by Theresa Shea
Elizabeth used to need her, and Marie enjoyed being needed. Maybe she’d even enjoyed being envied.
She deferred the call until later.
By nine-thirty, Marie was ready to go. She backed the van down the driveway and into the street. A light breeze moved the branches of the pine tree in the neighbours’ yard. They swayed in a gentle rhythm, as if inhaling and exhaling. A skiff of snow fell slowly to the ground. It was hard to believe that somewhere behind the greyness a brilliant sun waited for its turn to shine.
She drove as if on autopilot. Occasionally, Marie noticed her surroundings and was surprised to see the distance she’d already gone. She was thankful not to have had an accident given that she barely noted the blocks she was passing. She continued north, thinking she was heading to the grocery store. Traffic was steady. Soon she was in Frances’s Strathcona neighbourhood of coffee shops and cafés. She passed the low brick building that housed the farmers’ market on her left. Before she knew it she was going down Scona Road and crossing the Low Level Bridge. She gazed at a high-rise perched on the riverbank. It was the colour of sandstone and had balconies facing the valley. That’s where Elizabeth lives now, she thought, and felt a momentary pang for her single life long ago, when the only person’s day she planned was her own.
The next thing she knew, she was pulling into the parkade beneath the downtown library. Minutes later she was standing before a computer terminal. Under subject, she typed Down syndrome. Immediately, as if the person before her had been searching the same topic, a screen full of references appeared. Newborn Babies and Down Syndrome. Down Syndrome Today. Everything You Need to Know About Down Syndrome. Down Syndrome: The First Year. How Children Learn. From Institution to Integration. Becoming an Advocate for Your Down Syndrome Child. She scrolled up and down the screen and jotted down call numbers on a recipe card in a thin, dark scrawl.
Subject: Amniocentesis. See genetic testing.
Subject: Genetic Testing. See Human chromosome abnormalities.
When her index card was full, Marie moved tentatively to the stacks. Was she tempting fate by educating herself about Down syndrome? She scanned the spines of the books and felt new fears as a host of other maladies presented themselves: cerebral palsy, childhood leukemia, spina bifida, autism.
It doesn’t hurt to know, a voice inside her said. She breathed deeply: dust, paper, mould.
It was still early, and the library was quiet. Only three people sat at the dozen or so tables that occupied the Quiet Zone. A librarian pushed a squeaky wooden cart laden with books down the aisles.
Grey light filtered in through the tall windows on the outside walls. A dishevelled man with dark, greasy hair and flapping running shoes wandered over to a chair in the corner and dropped his weight into it. He began a conversation with himself.
Marie picked up a book and gazed at the cover. A young girl was swinging on a swing. Her blond hair was pulled into two braids that were fastened with pink ribbons. She wore a frilly dress. Her mouth was open wide in laughter, and her teeth were sharp and crowded. She wore thick glasses. Her small hands clutched tightly at the chains that held the swing to the metal set. The picture caught her in mid-swing.
From Institution to Integration. She turned the book over, read the back cover, and noted with interest that the author was a local doctor.
Marie opened the book and began to read.
Kids with Down syndrome are kids first. Thankfully, these children are no longer automatically condemned to institutions where, segregated from society, often ignored, and given little education, they fulfilled the low expectation held for them. Today, babies born with Down syndrome are more likely to be raised in their own loving home environment which, by contrast, helps them to be integrated into the everyday communities which will nurture and guide them as they move through all the physical changes of adolescence and into adulthood.
Marie stopped reading and flipped to the chapter on newborns. She read of parents’ initial disappointment in discovering their child was not “normal,” and the grief and anger that often followed. How will we tell people? Will my child reach adulthood? And if so, who will care for him when we’re gone? She read of the gradual acceptance that followed when the parents began to focus on their baby’s tiny features and their soft, soft skin. She read of the improved educational opportunities, the better health care practices, and the new laws designed to protect these children. She read that some cultures in the world had no word for babies with this condition.
Facts and figures jumped out at her. Trisomy 21. The babies have one extra chromosome. It occurs evenly in boys and girls. The babies tend to have low muscle tone and slightly irregular facial features. They have smaller than normal heads. Their eyes may appear to slant upward. They have mental retardation.
Marie closed her eyes for a moment and willed herself to continue. The degree of mental retardation varies tremendously, she read. Your baby WILL learn. A normal IQ is 70–130. Most children with Down syndrome score in the moderate to mild retardation range, with IQs of 40–70.
She picked up another book of personal stories and read of women who had decided to keep their babies and who had never looked back. Stories of personal triumph and joy. She also read of women who had terminated their pregnancies when a positive test for Down syndrome returned. It’s a lose–lose situation, one woman confided. It’s like choosing between being stabbed or being shot. Either way, the pain is immense.
She read of ethicists who believed that, once a fetus could survive on its own, at roughly twenty-four weeks, it should have the same right to life enjoyed by any human being. She read of surveys that showed seventy-five percent of people in Canada and the US believe that legal abortion is acceptable in cases where the fetus has an abnormality. She read and she sifted, skimming just enough information to learn something while simultaneously remaining aloof from the potential reality.
Her stomach growled. Suddenly the room brightened. Marie looked up. The sun had burned through the clouds and was shining in the tall, south-facing windows. A thick coating of dust on the window revealed a winter of neglect.
She thought of Nicole and Sophia, healthy and happy. But what about tomorrow or the days after? If something happened to one of her girls now, nothing would ever stop her love. Having a healthy baby was not a guarantee that it would have good health and fortune for life.
She’d be damned if she did and damned if she didn’t. The stack of books sat before her, thick with human experiences. The weight of their burdens was stifling. She stood up quickly and put her coat on. The word trisomy rolled off her tongue, familiar in its rhythm. Try-so-me-fa-sol-la-ti-do. It was contagious, the small syllables that felt fun in her mouth. Try-so-me-fall-so-let-me-go.
She crossed the carpeted floor and dust rose in small bursts from beneath her feet. It danced in the shafts of sunlight and then gradually settled once again on the many flat surfaces.
What had she accomplished here? Nothing. She needed to go shopping. She would load her cart with all their necessities then return home and line the canned goods evenly on the pantry shelf. Lunch with Elizabeth no longer looked attractive. She was tired of being the one who always called first. She had her family to keep her busy; maybe she didn’t really need Elizabeth that much anyway.
TWENTY-TWO
Elizabeth awoke on Saturday at home in her apartment with nothing on her calendar. She made oatmeal with wheat germ and toasted sunflower seeds for breakfast and enjoyed the contrast of textures and the way the brown sugar melted into a dark glaze that swirled on top of the white milk. The presentation was beautiful, almost like a well-designed floral arrangement.
This weekend was already better than the last one, when she’d woken Saturday morning with the worst hangover of her life. Her mouth had felt like someone had stuffed it full of cotton balls while she’d slept, and her pulse beat like a giant drum in her head. The last time she’d been so hungover had been in university, when Gillian had invited some
friends to spend the night at her parents’ cabin at Pigeon Lake. She and Marie had gone without knowing that Gillian had opened it up to a much larger crowd. It was a loud party. People had skinny dipped late into the night. A window was broken. The bathroom the next morning looked as if food poisoning had blown through the guest population. She and Marie both drank too much and basically fell asleep in the chairs they’d last been sitting in before oblivion overtook them.
But what Elizabeth most recalled as she put her breakfast bowl in the dishwasher and ran some hot water into the pot to soak was the similar feeling of hunger/nausea that persisted throughout the day. She and Marie had groaned from morning to mid-afternoon until they finally started to feel human again.
Marie. Elizabeth hadn’t called her since moving into her new place. It had been hectic, getting packed and then getting organized in the apartment. Marie could have helped, but Elizabeth had wanted to be alone. It felt cathartic to build a new life without someone giving her advice on where she should put her furniture. But Marie was probably upset that she hadn’t called yet. Thankfully she hadn’t picked up that night Elizabeth had phoned when she was drunk. Elizabeth probably would have ended up crying at some point and getting all maudlin about Marie’s pregnancy. Would Marie have felt vindicated that Elizabeth had made the wrong decision in moving out?
Elizabeth caught herself. Was Marie really that keen on seeing her best friend fail?
She picked up the phone and dialled Marie’s number.
“Hi! I was hoping to catch you at home.”
“Elizabeth!”
Marie truly sounded pleased. And a bit relieved.
“I’m sorry I haven’t called,” Elizabeth began. “Things have been kind of hectic lately.”
“I know, with me too.”
“Look, this is late notice, but I was wondering if you and the girls could come over this afternoon to see my new place. I’ll pick up some snacks. It’d be nice. What do you think?”
“That would be great. The girls should be on their way home. Barry took them to their swimming lessons this morning. But I know they’ll be delighted to come.”
“Excellent! How about two-thirty?”
“Sounds good. Just give me your apartment number again, in case I can’t find it. Can I bring anything?”
“No. Just yourselves. You’ll be my first guests.”
TWENTY-THREE
After Elizabeth’s call, Marie hung up and returned to her weekend cleaning ritual. Saturday was bed sheets and bathrooms. She heated the chicken noodle soup that she’d made that morning. That, together with a grilled cheese sandwich, would keep her girls going until dinner. She glanced at her watch again and increased the flame under the pot. The girls would be so excited to visit Elizabeth’s new place. Nicole in particular. She felt a pang of jealousy. Nicole was never that excited to see her, but she sure did idolize Elizabeth.
The soup bubbled in the pot. She gave it a stir and turned the flame down low. The sandwiches were ready to go into the frying pan as soon as the kids got home.
She filled the sink in the main floor bathroom with hot water and lemony liquid soap and put on some rubber gloves. Now that she thought about it, she realized Nicole hadn’t expressed much interest in her of late, except when she wanted something, like food or money. Marie knew she shouldn’t take it personally, but it was hard not to.
Just the other night she had felt an unsettling presence while doing the dishes and had turned to find Nicole’s darkly appraising eyes making an inventory of her body, measuring and judging.
“What are you doing?” she’d asked. “Admiring my bum?”
Nicole had rolled her eyes. “Hardly.”
There’d been a time when Nicole had picked out clothes for her. “Wear a dress, Mommy, the blue one.” Or, if Marie was wearing a vest, then Nicole would find hers and put it on too. It was sweet and seemed to foreshadow the years ahead when Nicole would be older and ask for her advice on things. But maybe that period of wanting to be like her mother was already gone. Maybe that had been it, when she was six and adoring and filled with admiration for her mother. “You’re so pretty, Mommy.”
Marie had been shopping at Southgate one day and seen one of Nicole’s best friends, Jody, outside the library. She’d been talking to a boy with long hair that covered one of his eyes. His jeans were ripped at both knees. He looked like trouble. And Marie had experienced a surge of hope that the girl might not be as good as everyone believed her to be. Then she’d felt an equal dose of guilt for wishing someone’s child might become one of the “wrong” crowd.
That’s why it was so easy to stay friends with Elizabeth. Her childlessness meant there wasn’t any competition around the children. Marie hated how when other mothers bragged about their children’s music awards or sports accomplishments that she, too, felt the impulse to trot out her daughters’ accomplishments as if she were reading from a stellar and lively resume. But it was so hard just to listen without adding something about her own children. Maybe she was too competitive. Or maybe she was just insecure.
She finished scrubbing the bathroom floor and tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear. The girls would adore Elizabeth’s new place. A high-rise! An elevator to the twelfth floor! A balcony with a view! Coming home afterwards would be torturous. I wish we could live there, they would whine, completely overlooking the fact that Elizabeth lived there alone.
The toilet bowl glistened.
Elizabeth didn’t know to keep quiet about the pregnancy. How could she tell Elizabeth that she wasn’t entirely sure if she wanted this baby?
Marie heard the door to the house open from the garage. She stored the rubber gloves in the cabinet beneath the sink and went into the kitchen. Nicole and Sophia came in, their hair damp and clinging to their cheeks.
“What’s for lunch?” Sophia asked.
“How was swimming?”
“Good. What’s for lunch?”
Marie turned on the burner beneath the sandwiches and told the girls to put their wet stuff in the laundry basket.
“Something smells good,” Barry said as he walked in.
“It’s chicken vegetable soup.”
“Not again!” Nicole’s mouth formed the shape of disgust.
“When was the last time I made it, huh? You tell me that.”
Nicole looked surprised but didn’t answer.
“Sheesh, someone got up on the wrong side of the bed,” Barry said, and Marie hated him at that moment.
She put a bowl of soup in front of Nicole. “Sorry I snapped, sweetie, but I thought you liked chicken soup.”
“I do. I just don’t feel like having any today.”
It was hard not to mimic her response. I just don’t feel like having any today. One day she’d have her own kids and feel a similar frustration when they suddenly stopped liking something or complained about the food placed before them. She almost said as much but then decided not to. “Well at least eat your grilled cheese, please.”
Just a grain of gratitude from time to time would be nice, she thought, a small nod to acknowledge her hard work.
Sophia bounced into the kitchen again and sat down at her place. “Yum, grilled cheese. Can I have some ketchup, please?”
How could one child be so easy to please and another be so difficult? Marie put the ketchup in front of Sophia and ruffled her damp hair.
“What are we doing this afternoon? Can I have a friend over?” Sophia asked.
Barry searched the refrigerator for pickles and olives.
“Are you sticking around the house this afternoon?” Marie asked her husband.
He nodded. “Golf’s on later.”
“Why don’t we ever do anything interesting?” Nicole asked.
Marie ignored her. “Let me talk to your father alone for a few minutes to figure out what our afternoon will look like.”
“Why can’t you talk in front of us?” Nicole asked.
“Because I’d prefer to have some privacy.”
“How is that different from whispering?” Nicole added. “You always say it’s not polite to whisper.”
“Just a few minutes, please.”
She took Barry’s hand and led him out of the room.
“What was that about?” Barry asked.
Marie shook her head. “I don’t know. I’m feeling out of sorts. Elizabeth called and invited me and the girls over this afternoon to see her new place.”
“That’s nice. You haven’t seen her in a while.”
“But it’s not. The girls are going to go over there and be totally in love with her apartment with the balcony and the view.”
“I don’t know about that,” Barry interrupted. “They’ve been to my office before and it has the same view.”
“But you don’t live there. I feel like Nicole doesn’t want to be around me these days, and she adores Elizabeth. Plus,” she continued, “the girls don’t know about the pregnancy, and I haven’t told Elizabeth that I’m worried about the baby’s health.”
“Why don’t you just go alone?”
She paused. “What do you mean?”
“Don’t take the girls. Tell Elizabeth that they had other plans.”
“But I already said we’d come.”
“Well tell her that I made plans that you didn’t know about.”
Marie felt a glimmer of relief. “I don’t know . . .”
“If you go alone you can talk to her about the baby. It probably wouldn’t hurt to have someone else to talk to.”
Sophia bounced out of the kitchen. “Finished yet?”
Marie nodded. “I’m going out to do some shopping.”
“Can I come?”
“Maybe next time,” Marie said. “I’ve got a bunch of errands to do.”
“I could help.” Sophia’s bright eyes took on a tinge of pleading.
“I need some time to myself, honey.”
“But you’ve been alone all morning. Why can’t I come?”
Marie wavered slightly and smiled at her youngest. “Next time,” she said and watched both corners of her daughter’s mouth turn down. “I promise.”