Cuts like a knife

by Dana Monahan

  That was no easy task, as she was just starting her eighth month, but Billie rolled off the bed and moved as quickly as she could. “What’s up?” She panted as she reached the living room. The short run down the hallway had made her breathless.

  “Check it out!” Pointing to the television with one hand, Brad used the other to turn up the set with the remote. “It’s Trent. He signed an awesome deal to play with the Pros and the press has just found out. It’s been under wraps for the last few months. He called me last month, but wanted me to keep it a surprise for you.”

  Billie couldn’t believe it. There was Trent, baseball cap and all, grinning cockily on the big screen. The interview came to an end and Billie realized she was holding onto Brad’s hand.

  “Can you believe it?” Brad jumped up, his voice bursting with excitement. “Trent’s on his way.”

  “What about college? He’s hasn’t finished yet.”

  “Who cares? He’s getting paid a damn fortune to play. He could retire for life on his first year’s salary. Anyway, he’s been leasing some house in Malibu.” Brad sat back next to Billie, taking her hands. “Since I’m working in L.A., I want to go visit him. Would you mind if I went next weekend?”

  “I thought we were going to fix up the baby’s room. We’re running out of time.” Billie patted her protruding belly for emphasis.

  “Oh yeah, the baby needs a room. How could I forget? It’s all I ever hear about anymore.” Dropping her hands, he stood up to pace. “It’s not about us anymore. All I ever hear about is the baby. Christ, he’s not even been born yet.”

  “You mean it’s not about you anymore. I’m so sorry I put a glitch in your plans for our future!” Billie pulled herself up from the couch and felt the sting of tears as Brad’s eyes lingered on her belly with distaste.

  “Whatever. Since I’m sure you need to go off in the bedroom, you won’t mind if I drop into the bar up the street?” Without waiting for her reply, Brad stomped out of the house, slamming the door behind him.

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  The following weekend, Billie awoke in an empty bed. Since Brad hadn’t bothered to come home the night before, it was obvious he was going to spend the weekend with Trent. After getting herself dressed, she walked into the living room and pulled the blinds. Tree branches were hanging down from the weight of a late night snowfall and the ground was covered in a glorious white blanket. The streets had been cleared earlier, and she decided to pick out the baby furniture without Brad’s help.

  As Billie was driving into town, her eyes strayed to the animal clinic. Going with the familiar urge, Billie changed route and took a side road. After parking in the small lot, she contemplated her next move. If she didn’t do it now, she probably never would.

  Taking a deep breath, she waddled up an incline to get to the front entrance. The winter air was brisk, and the thick snow hindered her steps, making it hard to walk. With a gust of cold air, Billie rushed in and leaned back against the door to catch her breath. Hearing a voice from the back caught her attention.

  "What can I do for you?" a woman asked walking out to the front room. She was an older woman with short blond hair clad in an oversize tunic top, accentuating a long frame. Large brown eyes watched Billie, curiously.

  "I’d like to speak to the owner, please," Billie replied nervously.

  "You already are. I’m the owner and my name’s Norma Pratt."

  "I’d like to apply for a job; after I have the baby, of course." Billie rushed out breathlessly. “I was going to college to be a vet, for three years, but something came up." Billie smiled and rubbed her stomach. "I think this would be a very good experience for me, and I know I could be of great help to you. You wouldn't be sorry, I promise."

  Norma hesitated for a few moments and then with a smile, she said, “Come with me to my office. Maybe we can work something out."

  Twenty minutes was all it took for Billie to sell herself to Norma. She would start work six weeks after the baby was born. Norma took her on a quick tour of the facility and it was done. With a broad smile, Billie waved good bye and promised to call soon. She couldn't believe her luck. Everything had gone perfectly. Evidently, Norma had been thinking of hiring an assistant for some time and decided Billie would be the right choice. Billie was mentally patting herself on the back as she slowly drove off down the icy road.

  She hoped Brad would call that night. They needed to talk, and she was ready to do whatever it took to make their marriage right. The strain between them had to be fixed, before it was too late. Besides, once the baby was born he would see how wonderful being a father could be.

  So lost was she in her own thoughts, it took her a few minutes to hear the blaring of a horn. Looking around her frantically, she saw the brown Bronco sliding on the slick pavement, out of control. It moved from the left lane over to the right and straight for her, head on. In a panic, Billie pulled the steering all the way to the left and pushed on the accelerator. Her wheels spun impotently on the ice and the engine roared, but too late. Just as her wheels caught traction, the impact of the Bronco sent her backwards only to force her forward again. In seconds, her whole life had spun out of control. A high pitched scream froze in her throat as pain exploded all around her middle. She'd rammed right into the steering wheel, also slamming her forehead. The impact had her reeling and she shook her head to try to focus.

  "No, not my baby," she whispered in anguish. Then she let the blackness claim her.

  Slowly, Billie's eyes opened and blurred into focus. She was surrounded by four white walls and the pungent odor of antiseptic. An IV hung from a stand, dripping fluid into her right arm, laced black and blue with bruises. A sharp pain spiraled around her head when she raised it slightly off her pillow, causing a light moan to escape her parched lips. It was hard to concentrate. Where was she? Billie felt something wet between her legs, and panicked when she saw blood stains on her hospital gown. “Help me,” she called out. Then it came to her, in a blinding flash. She remembered the car accident. Sobbing, she reached for her stomach. Her scream echoed down the hallway.

  A nurse appeared in her room immediately, and tried to restrain her. “Calm down. You’re okay.” She turned to another nurse, standing in the doorway. Over Billie’s sobs, she yelled. “Get the doctor. She’s hemorrhaging again.”

  In a death grip, Billie held the nurse’s hand. “My baby; tell me my baby’s okay. Please tell me.” Billie didn’t need an answer; she could see it in the nurse’s eyes. “No,” She wailed, “My baby. I’ve lost my baby.”

  Feeling a slight jab in her arm, Billie turned her head to the doctor. “It’s okay.” His voice was soothing, but his green eyes held concern. “It’s just a sedative. We’re trying to reach your husband.”

  “My baby. My baby.” She sobbed over and over until the injection knocked her out.

  For the next twenty-four hours, Billie slipped in and out of consciousness. Occasionally, she reached out for Brad, wanting to be held, only to realize the room was empty. On Sunday morning, she awoke with full clarity. Her body still ached, but nothing compared to the pain in her soul. In silence, she stared listlessly at the wall, randomly spilling a tear. Never before had she felt so alone and empty.

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  The sound of bacon sizzling and smell of coffee brought Brad out of a deep sleep. He found himself fully dressed, face down on Trent’s leather couch. His mouth felt as if a large cotton ball had been lodged in his throat and his head throbbed when he lifted himself up to a sitting position. Empty beer cans littered the coffee table in front of him, reminding Brad of their late drinking bout together. He’d shown up Saturday afternoon, and they’d spent the night reminiscing and celebrating Trent’s deal. While rubbing his blood shot eyes, Brad strolled over the plush beige carpet into the kitchen.

  “My head’s pounding. Got any aspirin?” he asked Trent, who seemed no worse for wear in a pair of jogging shorts. He was even whistling a tune as he turned over the bacon,
causing Brad to frown in irritation. “What are you so jolly about? I feel as if my head’s going to explode.”

  “I went jogging this morning and took a morning swim. There is nothing like the cold ocean to clear the mind.” After handing Brad a few aspirins, he turned back to the skillet. “Besides, you hammered quite a few more than I did. Go take a shower, you look like shit. Or better yet, go jump in a wave. It’s the best. And throw your clothes in the wash. No offense, but you reek.”

  “I’m game for anything.” Pulling off his pants and shirt, Brad faced Trent. “Is it cool if I wear these?” He asked, referring to his boxers.

  “It’s a Private beach, dude.” Trent winked. “I’ve seen the lady next door out there in the buff. She’s a newscaster or something. Definitely prime time, if you know what I mean.”

  “Damn, my beepers off.” Brad said, emptying out his pockets.

  “Yeah, I remember, it beeped yesterday, but you shut it off.”

  “I needed a break. I’m sure it wasn’t anything major. I was too buzzed to handle anything anyway.” With a shrug he tossed the beeper on the kitchen table, washed his clothes in the sink, and threw them in the dryer. When Trent offered him some bacon, his stomach coiled and he rubbed it gingerly before heading out to the beach.

  The sand was hot beneath his feet, but not unbearable. Brad checked up and down the private stretch of beach and the small colony of houses that surrounded it, and was duly impressed. An iron gate with a security guard at the entrance of the upscale community, kept the area inaccessible to the public. Inhaling the sea air was invigorating and Brad found himself feeling better as the foamy tide lapped over his ankles.

  The salty water was brisk, rejuvenating him. Trent had been right about swimming. He felt like a new man. Brad dove in wave after wave, enjoying the work-out. He was floating on his back, when he heard Trent calling his name. Turning towards shore, he body surfed in.

  “Man, that felt great. What’s up?” He asked, shaking the water from his hair.

  “Your beeper went off.” Trent handed him a towel and they both walked back to the house.

  Brad dialed the unfamiliar number, and felt his muscles tense when he found out it was the hospital. “My name is Brad Hunt. Someone just beeped me from your number.”

  “Just a second, sir.” A receptionist told him before putting him on hold. Elevator music hummed in his ear as he felt his patience beginning to snap.

  “Mr. Hunt, I’m Dr. Stanek. I’ve been trying to reach you since yesterday.” There was a slight pause, “I’m afraid there’s been an accident.”

  “An accident? Yesterday?” he repeated tonelessly, his face turning ashen.

  Trent watched as Brad hung up the phone, slowly, as if he were in a trance. “Is Billie okay?”

  “She’s stable. There was a car accident. That’s all he’d tell me over the phone. I’ve got to go.” His clothes from the dryer were still damp, but he didn’t care. With trembling hands, he buttoned up his jeans. “It was good to see you. I’ll call you after I find out more.”

  “I’ll drive.”

  “No. I’m okay. I’ll call,” he repeated over his shoulder on his way to the door.

  “Look, if something’s wrong with Billie, I want to be there.” Trent took a step back at Brad’s anguished and, yes, guilty expression.

  “No! I’ll be there for her.”

  It took him four hours to get to the hospital. Brad cursed every red light and the snow for slowing him down. She had been in the accident yesterday, while he was living it up with Trent. Guilt left a bitter taste in his mouth, but mostly he was scared. He had detected censorship in the doctor’s voice. Billie had an accident, but was now stable. That’s all he knew.

  Brad had broken out in a sweat, despite the cold air, on his run into the hospital. He looked like a wild man, he knew, by the way the receptionist widened her eyes at his approach.

  “Where’s my wife?” He demanded. “Where the hell is my wife?” he repeated, when the young receptionist eyed him blankly.

  “I’m sorry, sir. I need a name.”

  “It’s Billie. Billie Hunt.” The receptionist punched a few things into her computer, while Brad loomed above her, drumming his fingers impatiently on her desk.

  “She is upstairs, second floor, room 214. The elevator’s down the hall.” She pointed, but he was already sprinting down the corridor.

  Dr. Stanek was just stepping out of Billie’s room when Brad arrived. With a nod, he told Brad to follow him. They stopped a short distance away in a small waiting area. “Mr. Hunt, or Brad, I assume. She called out your name a few times last night.”

  “How is she, Doc? I need to see her.”

  “Right now, she’s sleeping. We need to keep her a few days, but I’d say she’s going to be okay, physically. We stopped the bleeding and her concussion is minor. She’ll need to take it easy for a while” Dr. Stanek placed a hand on Brad’s shoulder, this part was never easy. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid she lost the baby. It’s left an emotional scar that will take time to heal.”

  “Thanks, Doc. Can I go sit with her?” When the older man nodded, Brad went into Billie’s room. She looked so fragile lying on the bed, causing a small lump in his throat. Lightly, he traced the bruises on her arm and forehead. Even in sleep, she held her hands over her middle protectively. But now there was nothing to protect. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you. Please don’t hate me,” he pleaded, taking the seat beside her.

  For two hours, Brad sat beside her, staring at her tranquil features and willing her to forgive him.

  After yawning, Brad stepped out of the room for a moment to grab a cup of coffee to wake up. When he returned, Billie was awake, staring at the ceiling. She didn’t look at him when he entered the room, or even when he sat next to her and covered her hand with his own.

  “I lost my baby.” A tear rolled down her cheek at the simple statement, but she continued to stare straight ahead.

  “It’s going to be all right.” With the pad of his thumb, he wiped away her tear. When she turned to face him, Brad swallowed the lump stuck in his throat. Her eyes were flat, emotionless, as if she were facing a stranger.

  “Please, Billie. I’m here now.” It was a little late for that, he knew. Because of his insensitivity, she had gone through her pregnancy alone, and now, suffered her baby’s death alone. With the back of his hand, Brad wiped away his own tears.

  “Excuse me.” A nurse stepped in the room. “I have to put some fresh bandages on and check her vital signs.”

  “I’ll wait outside,” Brad murmured. With head lowered, he walked straight to the bathroom and locked the door behind him. Leaning against the closed door, he slid down the wall until he was sitting. Cradling his head in his hands, he cried, but not for the loss of his unborn child. He had lost Billie.

  Chapter 17

  “Can I get you anything?” Brad asked anxiously, after making sure she was comfortable on the couch. He’d just driven Billie home from the hospital and was eager to prove himself. A tangible wall was still between them, making him feel nervous and edgy. “I took the week off from work.”

  “We need to talk, Brad.” She saw his body stiffen at her words, and knew he had been dreading them. But it had to be done. It wasn’t going to be easy for her either, she realized, watching his expression turn grim. “I think we need to be apart for a while. I want you to go back to work. I also think you should move what you need to the old house.”

  “Please, Billie. I told you I was sorry for not being there. Don’t do this,” he pleaded, dropping to his knees in front of her.

  “I’m not trying to punish you. The fact is we have had problems before the accident.” Billie choked back a sob at the reminder of her loss, “I just need some time.”

  “You need time for what?” He stood up, his hands balled into fists at his sides. “Do you mean time to decide that you don’t want me anymore. I’ve been an ass. I realize that. We can get things back to the way they were
.”

  “Don’t you get it? I don’t want things how they were. Please, Brad. Don’t make this any harder.” When he was about to argue, she put up her hands, “It’s only temporary. Please, just go now.” Covering her face with her hands, Billie started to cry.

  He reached out his hand, withdrawing it just before he touched her trembling shoulders. Because he didn’t want to cause her anymore pain, Brad walked quietly down the hallway to pack. The door was open to the first bedroom, the baby’s room. It was empty because he had been selfish. It seemed somehow fitting to find himself staring at the four barren walls as his world came crashing down around him.

  To stop himself from begging, Brad bit down on his lip. He could still taste the blood as he stopped before her, suitcase in hand. Silently, she stood. For a painful moment they stared, before Brad gently pulled her close. In her hair, he whispered brokenly, “I love you, Billie. I always will.” Then he was gone.

  It took a few weeks for Billie’s physical wounds to heal. After winter, she signed up for a few classes and started work at the clinic. Her busy routine left little time for mourning, but she was always down and a little distant. When home, she spent all her time in old sweats, not bothering with her appearance.

  About five months after their separation, Brad stopped by uninvited. Tired of their stilted phone conversations, his frustration had festered into anger as she continued to keep him at a distance. He called weekly, hoping to make plans to drive up and put an end to their separation, but she had always claimed she was too busy. Even now, when he was standing before her, she regarded him with wary eyes.

  “It’s nice to see you. Can I get you something to drink?” She asked politely, causing him to grit his teeth.

  “Yeah, sure, whatever you’ve got.”

  “So how’ve you been?” She handed him a Coke, and took a seat on the couch. “You look well.”

  That was it. Brad felt his temper snap. With hands gripped tightly at his side, he faced her. “It’s nice to see you? What, is that some sort of joke? I’m not a God damn salesman or neighbor dropping by for tea.” He barely curbed his impulse to shake her. “You look like hell. Is this what you needed time for; to wallow in self-pity. Kelly called me. She’s worried sick. You rarely call her anymore.”