Someone tapped Jake on the shoulder. He stood up so I couldn’t see him. Barely audible words were exchanged while I waited uneasily on the bed.
He sat down and faced me again. “Sorry babe, something’s come up. I gotta go. Will you post more pictures tomorrow?”
“Of course.”
“The pictures help,” he added, staring at me uncertainly. “Because I worry about you. And the baby.”
“I’m fine,” I assured him, leaning closer to the camera lens. “Please don’t worry, Jake. This is the good stuff. This is what you’re supposed to be happy about. I promise we’ll be fine. Stay safe.”
“Always. And listen, when I get home, let’s plan a vacation. Maybe we could take the baby to that seaside cottage we rented for our honeymoon. The one by your grandparents’ place in Maine. We’ve always wanted to go back there. I can’t stop thinking about it. I’m so sick of the desert. It’s so dry and dusty here. I’d love to get back on that boat.”
“That sounds amazing,” I replied. “I’ll look into it.” I blew him a kiss, waited for the screen to go blank, then shut my laptop.
*
An hour later, wrapped in nothing but a towel, Sylvie knocked on my open door.
I closed my book and sat up in bed. “Hey,” I said.
“Hey,” she replied, walking in. “How’s Jake?”
“He’s doing all right. He couldn’t tell me where he was the past few days, or where he was going tonight, but he promised they were safe. Those are just words, though. Stuff you’re supposed to say.”
She moved deeper into my room and sat down on the upholstered chair by the window, crossed one long leg over the other. “That’s always the way, isn’t it? You never know what he might be doing.”
Not wanting to think too much about that, I nodded and regarded her in the dim, golden lamplight. Her shoulders rose and fell with a heavy sigh, as if she were preparing herself for battle.
“I heard what you said about me,” she mentioned.
My stomach suddenly dropped. I was immediately filled with regret. Why had I said those things?
“Really Jenn?” Sylvie continued. “Pamela Anderson? Is that how you see me?”
My lips parted. “I’m sorry. And no, it’s not how I see you.”
She glanced toward the window. “I suppose it’s not that far off the mark. It’s probably how John saw me, and every other guy who came into the bar and hit on me.”
“You’re a beautiful woman,” I reminded her.
“Mmm.” Her gaze met mine like a laser beam. “But I’d like to be more than that.”
“You are,” I assured her. “Look at what you’re doing. You’re turning your whole life around. Starting a new career. That’s not an easy thing.”
Sylvie twirled her hair around a finger. “Tell me about it.”
Her gaze dipped to my belly and I saw a look I hadn’t seen since before she moved in with me. There was something darkly envious and seething about it.
“You feeling okay tonight?” she asked. “You’re not sick or anything?”
“I’m fine,” I replied, though I found myself rubbing my temple because this conversation was stressing me out. I still felt terrible that she’d heard me talking to Jake about her hair. It was giving me a headache.
She frowned and leaned forward. “You sure you’re all right?”
I lowered my hand to my side. “I have a bit of a headache, but it’s no big deal. I don’t want to take anything for it.”
She tugged at her towel to keep it from falling off as she stood. “No, of course not. Let me know if you want some herbal tea or something. I’ll be up for a while.”
“Thanks.”
She walked out of my room.
I opened my book to continue reading.
Chapter Twenty-one
September 17
I didn’t do it often, but I decided it was time to take a sick day at work. For once, I wanted to enjoy the luxury of lying in bed until the nausea passed, which usually happened around ten or eleven. I’d still feel sick after that, but at least the vomiting would stop.
My boss understood, so I slept late and slid out of bed slowly, carefully, sometime before noon.
Slipping into my bathrobe and slippers, I shuffled to the bathroom and managed to brush my teeth and wash my face without needing to hurry to bend over the toilet. This was indeed a remarkably good sign. Everyone kept assuring me the morning sickness would pass after the first three months. I was still waiting for that, but today gave me hope.
As I stared at myself in the mirror, however, all my usual optimism drained out of me like a sieve, straight down to my toes. If death had a face, it would look exactly like mine.
My complexion was pale and ghostly; dark circles underscored my tired, sunken eyes; and my cheeks were sunken and gaunt. Even my lips lacked any pinkish color.
Did I really look this horrendous on a daily basis? What about the pregnancy glow I was supposed to be enjoying? Was that some kind of myth? There was nothing the least bit radiant about me that morning. I looked as gray as a stone, thin and withered. Terribly unhappy.
I supposed I’d been throwing up so much lately, I’d lost a few pounds instead of having gained anything. What I really needed to do was try and eat more—though I couldn’t exactly be held responsible for the fact that when I did put something in my mouth, I couldn’t keep it down.
With a resigned sigh, I unzipped my makeup bag, dug around for some concealer and blush, and applied some makeup. It didn’t help. When all was said and done, I realized I’d put on too much blush. I looked like a clown.
Tugging a tissue out of the box by the sink, I wiped at my cheeks, then tossed the tissue into the waste basket.
I froze as something caught my eye—something in the trash, buried beneath the tissues and a clump of hair Sylvie must have scraped off her hairbrush.
Slowly bending forward, I reached down to withdraw a framed photograph from the basket. As I turned it over, I was shocked to discover it was the picture of the seaside cottage and sailboat Jake and I had rented for our honeymoon in Maine. It had been the most romantic week of my life and he had spoken of it the night before. Now the glass in the frame was shattered and it had been shoved down to the bottom of the trash basket and covered with soiled tissues.
Chapter Twenty-two
“Mom? I’m so glad you answered.” I switched the phone from one ear to the other as I stood at the kitchen table, trying not to cut myself as I removed my treasured honeymoon photo from the broken frame. I held it up to the light and examined it closely to make sure it wasn’t irreparably damaged. I realized it represented all my hopes and dreams from that incredible first week of my marriage. There had been so much love, so much joy…
“What is it, Jenn? You sound upset.”
“I am. I can’t believe what just happened.”
“Tell me.”
I lifted the lid of the garbage can under the sink and tossed the empty frame into it. “I stayed home from work this morning,” I explained.
“Oh no. Are you sick again?”
“I haven’t stopped being sick,” I replied. “I just wanted to stay in bed for once. I can’t believe how tired I am. Anyway, I got up a little while ago, and when I went into the bathroom, you’ll never guess what I found in the garbage.”
“What?”
I began to pace around the kitchen. “The framed picture of the house and sailboat Jake and I rented for our honeymoon. You know the one?”
“The one that sits on your mantle?”
“Yes, exactly. You know how much it means to me. Well, the glass was smashed. It looked like it was thrown against a wall or something.”
My explanation was met with silence. “Mom, are you there?”
She cleared her throat. “Yes, I’m here, but I don’t understand. What are you saying?”
I sat down and buried my forehead in my palm. “First, I should back up a little and tell you about my online chat wit
h Jake last night. We were talking about Sylvie and I said a few things I shouldn’t have.”
“What did you say, Jenn?”
“It’s not really that important,” I replied guiltily. “I might have made a comment about her blond hair, and Jake may have said something about her mood swings.”
“Oh no. Did she hear you?”
“Yes. She came in afterward and talked to me. I apologized of course and I thought everything was fine until…” I glanced toward the window. “Until I woke up this morning and found this broken picture in the garbage. It was so upsetting, Mom. I can’t even tell you.”
“That’s awful. So you think Sylvie is responsible?”
“Who else would be?” I replied. “She must have been listening to us talking about going back there with the baby when Jake gets home. He mentioned he’s sick of the desert and I said I’d look into it.”
“You think she heard that, too?”
I shut my eyes and nodded my head. “She must have. And I thought she was doing so well. She seems to love her classes. She’s always telling me how good she feels and she thanks me for letting her stay here. Have you talked to her lately? Has she seemed okay?”
There was a long, tell-tale pause. “I’ve had a few conversations with her…yes.”
Instantly I knew I was being kept in the dark about something. I could read my mother like a book. “What’s she been talking to you about?”
“She usually calls me during the day, from school.”
I digested this information, stood up and went to fill the kettle to make some herbal tea. “Is everything okay with her?”
“I promised I wouldn’t say anything,” Mom replied ruefully. “She’s trying so hard to be supportive of you.”
My stomach turned over with dread which created a burning sensation in my core.
“She’s been having a hard time lately,” my mother continued, “thinking about the baby.”
“My baby?” I asked.
“No, hers.”
Setting the kettle on the stove to boil, I fought with a commotion of conflicting emotions. Part of me was sympathetic toward my sister—for the pain and regret she felt over a choice she’d made in her youth. A choice she could never undo.
Another part of me wanted to grab hold of her and shake her. It was fifteen years ago, for pity’s sake. It’s time to let go of the past and move on. Life’s too short. Stop punishing yourself!
I couldn’t say any of that, of course. It would be insensitive.
Maybe I was. Maybe I had a heart made of cold, hard steel and that’s why I could cope with my husband being deployed to Afghanistan while I was pregnant with the child he hadn’t wanted me to have.
“Are you still there, Jenn?” my mother asked.
“Yes, I’m here,” I replied, feeling frazzled and realizing I’d blanked out again, become lost in thought.
“I think you should definitely talk to Sylvie about it,” Mom said. “You can’t just let her get away with something like that. We all understand that she’s hurting, but she needs to deal with it like an adult.”
“Jake thinks she needs therapy,” I said flatly.
My mother grew quiet. “Well…she didn’t want me to tell you this either, but I think you should know. She started seeing someone shortly after she moved in with you, and she’s trying out some medications.”
Incredibly surprised to hear this, I shook my head as if to clear it. “You’re kidding me. Why wouldn’t she want me to know?”
“You know Sylvie. She’s proud, and she’s embarrassed because you’re her baby sister, yet you’ve surpassed her in every way. Sometimes Jenn… I know you don’t mean to, but you make her feel like a failure.”
“What!?” I turned the stove burner to high. “All I ever do is tell her she’s great and I do everything I can to help her. Besides, what’s that old saying? ‘No one can make you feel inferior without your permission?’ She can’t blame me for her own shortcomings.”
Angrily, I reached for the box of tea in the cupboard and slammed it down on the counter.
“And your pregnancy…” Mom added. “Well, maybe that’s the straw that’s finally breaking the camel’s back. You know how badly she’s always wanted a child of her own.”
“Too bad she didn’t feel that way when she was sixteen.” Feeling suddenly guilty for my lack of sympathy, I closed my eyes and counted to ten. “I don’t want to break her back,” I replied soberly. “I don’t want to cause her pain, but if my pregnancy is what is making her get help, then maybe that’s a good thing.”
“That’s what I’ve been telling myself,” Mom said. “Let’s just hope she can stay strong over the next few months, because she’s going to have to get through this. We all have to support her, Jenn. We have to make sure she’s all right.”
When I hung up the phone, I couldn’t help but feel a wave of resentment toward my sister. We all had to support Sylvie? What about me? I was pregnant and sick with a husband half way around the world fighting a war in Afghanistan. Didn’t they watch the news at night? Didn’t they know what was going on over there and how dangerous it was? I was constantly terrified he would never come home.
Maybe for once it would have been nice if Sylvie had stepped out of the “pity me” limelight and propped me up for a change. Apparently that wasn’t in the cards.
Chapter Twenty-three
The situation with Sylvie and my perpetual morning sickness left me feeling distinctly fatigued all day. I was at least glad I’d taken the day off work because I could barely get up off the couch.
When at last my sister walked in the door at 4:00 p.m., I was impatient and irritable. It was partly my own fault because I’d worked myself into a tizzy all day, feeling angry about a lot of things and knowing I had to confront her about the broken photo frame in my trash can. I couldn’t keep walking on egg shells around her.
“Hey,” she said, dropping her backpack on the floor in the front entryway and heading straight for the bathroom.
I waited for the sound of the toilet flushing and the water running before I rose to my feet and made my way to the kitchen, where she was sure to go next.
A moment later, I stood in the doorway watching her bend over for something inside the refrigerator. “What do you want for supper?” she called out, thinking I was still lying on the sofa.
“I’m not really hungry at the moment,” I replied.
Her head popped into view over the open door. “Geez, you scared me. I thought you were in the living room.”
“I was, but now I’m not.”
She stared at me and frowned. “You look terrible. Are you feeling okay?”
“I’m fine,” I replied, “except for the fact that I had to dispose of some broken glass this morning. To be more specific, my honeymoon picture was smashed.” I folded my arms at my chest and raised my eyebrows. “Do you have anything to say about that?”
A slow wave of antagonism darkened her expression. She glared at me and shut the refrigerator door. “No.”
“You don’t know anything about that? Nothing at all?”
She merely shrugged.
Her cavalier response grated up and down my spine and I found myself wishing I’d never tried to help her. I should have left her in that sleazy bar to keep making stupid choices and continue screwing up her life. She was a grown woman. She wasn’t my responsibility. I had my own problems to deal with.
She, too, folded her arms at her chest. “I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“No? I think you do.”
She scoffed and walked out of the kitchen, stormed down the hall to her room and slammed the door, hard.
There was a sudden pounding sensation in my ears and my vision grew cloudy. Normally, with Sylvie, I always found a way to be gentle and patient. When she was in a state like this, I would do everything in my power not to upset her further—but rather I’d try to calm her down, no matter how long it took, by making her feel safe
and loved. She always opened up to me, eventually.
But something was different today. Maybe it was pregnancy hormones. Or maybe I was just sick and tired of enabling her emotional outbursts and irrational behaviors. Unable to stem my anger, I followed and banged on her door.
“I talked to Mom today!” I shouted through the door. “She told me you were seeing a therapist! It’s a good thing, too, because you definitely need help!”
I had never in my life spoken to my sister that way.
I heard the sound of floorboards creaking from inside, then the door whipped open. “Listen to you. Little Miss Perfect.” She shook her head bitterly and spoke in a taunting, sing-song voice. “Because you’re so strong and I’m so jealous of you and your perfect marriage that I hate myself. Go to hell, Jenn!”
The door slammed in my face, and I squeezed my eyes shut to withstand the throbbing exasperation that was spinning around like a tornado inside my brain.
I returned to the sofa and sank onto it.
A few minutes later, Sylvie’s bedroom door opened. She stormed out, grabbed her backpack off the floor and said, “I’m going out. Don’t expect me home until late.”
“Fine,” I replied, and went to grab my laptop to call Jake.
Chapter Twenty-four
I was fighting tears by the time my husband’s image appeared on the screen, which was disturbing on its own because I was not the crying type.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, looking shaken. “Is the baby okay?”
Waving my hands in front of my face, I dismissed that notion as quickly as possible. “It’s not that,” I replied. “The baby’s fine. I just had a fight with Sylvie.”
His shoulders slumped with relief—or maybe it was empathy for my situation. I wasn’t sure.
“What happened?”
“She did something crazy, Jake.” I reached for a tissue, tugged it out of the box and blew my nose. “Remember, the other night, when we were talking about her mood swings and her hair color?”
08-The Color of Joy Page 7