was loud in her head.

  “Are you feeling all right?” Charlotte put her tea down. “You’re as white as a ghost.” She pressed her cool hand against Marty’s forehead.

  Marty wound the colorful threads around her fingers. Tears filled her eyes, and she sobbed, “Best friends—” She started crying then, hysterical wails that echoed throughout the office.

  Charlotte gripped her shaking shoulders. “Marty, sweetheart,” she said, her voice racked with panic. “Let’s go to the bathroom.” Curious and worried eyes
were glancing in their direction. Charlotte managed to get Marty to stand and walk very slowly toward the bathroom. Once inside, Marty sat on the toilet with a thud and continued to cry.

  “Here.” Charlotte tore at the toilet paper roll, unraveling more than a few healthy handfuls before thrusting the wrinkled mess at Marty. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

  Charlotte rushed back to Marty’s desk. “She’s fine!” she called out to the entire office before picking up Marty’s cell phone and dialing. “Please pick up, please pick up!”

  “Hello?”

  “Suzanne!” Relief washed over Charlotte. “It’s Charlotte.”

  “Why are you calling me from Marty’s phone?”

  “Marty’s, well…she’s kind of—”

  “What, Charlotte? She’s what? What happened?”

  “She’s hysterical,” Charlotte finally blurted out. “She found something in her purse that triggered it, and now she’s in the bathroom sobbing. I don’t even think I could get her to talk if I tried.”

  “Bring the phone to her.” Suzanne’s tone was cool, even.

  Charlotte rushed back to find Marty worse for wear. Her eye makeup was now messy trails along her cheeks, and her usually clear, mossy green eyes were dulled by swollen red lids. Charlotte thrust the phone into her hands. “You’re in good hands now,” Charlotte whispered to herself as she backed out of the bathroom.

  “Marty? Hey, Marty it’s me. Suzanne.” The sweet gentle cadence of Suzanne’s familiar voice did little to stop Marty’s tears, but her sobs became more subdued as she listened. “Charlotte tells me you’re having a hard time. Want to tell me about it?”

  Marty took a deep breath through her nose. Her stomach was rolling, and she was exhausted all of a sudden. She looked down through watery eyes at the small memento in her hand. The colors blurred together in a distorted rainbow.

  “Remember…” Marty cleared her throat, her words barely audible. “Remember when Abigail stayed at the hospital the first time?”

  “Of course.”

  “We stopped at the store and bought her every craft kit and coloring book they had.” The sweet sound of Suzanne’s laughter eased Marty’s tears into a near stop.

  “I think we spent close to two hundred dollars that day.”

  “We picked up one kit.” Marty continued while she knew she was able to, “Abigail made about seventy friendship bracelets with it.”

  “Abby gave us each one of the best ones she made, and then she gave one to every nurse that checked on her and her doctors.”

  “I took mine off one day for some reason I can’t even remember now, and then I couldn’t find it. I thought I had lost it.” Marty looked down at the small bracelet in wonder. She recalled that night she had begged Suzanne to take hers off and play along as she told Abigail how they had put them someplace special. “I found it, Suzie, I finally found it.” Marty’s tears started anew.

  “I’m so happy you did, baby.” The term of endearment Suzanne used wasn’t lost on Marty as she sat in elation and stared at her findings. “What are you doing tonight?” Suzanne said abruptly.

  “Nothing.” Marty wiped her face with the wads of crumpled toilet paper that lay on her lap. A new, easy feeling illuminated in her chest. It felt familiar, like a deserted piece of her was finally settling back into place.

  “How about I come over and cook for you? I think now is a good time to go through the things I left at the house.” Marty was bewildered by Suzanne’s proposition. The last time she had brought up such an idea, Suzanne fled her company. She didn’t think Suzanne would be ready to spend that kind of time with her anytime soon, especially not after the other night.

  “Sure, I’d really like that.” Marty thought for a moment and said. “Suzanne, about the other night—”

  “That’ll teach me to drink like that again.” Suzanne’s laugh was tight, artificial in its controlled delivery. “Never again for me, not if I don’t want to become like my mother.”

  “You’ll never be like your mother.” Marty defended her ex-wife quickly.

  “You’re right, Angela’s cooking skills are lacking.” Suzanne laughed again, and the serious conversation was over.

  “Stop by around eight? I know it’s a little late, but I have some paperwork I want to catch up on when I get home. Lord knows I’ve wasted enough time crying like a baby in this bathroom.” Marty chuckled in embarrassment.

  “Sometimes a good cry is exactly what we need.” A beat of silence passed before Suzanne spoke again. “I’ll see you at eight, Marty.”

  “See you then.” They hung up and Marty left the bathroom completely unlike how she had entered it. Her radiant smile was filled with anticipation.

  Their Daughter Grew Sick

  The car ride really wiped her out.” Suzanne said in a weak voice. Marty thought she had to be exhausted as well. They stood together in the doorway of Abigail’s room and watched as her chest moved in a peaceful rhythm. The long drive back from Pennsylvania had taken its toll on everyone.

  “I’m sure the weeks in the hospital didn’t help.” Marty spoke without thinking and regretted the words the moment Suzanne rolled her shoulders.

  “You don’t think I know that?” Suzanne’s whisper was harsh. “After everything Abby went through, you think I’m mostly concerned about her sitting in a car?”

  “That’s not what I…” Marty closed her eyes and sighed deeply as Suzanne stormed off in the direction of their room.

  It had been like this from the start. Tense days and silent nights were the new normal. Each and every time she tried to talk to Suzanne, she’d get the same response: “Our daughter is sick, what do you think is wrong!” Every conversation they had over the past six weeks revolved around treatments and side effects.

  Whenever Marty tried to talk to Suzanne about another matter, she was shot down and reprimanded for thinking beyond what their daughter was going through. She’d always walk away guiltily, wondering what was so wrong with being concerned for themselves too. Weren’t two young mothers with a daughter battling leukemia allowed a modicum of sympathy for themselves?

  Marty turned and walked down the hall to their bedroom. Suzanne was already changed and beneath the covers. As Marty changed into her night clothes, she considered their life now. She knew Suzanne was scared. She was terrified too, but was it too much to ask for them to experience this terror together?

  “What would you like to do this weekend?” Marty tried, not wanting to go to bed with this habitual tension between them for another night.

  “Whatever Abigail wants to do.”

  “Is there anything you’ve been wanting to do with Abby? Anywhere you’ve been wanting to go?” Marty climbed under the covers carefully. She didn’t want to disturb Suzanne if she was comfortable. Suzanne turned and looked at her, her blue eyes a shade lighter than earlier. That usually meant the anger was gone, and all that remained was fatigue.

  “I’ve been wanting to take her to that horse farm in Howell for some time now.” Suzanne’s response lacked excitement, but her words weren’t clipped or aggressive. Marty would take what she could get.

  “We can do that.” Marty reached for the book she had been trying to read for over two weeks. The children’s cancer floor at the University Hospital was a hard place to concentrate even when you had nothing to do but read. “We don’t have to be back at the hospital until Monday afternoon, and the doctor said there’s no reason for Abby to limit herself as long as she felt up to it. Let’s take her.”

  “I was there, Marty. I know exactly what the doctor said.”

  “Suzie, please.” Marty dropped the book on her lap and looked at her wife. “I’m not looking to fight or argue. You’re taking everything I’m saying out of context.”

  “Well, excuse me!” Suzanne sat up straight and Marty’s head fell. “Maybe you need to be more careful with how you say things to your obviously dense wife!”

  Marty shook her head in time with her quicken
ed heartbeat. “I just want to have a nice weekend with my family.” Her eyes started to glisten. She knew the tears had been prepped and ready since they left the hospital, but she tried her best to remain strong. “Just a normal weekend with my girls.” She reached out across the patterned comforter and grabbed Suzanne’s hand. She didn’t grip back. When Marty didn’t receive a response, she played the short conversation back to herself over and over again like she did with all their recent spats. She forced herself to hear Suzanne’s request one more time.

  “Unless you want to take Abigail yourself?”

  Suzanne pulled her hand back and folded her arms over her chest. She didn’t answer Marty, which was a clear answer in and of itself.

  “That’s fine, you know. Take her if you’d like. We’ve always been good about spending alone time with her, and that shouldn’t change now.” Marty replaced her book on the nightstand and switched off her lamp.

  She lay back and stared at the ceiling. Her eyes were wide open and her mind was far from tired even though her body was exhausted. Hundreds of thoughts floated around in her head, but she didn’t want to push Suzanne. She’d have to be patient with both Abigail’s healing and Suzanne’s coping.

  A half hour passed before Suzanne finally settled again. A soft sigh sounded out into the darkness, and Marty took stock of the positive. They were home in their own bed, which might be a small comfort along this troublesome road they were traveling, but was a comfort nonetheless. We’re a strong family, Marty reminded herself. As her eyes started to droop, she moved to her side and reached out for her wife. Suzanne stirred momentarily before pulling herself away from Marty and scooting closer to the edge of bed. Marty opened her eyes and looked at the ruffled blond hair on the back of her wife’s head.

  For the first time in their marriage, Marty started to doubt that strength.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Marty buzzed around the house at a frantic pace. She kept reminding herself that not too long ago she had shared the space with Suzanne, and whatever prep work she was doing was unnecessary. But she wanted everything to be perfect. She made sure the throw blanket Suzanne loved to wrap around herself while watching television was across the back of the couch. Marty took out the crystal tumbler glass Suzanne always chose to drink out of, whether it was juice, soda, or wine. She even had a favorite fork with a bent prong Marty placed on the counter with the napkins. She wanted Suzanne to drown in the comforts of her former home, even if she was only able to share them with her for one night.