And Yesterday Is Gone

by Dolores Durando

  “For what reason?” he asked with a piercing look.

  “Well, uh, my wife is pregnant.”

  “Since when is it required that a man hold her head for morning sickness?”

  “Well,” I mumbled, “she’s a little further along than that.”

  “When is it due?”

  Looking over his head, admiring the wall, I stuttered, “Uh, in a while.”

  “No more bullshit,” he thundered. “I asked you when.”

  “In about three months,” I whispered.

  He looked at me in amazement and then laughed. “I’ll be damned.” His fist banged the desk.

  “You didn’t have to do it all at once, stupid. Guess I haven’t kept you busy enough. I’ll remedy that.”

  And he did, but at least there were no out-of-town trips.

  It was rumored among my peer group in the pressroom that I was the favorite son, which did not gain me any favors there. However, J.W. was tough on me if he felt my work wasn’t as good as it could have been. But those times were seldom since I had to please myself first.

  • • •

  My life with Rica in that crowded apartment was all I ever dreamed it could be. To lay my hand on her belly and feel the new life that stirred so vigorously beneath, caused a thrill that consumed me, especially knowing it was part of me.

  “What shall we name him?”

  “Him? It’s a girl—I should know. Let’s name her ‘Margaret’ for your mother, or ‘Mary’ for mine. That should gain us some points.”

  “I think ‘William’ for my father. ‘William McAllister’ has a nice ring to it,” I coaxed.

  “Betcha.” She giggled.

  “Betcha,” I answered with a kiss.

  We shopped for baby things. I never dreamed such a small individual could require so many clothes. Rica chose pink ruffles; I chose blue, but also found to my delight a tiny red baseball cap with “SF 49ers” embroidered in gold thread.

  “That will look silly on a girl,” Rica declared, but I persevered.

  The one thing that we really needed was a crib and we found a most beautiful white piece of furniture fit for a royal prince.

  “Princess,” Rica insisted.

  The price was fit for royalty, too, so we settled on a bassinette that would fit next to our bed.

  Our happiness made time fly; soon we were counting the weeks.

  True to his word, J.W. kept me in the city, available at a moment’s notice.

  • • •

  “I guess you think your mother is the only woman in the world who can make a chocolate cake,” accused Rica.

  “Well,” I responded peacefully, “I’m sure you could do as well—she just measures the flour and adds eggs and …”

  “Now you’re going to give me a cooking lesson—my coffee is weak, the tacos are burned…”

  “Darling, I love your tacos; they were a little brown, but on the third day you had them absolutely perfect.”

  “I didn’t know cooking was a requirement—my mother did that. She didn’t raise me to be a cook.”

  The tears flowed; I kissed them away.

  I came home early the next day to find all the windows open, the fan whirring—and the distinct odor of smoke.

  My wife was in a blazing tantrum.

  “There’s the damn cake,” she said, pointing to the charred chunks of chocolate stuffed back into the box of mix in which it had arrived—flung in the general direction of the garbage can.

  I took a tentative step forward and slid on the sticky remains and broken shells of a hen’s best effort.

  “And damn those chickens—their eggs roll right off a countertop,” she continued.

  “I’m fat and ugly and I know my ankles are fat, too, even if I can’t see them. Look what you’ve done to me. And now you’ll hate me because I can’t cook.” She threw a mixing spoon that clattered off the wall.

  “You’ll never make the team with a pitch like that, my beloved.”

  Casting caution to the wind, I grabbed her and pulled her down with me in our big chair.

  “Rica, Rica, my darling. I’ve never told anyone this before, but I’ve been so tired of chocolate cake all these years.” Then came the fleeting recollection that Ma always knew when I was lying.

  “You make wonderful tacos. Anyway, it isn’t food I’m thinking about when I’m with you. And in a few weeks, you’ll be holding our baby. Your ankles won’t be swollen; you’ll be slim and beautiful, as beautiful as you are now.” As I held her close and wiped away her tears, I said, “You’ve never been so beautiful to me. Now blow your nose.”

  With her arms around my neck, she said, “I love you, Steve.”

  A quick knock at the door interrupted us. “Anyone home?” Juan called.

  The door opened and he stood there with a big smile lighting up his face, two men behind him with a large box almost too big to squeeze inside. Well rewarded, the men left and Juan stood grinning expectantly. “Surprise.”

  Rica’s curiosity overpowered her baking disaster. She ran to Juan, gave him a hug and shook the box to no avail.

  Together Juan and I dismantled the heavy cardboard carton to reveal a magnificent baby crib that brought on another flood of tears. The crib fit very snugly between the foot of the bed.

  Glancing discreetly around the apartment, Juan said, “I’ve been wanting to try this new place where the food is rumored to be wonderful. Rica, powder your nose and let’s go to dinner. C’mon, Steve.”

  Surely there was no man in the world as rich as me.

  Dinner wasn’t a gala affair, although the food was excellent, the surroundings beautiful. Rica picked at her food. I knew she was uncomfortable and exhausted. Suddenly her belly seemed to have grown larger.

  “Maybe it’s twins,” she worried. “Perhaps I should have had that sonogram. Another week or so to go. I’m glad the bag is packed; I’m tired of waiting.”

  Juan drove slowly, carefully, as I held Rica close in the backseat of his new car.

  “Dr. Teddy said I should try a Bentley and I really like it. What do you think?”

  “I guess I’ll have to get one, too,” I joked, “now that I’m a family man. We’ll crowd that truck.”

  “Country boy,” Rica murmured, cuddling closer.

  She was so tired and it had been a long day for me, too. Bed was a welcome refuge.

  Finally, after much tossing and turning, she lay quiet and I drifted off into a dreamless sleep. Slowly awakening, I was vaguely aware that something…what was happening? I peered at the clock. The illuminated dial showed 2:30 a.m.

  My pajamas were clinging to my body. I felt a strange sensation—something warm and wet, very wet. Slipping my hand tentatively between the sheets, I discovered Rica was saturated. Realizing she had wet the bed and knowing how embarrassed she’d feel, how could I wake her?

  Then her hands were shaking me. “Steve, Steve, wake up. I think my water broke and I hurt,” she groaned. “I think the baby’s coming.”

  “No, it can’t,” I said stupidly. “It isn’t due for eight days—maybe ten.”

  We abandoned the bed and dressed quickly.

  “Call Dr. Teddy.”

  Then she was in the shower.

  The sound of Dr. Teddy’s sleepy voice did nothing to slow my heartbeat, despite her reassuring words.

  “Don’t worry; she’s got lots of time. Take her to the hospital where they will make her comfortable. And drive carefully. I’ll be there shortly.”

  Rica was struggling to get into her clothes, but then gave it up and pulled on my robe. She was excited, happy…and scared.

  “What if something should go wrong? It’s too early, Steve.”

  With a sharp intake of breath, she took my hand.

  “Dr. Teddy told you she couldn’t give you the exact time. Don’t worry. Where’s your bag?”

  “Over there. I need a towel. Just think, at last, at last we’ll have the baby and my ankles won’t be fat. Hurry, Steve,”
she gasped.

  Driving perhaps faster than necessary, I parked in front of the brightly lit hospital, both of us glad to be there.

  “I don’t need a wheelchair. I can walk.”

  “Sit,” a no-nonsense nurse instructed.

  “Now I suppose she’ll want me to roll over,” came Rica’s irritated aside to me. Then she gasped and held her belly.

  With the paperwork finished quickly, I followed the wheelchair through the maze of corridors. Abruptly, it stopped and the nurse pointed to a room.

  “You can wait in there.”

  “Can’t he come with me?” Rica cried out.

  “No, later maybe.”

  My shaky legs were glad to deliver my body to a chair. There were two other people in the room, obviously for the same reason. A boy, who hardly looked old enough to grow whiskers, trying not to act as I felt, was pacing up and down the small room, an unlit cigarette hanging from his mouth.

  An older man sitting with an unopened magazine in his lap and a look of irritation crossing his bearded face spoke in a low, angry voice. “You damn kids. What the hell do you expect? Sixteen years old and now she’s got a baby. I’m not supporting them. You damn well better have a plan and you damn well better get a ring on her finger. She’s the last of my five kids and I’m not raising yours. Tires aren’t the only things made out of rubber, you know—or ought to know.”

  The kid lit his cigarette with shaking hands and didn’t answer.

  Time seemed to crawl. I looked at my watch; it was nearly six. I needed a cup of coffee, but I didn’t want to leave.

  The kid was still pacing and I almost laughed when I found myself in perfect step beside him.

  At last a nurse appeared at our door. The boy’s expectant face turned to her, but she nodded in my direction and I followed her into the delivery room. I didn’t even like the name—it sounded like the end of a loading dock.

  Everything was white, including Rica’s face. Wet with sweat, only her big brown eyes and black hair tied back showed color.

  She reached for me and I bent down to hold her. When she groaned and strained, my body involuntarily strained along. She managed a weak smile as she relaxed and squeezed my hand.

  “I’m okay, Cowboy. Dr. Teddy is taking good care of me. Don’t worry—our daughter is on the way.”

  Dr. Teddy appeared. “She’s coming along, Steve, but it will be awhile. Don’t worry.” She showed me to the door.

  I walked back to the waiting room to hear the gruff voice, “Why in hell don’t you sit down? You’re driving me crazy. You shoulda been on your feet nine months ago. Relax—we’ve got the best baby doctor in San Francisco.”

  As if on cue, Dr. Teddy appeared and motioned to the boy, who almost crowded her into the doorway in his haste.

  The man sat quietly for a while. “This your first?”

  “Yeah.”

  “The first one is always scary, but it gets easier with the next one.”

  Easier for who, I thought with the image of Rica’s contorted face before me. I didn’t answer.

  “You raise them up the best you can—the wife’s been dead ten years. Twelve hours a day on the job to buy their clothes, feed them, keep a roof over their heads. Try to teach them right from wrong, pay their speeding tickets, educate them.” He paused. “This one was the baby. She never lacked for anything—got everything she ever wanted. Except this baby, of course.”

  He sat for a moment, then added, “Now this boy. His family has disowned him, kicked him out. Wrong religion—Jewish. You know how they are with their different customs. My girl, my baby girl—she’s been in there eight hours.”

  He put his head down and the sound of great gulping sobs slid through his callused hands.

  Like he said, the first one was scary.

  The boy came back and put his hand on the man’s shoulders. “The doctor said she’s doing real good and it won’t be long now.”

  I watched to see the man’s hand reach up and clasp the boy’s hand.

  The hours dragged on. I was walking the corridors; I couldn’t go back into that room. I found the cafeteria and ordered coffee that I couldn’t seem to swallow, a sandwich that all but dried on the plate. I tried to read, but the words were only letters on a page.

  Dr. Teddy hadn’t been back for a while or perhaps I’d missed her. Rica had been in that room for over nine hours.

  I talked to Sara on the phone. She said that Juan was in Los Angeles for a show; told me not to worry.

  Eleven hours had passed. A sense of foreboding crept in and smothered those tired words, “Don’t worry.”

  On my return, I caught sight of Dr. Teddy and another doctor at the nurse’s station and ran up to them.

  Dr. Teddy turned to me and, with her arm around my shoulder, spoke gently, “Steve, Rica is having complications. The baby has changed positions and is unable to move along. It is too far advanced in the birth canal to do a caesarean. We may not be able to save the baby and we are concentrating our every effort on Rica.”

  I slumped up against the wall. Dr. Teddy led me to another room and quickly left me alone. I almost fell into a chair fighting for breath, feeling as though I had been punched hard in the solar plexus.

  “Oh, God, Oh, God. Not Rica—please God, not Rica.”

  In my agony, I bargained with Him. “The baby. Not my wife.”

  I heard the suitcase drop and felt Juan’s arms as he kneeled beside me, his eyes brilliant with unshed tears. Mine were frozen within me.

  Sara was standing back, smudges of paint on the face she hadn’t taken time to wash.

  We all sat in silence, yet our thoughts were completely attuned to each other.

  My tongue was unable to bring a single word to life.

  The torturous thought of Rica lying in that bed, fighting alone to bring our baby alive, was intolerable. I stood and my footsteps sounded on the polished floor with Juan’s steps echoing beside me. We walked together as we always had.

  Fourteen hours after I had brought my wife and unborn child into the hospital, an inner peace enveloped me. I resigned myself to the bitter knowledge that the little body torn from my beloved wife was at peace.

  Dr. Teddy stepped in. Her shoulders were slumped, her body drained of every resource. With her mask hanging against a bloodied uniform, a smile denied her exhaustion.

  “Rica?” I begged.

  “Sleeping peacefully. All is well.”

  Then she added, “Steve, we have your boy, and the little warrior is going to make it.”

  I fell to my knees; the tears that had frozen in my heart flowed like a river.

  CHAPTER 34

  Following Dr. Teddy’s explicit orders, I lay down in a quiet waiting room to rest until Rica awoke. My mind numbed, my body betrayed me and I slept.

  When I felt a hand on my shoulder, I sat up so suddenly the blood rushed out of my head; the blanket that someone had thrown over me slid to the floor. Untangling my feet, I stood unsteadily. My watch indicated that two hours had passed.

  “She’s awake and waiting for you.”

  I ran after the nurse, brushed past her at the door. Rica’s eyes had the hint of a sparkle; her lips formed a tremulous smile as she held out her arms to me.

  Leaning, I wrapped my arms around her and tried to speak but, wordlessly, we clung together.

  The discreet cough of a smiling nurse interrupted, then came the unfamiliar sound of a baby’s whimper.

  I moved aside as the nurse laid him in Rica’s outstretched arms and quietly closed the door behind her. Rica moved the blanket aside and together we saw our son for the first time.

  His tiny red face turned from side to side as though searching, indignant at the delay. One little pink fist was in his mouth, the other flailing in the air.

  After Rica positioned the nipple, the only sounds were those of his sucking and my sniffles as Rica murmured endearments to both of us.

  That room was no longer a sterile white, but glowed with a soft
radiance that warmed me to my soul.

  Later, the sleeping baby lay quietly, having relinquished his hold on the nipple, and was reluctantly surrendered to the nurse. She carried him to the sanctuary of the nursery with a bubble of milk still clinging to the corner of his lips.

  Rica’s hand relaxed in mine. Her long lashes that lay dark against her pale cheeks told me that she, too, was fast asleep.

  The hustle and bustle of this huge hospital seemed muted, and the world seemed far away as I sat there overwhelmed by the flooding emotions of the last interminable hours.

  The nurse returned and held the door, apparently an unspoken invitation for me to leave.

  I stepped into the long corridor and suddenly wanted to be sitting at that old table with Ma, telling her face-to-face, “We have a boy. His name is William Manuel McAllister.”

  Juan fell in step beside me smiling, jingling a pocketful of change, and pointed me to a pay phone.

  Laughing, I watched him feed the phone but, abruptly, my voice broke the instant I heard Ma’s voice.

  “We’ve got a boy, Ma…” I choked. “Rica’s fine.”

  My tears of relief wet the receiver.

  “So what are you crying about? I think that’s wonderful. What did you name him?”

  “William Manuel McAllister…for Dad and Rica’s father.”

  “Oh, Stevie,” came her tearful voice.

  “So what are you crying about, Grandma?”

  I was delighted to pay her back in her own coin.

  “I’ve just got a little cold.”

  “Yeah, sure Ma. Me, too. Tell Sis I love her.” Juan nudged me. “I’m almost out of change, Ma. We’ll come for a visit as soon as we can. Bye, Ma.”

  Handing me a handkerchief, Juan grinned. “When do I get to see the other baby?”

  I ignored the remark and put an elbow in his ribs.

  We found Rica’s parents in the small waiting room that had been witness to so many emotions.

  Dr. Teddy appeared in a clean uniform, but the dark circles under her eyes and the strain in her voice testified to her fatigue.

  Speaking quietly, she said, “I think it would be in Rica’s best interests if you would all wait until tomorrow to visit. She and the baby are doing well, but she has had a very hard time and needs to rest.” Turning to me, she said, “Steve, I’d like to keep Rica here for a few extra days to monitor her more closely.”