The front door opens, and I close my eyes to hide from reality. Their burn intensifies, but I’d rather suffer through the pain than face Jason. I’m not ready to accept I am losing yet another angel let alone the karma I fear has sealed my fate with infertility. How do I tell Jason I may never be able to give him the family we dream of? I feel as if I have spent years misleading him and will now rot in my deceit.
Suddenly, his footsteps race toward me. When he reaches the threshold, he stops dead with his widened eyes on the bottle of pills in my hand. The last time I saw him my biggest concern was how our future would unfold. Now my head pounds, my eyes burn, I’m buzzing from painkillers, and I have the worst cramps of my life. I don’t want to face any of this, yet I’ve no choice but to tell him my fears. I hope he will be my partner in misery and not the man who bolts because I may not be able to give him what he wants.
He kneels and caresses my hair away from my face. Panic causes his voice to race. “Honey, what’s wrong?”
I’m at a loss where to start, so I let the truth come out best as my hazy mind manages. “After what happened last time, I was scared to learn the truth. Then we had that talk last night and—”
Pain shoots across my gut and up my back, causing me to grip my midsection with a whimper. Jason catches sight of the bottle of pills and rips them from my hand. “I’m calling an ambulance. How many of these have you had?” He reaches to his back pocket for his cell phone, and I place my hand out to stop him.
“Only one.” I don’t feel I can fill my lungs. Lord help us, because I have no idea how to say any of this. “I’m not a mess because of the pills. I’m having another miscarriage.”
Jason’s eyes drop, and although mine divert as well I can tell he swallows emotion. I can barely bring myself to peer up and catch sight of him dropping back on his heels. His eyes squeeze shut, and I can’t help but feel they are mirroring the tightness in his heart. The pain in my gut seems insignificant compared to the guilt that plagues me for not telling him about the pregnancy last night, yet it still tears at me.
“God, Jason, isn’t it bad enough a baby is dying inside me? Why does this have to hurt so much?” My tears turn to sobs, making me feel all the more hopeless. After this, how could I possibly ever smile again? “I don’t understand. I’m not even thirty.”
Reality is punctuated by another cramp, and my teeth bear down and grit. Poor Jason can only sit there while looking like he wishes he could help. “I’ve blown it. This is karma saying I will never get another chance.” Jason is so focused on me he doesn’t seem to notice the tears falling from his eyes. He places a tender kiss of mourning on my belly before lying next to me. How can he be so sweet when I’ve let him down in so many ways? “I need to see a specialist. I have to know what is going on.”
“Honey,” he says through stammered breath, “let’s step back a little and get through this.”
He’s probably right, but my fears have the best of me. “I need answers. What if there is a problem and waiting to find out means I’ve waited too long?”
The tenderness in his eyes almost makes me feel as if everything will be all right, but I need more than what he can give. “Let’s get you into bed,” he says. “You’ll feel better once the pain stops.” I sit and reach for the phone. “What are you doing?”
“Finding a specialist.”
“Katherine, stop. You are taking this too hard.” Swiftly he grabs my hand. His eyes are wide and focused as if facing fear.
“No, I am calling.”
I start to pull away, and his grip tightens. For a moment our eyes are locked. Suddenly Jason diverts his to the carpet. “There’s something I need to tell you.” His gaze returns to mine, and the feeling this is something I definitely don’t want to hear nearly strangles me. “This is not going to go over well,” he whispers, “but I can’t let you think this is your fault.” His chest swells as he faces me. He closes his eyes on his unsteady exhale. “While I can’t promise nothing is wrong with you, I am probably the reason for the miscarriage.”
My brain sobers in a flash.
“I’ve been afraid to tell you this but … When my brother was killed in that holdup, his wife was pregnant. She lost the baby a few weeks later.”
Those poor people. Why did they have to suffer so much? Jason rarely speaks of the event that gutted his family. At the mention of Ray everyone goes into a tailspin for weeks.
Jason’s eyes turn dull. “Seven months after Ray died, Lydia saw that just because she had to accept the lost of her husband and unborn son there was no reason the entire dream needed to die. Since Ray and I share the same genetic makeup, she asked me to be a sperm donor.
“I wasn’t even thrown by it. We were all so distraught over what we had lost that letting Ray’s family grow, even in an unorthodox manner, seemed right. It wasn’t long until I got devastating news. Not only is my sperm count nearly non-existent, the little I have are weak.” The courage Jason found to tell his story caves to his sorrow, and his voice begins to crack. “We made three attempts at insemination before giving up. Lydia persuaded the doctor to try IVF. Only one out of twelve eggs fertilized. We were thrilled when it implanted but …” With a prolonged inhale, he grabs for more bravery. “Her story matches yours. The miscarriages are my fault.”
My senses, my heart, my mind—they all lock. I feel lost—so incredibly gone. A moment ago I was wallowing in sorrow and now … shock.
Memories flood my mind. I cried for nights after my last miscarriage while fearing I was the cause. All that stuff with Lydia happened before Jason and I met. How has he failed to mention his infertility each and every time we talked of having a family? What about the times we said we would adopt after we had one of our own? “You bastard!” I yank my hands away and step back. “Here I thought I was the one letting you down. How could you hold that back? You saw me nearly destroyed during my last miscarriage. What the hell kind of person are you, and what gives you the right to withhold such information from the woman you claim you are going to have a family with?”
I feel for Jason. I can’t discount how he lost a brother and a nephew, and then how he made a decision to support his sister-in-law in such a monumental way only for their hearts to be shattered. Still, how could he betray me?
Everything from my throat to my gut tightens, including my hands that are now clenched. “What else have you been hiding? No wonder why you acted so strangely the last time this happened. That comment about me having an affair was not made out of panic but out of thinking I did, because how else could I be pregnant. What the hell kind of relationship do we have?”
“Katherine, I am so sorry. Please understand how hard it is for me to talk about Ray. I’ve had to live with the feeling I failed him on his last wish.”
I open my mouth to let him have it, but the power of his words overcome me.
Jason looks to God. His trembling chin and eyes that seek understanding make me feel foolish for my anger. How his eyes request forgiveness, coupled with the gentleness of his actions when he reaches for my hands, breaks my heart all the more. “Katherine,” he says with the tenderness of a whisper, “think about how you felt a moment ago. Now try to see what you feared is real for me. You are right. I should have been strong enough to tell you.”
A wave of misery hits, not only from the miscarriage, but also from Jason’s emotional baggage. I still want to tell him what an insensitive jerk he is for leading me on, but I also know facing that your body is denying you the privilege of happiness hurts like hell.
The talons in my gut dig deeper, causing me to whimper and squeeze my left hand, seeking the support of a person who isn’t there. I need someone to tell me all is going to be fine, but it also needs to come from someone I can trust. Right now I trust a person I am fabricating more than I trust Jason Day. Proof of that is how I have come to realize this entire time I have envisioned someone holding my hand and supporting me through this. Now I get why I have felt so confused when talkin
g to someone who doesn’t exist. My head was telling me to face what I must have sensed all along—Jason will never be able to give me the support I need.
I have to get out of here for a few days and clear my head. Most of all, I need to find myself. I may have to drop this for now and focus on my health, but I’ve got big decisions to make about my future.
... And I Will Be With You
The sound of Glen Miller’s orchestra wafts out of Bailey’s trailer, and the soothing tune helps me gain a moment of peace. The comfort is short lived as the laughter that bursts from inside her trailer causes me to turn and walk away. Facing happy people when I am sad seems to make everything five times as rough. I grab a seat on the concrete and rub my gut. The bulk of the pain is gone, but the memories haunt. Having a person die inside me has shredded part of my soul.
My cell phone buzzes with a text from Jason. “How are you? Can I do anything? I am so sorry. I love you.”
Again the tears well. I love him too, but that doesn’t change how I am questioning our relationship. First he neglected to tell me he may leave the show, and now I have learned the truth about his fertility. How dare he trap my heart in a web of lies?
I can’t think about this anymore. If I don’t get my mind on something else, I will never make it through the day.
I check for texts and emails—anything to grab my attention. I’m so desperate to find an encouraging thought somewhere that I tread into dangerous territory—reading the comments on my latest Facebook post. Sometimes I find ego boosts while other times I find people who are flat-out mean for no apparent reason. Doing this is a fool’s game. Depression must make me masochistic.
Much to my surprise, among the speculating comments regarding my earlier post about good news being on the way and fawning observations about my body, a sweet message stands out, “Better things are coming than we can ever imagine. I am certain of it!”
The message hits my soul like a bonfire of hope sent by a greater power. Brandon Wayne, your optimism is probably what will get me through this day. You are right. I need to stay positive. What good thing haven’t I taken a moment to enjoy?
Well, I do have fans. For whatever crazy reason they love this show, so I’ll pass my optimism on to them. “About to wrap another episode. You’re gonna love what happens! Time to celebrate by doing something special for myself. Any suggestions?”
A bit of weight pops off of my shoulders when I post the message. Thank you, Brandon, for helping me find the sun.
Optimism.
Today I am, and will stay, filled with optimism.
Though the woman at the airline terminal seems to be looking everywhere but at the people in front of her, I smile when I hand her my boarding pass. The machine beeps, and instead of moving forward as others have, I stay and wish her a nice day. It takes a moment, but eventually my stillness grabs her attention, and she chuckles. “You have a great day, too!”
Optimism—sometimes I think we can change the world with it.
There is a spring in my step as I enter the gate. I’m not crazy. Staying home and wallowing would be crazy. Acting when something needs my attention is sane as can be.
Stepping onto the plane brings about a sigh of peace. One needs to embrace chaos in order to truly live. Let life begin.
Listening to The Mr. T. Experience’s “… And I Will Be With You” through my iPod may help optimism stay with me, but it doesn’t keep my nerves at bay. What if I stumble across Katherine at a bad time? What if my leads turn up empty? If I do find her, what can I possibly say?
Still, I have to remember that I am embracing a new world—taking a road others dare not travel. Every moment of this experience—the food I was too nervous to eat, the movie I couldn’t focus on, even the sight of houses below as we now descend—are treasures to be embraced.
My eyes close off the world, and I smile with the comfort that only being true to you can bring. I must be close to her, because Katherine’s sweet voice floats into my mind almost instantly. I can’t help but gasp due to the natural anxiety that accompanies suddenly hearing her. Regardless, Jennifer is right—listening to Katherine is soothing. “I need a vacation so desperately. I wish you were real so we could run away together.”
“I am real, Katherine, and I’m on my way. I fear something is wrong with you. My body has been buzzing with it.”
Why is the image of houses below returning to my mind? Could one be hers? I need to remember she may live under the flight path. One clue could change my entire future.
Pressure builds in my head, starting at the base of my neck and growing to the crown. I become uneasy as I realize this is not the usual discomfort I feel while flying. It sounds like my blood is rushing through my ears.
The pressure releases with a little pop and rebuilds. My body stiffens in response. I seem to be hearing the inner workings of my heart in my head. Is it fear? Anxiety?
With a couple of hard swallows, the pressure equalizes and I let out a hearty breath of relief. Nothing similar has ever happened before.
I glance around and become unsettled by how the other passengers appear to have felt nothing unusual. With the exception of the affect that had on my nerves, I feel normal again. This airport must require a funny descent or something.
When I step outside of the gate I am flooded by a new sensation—tingles. Why am I experiencing all of these physical changes? Can they mean I am near her? If I can see her image through a phone call, this proximity should allow it too. Shoot, if I really try, maybe now she can hear me.
Is that possible? That would solve everything. I need to give it a shot before I hook up with Dale and all hell breaks loose.
The only place I can grab a moment of privacy is inside a men’s room stall. My ears fill with the sounds of running water, air dryers, and flushing toilets. Even when I plug my ears, I’m distracted when the guy in the next stall coughs.
Finally, I’m able to tune everything out and focus. “Katherine, can you hear me? It’s Brandon, the one you have been talking to.”
Not a single, female voice enters my head—not even from outside. My tension softens at the memories of the comfort she can bring. What a beautiful person she must be to have this influence.
My mind suddenly snaps to attention, feeling as if someone has cleared his throat and is preparing me to hear something isn’t right somewhere.
“Katherine?”
Minutes pass without a word from her.
She may be working now or doing one of the many things that occupy a person’s mind. Still, I can’t shake the weird feeling something is off.
Optimism, I remind myself.
I’ll try again in an hour. Somehow this will all work out.
I pop open Facebook while waiting for Dale. How it sucks people into data mining is brilliant. Go ahead and take the quiz about what type of fashionista you are because now someone knows what ads to litter your news feed with. Also, thanks to cross-domain tracking, those cookies you got will follow you to other sites. There will be no escape until you clean your cache, which most people rarely do. Chances are that by then you will have bought the product. Cha-ching!
Ironically, ruthless data mining is one of the reasons why I hate Facebook. Between that and how I can’t market gumdrops, I’m beginning to see how much I suck at my job. Schizophrenia has nothing to do with my incompetence. I’m sane as can be.
Katherine hasn’t updated her status since yesterday. Again I try to push away the interference the world brings and reach out to her. Instead of finding focus, the weird feeling that something is off crawls up the back of my neck. I pull my jacket around me even though I don’t feel cold.
My phone chimes with a text from Dale. “Just off freeway. There in 5.”
Something about receiving that text causes my phone to slam me with messages. Random texts pop up, along with a Twitter notification. Katherine tweeted not long after my flight from Los Angeles left.
“A whole two days off? Heading bac
k home to see my family! Excited!”
No! She can’t be headed to Seattle! Was the sense I got that something was wrong with her related to going home? When she said she was going to do something special I thought she meant getting a massage. I could not have possibly guessed from her last post that—
I yell to God, out loud, for everyone to hear, “You have got to be kidding! Seriously? A little warning would have been nice!”
That image of houses I saw when we were getting ready to land wasn’t a flashback; it was her view! We just missed each other. Again Amber’s words about us being composed of energy and how we leave an imprint for others to appreciate comes to mind. This weird sensation I’ve gotten since landing is Katherine’s residual energy telling me she was here and left. Oh, this is crap! Pure, unadulterated, unfair crap! Why is the universe jacking with me so much?
Enough is enough! I’m having Dale take us to the nearest bar so I can soak my head in a gallon of whisky.
Where I Am Today
For God’s sake, it is Saturday night.
Dale takes yet another work-related call, and I nearly reach across the table and rip the phone out of his hand. “Is this how you treat your dates? No wonder why you don’t have a girl friend.”
He actually takes a second to cover the mouthpiece and whisper, “Well, it is rather dark in here. Kind of romantic, don’t you think?” He winks and air kisses me.
“Gah!” He may laugh, but I damn near squirm out of my seat.
As much as it sucks that I can’t pursue the real reason why I’m here, my poor timing was probably the universe’s way of saving me from getting arrested for stalking. For better or for worse, flying across the country and trying to live life Dale’s way will definitely put my mind in a different space.
Voices Carry: A Rock and Roll Fantasy (The Rock And Roll Fantasy Collection) Page 10