Since You've Been Gone

by Allan, Christa

  The next few days at the office, I mostly tried to stay out of my father’s way. He was still catching up from being out, and I didn’t want to interrupt him, so I did whatever I could on my own. Important tasks like making coffee, dusting, buying candy to refill the dish I kept emptying, filing, checking email . . . the company’s and my own. If I stayed another month, which based on my conversations with Laura was highly possible, I thought I should try to acquaint myself with the basics of what the business offered clients. One page into the information about homeowner’s insurance, I realized I’d discovered a nonaddictive solution to insomnia. It wasn’t exactly fascinating literature, but my father would be delighted if I learned the difference between casualty and hazard.

  When I wasn’t swamped with office tasks, which was often, I checked in with Mia. We’d sporadically communicated via text and email, and I’d promised her I’d call after my prenatal visit. She and Bryce had sent my mother an organic spa basket filled with candles, herbal tea, and toffees, bath and body gels and lotions and scrubs, all in a woven hamper the size of a small cradle.

  She forwarded pictures of Lily, including one where she held up a sign that said I miss you. Come back. I told Mia no more tiny terrorist tactics. Truth was, once the new nanny started, the signs might end and I’d miss them.

  Something I already missed about Houston was the emotional distance from my life before and after Wyatt. The distance, being surrounded by the unfamiliar, knowing I wouldn’t be blindsided by an aching memory when I turned a corner, made pulling myself away from that before life less painful. But being home smeared that boundary I’d started to create with constant reminders of the life that had been stolen from me.

  I had someone to talk to in Houston. Someone who knew my life not just in the before and after, but in the during. Someone I trusted. Mia was my closest friend. I never had a wide circle of friends. Never felt the need for that. And when Wyatt and I started dating, we were either with Mia and Bryce or by ourselves. Colin, his friend, and Mia were to be our only attendants at the wedding that never happened.

  But now that I was home and not even in my own home, I missed having a friend. A face I could talk to, a body I could do things with, and a spirit that “got” me.

  We had our girls’ pampering day Sunday. Laura’s stylist brought two nail technicians, someone to do our makeup, and more equipment and products than I’d ever seen in one place other than Sephora.

  My father helped them haul everything inside, and five minutes later was dressed for the golf course. “Sorry I’m going to miss the fun. Enjoy yourselves, and I’ll be back”—he looked at his watch—“in about six hours. I’m sure it won’t take that long to make you all beautiful.”

  My dad smiled and waved as he walked out the door, and I wouldn’t have been surprised if he ran to his car.

  “Scarlett, I told you that man kissed the Blarney Stone from the day you met him,” said my grandmother, with only a trace of sarcasm in her voice. “Too bad you couldn’t have taken a trip to Ireland before your surgery so you could have kissed it yourself.”

  I braced myself for the return fire from my mother, but she retaliated by laughing. Still managing to look regal even in a wheelchair, she said, “I might have been the first person to make it disintegrate into pebbles.”

  “Did you give her an extra muscle relaxer this morning?” I whispered to Laura as she covered the kitchen table with tubes and trays and brushes from what looked like oversize tackle boxes.

  “Thought about it,” she said and smiled. “But no. Maybe her doctor injected her new hip with time-release mellow meds. The past few days she’s been amazingly cooperative.”

  “Are you two talking about me?” My mother wheeled in our direction.

  “In fact, we are,” said Laura, flashing a beatific smile. “I was telling your daughter what a model patient you’ve been.”

  “That’s your story?” My mother applied a smile and tilted her head.

  “She was. Really,” I said. Without adding how shocked I was to hear her say it.

  We were saved by Laura’s stylist who wanted to talk to my mother about her hair.

  While he introduced my mother to the wonders of dry shampoo, Laura and I started our manicures and pedicures. Ruthie served maple bacon biscuits, peach scones, and blackberry muffins she’d picked up at the bakery, along with virgin mimosas for the alcohol-restricted among us, and coffee and tea. When she finished serving, my grandmother was first up to have her makeup done. At one point, the cosmetician asked if she could relax her face, which Laura and I knew meant stop talking long enough for the makeup artist to finish her eyes.

  By the time lunch rolled around, I’d forgotten I’d met Laura only a week earlier. Her calm yet assertive personality was exactly what my mother needed, and if I hadn’t liked Laura so much I would have envied their easy banter. The wall between my mother and me rose and fell at unexpected times, bruising my ego and my willingness to attempt another breakthrough. Today, though, she acted more relaxed than she had in months. The two of us even joked about Dad’s confusion when he did anything outside of Reply and Send in his email.

  “The first time I asked him to attach pictures to a document and then forward it, his eyes glazed over,” she said. Then, mimicking my father’s perplexed expression, eyebrows driving toward one another, her lips pressed together, she continued, “Then he said, ‘Scarlett, I can’t keep up with all this technology and run a business, too.’”

  We laughed, then Laura said as she scrutinized the nail polish options, “I have friends whose kids aren’t walking, but they can make sense out of an iPhone. In a few years, maybe his grandchild can teach him, right, Mrs. K?”

  My mother sat behind me, so I couldn’t see her expression. I shook the Bikini So Teeny nail color, examining the bottom as if, like the Magic Eight Ball I played with as a child that revealed answers, the polish would reveal my mother’s reaction to Laura’s question.

  The quiet swelled in the room until my grandmother punctured it with “Just like my grandchild taught me.”

  We all stopped to eat lunch while we waited for our toenails to dry and to give the crew helping us a chance to rest. I let them have their way with my hair, shaping it into a feathered bob with tapered bangs, adding highlights and lowlights. The stylist assured me that the minimal dye for the contrasts would be safe to use while I was pregnant.

  “Do you know the sex of the baby yet? Are you finding out?” Laura asked as she tore off sheets of foil and handed them to me to cover the leftover salads and sandwiches.

  “I have an appointment next week. The doctor said when I’m about twenty weeks, they’ll do the gender check. I’m not sure yet if I want to know.”

  Laura carried the wrapped containers to the refrigerator. “What about you, Mrs. K?”

  “I hope she’s not planning to have one of those dreadful ‘reveal’ parties that seem to be the latest rage,” my mother said, her voice stretching dreadful into a three-syllable word.

  I wanted to remind her that “she” was in the same room with her, but the “she” that was my mother had more to say. Of course.

  “All things considered, I think Olivia should find out if she’s having a boy or a girl. She doesn’t have a clue if Wyatt might—”

  No more syllables escaped from my mother’s lips because my grandmother swooped in and snatched the opportunity. “If Wyatt might have wanted to be surprised or not.”

  We were shined and polished and dyed and styled and beautified from head to toe. And that’s where the changes ended.

  CHAPTER 30

  How is it something the size of an avocado can make me gain five pounds in five weeks?” I stepped off the scale, slipped my flats on, and followed Nora, the nurse practitioner, to the exam room.

  I sat on the exam table, which was really more like an industrial-size recliner, adjusting myself on the white scrunchy paper that covered it while she flipped through my chart.

  “Consid
ering you’d lost weight the last time we saw you, I’d say you’re right on track,” she said as she wrapped the blood pressure cuff around my arm. “Okay, blood pressure good. Let’s see if we can hear that baby’s heartbeat. Usually we can detect it on ultrasound as early as six or seven weeks. So we shouldn’t have any problems now that you’re about eighteen weeks.”

  In the minute or so it took her to spread the warm gel on my abdomen and ready the Doppler, my own heart tightened, clutched by the “what if?” monster. The one that specialized in worst-case scenarios. What if she can’t hear the heartbeat? What if something’s wrong and it doesn’t sound like it’s supposed to?

  I must have looked as scared as I felt because Nora gently squeezed my arm and said with gentleness, “Hey, Mom, relax.” She positioned the probe on my bump. “Ready?”

  I nodded.

  She swirled the probe around. “Okay, that’s your heartbeat.”

  “I’ll take your word for it. Sounds like an electrical storm’s going on in there.”

  A few more swirls, she stopped, and in a blanket-soft voice said, “Listen. There’s your baby.”

  At first, all I heard was the swishing of wind-blown sand. Then a beat, like galloping horses. Fast and rhythmic. “That’s it . . . my baby? That’s my baby?” I whispered the questions as if in the presence of something holy and sacred. These heartbeats echoed my heart and Wyatt’s heart.

  At that moment I understood what it meant to be blessed. To be granted something beyond measure, beyond deserving, beyond myself.

  And yet, at that moment, even with this incredible gift growing inside me, I had never felt so alone. Fortunately, no one in the room except for me knew that some of the tears I shed weren’t all happy tears. Mingled with them were tears of sadness for all that Wyatt was missing and tears of anger for his being so irresponsible.

  I couldn’t wait until the weekend to talk to Mia. I called before I even left the parking lot to share my excitement.

  “I heard the baby today. The heartbeats. I had no idea . . .” But the euphoria couldn’t dull the searing stabs of sadness. My throat tightened, and I made ugly, wet alien noises. I couldn’t stop the sobs from erupting, and soon I sounded like someone trying to talk underwater. “It’snotfair . . . it’snot . . . it’snot . . .” I clenched my teeth and wanted to pound the steering wheel with my fists until they were bruised. “I hate him. I hate him for not being here to hear his own child’s heartbeat. I hate him for leaving me with all these questions. I shouldn’t have to do this alone. I shouldn’t . . .”

  “Oh, sweetie, I know, I understand—”

  “No,” I shrieked through my sobbing. “You don’t understand. You can’t. Bryce never left you. Lily has a father who didn’t miss her first heartbeats. A father you never had to doubt might have had a child somewhere else. Please, don’t think for one minute that you know what this feels like. You don’t. And I hope you never do.” I dug in my purse and found a crumpled tissue and wiped my nose. Made myself breathe through the hiccupping.

  “You’re right, Livvy. I don’t know what it feels like to be you at this moment. And you’re right, I hope I never have to.” Her voice was gentle and soothing and wrapped itself around me as if Mia herself was with me. “I’m sad that you’re alone right now. You shouldn’t be. And it’s not fair. You are doing the best you can do. And you know Bryce and I will help you.”

  “You and Bryce have already helped me. You’ve been so generous, and you came through for me when I had no idea where to go. I don’t take that for granted. If I could find some answers, it would bring me peace.” I hesitated. “I have an appointment next week with an investigator. There’s nothing more I can find out on my own. And he may not be able to tell me anymore than I already know. But I don’t want to regret never having tried to do everything possible to find out where Wyatt was going that day.”

  “I want you to really think about what you’re about to do. Are you ready to live with whatever he finds out? Especially now, before this baby’s even born? What if that gift belongs to Wyatt’s son, not someone else’s? What then? It would break my heart to know you’re holding your son or daughter in a few months, wondering about some other child. You don’t have to do this now. Or ever.”

  I loved Mia, but she pushed me in a way that almost made me feel guilty about wanting to find out the truth. In all the times we’d discussed my contacting an investigator, she never seemed open to considering what it meant to me. She wasn’t comfortable knowing the truth would cause me pain, and I wasn’t comfortable with the pain not knowing the truth would cause me. I promised her I’d think about it.

  Before we hung up, she said, “Lily misses you. We all do. As soon as your mom’s recovered, we want you to come back to Houston. You can make a life here. And you won’t be constantly surrounded by people and places to remind you of Wyatt.”

  When I started driving, I found myself headed to my grandmother’s instead of my parents’ house. She opened her door and, without either one of us saying a word, she gathered me in her arms.

  “I’m tired, Granny. I’m so tired,” I said, just letting the tears fall. I followed her into her bedroom. She pulled down the comforter; I slipped off my shoes and let her tuck me in like she did when I was young. The pillow was cool against my face, her hand warm on my cheek as she bent to kiss my forehead. She left, closing the door behind her, and I fell asleep like someone who’d had too much to drink.

  CHAPTER 31

  I stayed with my grandmother for the weekend, even though it meant sleeping on her sofa. After orbiting around my mother for a week, made more difficult when Laura had left for the day, I appreciated a conversation that didn’t require filtering through “what reaction is this going to generate?”

  The morning after my blackout sleep, Granny and I walked to breakfast at Elizabeth’s Restaurant, because who wouldn’t want to start a day with praline bacon and Bananas Foster Stuffed French Toast? We left her condo early to beat both the sweltering heat and the late risers who crowded the upstairs bar satiating their table wait with Bloody Marys and Cucumber Coolers. Even though I could still see my feet over my baby bump, I had to remind myself to step carefully over cracked sidewalks, buckled and bowed by the gnarly roots of oak trees.

  On the way, I talked to her about my prenatal visit and all the angst that surrounded hearing the baby’s heartbeat, and my phone call with Mia.

  She reached for my hand as we crossed the street. I looked down at her hand wrapped around mine and smiled. “Thanks. Guess those maternal instincts kick in, even when they don’t need to, huh?”

  “You’re about to make me a great-grandmother, even though I’d be great anyway”—she winked—“so I need to practice now.” She pushed back a riotous growth of Confederate jasmine that spilled over a leaning fence onto the narrow sidewalk. The rich sweetness of the flowers perfumed the air, the scent so pungent I was grateful to be over my early weeks of nausea.

  “This isn’t something you have to do alone,” she said. “You know, you could have asked me to go with you to that appointment. Especially since your mother can’t be there with you right now.”

  “Let’s not pretend her surgery is the reason she didn’t go with me,” I said and opened the restaurant door for my grandmother.

  “Don’t you give up on her.” She slipped off her sunglasses, her sharp eyes focused on me. “She’ll come around. Trust me.”

  Just when I thought I’d familiarized myself with the coverages my dad provided for businesses, he popped up with questions about which of his business clients’ crime-coverage policies needed to be reviewed or renewed.

  “Crime insurance? Really? The same as when they’re held up at gunpoint like those people at Café Jacques who were eating their Trout Almondine one minute, and the next they were facedown on the scored concrete floor?” I turned to the computer to search for the files thinking about a to-go order of a seafood platter for lunch.

  “Unfortunately, no. Some pol
icies do cover kidnappings, but our clients are interested in being protected against embezzlement, forgery, counterfeiting, inside jobs,” he said, flipping through the mail I’d handed him.

  “Too bad it doesn’t cover jilted brides . . . Now that’s a crime.”

  I didn’t realize my comment was a few decibels above a whisper until my dad remarked, “Not even wedding-protection with change-of-heart insurance covers what happened to you.”

  “Figures,” I said as I waited for the list he wanted to finish printing.

  I gave him the first page and he started to walk back to his office. “Bring me the other pages when they’re finished printing.”

  He was just a few paces away when my brain processed what he’d told me about wedding insurance. “Dad, wait.”

  He turned, his eyes scanning the list.

  “How did you find out about that change-of-heart coverage?”

  After his awkward and sudden onset of coughing, he rubbed the back of his neck and looked at the floor. Hoping, I was sure, a wormhole would appear that he could disappear through and land in Maui.

  “Don’t tell me one of your clients wanted to know, because that ‘it belongs to a friend’ excuse didn’t fly for me in high school. Ever.”

  “We, your mother and I, um, we looked into it. I mean, we are in the insurance business. We should be aware of everything that’s available.” He folded the paper he held in half, his thumb and forefinger carefully creasing it. “But, and you probably already figured, we decided it didn’t, um, provide what we needed.”

  “Hedging your bets, were you? Interesting.” I handed him the rest of the list that had finished printing. “I’m not angry, because it doesn’t surprise me. I get it. That’s what you do. It makes sense you’d want to know about it. I wonder, though, if you had the coverage, would you have told me? And if you and Mom were all about ‘protection,’” I said, making air quotes with my fingers, “how is it you never talked to Wyatt about something as basic as life insurance?”