by Maureen Lang
Suddenly it all made sense.
His parents knew.
And Peter didn’t.
“Peter.” She could barely breathe. The sting of hot tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. “Peter, you know that is the least of the worries regarding my family.”
Peter looked from his parents to Cosima, a new touch of confusion beginning to mar his happy, earnest face. “I told you—it’s nothing!”
She nodded, and the first of her tears began to fall. “Yes, Peter, that is nothing. Nothing compared to . . .” She looked away, suddenly losing courage. Her gaze rose to Reginald, accusing. “You didn’t tell him, did you?”
Reginald, his face somber, did not move from several paces behind Peter. Now she knew what she saw in his eyes, something she’d never seen firsthand. Cruelty. Unmistakable, utter cruelty.
“Tell him what? About a curse? And have him thinking I was crazy for taking such a risk in order to forge a path into higher society? It isn’t as if I believe in curses, anyway. It’s all rubbish.”
“What is?” Peter asked. He looked from Reginald to Cosima, and at that moment she knew her dreams hadn’t really come true after all.
She wanted to flee, to hide from his face when he learned the truth. She took a step forward, but Peter caught her arm, preventing her from leaving.
“Please,” she begged through tears that wouldn’t stop no matter how much she longed to shed them in private. “Please, let me go. Reginald knows everything. Ask him. Or,” she added, looking at Lady Hamilton, who, to her credit, no longer looked horrified but rather upset, “your mother obviously knows. Ask her.”
Cosima pulled her arm away and fled the pavilion. She heard Peter call her but didn’t look back, not even when she heard footsteps followed by a scuffle.
Lord Hamilton’s voice echoed after her. “Let her go, Son. Hear us out and you’ll know you must let her go.”
35
After Talie’s morning routine of spot-cleaning the house, planning lunch and dinner, and attending to Ben’s needs, the music therapist arrived with her bag of instrumental toys and a guitar. Ben loved the ocean drum best, with tiny silver balls that were visible through the sturdy plastic top rolling from side to side. The movement sounded amazingly like a series of gentle waves. Ben always quieted for that.
Talie sat on the floor with Ben in her lap. She didn’t sing along with the therapist, knowing she’d rarely hit the right keys, but hoped showing her own enjoyment might increase Ben’s. It was still easy for her to maneuver on the floor at almost five months pregnant. This was one of her favorite half hours spent, because Ben seemed to listen to the words though he had yet to say any himself.
The phone rang just as the session ended. Talie would have let the call go to voice mail, but with the therapist busy packing maracas, tambourines, and rain sticks and with Ben content on the floor, Talie decided to check caller ID. The medical center. She picked up the phone.
“Mrs. Ingram?”
“Yes. Hello, Dr. Cooper.” Talie took a quick breath. Though the pediatric specialist hadn’t inquired about Ben, Talie decided to offer some information anyway. “Ben’s music therapist is here,” she said. “Of all the therapies, we think he enjoys this one the best.”
“That’s great,” Dr. Cooper said. “Mrs. Ingram, the reason I called is to let you know I received the results on Ben’s blood test.”
It had been weeks since Talie and Luke had taken Ben to the geneticist for that awful blood test. She had put that from her mind long ago. They’d poked him on both hands until they found a vein and taken four full vials. He’d screamed the whole time while Luke held Ben’s head and nurses at each leg pinned him down. Talie had fled the room like a coward. Ben’s screams made her head spin and her stomach knot. That couldn’t be good for the new baby. But waiting in a nearby conference room hadn’t helped. She still heard Ben’s screams.
Her heart began to pound, and it had nothing to do with the memory of that day. “I thought those results must have come back weeks ago and we’d get something in the mail eventually.”
“This test often takes a little longer because not all labs do the specific tests we needed, and they wait to batch together the ones they receive. Our policy is to mail negative results, Mrs. Ingram. But Ben’s fragile X test came back positive.”
Talie might never be able to forget the blood draw, but she couldn’t recall the name of any specific disorders they had tested for. Myriad thoughts rippled through her brain. A blood-test result meant a genetic disorder. That’s what she had expected, wasn’t it? Bad genes passed down from Cosima? Why even be surprised?
But she was. Undeniably. Her heart began to sputter her blood instead of smoothly pumping it where it needed to go. “What was that?”
“Fragile X. I could go into a long explanation, but it would be better for you to meet with Dr. Benson, where you had the blood drawn. She’s a top geneticist and can explain everything in greater detail.”
“We’re seeing Dr. Benson tomorrow.” She didn’t want to admit Luke had made the appointment weeks ago; she still had trouble acknowledging everything pointed in the direction of a genetic disease.
“Oh?”
“We . . . wanted genetic counseling.” Dr. Cold Fish didn’t have to know all the evidence supporting her latest diagnosis.
“Before receiving the fragile X diagnosis? Is there some reason you might have suspected this before now?”
“I . . . I’d rather not talk about it right now, if you don’t mind. But what about the diagnosis of autism? You were wrong about that?”
“He has fragile X. Some people refer to it as ‘autism of known cause,’ since so many of the symptoms are similar.”
Talie could remember nothing about the disorder this doctor kept naming. All Talie knew was that blood-test results were far different from one doctor’s opinion about autism. Her heart sank and raced at the same time. Talie could deny a simple opinion—in fact she had been doing a remarkable job at that very thing, despite her family history. It was easy to listen to a pediatrician who said Ben might grow out of his delays. But a blood test . . .
She took a deep breath. “Ben is slow; of course that’s true. But even though he doesn’t make very good eye contact, he seems to want to be in our company—”
“Mrs. Ingram,” interrupted Dr. Cooper, “autism was a diagnosis based on the symptoms I saw, symptoms I’ve seen in countless other children your son’s age. But now I have the results of a blood test that give the reason for your son’s delays. There’s no question about it. He has fragile X syndrome.”
Talie’s head filled with cotton. She could not comprehend the doctor’s words. “What does this mean? I don’t know what fragile X is.”
“Physically there are a few complicating factors, none of them life threatening. No one can tell what level of cognitive ability Ben will achieve, Mrs. Ingram. I know you would like to see his future; wouldn’t we all. But for now, the best thing for you to do is see Dr. Benson. In the meantime, I can send you what literature I have on fragile X.”
Talie’s gaze fell on Ben, still contentedly sucking his finger. She was aware of the music therapist lingering nearby, as if wondering if she should stay or leave. Talie didn’t know what to do—point her toward the door or burst into tears.
Instead she spoke into the phone. “Dr. Cooper . . .” She had to ask, even though every fiber of her being knew this blood test only supported what she expected. “Is there any chance you could be wrong? Maybe this blood test is wrong.”
“This is an accurate test, Mrs. Ingram, and the diagnosis fits Ben’s symptoms. He’s delayed physically as well as cognitively, which points to fragile X. You should be relieved to get a firm diagnosis.”
Relieved? Relieved, when she’d done nothing but try to convince herself that Ben would somehow be all right? Relieved to hear there was a blood test telling her he would never be “all right”? never be normal?
She ignored her thumping he
art. “What is fragile X, exactly?” She knew the answer but asked the question anyway. It was a modern-day name for an age-old curse. But she needed to know more.
“The X chromosome, when viewed under the right circumstances, appears ‘fragile’ on the long arm of the X. It often results in mental retardation.”
Talie registered only the words mental retardation. The cotton in her head spread to her heart and lungs. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t feel. This could not be happening. Talie saw the concerned look on the music therapist’s face but could do nothing to assure her or hide the upheaval erupting inside.
Talie gripped the phone receiver. “I want to know what this means for my son.”
“It means messages in his brain probably aren’t connecting properly. He’s missing one specific protein that is responsible for dendrites and synapses to—”
“No, Dr. Cooper, I guess you didn’t hear me. I want to know how this affects my son.”
“I don’t know what to tell you, Mrs. Ingram, except that he is probably affected cognitively. Approximately 90 percent of fragile X boys are intellectually challenged at least to some degree. The level of retardation can’t be predicted. It varies in every patient.”
Retardation. The term sounded archaic, like some kind of disease that should have been cured a long time ago. Cured.
“And there’s no cure, no treatment? If they know what this disorder is, can’t they . . . fix it?”
“The brain is probably the most protected organ in our bodies. Getting a synthetic protein up there, in proper levels and at the time of learning, is something that in reality is even more complicated than it sounds. That’s not to say they’re not trying, though. It’s a single gene disorder, attracting top-notch researchers. But for now you’re doing exactly what Ben needs. Speech therapy and all the other therapies will help him learn.”
“But if he’s . . .” Mentally retarded. Talie couldn’t say the words aloud. He was the same as Willie and Percy and Royboy. Feebleminded. How desperately she wanted to cling to her denial. “Can he learn?”
“Of course. But only time and Ben himself can tell you to what extent.”
Talie had no tears, only panic slowly making its way through the numbness. She moved to the nearby kitchen table. Suddenly her knees weren’t strong enough to hold her. She wanted this conversation to end, but the doctor seemed to have more.
“You should realize this condition is genetic. It’s on the X chromosome, which means you’re the carrier, Mrs. Ingram.”
Genetics again. She’d guessed she was the carrier, had prayed the new baby would be all right. But she had to know more, even if she wasn’t ready to hear what the doctor had to say.
“Are there . . . statistics? What are the chances of having another child with this . . . fragile . . . X?”
“You have two X chromosomes. One is probably good, the other bad. That means each of your pregnancies has a fifty-fifty chance of producing a fragile X child. That’s why I’m glad you’ve already called Dr. Benson. You need to know the child you’re carrying now might be affected as well.”
* * *
Fifty-fifty.
Talie couldn’t keep the numbers from repeating in her mind. Fifty-fifty. She was no gambler, but she knew those were stakes only the reckless accepted.
She heard the garage door open. Luke was home. She’d called him the moment she’d gotten off the phone, just after seeing the therapist to the door. Talie couldn’t speak, couldn’t explain what the phone call had been about—couldn’t even cry at that moment. But as soon as she heard Luke’s voice she’d burst into tears. He told her he’d be home within an hour.
Talie sat on the floor in the family room beside Ben. She’d avoided holding him, thinking he might sense her trauma. But could he? He wasn’t like other babies who could read social cues. Perhaps he wouldn’t even be aware his mother couldn’t stop crying.
But it was lunchtime and some things couldn’t be ignored, at least for Ben. He’d always been able to tell her when he was hungry, and he was beginning to fuss now. She picked him up and brought him into the kitchen.
Luke stepped in and without a word pulled Talie close, with Ben in between. Then he took Ben from her arms. “So this has a name. What he has, I mean. Fragile X.”
Determined to control her tears, Talie nodded. “I need to feed him lunch.”
She watched Luke lift Ben higher, the way Ben liked. Ben smiled wide, every tooth in his mouth visible. As Talie prepared his meal, she watched Luke carry on as if nothing so devastating as an irrefutable blood test had just been returned. At that moment, she envied him. How could he be so unflappable?
Luke put Ben in his high chair. “This doesn’t change anything, you know.”
“Maybe not for Ben. But for the new one?”
His face was grim. “We suspected it was genetic—”
“Fifty-fifty, Luke! Fifty-fifty.”
Luke approached her. But it wasn’t until he placed his two steady hands on her arms that she realized how pervasively she trembled. “I have one thing to say to you, Talie.” Though his voice was grim, it was also calm. “And if you’ve read very far in Cosima’s pages you’ll know what I mean. All and whatever, Talie. All and whatever. Both of us need to remember that, and maybe we’ll make it through.”
36
I stumbled on the stairs leading to the veranda, catching myself. The ballroom doors were before me, and I dared not glance around for fear of seeing someone looking my way. Breathing deeply, I paused. Why had I retraced my steps here?
It was the quickest way back into the house. I had no choice except to walk through the ballroom.
Wiping away tears stalled only by fear of having someone spot them, I stepped forward, determined to find my way upstairs. No one could detain me, not even the gentleman whose name was listed next on my dance card. Thankfully, the music had not yet resumed after the supper break.
Staring straight ahead so I would catch no one’s eye, I walked steadily through the crowd. To linger might draw attention, yet going too fast might do the same. And so with careful steps I wound my way through the room, barely breathing until nearing the interior doors leading to the hallway beyond. . . .
“Cosima!”
Cosima pretended she hadn’t heard. Surely the call was from Beryl, and much as Cosima needed a friendly face, she knew she couldn’t slow. She must go, and quickly, before tears, trapped only temporarily, escaped once again.
In the hall beyond the ballroom, a shadow thrust itself at her. Beryl flung her arms about Cosima in an instantly firm embrace. “Oh! I’m having the most wonderful time. I’ve been looking all over for you.” Beryl spoke into Cosima’s ear, holding her close. “There is the most wonderful man here, someone I’ve met only briefly before. His name is Lord Robert Welby, and he’s put himself on my card three times. He’s remarkable; wait until you meet him!”
Pulling back at last, Beryl looked at Cosima and her face changed from excited to concerned. “Cosima! You’ve been crying. Whatever is the matter?”
“I . . . can’t. . . . Please, I must leave. I’m sorry.”
She tried to turn away, but Beryl held her in place. “Leave the ball? But it’s barely half over.”
“No, not the ball,” Cosima said. “I need to leave your house entirely. I must leave England and go home.”
Beryl opened her mouth to speak, but no words came. She looked over Cosima’s shoulder, and for the first time Cosima noticed a steady stream of guests coming in from supper. People now filled the hallway, parting like a stream around an island to bypass Cosima and Beryl.
Beryl took one of Cosima’s hands and dodged the crowd heading in the opposite direction. She led Cosima past the conservatory and through a doorway she hadn’t noticed before. It opened to a narrow, unadorned stairway, and from the lack of decor, Cosima assumed it was only for servants. In a moment they were in the upstairs hall, not far from Beryl’s room.
“Thank you,” Cosima managed
to say, knowing she couldn’t maintain control much longer. She didn’t know what she wanted most: to be alone with her tears or to flee. But how could she? She had only the money the dowager had given her to tip Beryl’s maid since her own maid had stayed at the Escott estate to avoid adding to the congestion of the gala. Cosima would need to send for Millie at once and arrange passage home. She had no idea how to do that in the middle of the night, but somehow she must.
Beryl closed the door behind them and lit several lamps.
Drawing a deep breath, as if she’d forgotten how to breathe and needed to catch up, Cosima turned to Beryl. She needed to be strong only a few moments more.
“Don’t stay, Berrie,” Cosima said, glad her words were clear if a bit unsteady. Perhaps she could be coherent after all. “You were enjoying the ball, and I don’t want to spoil it for you. I’m fine; I just need to be alone.”
“But you said you want to leave England! Do you think I’ll abandon you now, knowing how upset you are?” Beryl closed in, taking Cosima’s clasped hands in hers. “Have you spoken to Peter? Is that what this is about?”
Hearing his name shattered what tenuous hold Cosima had on control. She pried her fingers from Beryl’s and covered her face, letting the tears out at last.
Beryl pulled her into an embrace, this time far gentler than her happy one downstairs. “Oh, Cosima,” she whispered. “I cannot imagine what he said to you. I am certain he loves you.”
“He . . . does . . . or did. . . . I don’t know what he must feel now.”
Beryl led Cosima to one of the settees. “Tell me everything,” she entreated. “Whatever happened? If he loves you, I don’t understand why you’re crying.”
“Oh, Berrie, he didn’t know!” Cosima’s tears replenished themselves. “All this time I thought he knew.”
“Knew . . . about the supposed curse, you mean?” As she spoke, Beryl rose and went to the bureau in the corner, returning with a handkerchief and handing it to Cosima.
Cosima wiped her face. “Reginald said he told Peter everything. He specifically said he told Peter about the curse.”