She Woke Up Married

by Suzanne Macpherson

  After that she’d ditched from public school so many times they’d finally put her in St. Mary’s Boarding School. She’d suddenly felt bad for the trouble she’d added to her father’s life. She’d wondered if it had contributed to his death. She’d wondered if he’d somehow killed himself. No one had really told her that, and they’d all talked about his heart problem. She’d known it was his broken heart that had killed him.

  She grabbed five Kleenexes out of the box on the table next to her and bawled into them until she hiccupped. She wished she knew more about everything that had happened. But one thing was for sure. She wasn’t going to let her history hurt these babies. Turner would take good care of them. He’d see to it they were happy. He’d probably marry some nice girl, and the babies wouldn’t have a mom who thought that passing car lights were spaceships and hid her children under a bed.

  Paris sobbed again and blew her nose. She grabbed another bunch of tissues. These memories were killing her. She’d just have to shove them away like she always did and get on with life.

  She’d just have these babies and give them to Turner and return to New York. She could lose herself in New York. She’d go back to work for Rita and make a comeback. Or maybe Rita would even let her help out with the agency.

  They always needed models to mentor and teach the new ones. And she’d be a ruler-rapping, tough teacher at that. She stuffed all the used tissues in the trash can and took out another pile to wipe all the leftover ultrasound goo off her stomach. Yuk, she was a mess. She cleaned herself up and finished dressing. She could do this. She could. She sucked in a big breath, grabbed her canvas-and-leather handbag, and braced herself to walk out the door.

  Turner had listened to Paris crying in the exam room. He’d been guarding the door for the last twenty minutes, redirecting staff and letting Paris have a few moments alone. He was hoping she’d think over her decision now that they’d confirmed it was twins. But he was prepared either way. These were his children. It was actually a blessing having two. They’d have a brother or a sister, and even if Paris left, they’d be a little family.

  He’d asked himself almost every night how Paris could leave her baby and walk away. How could her heart not ache for her child? He knew she truly thought that it would be better for the child if she was out of the picture. How she’d become so completely convinced that she would follow in her mother’s footsteps was not so clear to him.

  He was going to bring this up in the doctor’s office. He himself had some questions that needed answers. Maybe if Paris heard the answers from a medical professional, it would help.

  It made him ache to hear her sobbing in that room and not be able to go to her. But she was still not ready to let him in. Somewhere, long ago, Paris James had had her heart broken so badly that it might never be fixed.

  But he had to try. He loved her. He loved those two babies she was carrying.

  Turner decided at that moment that he would find out everything there was to find out about postpartum depression and psychosis, and about Paris’s family. When she talked about that time, about her father and mother, rare as that was, it was always from the perspective of a young child. He was pretty sure she had never looked into the actual facts. Maybe, just maybe there might be something there that would help her.

  Paris came out of the room at that moment. Her eyes were red from crying.

  “I’ll tell them you’re ready,” Turner said.

  A few minutes later they were both seated in front of Dr. Shapiro’s desk. Paris was nervously twisting a strand of hair. Turner was staring at the plastic model of a womb with a plastic baby in it. It was all such a miracle. Dr. Shapiro had his hands laced in front of him and was smiling at Paris.

  “Well now, we’ll just get right to it, shall we? From the ultrasound we can see you’ve got fraternal, or dizygotic, twins in there. That means they are in separate amniotic sacs and are not identical. Identicals most often share one amniotic sac. Identical twins are one egg that split into two babies at some point. Fraternal twins came from two different eggs. Are there twins in your family, Patricia?” Dr. Shapiro paused his hand gestures depicting dividing eggs and looked at her.

  “Not that I know of,” Paris answered.

  Turner looked at her to see if she’d correct the name thing. He guessed she wanted to stay as anonymous as possible wherever she went, so they were using her real name on the chart—Patricia. She didn’t say a word, but her face was pale and her hands fidgeted with the strap of her handbag. He put his hand over hers gently. She didn’t push him away this time, probably for the doctor’s sake. But he could hope.

  “Well, many factors can up the percentage of twins, including maternal age.”

  Paris tossed her red hair back with the hand Turner had captured, escaping his grasp. She harrumphed.

  “Don’t sweat it, Mrs. Pruitt, you are still a young woman. These days I see many patients in their forties having babies. The most important thing I need to tell you is to take extremely good care of yourself. I’d like you both to go to a prenatal class we have here that talks about maternal care during your pregnancy.

  “I would’ve liked to have had you in here a bit earlier, but I’m glad you are here now. We like to monitor twin pregnancies a bit more closely.” The doctor handed them a pile of pamphlets with pregnant women on them and kept talking.

  “You are in good health generally, and things looked fine on the ultrasound. Because it’s twins we’ll want to see you every two weeks from now on. Twins deliver anywhere from thirty-five to thirty-eight weeks rather than the full forty. If we get to thirty-eight, we’re really doing well.”

  “Oh, are we?” Paris snarled.

  Dr. Shapiro seemed unfazed. “Yes, we are. We are a team. Me, you, and your husband. Our goal is to get those two babies delivered healthy and happy. Right?”

  “Right,” Turner answered. He felt bad that it had taken him so long to get Paris on track with an OB. But what Dr. Shapiro didn’t know was that they’d gone through three other potential doctors before this, and Paris had dismissed each one for whatever whim she’d come up with.

  This time Turner had put his foot down and insisted Dr. Shapiro was the one. Turner liked him. He was easy to talk to. Which reminded him; the moment had come to bring up the subject he was determined to know something about.

  Turner spoke up. “I have some questions, Doctor. I’d like to know everything there is about postpartum depression. My wife’s mother had a severe case, and Patricia is convinced she will have the same problem.”

  Paris looked at Turner as if she might slap him. Her face went red as flame and her green eyes snapped with anger. He didn’t want to bring up old pain, but this was his chance to get her to listen to reason. It looked to him as if Dr. Shapiro was on his wavelength. The doctor paused to look at Paris, sat back down, and appeared as if he was choosing his words carefully.

  “We’ve made some real advancements in this area. I had a patient that helped educate me on this matter more than anything I learned in med school.” He looked up at his bookshelf and pulled down several books. He handed them to Turner and indicated one particular thin blue paperback book. “My patient participated in a study with this woman, Dr. Katharina Dalton, in London. We did a natural progesterone treatment following the birth of her second child, and it was extremely successful in her case. I myself was very impressed with the overall theories presented in this book. It changed the way I treat my patients who have difficulties with postpartum,” Shapiro said. “There are many new approaches.”

  Turner thanked God for sending them to this particular doctor. Someone who didn’t autopilot through the issue—someone who had taken the time to listen to a patient and read new research. It truly seemed like a miracle at the moment. Perhaps Paris would see that as well.

  “Is it hereditary?” Paris asked coldly.

  “There are hereditary factors, yes. A predisposition to depression and severe premenstrual syndrome as a reaction to t
he hormonal drop in progesterone present in both the natural cycle and more severely after delivery of a child. But again, we’ve been having some success with natural progesterone treatments for all of those conditions in combination with other things.”

  Turner knew that all Paris had heard was yes, it’s hereditary, and he already knew that her PMS was the stuff of legend. He sensed that she had not even heard the part about treatments.

  “But even severe cases can be treated and recover to normal levels, yes?” Turner tried hard to get that fact back into the conversation.

  “With the kind of support Patricia has, I know we could diagnose early and make sure she gets the help she needs.”

  That’s what Turner wanted Paris to hear. But when he looked over at her, she was up and out of the office door. It slammed behind her.

  “Problems?” The doctor pressed his fingertips together.

  “Big ones. I’ll read up and we’ll try this conversation again. I can’t go into too much detail, but this is something we will have to deal with as we go.”

  “Let’s just take things a step at a time. Just because her mother had it doesn’t mean she is made of the same genetic material. It could bypass her completely. But a family history is something to pay attention to. We’ll talk more after you’ve read that book. I think it might help.”

  Turner looked at the book in his hand. Depression after Childbirth by Katharina Dalton. “I hope so, Doctor.”

  “The class is Friday. Please get Patricia there. I think it might help her to be around other pregnant women.”

  Turner didn’t think so. But who knew? He only knew he had to find the key to unlock Paris’s fears. And he was going to find it. He wouldn’t stop until he found it.

  Turner thanked the doctor and went to find Paris. He wondered, for a moment, what was driving him. He came through to the waiting room and saw Paris standing by a large fishtank, her back to him. Her red hair spilled down her back in soft waves of curls. She had on simple clothes today—a pale green shift dress. She looked like any other woman in the waiting room, not a formerly famous model.

  He came up behind her and put his arm around her shoulders. She looked up at him with all her jumbled-up emotions showing on her face—anger, fear, hurt. He felt his heart ache for her. This is what drove him. He loved her. He’d probably always loved her, since high school. He leaned toward her beautiful hair and breathed in the scent of her. She was an odd mixture of expensive perfume, shampoo, and ultrasound gel. His insides flip-flopped with feeling for her.

  “Come on, I’ll take you home,” he said softly.

  Paris went directly into his formerly sane, simple room and shut the door behind her. Turner followed her.

  “Thank you for doing the exam. It’s quite a surprise, twins.”

  Turner looked around. The whole room had been amazingly transformed into a Paris moment if he ever saw one, which he rarely did, because she shut herself up in there most days. The simple bed had become an ornate four-poster with lace curtains. His simple wooden dresser had taken up a spot in the living room so he could get to his clothing without disturbing her.

  Of course there were bears everywhere in there, and flowery artwork, if you could call it that, on the newly painted walls. Ornate whitewashed reproduction antique furniture had replaced his own simpler items and was now holding Paris’s clothing. There was room to walk around the bed and that was about it. His small former closet was stuffed to the gills with more of Paris’s clothing. Clothing she actually couldn’t fit into at the moment.

  Paris wasn’t talking. He knew by now when to leave it be.

  “I’ll just be out here if you need me.” He backed out of the room.

  Sarah and Millie were putting together a jigsaw puzzle of a very hunky movie star with his shirt off—Russell Crowe, it looked like. Turner had to laugh about that. Millie was certainly influencing Sarah.

  He hung his jeans jacket up in the hall closet, which also held all his hanging clothes, which fortunately were modest. His Elvis costumes he kept at the chapel.

  “Well, guess what, ladies, it’s twins!” Turner announced.

  “I just knew it. She was just too big. I figured either twins or one big huge Turner hunk of baby.” Millie clapped. She jumped up and hugged Turner. “You sure are one stud-muffin there, daddio.”

  Turner hugged her back. “Thanks, Millie, but it’s all about the eggs in this case.”

  “Did she change her mind about going back to New York after the birth?” Sarah asked. She’d turned herself toward Turner.

  Turner had noticed that Sarah had been extremely direct lately, even a little cruel. He was sorry in a way that Millie had shared as much information as she had with Sarah. At least neither of them really knew Paris’s motives, which was, he was sure, the way Paris would have wanted it. But that left them both thinking she was truly a heartless woman.

  Turner suspected that Millie had a broader view of it and knew Paris must have deeper reasons. That left Sarah thinking badly of Paris—a sad state of affairs Turner was not able to correct without betraying his wife’s confidences.

  “That remains to be seen, I guess. She has some deeply personal reasons, Sarah.”

  “What possible justification could there be for leaving two newborn babies without a mother?” Sarah straightened herself back around and carefully placed a puzzle piece in Russell Crowe’s navel.

  “I’m praying she finds peace enough to change her mind. I suggest you might do the same, Sarah.”

  Millie smacked Turner on the butt. “Don’t you worry, Rev, we’ll do just fine with those babies. We’ll teach them to deal blackjack before they’re five. And if they’re as cute as their ma, we’ll just make them baby models and rake in a mint of money.”

  “Thanks, Millie, I appreciate the enthusiasm,” Turner said.

  Sarah turned his way again. He noticed she had makeup on. That was so unusual for her. Maybe she’d met someone in school and was trying to improve her usual bland looks. Most likely it was Millie’s work.

  “I’m sorry, Turner. I shouldn’t have said that. And I will pray for her.”

  “Apology accepted.” Turner went over to the table and put his hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him with soft brown eyes, and he saw that tears had welled up in them.

  Just then Paris opened the door to the bedroom. She stopped in the doorway and stared at Turner and Sarah.

  Millie broke the awkward moment. “My goodness, girl, two in the tank! We’ll have to get busy and paint your toenails fire-engine red before you can’t see them anymore. Just let me know when you want to do a pedicure. I’ve got all the stuff. We showgirls were very good to our feet.”

  Paris finally moved her eyes from Turner to Millie. Her voice sounded strained. Her reply seemed forced. “I hear you on that one, Millie, modeling is all about your feet, too. I’d love one. I’ll go soak them in the tub after dinner.”

  Paris stood very still, with a look on her face Turner thought might be anger.

  “I’m starved, people, and I’m eating for three now, so what do you say we order in an entire Chinese feast?” Paris continued.

  “I’m meeting with a bride and groom at seven, so I’ll have to miss the feast and grab a sandwich before I leave.” Turner had removed his hand from Sarah’s shoulder and felt somehow awkward standing there.

  “You mean, couples don’t just walk in and get married?” Sarah asked.

  “Most of the time, but we are a full-service chapel, and we do plenty of prenuptial planning with anyone that is willing. I love to get them early. Even two weeks gives me a chance to counsel them. Can I get you a glass of water, Paris?”

  “No, thanks,” Paris snapped.

  Turner turned into the kitchen to get one, whether she wanted it or not. He needed something to do. He stuck his head in the fridge and grabbed sandwich stuff, pitching it on the counter beside him.

  The doorbell rang. Now, who the heck was this? He hoped it wasn’t his cou
ple, mistakenly meeting him at home instead. He’d given them his home information in case they needed him. It’d be a little hard to explain his current situation to anyone, and it had an endless array of possible twists anyone could jump to just by standing in this room for ten minutes.

  All three women seemed startled and did not move.

  “I’ll get it,” Turner said, grateful for any interruption. He flung open the door and stared into the piercing blue eyes of a very tall, very beautiful, very pregnant blonde woman. Not another one! She had on a brilliant blue coat that looked like it was from the fifties—very wide and circular. Mighty warm for Vegas.

  A shriek came from behind him and Paris streaked by, into the arms of the blonde woman.

  “Oh for pity’s sake, Turner Pruitt, move these broads and help me with these bags. You’d think we were on a European cruise instead of a weekend jaunt.” Turner recognized the voice of Anton behind the blonde. Thank God, another guy. Gay or not, he wasn’t pregnant, he wasn’t going to hang panty hose in the bathroom…well…. Turner stopped because you just never know, really. The lines between everyone had grown very fuzzy. Well, for sure he damn well wasn’t a woman, no matter what.

  “Anton, buddy ol’ pal!” Turner looked over the blonde’s shoulder.

  “This is Marla Meyers Riley, also known as M. B. Kerlin, author of the Mike Mason Mystery series. Just thought I’d bring you up to speed.” Turner watched Anton hop up and down from behind Marla, trying to see, trying to talk to Turner over the tall ones.

  “It’s an honor to meet you, Marla. Paris has told me so much about you.”

  “Nice to meet you at last, Turner Pruitt.” Marla smiled for a moment at Turner, then directed her gaze back at Paris. She held Paris out from her by her shoulders as if to examine her carefully. She made a scrunched-up face like she was trying to figure something out, eyebrows knotted together, then she looked like she’d discovered America. Her eyebrows shot back into place, and her eyes got very large and blue. Spooky blue.