Missing Parts

by Lucinda Berry

  I’m so sorry. Please talk to me.

  I gave up after my tenth apology went unanswered. My skin felt tight like it no longer fit my bones. I clawed at it as if there were termites crawling underneath and paced the small room. The resolve I’d worked so hard to build evaporated, and I was pummeled with images from That Night. Phil’s face and his lopsided grin—the raw lust emanating from his eyes as if he was possessed by a demon. His smell infiltrated the hospital room as if it was alive. I tried to banish the memories—the way he grabbed my hair as he threw me down on the bed, how he’d ripped my blouse open, and the sounds the buttons made as they scattered on the floor—but I couldn’t. They just kept coming and each time they did, David’s face contorted across Phil’s. I kept seeing how he looked when the news from Dr. Wilcox finally registered. The image was stuck on repeat. It made my stomach lurch, and I ran to the bathroom again and again, heaving into the toilet until there was nothing left except thick green mucus.

  Rori woke up twice during the night, crying her dry tears. I soothed her back to sleep each time.

  “I miss Daddy,” she whispered the second time.

  “Sweetie, I miss him too. He’ll be back soon,” I said, quietly into her ear. Even though it was hard to hear her ask for David, I took it as a good sign. She hadn’t spoken in two days.

  When David didn’t answer my texts, I started texting Robin. My brain felt like it would explode and spray pieces of me all over the linoleum floor if I didn’t connect with someone.

  Call me.

  I fucked up. Call me.

  Seriously. Call me. I need to talk to you.

  She never responded. It meant he’d told her because she’d been texting me incessantly for the last four days even during the night. She was going to have so many questions and I didn’t know how I was going to answer them. I wasn’t going to be able to answer her questions any more than I was going to be able to answer David’s. How could I possibly explain things to him I hadn’t allowed myself to utter? I’d spent the last five years banishing every thought relating to That Night. I’d refused to allow myself to think about or imagine what might happen if David ever found out about it. I’d convinced myself he never would and eventually, it had become real to me even when I found out I was pregnant.

  I never missed my period unless I was pregnant, but even with its absence that February, I paid it no attention. I told myself it was because things were so stressful at work, but then March came, and my date passed again. I still refused to believe the possibility I might be pregnant. I went to my gynecologist to find out what was wrong.

  “Celeste, you’re pregnant,” he said the moment he entered the room. He hadn’t even examined me yet.

  “How do you know?”

  “We always run a pregnancy test on the urine we take. It’s standard procedure.” The turkey sandwich I’d eaten at lunch threatened to come up my throat. Dr. Williams furrowed his brow. “Are you okay? I thought you’d be thrilled.”

  He’d been my doctor when I started trying to get pregnant and was the one who referred us to the fertility specialist. He knew how hard I’d tried and how desperately I wanted to get pregnant. I nodded. I opened my mouth to speak, but vomit spewed out instead of words. He grabbed the garbage can and brought it to me while I heaved until I emptied my stomach. He handed me a small Dixie cup full of water when I finished.

  “I’m sorry. I think I have food poisoning. I must’ve eaten something bad at lunch.”

  He threw his head back and laughed. “You don’t have food poisoning. You’re pregnant. You know how they call it morning sickness?”

  I nodded.

  “I have some bad news for you. There’s nothing morning about it. Women who get nauseous from the surge of hormones in early pregnancy tend to feel nauseous all day long. It’s not something reserved for the morning.”

  I managed a weak, half-hearted smile. “I feel pretty awful. I think I’m going to reschedule my appointment.”

  “Sure, I completely understand. Tell David I said congratulations. I know he’s going to be so excited.”

  My heart raced as I left his office, blindly searching for where I’d parked my car. I couldn’t remember where I’d parked it which only increased the panic surging through my veins. I was pregnant, but this wasn’t how I wanted it to happen. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. I walked circles through the parking lot telling myself the baby could be David’s. We’d had sex around the same time. It was a possibility. Miracle babies happened all the time. I’d read hundreds of stories from women who’d been unable to get pregnant for years and then suddenly conceived without medical help. We could be one of the statistic breakers.

  The baby is David’s. It has to be David’s.

  “Oh my God, that’s amazing!” David had shouted, jumping up and down when I showed him the pregnancy stick with the pink “yes” lit up brightly in the small window—the same window that had been stamped no so many times in the past. I’d been taking pregnancy tests all afternoon. I’d taken four and each one yielded the same result. “I can’t believe it. This is so great. I wonder when it happened. Maybe it was the night we had a picnic in the backyard. Remember that? That was some good loving. I bet that’s what did it.” He pulled me close to him, wrapping his arms around me. “We finally did it. We’re going to have a family.” He took my face in his hands, looking in my eyes. “Hey, what’s wrong? Why aren’t you happy?”

  “I’m happy. I am. I just feel like crap. People aren’t joking about pregnancy hormones. They’re making me feel so sick and exhausted.”

  “Of course, I understand. Let me run you a bath and I’ll give you a backrub once you’re out. How’s that sound?”

  I nodded, forced a smile and hoped it looked genuine. “It sounds great.”

  I’d never wanted to hurt him. Ever. I wished there was some way I could tell him about That Night so he’d understand, but there was no way he’d believe me. No one would. I wanted to cry, but my own tears were as dry as Rori’s. By the time morning came, my throat was raw and my eyes burned with exhaustion.

  Dr. Wilcox arrived before David and he looked at me differently than he had the day before. He glanced at me, dismissing me without his usual checkin questions, and focused his attention on Rori, checking her fluids and her stats. She woke up during his examination.

  “Rori, this is Dr. Wilcox. He’s one of the doctors whose been helping you,” I said.

  “Where’s Daddy?” Her voice was barely a whisper.

  I refused to look at Dr. Wilcox as I answered. “He’s at home getting us some more things to use while we’re here.”

  “She’s talking?”

  “A little. She woke up in the middle of the night and asked for David.” She’d probably sensed his absence even in her comatose state.

  “It’s good that she’s talking. It also looks like her levels are up a bit. The dialysis might finally be having some type of an effect.”

  “What did you say?” David asked, walking through the door.

  I jerked my head up at the sound of his voice. He looked as awful as I was sure I did. His eye sockets were sunk back into his head while his eyes bulged out as if they were marbles about to pop out at any second. His face was gaunt, and I could see every bone moving as he ground his jaw. He was in the same clothes he’d been in yesterday which meant he hadn’t gone to bed or taken a shower. His face was rough with patches of stubble, the closest he’d ever been to a beard.

  “Rori’s been doing some talking and the dialysis is beginning to take effect.” Dr. Wilcox said.

  David made his way to Rori’s bed without looking at or touching me as he slid by and gave her a big squeeze and a kiss on her cheek before tousling her hair. She threw her arms around his neck and squeezed.

  “Daddy.” She clung to him, resting her head against his chest as he sat on the side of her bed. Her small fingers splayed out across his heart as if she was searching for his heartbeat underneath.

  “I�
��m so happy you’re feeling better. I love you so much, sweet pea.”

  “Me too.” My voice resonated off the walls and seemed loud in my head.

  Neither of them looked at me.

  “Let’s give her another full round of dialysis today. Every three hours. I’ll let the nurses know. I’m curious to see if we’ll continue to see improvement,” Dr. Wilcox said. “About our conversation yesterday…”

  He looked at me for the first time since he’d entered the room. His eyes searched mine, probing for some type of answer or response. I didn’t know what else to do so I just shook my head. I couldn’t tell a stranger the most shameful thing I’d ever done. There was no way.

  The air in the room stretched out between us. My heartbeat throbbed in my temple. I kept looking at David like he could speak for me, but there was nothing he could say either.

  Finally, Dr. Wilcox spoke, “I don’t want to have this conversation in front of Rori, but we need to continue our conversation from yesterday. I’m going to do my rounds and get back with the two of you in a while. If you need anything at all from me before then, have one of the nurses page me.”

  Just that quickly Dr. Wilcox was gone and the walls closed in on me. I had to say something. “David, I–”

  “Don’t talk to me. Don’t say a word to me right now.” He never took his eyes off Rori. She’d already closed her eyes and drifted back to sleep.

  We sat in silence for an hour which stretched out into eternity. The only sounds were the relentless beeps of Rori’s machines and the flurry of constant activity going on outside our door. I couldn’t stand it. I felt as if my brain was going to implode. After another hour of the same tortuous silence, I’d reached my limit.

  “I’m going to take a walk. Do you want anything from Starbucks?”

  No response.

  I made my way down the familiar pathway to Starbucks and ordered my usual—a triple espresso with skim milk. I started my way back to the room, but halfway there, I took a right instead of a left. I couldn’t go back yet. I needed air. I stepped outside and felt the wind on my face, gulping it in. The sun was so bright, white spots blurred in front of my eyes and it took a second before they subsided. I walked around the side of the hospital until I came to a patch of grass and took a spot on a bench underneath a big tree surrounded by beautifully colored flowers at the base. I took another huge breath. I pulled out my phone to check my messages and there was still nothing from Robin. I scrolled through my emails which were filled with best wishes and condolences from everyone at work coupled with emails from all of my friends. Everyone was positive, assuring me Rori was going to pull through and be fine, even Jen’s email was filled with confidence. It all felt surreal.

  I texted Robin again.

  Did you talk to David?

  I could almost hear her thinking, trying to figure out how she wanted to respond to me. A few minutes passed before she responded.

  I hope Rori is doing better.

  Her pain wasn’t comparable to David’s, but she was going to be hurt and angry about what’d I’d done. We rarely ever fought and there’d only been one other time she’d been angry with me. It was during our sophomore year in college and I’d gone out on a date with a guy she liked. Nothing happened between us, but she was furious. She hadn’t talked to me for a week. It was awful. I’d never done anything like it again. If she’d ignored me for a week over that, how long would she ignore me over this? I couldn’t get through this without her.

  I texted David next.

  I’m sorry.

  I didn’t expect to get a response, but was driven to keep letting him know. I meant my apologies with every fiber of my being. I’d never been sorrier for anything I’d ever done, but I’d also never done something so awful. How could I convince David that my intentions had been good? He’d never believe the truth. I couldn’t expect him to believe anything I had to say. What was I going to do if I couldn’t fix this?

  The only texts coming were from my mom.

  When can I come? I want to be there for you.

  She’d been texting the same thing for the last two days. When Rori first got sick, I avoided telling her much like I’d avoided telling everyone until we knew it was something serious. I would’ve skipped telling her, but she called every few days to talk to Rori so I didn’t have a choice.

  She was the last person I wanted to see or talk to. I’d spent my life making sure my mom didn’t see me hurt or upset. It’d started when I was small and not because of the pride like it’d grown into, but out of necessity because my mom had so much on her plate raising my sister and me alone. I did everything in my power to keep from adding more to it.

  Being a single mother was never part of my mom’s plans. The only thing she’d ever wanted to be was a wife and mother. My dad had been her high school sweetheart and they’d married when she was only nineteen. She’d followed him to college in Chicago where she’d worked as a bank teller, helping to pay for his tuition while he went to school and earned his law degree. Once he finished, they returned to the small town in Illinois where they’d grown up together and my dad began working in his father’s law office that had been in the family for generations. My older sister Rachel was born during his first year in practice and my mom was beyond thrilled. I followed three years later. Her world revolved around taking care of her family. She was beyond devoted to us and my dad. She catered to his every need as well as ours. Nothing gave her as much pleasure as making us happy. It was all she cared about.

  Our life was perfect until I was six. Our home could’ve been featured in Good Housekeeping with a picture of my mom in the kitchen as she baked cookies with her favorite apron tied around her waist and a big smile on her face. My dad worked hard at establishing his law practice and each year he climbed further and further toward being one of the most successful bankruptcy lawyers in town. In a town as small as the one I spent my early childhood in, he was one of the only lawyers. There was very little competition so he found himself fulfilling all sorts of legal responsibilities outside the scope of his legal training. He became a lawyer of all trades advising people above and beyond their bankruptcy. He counseled people on real estates, trusts, environmental issues and a few times he even represented couples in their divorce proceedings.

  To all outside appearances, we had it all. We were the Jones’s—the ones others measured their success or failures against. Then, without warning, one day he never came home from work. It wasn’t unusual for him to work late, but my mom started to panic when he wasn’t home by eleven o’ clock and she still hadn’t heard from him. By early morning, she was pacing the floor and had called the hospitals and local police trying to find out if he’d been in an accident.

  The next three days were torturous. My mother filed a missing person’s report and the town rallied around her as they plastered the nearby towns with his picture. They organized search groups at the local Catholic Church and combed the area for him. It was the talk of the town. My mom told me years later that there were those who speculated he might’ve been abducted by aliens.

  My mom received a letter addressed from Madrid, Spain two weeks after he disappeared. It was from my dad and it was the most formal Dear John letter you’d ever read. In a few short lines, he explained to my mom that he’d felt trapped in his life for years. He’d never been outside of the Midwest and felt as if his entire life had been mapped out since he was a child and he’d never been free to be who he wanted to be. He’d met a woman and had left the country to be with her. He told my mom he didn’t love her anymore and couldn’t remember the last time he had. He told her to kiss us for him and to take care of us. We never saw our father again. Occasionally throughout the years, he would send us postcards from remote places throughout the world simply signed: Love, Dad.

  My mom was devastated. She collapsed with shock and horror. It was the most scandalous affair to hit the town in the last decade. Everyone knew about it. Her humiliation was very public. She
curled into a ball in her room and cried for days. I listened to her wails, wishing there was something I could do to ease them and vowing I’d never be the one to make her cry.

  The next year was awful. I only remembered bits and pieces because I was so young. My mom lost our house because she couldn’t afford to pay the mortgage. My grandparents were as shocked as she was by his abrupt departure and when she lost the house, we moved in with them temporarily. Being surrounded by them only added to her misery because they were a constant reminder of the life she thought she was supposed to have. Her life had been organized and predictable, but after he left, there was nothing but uncharted territory and an ominous future looming in front of her. Eventually, we moved into an apartment on the other side of town, but it was as if my mom carried a scarlet letter on her forehead. The first day of summer vacation after I’d finished first grade and Rachel had completed fourth grade, she packed us into our mini-van and drove as far south as she could get. We ended up in the upper panhandle of Florida.

  My mom was never the same. To this day, she’d never formed a relationship with another man. She’d gone on a few dates over the years but rarely saw them more than once. If you brought up the subject of my dad, she still talked about him as vehemently as if it happened a few days ago rather than thirty years.

  She put herself back together as best she could for us girls. She worked two jobs to pay for nursing school, but it took twice as long because she had to work and take care of us. By the time she got her nursing degree, Rachel was almost out of high school and I was a freshman. She became self-sufficient not out of a desire to be independent, but because she had no other choice and as much as she tried to pretend to like it, we knew it was an act.

  Rachel had been a lot like me before our move to Florida—sweet, well-behaved, popular, and a great student. Even in the year following my dad leaving, she still managed to stay stable, but her entire personality changed after we moved. It was as if she’d reached her tipping point and it was the thing that put her over the edge. She made my mother’s already-hard life even harder. She was angry at everything and directed all her anger at my mom. She went from being an A-student to failing most of her classes and was constantly in trouble for not following the rules or starting fights with other girls. By middle school, she spent her afternoons in detention and didn’t listen to what anyone told her to do. She started drinking and doing drugs in high school. She dropped out in tenth grade and despite three stints in rehab, she’d never gotten sober. I hadn’t heard from her in over three years. The last time I had was a desperate call to bail her out of jail in Las Vegas, which I’d refused. I’d bailed her out enough times to know it never made any difference.