Risking It All

by Nina Darnton

  Marcia pushed away her plate, looking agitated. “I don’t know, I don’t want it to be. I still have strong feelings for him, I still see and remember everything I ever loved about him.”

  Marian took the last bite of her salad. “Is there any dessert?”

  “I thought you were avoiding carbs.”

  “Well, just a little dessert. Like a bite of a cookie or something.”

  Marcia gave a wan smile. “I’ll see what I can dig up,” she said. “But what about my problem?”

  “I’m thinking.”

  Marcia cleared the table and came back with a box of English shortbread, her favorite.

  “Have you come up with anything?”

  “I think you should fake it,” Marian said.

  “I can’t do that.”

  “Look, you used to have a great sexual relationship and now you’re kind of stuck. You’re angry and disappointed and it’s coming out in an actual physical frigidity.”

  “I wouldn’t say I’m frigid,” Marcia said, offended.

  “No, you’re not. That’s not what I’m saying. But I think you’re blocked. Maybe if you could force yourself to start, you’d respond and get past this. Right before Collin and I split, I did that hoping it would make things better. I forced myself, and it worked in a way because we still had that chemistry even when everything else was shot. Then, although it didn’t save us because I knew I didn’t want to be married to him anymore, I woke up sexually. I wanted him even when we were signing the divorce papers. In your case, it might break through your resistance and save the day.”

  Marcia didn’t answer, but as she thought about it, she wasn’t sure either that it was good advice or, even if it was, if she’d be capable of carrying it off.

  34

  It hadn’t worked—she couldn’t even bring herself to try—and here they were, landed where they had been headed for a long time: living separately, trying to be polite but occasionally sniping at each other, especially if the conversation included anything about Danny. She’d been doing a lot of thinking. The biggest problem, she realized, the biggest barricade they couldn’t vault wasn’t sex or bad memories or even Danny. It was trust in each other. He didn’t trust her to love him enough, she thought. But enough for what? Enough to put him first? Enough to bury her own doubts and obligations and even her sense of right and wrong? She shifted in her seat. Well, I guess I didn’t always put him first, she thought. I don’t think I should have been asked to. And she didn’t trust him to be the person she had believed him to be when they married. That person would have stepped up to the plate for Danny, wouldn’t have run to another woman when things got tough. But then maybe that wasn’t fair either, she admitted to herself. He was the person he was. It wasn’t his fault she’d had an idealized image of him that he never asked for. He had said from the beginning he didn’t want to enter into an ongoing family relationship with the surrogate. Hell, he had to be convinced to even agree to the surrogacy.

  She asked herself again if she still loved him and this time she couldn’t answer, even in the privacy of her own mind. She felt affection for him. She had happy memories of their time together. She wanted him to be well and the thought of anything bad happening to him filled her with dread. She carried around a dull anxiety that she ascribed to a constant sense of loss, loss of him, loss of everything she’d imagined their family would be. But did she miss him? Well, no. Not lately. She missed them, what they had, how permanent they seemed, how safe he had once made her feel.

  She was doing all this thinking because for the first time in over a year, she had a little free time. She was on a plane on the way to Johannesburg, a twenty-hour flight. She was going to work with a new author who had written a novel she had recently bought for publication. It was an epic masterpiece, Marcia thought, written by a thirty-five-year-old Zulu woman. It spanned four decades in the life of a South African family, from the indignities and oppression of apartheid to the present day. It would, she was sure, create a sensation in the literary world. But it needed some restructuring and editing, and she didn’t feel that kind of work could be done without face-to-face conversation. She had asked Jeff if he would fill in at home with Griffin for two weeks. He had agreed to move back to the apartment while she would be gone. Berta would extend her usual hours to allow her to be there all day, every day until Jeff got home from work and all weekend to help him out. She was grateful at how quickly Jeff had agreed.

  It was her first long trip away from her baby and she was nervous about it. She wrote long, detailed lists covering everything Griffin might need any time of the day, including information Jeff already knew, like the nighttime rituals of reading Goodnight Moon and singing “Hush Little Baby.” Berta knew pretty much everything Griffin liked or didn’t like to eat but Marcia went over the list with her anyway, and left Berta and Jeff copies, which also included the hotel she’d be staying at and its phone number. She’d also have her cell phone, of course, and her computer, and the hotel had wifi, so she assured them and herself that she’d always be in touch. No one had doubted it, though there would be one gap, a four-day retreat she was going on with the author during which there would be no cell phone service and no wifi, so they could work without interruption. Jeff told her this would be fine and she tried to believe him, but it made her nervous. She tried to tell herself not to be neurotic and overprotective and that whatever happened, Jeff (and especially Berta) could handle it. She wasn’t worried about Danny. His life at the Children’s Village would go on uninterrupted. But she told him she’d be gone, just in case something came up, and gave the Children’s Village all her contact information as well as double-checking to be sure they knew how to reach Jeff in her absence.

  After so much preparation and so much anxiety, Marcia boarded the plane and ordered a glass of Pinot Grigio as soon as the stewardess came around to offer refreshment. She settled into her chair and for the first time since she’d decided to make the trip, she relaxed. She could feel her anxiety melt away. She was free. For two weeks, she would not be responsible for anyone but herself and her work. It was a forgotten pleasure and she felt grateful for it.

  Jeff, on the other hand, was now a single parent and he was nervous about getting it right. He arranged his schedule so he could get home by seven every evening, but that still meant leaving Griffin for nine hours a day except on weekends unless he could come in late on a few days. There was no way he could take two days off each week to work at home, as Marcia did, he thought, but luckily Griffin loved Berta and she was perfectly capable of taking on the extra work in Marcia’s absence. After a few days of rushing home as soon as he could get away and calling every afternoon to make sure everything was going well at home, he started to feel more confident. He realized, though, that his job had become more difficult. Marcia had said that since Griffin was born she had had to learn to be more efficient at her job with only half her mind, because the other half was always at home ready to answer any problem that might arise. She juggled her daily work obligations with her need to schedule doctor appointments or figure out who could baby-sit when Berta couldn’t or what the grocery or social needs were for her family, all of which she provided. Now, for the first time, Jeff encountered the same problems and he had to admit he wasn’t as good at handling them. He couldn’t even imagine doing this if Danny had still been at home and he’d had those added duties, and he felt a measure of added respect for Marcia that she had managed so well. As it was, Danny was not his problem anymore.

  After Jeff had moved into his own apartment, he rarely even gave Danny a thought, other than when he spoke to Marcia and she brought him up. He tried to dodge those conversations as often as he dodged the responsibility for Danny she tried to foist on him, and he was more or less successful. Now, staying at their family apartment where Danny still had a room though he no longer lived in it, Jeff was often reminded of him. Some of Danny’s clothes were still in his closets, his knickknacks and books and backpack were pu
t neatly away in his room, as if just waiting for his return. Jeff closed Danny’s bedroom door and never had cause to open it.

  On the Friday of the first week Marcia had been away, Jeff had managed to cancel all his afternoon appointments and come home early. It was a beautiful, sunny day and he wanted to take Griffin to Woodstock for the weekend. He told everyone in his office that he would be unreachable until Monday and he turned off his cell phone, knowing that if Marcia wanted to call, she could use the landline. He did have some paperwork to do but he thought he might be able to get it done at night and during Griffin’s naptimes. Also, he had been a little unsure of himself about taking Griffin on this weekend trip without Marcia—he’d never done that before—so he asked Berta if she would be willing to come with them, and she agreed. He knew he could rely on her to baby-sit if he needed her.

  The weekend went well. Jeff got up with Griffin the first morning and fed him breakfast (Berta actually prepared it and changed his diaper) before leaving him with Berta while he did some work and phoned the Zilmans, inviting them to brunch the following day. Berta took Griffin out for a walk in the afternoon while Jeff, who had learned how to cook during the past few months and fancied himself a burgeoning chef, made a shopping list for the frittata and sides he intended to prepare as well as the Bloody Marys he planned to serve. Berta put Griffin down for his nap while Jeff went to the store to shop. In this way, including some food preparation when he returned from the store, Saturday flew by. At seven-thirty, having put Griffin to bed, following to the letter his nighttime ritual, Jeff said good night to Berta and retired to his study, where he buried himself in some work that required his attention.

  The next day Berta helped entertain Griffin while Jeff put the final touches on his brunch preparations and set the table. The Zilmans arrived with their two children, who each wanted a chance to hold Griffin. Petey was too young, but Grace tried to put him on Stephie’s lap while she sat on the couch. Griffin squirmed away so they all sat on the floor and played with him, striking the keys of his xylophone, shaking his maracas, banging on his little toy drum. Jeff couldn’t help thinking of Marcia and how she would have enjoyed this. This is what she always wanted, he thought, this family day, these friends whose children would play with our child. He felt a little wistful—it didn’t seem like such an ambitious dream, but so far they had both paid a big price for it, and Marcia wasn’t even here to enjoy it.

  It was Sunday and Jeff didn’t want to drive back in heavy traffic so they left around two and were home by four-thirty. Berta took Griffin off to be changed and fed, and Jeff went into his study to check messages. The red light on his phone was blinking, and he picked up the phone. The computer voice announced that he had six messages and he pressed the number 1 key on his phone to listen to them. The first was a sales call and, irritated—he was on the “no call” list and was supposed to be free of these annoyances—he pressed the number 3 to delete it. The second call was made the day before and was from Marcia saying that she was just leaving for her retreat with the author and hoped everything was all right. She said she’d try the landline in Woodstock, but if she had, Jeff thought, they must have missed the call. She reminded him that she wouldn’t be reachable for the next few days and sent her love to Griffin. The third call was also made on Saturday. It was from the Children’s Village.

  “Mr. Naiman, this is Audrey Morgan from the Children’s Village. It’s urgent that I speak to you.”

  Jeff frowned and jotted down the number she left. He was about to hang up and call her back, but thought he’d see what the rest of the messages were. The fourth and fifth calls were from the same number at the Children’s Village. Jeff’s anxiety grew with each message, as the voice sounded louder and more desperate. The sixth call was from St. Mary’s Hospital outside of Bridgeport, Connecticut. “This is Dr. Seth Bernstein calling. It is urgent that you reach me as soon as you can.”

  Now Jeff knew something terrible had happened. Had there been an accident of some kind? Was Danny hurt or, worse, he thought with a start, did he hurt someone else? He took a quick look at his watch—eight-thirty on Sunday evening. Would the doctor still be there? He didn’t know, but he picked up the phone and dialed the number left on voicemail. “Dr. Bernstein here,” a brisk voice answered on the first ring. Jeff spoke quickly. “This is Jeff Naiman. I’m returning your call.” His voice was tentative; he was not sure what he would hear but feared the worst, and was still not sure what the worst might be.

  “Thank you for calling,” the doctor said, his voice deep and grave. “Sir, may I ask you if you are in a car at the moment?”

  “What? What difference does that make?”

  “I need to know if you are driving a vehicle.”

  This was a surprise and an odd one. What was this about? “No, I’m at home,” Jeff answered impatiently. “Why are you calling me?”

  “We have bad news. Your son Danny is with us. I’m afraid he is critically ill.”

  35

  Emotions spun around Jeff’s mind so fast he couldn’t pull out the individual threads. His thoughts mingled and mixed, like the paint in one of the spin-art projects he’d seen at a school fair a long time ago. He’s not my son, was the first thought, but it mixed with feelings of surprise, shock, anger and concern. Thoughts like, I’ve got to tell Marcia, how can I reach her? blended with thoughts like, What did he do, what kind of accident did he have? and, most urgent, Did he hurt anyone else? What Jeff said, as calmly as possible, was, “I’m sorry to hear that. What happened? Was there an accident?”

  “No, not an accident. He is very ill. It looks like he has bacterial meningitis, a severe infection of the central nervous system.”

  “Is the infection under control?”

  “No, not yet. He’s on strong antibiotics but so far, they have not been effective.” The doctor’s voice was formal, uncomfortable. Jeff guessed he hadn’t done this too often.

  “Listen, I am not his father,” Jeff said, distancing himself a bit disingenuously. “His mother and father are dead. But his guardian will want to be with him. She is in South Africa right now on a business trip and is unreachable for the next four days. I’m sure she will return as soon as she learns about this and will go straight to the hospital.”

  “I don’t think you understand.” The doctor’s voice sounded impatient. “I’ll be frank. The boy is in a coma. We don’t know if he’ll be alive in four days. We’re doing everything we can, but his case is very serious.”

  Jeff was surprised at the tone in the doctor’s voice as well as the severity of the situation. He’d heard the word “critical,” heard that the antibiotics weren’t working yet, but he’d assumed they would work eventually, hadn’t really considered the possibility that Danny might die. “But if he’s on antibiotics, doesn’t that cure meningitis?”

  “It usually does, if it is started early enough,” the doctor answered. “But five percent of people who contract the disease don’t survive it, even with antibiotics, and his case has progressed very rapidly. He is on a breathing machine and we are monitoring him and helping to reduce the pressure buildup in his brain from the infection, but it isn’t clear that will work. He may go in and out of consciousness, and someone should be with him if he does.”

  “Are you sure this is meningitis?”

  “Yes, we did a spinal tap when he was admitted to the emergency room and that confirmed it. We are giving him Vancomycin and Ceftriaxone intravenously–they are extremely strong antibiotics, and now it’s about waiting for his own immune system to fight back. I urge you to come as soon as you can. He’s a very sick boy and I’m not sure how much time there is.”

  Jeff paused. Of course he would have to go. “Okay, Doctor. Thank you for keeping me informed. I’ll get there as soon as I can. I’ll be driving and I can find St. Mary’s Hospital. Where do I go once I arrive?”

  “He is in the neuro ICU, that’s the neurological intensive care unit on the seventh floor.”

 
“Is this in a pediatric hospital or is he in a pediatric ward?”

  “No, this is a small general hospital and we don’t separate pediatric and adult ICU patients, but we have everything he needs here and I don’t suggest moving him in this condition.”

  Jeff thanked him and stood at the phone for a few seconds after he hung up. I don’t believe this, he thought, though he believed it all too well. He understood the gravity of the situation yet he resisted being called upon in this emergency. Everything that happened, from Danny’s sadness and sullenness at home in the first months to his trouble with the police to his current critical health problem, reinforced his deep feeling of aversion, his desire to run the other way, his sense that this should not have been his problem, his issue. He knew how selfish those thoughts were and he felt guilty enough for having them that he was able to squash his resistance and make plans to go to the hospital, but he went grudgingly, and wasn’t proud of himself for it. It was only a little over a year since his baby daughter, Griffin’s twin sister, died, before she was able to take even one breath, and that thought, for some reason, propelled him back to when he was a child and his parents had been in a train accident that left his father with lifelong back problems and chronic debilitating pain. How many times in his life was he going to hear some doctor tell him that he or she had bad news? He threw a few clean shirts and some toiletries into his bag. His father had taught political science in a small college, but after the accident he claimed his back hurt too much to stand for hours, and he sunk into a depression that left him unable to work. A successful lawsuit against the railroad had provided some money but his mother, who had been at home with Jeff, had to get a job to make up the shortfall. She hadn’t had a career and the best job she could get was as a saleslady in an upscale dress shop. Life at home was never again as happy or as secure as it had been before, although sometimes Jeff wondered if it had ever been as good as he remembered it, or if that was just a fantasy he’d built up over the years. His strongest memories of his family life were unpleasant dinners in which his father and mother sniped at each other. Although his parents tried to keep their major arguments hidden from their children, he could feel his mother’s disappointment with her husband and the trajectory of her life. He believed her death of stomach cancer when he was in college was partly the result of the resentment that had eaten away at her for years.