From Annie: Dear Leah: We didn’t talk much, but that's all me because I mostly hide in my books. I really enjoyed your sense of humor and that you tried to be nice to everyone. I wish we had a chance to know one another better. Keep saying the Serenity Prayer and collecting chips at meetings. God bless you in recovery. Peace and blessings, Annie
From Trudie: Dear Leah: I’m so glad we actually bumped into each other that day. Who would have thought you and I would cross paths in rehab?! You reminded me not to take myself so seriously. I know I have a long stay ahead of me, so if you ever want to, stop by on visiting day. And you can take Haley with you! (LOL). Take care of yourself. I pray that everything works in your life for good. One day at a time. God be with you always. Love, Tru
When it was time to write my discharge statement, I didn’t know what to write. Jan said it was supposed to be a reflection of what we learned, what the time there meant to us, how we changed, or whatever information we wanted the staff to know. The first attempt read like an essay for my National Boards portfolio. Crumpled that and tossed in the trash. The next one read like a list of things to do and not do in rehab.
Finally, I followed the advice I gave my students when they didn’t know where to start or how to write. I asked Jan for a timer, opened my notebook, started the timer, put my pen on paper and wrote without stopping or thinking or correcting. I just let words flow out of my brain, down my arm, through my fingers, and into my pen. After the ten minutes, I read what presented itself. I revised and reshaped it, then turned it over to Jan. I felt like I’d lived another life in almost thirty days. So much I didn’t know or I would have been more careful. I couldn’t change my past. Maybe it could make a difference in the future for someone else who still had a chance in the present.
Carl turned the corner and pulled into our driveway. Seeing our house again reminded me of Carl's parents. They’d surprised us with it as a wedding present. No. Two untruths in that statement.
Lie #1: Use of the word “us.” Carl had already known about the house and had approved the purchase.
Lie #2: Use of the word “surprise.” See #1.
My surprise was that the house was mostly everything I never wanted in a house. Pretentious and impractical. Too-small kitchen, too-large master bedroom (especially since it was a room I didn’t want to spend time in), detached garage, a formal living room I had no desire to decorate, and no other bedroom downstairs. As in no other bedroom to use as a nursery.
Not long after we knew I was pregnant with Alyssa, I had suggested we convert the living room into a nursery. I’d even sketched a plan for adjoining it to the master. Granted, the drawing was crude. It showed two adjoining rectangles with a one-inch erased section (the doorway) on the common wall. Seemed simple enough to me. Then, when we knew we were having a girl, and there was still no nursery downstairs, I went to Plan B. I told Carl we, really he, since the baby could not endure such gymnastics, needed to practice the up and down trips from our bedroom to the upstairs bedroom closest to the stairs. And I planned to start timing at midnight and two and four and every four hours thereafter. He relented. The architect and contractor appeared on our doorway in two days.
It was the first time Molly jeopardized our friendship. She happened to pop over the night after Carl approved baby land, so I happily explained the plan. With Carl in the kitchen with us, Molly said, “Gosh, you really wouldn’t need to do all that. Your bedroom's so spacious, you could just move the occasional chairs into the living room and use that space for a crib.” Trapped between the skull-drilling stare of my vexation and Carl's benevolent gaze of appreciation, Molly suddenly remembered she had a meeting. Onto Plan C, which involved a modicum of pouting, shouting, and foot-stomping, and the possibility of breath-holding. Alyssa's nursery was completed one month before my due date.
Now, if I hadn’t been sober for almost a month, I would confess I’d heard the house dare me to enter. It never seemed welcoming, and I tried to convince myself the feeling had nothing to do with the oil painting of Carl's parents that I’d placed in the attic for safe-keeping.
We walked in through the back door. It didn’t take much looking around to know Merry Maids had made merry while I was away. We could have used the house for surgical suites. It smelled sanitized, an odor as nose-burning as gasoline. Nothing that a few strategically placed vanilla diffusers wouldn’t solve.
Carl stopped in the kitchen and set my suitcase by the table. I was about to ask why he wanted me to unpack there when he pulled out a pair of scissors from the infamous junk drawer.
“Is this the part where I’m supposed to scream?”
Carl laughed. “Not yet. I have something else planned for that.” He reached for my right arm, gently lifted the hospital identification bracelet and snipped it off. After he returned the scissors to the drawer, he opened the cabinet above it and took out a small wrapped box about the size of a wallet. He handed me the gift. “Here. Now you can scream.”
“I … I don’t know what to say,” I stammered. I know what I thought, and I was truly ashamed of myself for thinking it. We hadn’t been home ten minutes and already Carl planned to buy me back into bed.
“You don’t have to say anything yet. Open it first,” he said softly, massaging the back of my neck.
I recognized the gift wrap as Southern Jewelers’ signature. Whatever it was, it was overpriced and exquisite. I ripped off the paper. A smallish, ordinary white box. Hmm, maybe not what I thought. I glanced at Carl. His grin stretched across his face. It looked painful. I lifted the top, pushed aside the tissue, and sucked in so much air I almost had to beat my own chest to breathe. Nestled in the box was a woman's gold Rolex weighed down with an emerald and diamond bezel.
“I asked Scott to take the watch out of the Rolex box. I thought you’d be more surprised that way. Were you? Do you like it? If it doesn’t fit, it can be adjusted to your wrist.” I’d never heard Carl string together so many questions in so little time. He lifted the watch out. “I almost forgot. I had it engraved.”
I turned the watch over and read the inscription aloud, “A new beginning. I love you. Carl.” Theresa's new beginning for a new creation. “This is beyond beautiful,” I said. “You were right, it was a bigger surprise finding it in such an unassuming white box. This is so generous and thoughtful, especially, considering … thank you. Thank you.”
“Here, let me put it on your wrist. This can be your new bracelet,” he said and snapped the Rolex closed. He held my hand and gazed down at my arm. “You didn’t need that identification anymore. We know who you are.”
37
Carl walked into the bedroom where I’d been unpacking, stood behind me, wrapped his arms around my waist, and nuzzled my neck. “It's been a long time since I’ve seen you in this room,” he said. “I like this view so much better.” He pressed his face into my hair. “You smell good.”
“It's a new shampoo Gwen asked me to try the last time she cut my hair,” I said, and concentrated on folding my dirty laundry. Anything to prevent me from having to turn around. “Have you made any dinner plans? I can’t wait to eat somewhere that doesn’t serve food in a divided tray.”
He released his hold on my waist. “No, I didn’t make any reservations if that's what you meant. I didn’t know what you’d want to do on your first day home.”
I walked into the bathroom with my makeup case to unload my “war paint” as my father referred to it and hair equipment. Carl trailed behind me. I shivered when I saw the shower reflected in the mirror.
“Are you okay?” He reached out and caressed my shoulders.
“Fine. I’m fine.” I opened a drawer and started unloading. “We don’t have to eat anywhere we need reservations. Mexican or Chinese would be yummy. Are you interested in either one of those?”
“We could do Chinese takeout and eat dinner here if you’re not up for going out again. I’m sure this has been a tiring day for you.”
“I haven’t been out, as in real world out, in so lo
ng, I wouldn’t mind going somewhere instead of ordering in. Besides, if we go out, then I can show off my new watch.” I figured an appeal to his ego might swing the odds.
He massaged my shoulders. “If that's what you want, that's what we’ll do.”
We decided on Peking Garden. It was still early for dinner, so we were scored a window table overlooking the koi pond. The garden was styled with pine and mondo grasses and bamboo. Water burbled out of the fountain. I told Carl we needed to keep this landscaping in mind for the next time my father visited. Reproducing this in our backyard would keep him busy for months.
After hot and sour soup, a spring roll, fried rice, and moo shui pork, I told Carl I needed to be carted out in a wheelbarrow. “Maybe we could try to develop a taste for sushi?” I suggested.
“If I’m going to pay those prices for food, it's going to be cooked,” Carl said, distracted by calculating the tip. “Ready?” As I’d expected, his change was stacked on the bills.
Since the restaurant was only a few blocks away, the ride home was short. Not much time for me to mentally rehearse what I knew I needed to discuss with Carl. God, I’m counting on you here. I know you and I have had our differences, but AA's getting me back on track. Help me with this conversation. Open Carl's heart.
Carl flipped on the den lights. “Did you want to watch television for a bit before we go to bed?”
I sat on the sofa, forgetting how much I enjoyed feeling the buttery leather on my bare legs. I’d already kicked off my sandals and curled my legs under me. “No television. I want to talk to you, though.”
Carl lowered himself into a chair. He cleared his throat. “Sure. Sure.”
“First, I want you to know that I’m committed to staying sober. I don’t want to be the Leah who left here almost thirty days ago. I’m not saying I’m some entirely new person. But I am trying to get a handle on myself, and my life, and our lives together. And we can do this together, but it's not going to be easy and it's not going to happen right away.”
The creases in his forehead ironed themselves out. He relaxed and leaned back into the chair. “I know this is going to be work. But like I promised, I’m going to help you every step of the way. I’m going to make sure you don’t ever take another drink. You can be sure of that.”
I wrapped my words in softness. “Carl, I want you to support me, and I’m grateful you’re willing to do that. But you don’t need to protect me from myself. It's not your responsibility to keep me away from alcohol. It's mine.”
“I’m just trying to help you the best way I know how,” he said, and the tint of defensiveness colored his voice.
He was right. Saving me from myself was the best way he knew how. In most cases, it was the only way. I remembered Trudie telling me sometimes she had to take things five minutes at a time. This was one of those times. “Really, I appreciate everything you’ve done and want to do. I didn’t think we’d be able to settle everything tonight. But there are two important things I want to talk to you about before we go to sleep.”
I watched his lips curl ever so slightly when he heard the word “sleep.” He crossed his leg, put one hand on his knee. “Yes?”
“This is really difficult for me to say, but I don’t want you to misunderstand or feel like I’m not being honest. I know I’ve been gone, and I know that's been tough for you, you know, as far as us, as far as sex. As far as sex is concerned.”
“Got that right.”
He wasn’t making this easy. “It's going to take me some time to adjust.”
“How much time are we talking about here?”
Anytime you want to jump in God, I’m ready. “Well, I don’t know. I mean, that's part of what I, we need to work on. “
“Let me make sure I understand this. You’re telling me that we’re not going to have sex tonight. Correct?”
“Yes, that's what I’m telling you. Part of it anyway.”
“And the other part is you don’t know when you’ll feel like having sex. Is that correct?”
“It's not so much a ‘feel like.’ It's more complicated than that. But as far as the when, you’re right. I don’t know exactly when. I’m not saying never. I’m asking … no, I’m telling you that I need time.”
“Great. So what am I supposed to do? I’ve already waited a month. Now you’re telling me you have no idea when you’ll be ready to be my wife again. Nice. Well, let me have it. What's the other thing?”
“I’m pregnant.”
Looking at Carl was like watching a space shuttle launch. Control, shaking, violent shaking, combustion, blast off. All I could do was wait for him to settle into his orbit.
“I’m speechless. Absolutely speechless.”
Not a good time to point out that he obviously wasn’t if he was speaking. I held onto my bare feet. They were clammy or maybe that was my hand.
“You’re kidding,” he said. “No. You’re not kidding. This is crazy. Lunatic. What were you thinking?”
“Um, I didn’t get pregnant by myself.”
“Don’t get smart with me right now. This is a shock, an absolute shock. Wait. When did you find out?”
“Last week. After I had to—”
“One week. So you knew about this before you left rehab. And you kept it a secret from me?”
Rage moved to sonic levels. “I was afraid you’d want me to sign out early. I didn’t want to fight with you about it, and I wanted to finish the program. Get as much time working on me as I could. I didn’t do it to hurt you. I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”
“Gee. I think I heard those words in this same room about a month ago. You’re sorry. I’m sorry, too. I’m sorry you lied to me. How ironic. You had the nerve to jump all over me for not telling my parents, and then you turn around and lie. Do you really think you’re in any shape to be a mother? You can’t even take care of yourself yet. And now you’re telling me you’re going to take care of a child?”
I recoiled. “Hold on. Since when have I not been a good mother? Don’t go there. We really don’t want to have that fight now.”
He calmed down. Radically. He scared me when he was this calm. That usually signaled he was going for the final emotional blow. “Well, since you did find out this news while you were in rehab, did all those counselors and doctors we paid all that money for help you in your research?”
“Research? What research?”
“Fetal alcohol syndrome. That research.”
38
I slept in my own bed for the first time in a month.
Carl slept on the sofa.
In one way, a perfect end to a not-so-perfect day. In a million other ways, a perfect disaster.
After Carl's comment about Fetal Alcohol Syndrome, I calmly walked out of the den and into the bedroom and not so calmly slammed the door behind me. I flung the decorative round pillows, square pillows, and sausage-shaped pillows on the floor. Like so many nights before in this same bed, I climbed in and slid under the covers without bothering to change my clothes. A white eyelet sundress was close enough to sleepwear that night.
After a while of convulsing in tears, I forced myself out of bed. I washed my face, brushed my teeth, and changed into one of my long sleeveless nightgowns. Long, just in case Carl decided to leave the den and sleep in our bed. And then there was the ceremonial taking off of the watch. Years ago, I’d mentioned if anyone ever had a notion to buy me a Rolex, not to bother unless it had emeralds and diamonds in the bezel. I’m not sure at what point in which wine bottle I may have made that announcement. Kudos to Carl for remembering, but what I thought was sarcasm, he took as a veiled request. Then again, I hadn’t purged myself of all my shallowness because it was stunning, and I really did want to keep it.
I placed it back in the white box for tonight.
Good night, watch. Good night, closet. Good night, bathroom. Good night, my very own bed. Good night, Carl, sleeping in the den.
Morning tiptoed in so quietly, I didn’t realize it arrived. Even t
he sun seemed less obnoxious. No Theresa snoring, burping, or gassing. A few twittering bluebirds, and I’d feel like I was on the set of a Disney movie.
Carl's pillow was as plumped up as it’d been last night. No tucked-in swaddling. I inched across the empty space to the other side of the bed to see if he’d left a note. No.
What time was it anyway?
My sassy new Rolex didn’t have legs, so if I wanted the time, I had to walk into the bathroom to find it. I forced myself to roll out of bed. I passed the framed mirror and saw I had a crease from my right eyebrow to my chin. Lovely. Must have bunched up the sheets again. Where did the white box go? A sliver of panic sliced through me. I rubbed my eyes to clear the gunk and looked again. The whole length of the counter. Not there. I know it was there. I was sober. I clearly remembered this. I looked in the mirror. Well, Leah, there's one for you. Being sober meant clarity. Only this morning my clarity resulted in confusion. Uh-oh. Maybe Carl decided to return it.
Walking on Broken Glass Page 22