He leaned in, and his lips brushed my lips. I felt the familiar softness. I tasted Jonas again. He tried to get closer, opening his mouth wider, but I pulled away, turning my face to the side. It would turn out to be one of the most difficult movements I ever made.
“Don’t,” I said.
“Why not?”
“Because,” I said, trying to come up with a better reason. “I can’t…”
“I’m not going anywhere, Jess. I didn’t fight for you before, but I will now.”
“Please don’t,” I said. “I don’t have the strength.”
An airplane sounded above us, the roaring engines causing both of us to look toward the sky. When it passed and quiet returned, Jonas turned to me, but the moment had passed.
He said, “I’ll transfer to a hospital in LA. That way we can be close.” His eyes lowered, trying to find the words that wouldn’t cross more boundaries. “I don’t want to put a strain on you and your family, but I want to be near my child.”
“That’s your decision,” I said, knowing that I was disappointing him by my necessary lack of enthusiasm. That I wanted him close was not the issue.
“I’m sorry,” he said, an apology that covered a lot of terrain.
“No,” I whispered, “I’m sorry.”
CHAPTER 39
It was summertime, and I still had not become pregnant. Ari and I were back in Los Angeles. I would fly out to New York once a month for the awkward appointment where I was poked and prodded and injected. The interest and anticipation flurrying around our undertaking had died down when the first couple of months my body didn’t produce a matched, healthy embryo; and when it finally did, my body continually rejected the embryos. It never occurred to me that my body would reject anything connected to Jonas. The doctors chalked it up to flying or other things.
“Are you stressed?” they asked me. What kind of question was that to ask a woman who was having a baby to save another child?
Michelle was in full remission again, living her life outside the hospital as normally as a now terminally ill twelve-year-old could. She felt so good, she didn’t understand the need for a bone marrow transplant, but we all knew it was only a matter of time before her body would begin to fail her again. We spoke often from her home in Rockland County, and our relationship was growing and taking shape. I didn’t know how I had lived my life without her for all those years, but this new baby was reassurance that I wouldn’t have to anymore.
Marty had all but moved out of our house, unable to accept the duplicity of my actions. The walls that separated us weren’t just stucco and concrete either. The emotional barriers were far more obstructive. He had taken up refuge in an apartment nearby owned by one of the big studio heads. It was lavish and spacious; I was sure he wasn’t alone.
Although absent, Marty remained a devoted, loving father to Ari, having breakfast with him every morning, then going off to work, and returning at the end of the day to bathe him and put him to bed. Ari’s life had not been disrupted at all. Weekends were full of zoo visits, afternoons at the beach, and trips on Marty’s brand new boat. Sometimes I went along. Sometimes I didn’t. I was angry at Marty, and he was angry at me, but there were concessions we had to make to keep it from our son. There were times when we were together when I’d resume the role of his wife, accepting his attention, complimenting him, and showing the slightest hint of interest in his work. The tiniest bit of affection would seep into the darkened crevices we created, and then he would leave, go back to his cave, and I would find solitude in the aloneness of it all. We had allowed things to go too far. There was no turning back.
Jonas would call to check in on me, and we’d talk for hours at a time. I had grown accustomed to his voice on the line before I’d go to bed. He’d whisper, before hanging up, “Sweet dreams,” and his voice would warm up the cold space beside me. I would imagine the kiss that never quite touched my lips.
It was late August when the doctors were getting concerned. Michelle’s health was beginning to show signs of deteriorating again, and I wasn’t pregnant. The registries still had no match for her, and the pressure was rising, contributing a heightened level of stress to our situation. At the doctor’s urging, I made an appointment for a round of tests and a comprehensive evaluation. They told me, “It’s likely your inabilities to carry this baby are due to the accident last year, but the additional stress is a mitigating factor.”
“What are you saying?” I asked. “I can get pregnant with less stress, or I can’t get pregnant at all?”
“We’ll have to wait for your test results, but understand that we oftentimes don’t know why IVF doesn’t work. You’ve done pre-implantation genetic testing, so it’s likely that your embryos are healthy. It could be your uterus, and we won’t know that for a few days.” Whatever it was, it didn’t sound good. As sympathetically as she could, she told me to hold tight and have hope, but I had already expected and prepared for the worst.
Marty showed up that evening to bathe and read to Ari. I couldn’t mask the anguish I was feeling, so I kissed my son good night and let Marty put him to bed. Something of this magnitude would have shaken both of us. Only now, I had to bear the burden alone. I hated to consider what news like this would mean for him. Would this be yet another reason for him to move further away from me? I wasn’t one to bask in wasteful self-pity, even if it felt damned good to do so, but Marty wanted loads of children. Somewhere en route to that number, things had gone astray.
I knew Ari was asleep because I heard the door slam and Marty’s tires screech in the driveway outside our window.
When I woke up the next morning, it was late, and I was alone. Marty must have come and gone, leaving the newspaper propped up at the foot of the bed. I should have known this day was going to be different, the way the shades were drawn and the sun seeped through and the air just felt heavier.
I grabbed the paper and began to read; and when I did, the lifestyle section fell to the floor, opening to the page with advice and movie listings. Reaching for the pages, my eyes fell on today’s horoscopes. I’d long ago stopped relying on the psychic medium to give me the direction and answers I was looking for. Not since Marty entered my life and my career took off and things were solid and complete had I felt the need to check my “sign.” Confidence, I thought. People who relied upon horoscopes needed more self-confidence. They weren’t in control. Words on the page told them what they needed to hear.
And here I was, twenty-nine years old, a mother and a wife, and my horoscope was calling out to me.
There is a shift in your sign right now. Take a sensitive approach to your goals and the obstacles that may be inhibiting you from achieving them. Sometimes it’s better to let someone or something go. Release yourself from old wounds, and you will find that anything is possible and is very well within your reach.
That night, Ari was snuggled under the covers and Marty was beside him reading Goodnight Moon. I hummed along to myself the words, hoping they might slow down the thoughts that were running through my mind while I picked up some of Ari’s toys from the floor. Barren. Infertile. Empty. These were just a few of the adjectives that prohibited me from concentrating on the brush, the mush, and the old woman who was whispering hush.
I kissed my son on the cheek, inhaling Marty’s scent, the one his lips had just left behind on Ari. It was the closest we had come to any shared intimacy in months. I tasted him on my lips, the memory nudging me awake.
I turned the light out while Marty closed the door behind us.
“What’s wrong with you?” he asked, sounding more like a concerned husband than the estranged spouse he had become.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing doesn’t usually put you into this kind of state.”
“What state?”
“Quiet. Careless.”
“Careless?” I inquired.
“You didn’t tell Ari you’d see him in the morning. You always say that, every night, without fail.”
I hadn’t known that Marty was aware of the superstition that had begun in childhood and now infiltrated my adult life. I drew comfort from saying those words, probably more for my benefit than for Ari’s. That Marty noticed it, tonight of all nights, interested me. Even with the gulf that widened the space between us, there was an intuition amongst couples that hindered their efforts to truly separate. There were nuances and quirks that you learned over time and through everyday closeness that a physical separation, alone, could not dissolve. It was this one piece of information, this one ritual that held Marty and me together.
“What’s on your mind?”
I looked at him across the room. He was the same man in many ways, probably even better looking than when we first met, but I could feel the subtle change in him. Was it me? I wasn’t sure. I was aware of the way our bodies reacted to one another—something guided them close, then far, then near again.
How could I explain my fertility problem without hurting his feelings? Or even worse, how could I explain them without activating that part of me that wanted to hurt him?
“I see you’re not pregnant yet,” he said. “Is that what this is about?”
I wished it were only that. The doctor hadn’t gotten back to me with my test results, but I’d become convinced they would indicate an immense problem, and punishment for the sins of my youth. Something was wrong; I felt it in my bones. Rather than discuss my inadequacies with Marty, I decided to bring up a whole different topic. He had taken a seat on the couch in our once-shared living room. I sat across the room in a lone chair. It was fitting.
“I used to say the same thing to you.”
He was clearly puzzled. “What?”
“When you used to be here, when we’d be in bed together, I’d whisper in your ear, ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’ I don’t know if you ever heard it, but I said it, every night. It was my assurance that you’d never leave.”
“I never left you, Jess.”
“No?”
His eyes turned sad and regretful. “Your heart hasn’t been with me since Joshua died.”
I said, “My heart was ripped out of me that day. There was nothing left to give.”
“What’s motivating you now? What’s motivating you to have this whole life planned without me in it, with someone else?”
To hear it laid out like that, straightforward and raw, any explanation I could offer seemed almost inhuman. Marty’s indifference to my desires had made it easy to justify what I was doing. When I’d cling to the idea that he was betraying me and betraying our marriage, I wouldn’t need to empathize with him. But my need to be right resurfaced and I said, “It’s not like that.”
“Explain it to me.”
“My daughter’s life is at stake here. I’m not trying to fill some selfish need. I’m not trying to hurt you.”
“I never would have stopped you from helping your daughter. I’m just sorry you never felt you could trust me. I’m sorry for the brother or sister we won’t be giving Ari. I gave you everything, Jess, all I had…I thought it was enough.”
“What about Stella?” There was no sense avoiding it. If we were going to have this conversation, right here, right now, why not air out all the dirty laundry?
“What about Stella?” he repeated. Something in the way he spoke her name made me regret asking.
“Are you sleeping with her?”
“I’m not going to dignify that with a response.”
“It’s me, Marty,” I said. “I saw you on TV with her. I saw the way you looked at her. You could barely keep your eyes off her. You weren’t wearing your ring. I saw your finger.”
“She’s the next Madonna, Jess, everyone watches her like that.”
“Not you, Marty.”
“And what about that weekend?” I continued, a series of allegations I couldn’t quiet from my mouth. I called your office, and Marla had no idea where you were, or at least she acted like she had no idea where you were. I tried your cell phone for two days, and no one answered. Where were you? Were you with her?”
I thought my accusations would leave him repentant or eager to fire off a defensive response, but he just smiled. And the smile turned into laughter as he cupped his head in his hands, nodding back and forth, taunting me. “Jess, you have some imagination.”
“It’s well-founded.”
“It’s cute.”
“Don’t even try to charm your way out of this, Marty. You were always a cheat. I should have never expected you to change.”
“Really? Then what can we call you?”
“How dare you turn this into some cheap affair.”
“Is there another name for a wife’s relationship with her ex-lover?”
“We’re not in a relationship.”
“Then how come you haven’t been able to answer my question?”
“Answer me, first,” I demanded. “Where were you?”
Marty faced me with the little fight he had left. He spoke rationally and calmly. “Don’t accuse me to justify your actions. Saving your child, I’d never take that away from you, but I didn’t bring our breakup on, you did. Don’t blame me. Whatever’s going on with you, whether you know it or not, is destroying us, so you better be clear about what you want. I know what I want. I want our life back, I want you, but I won’t accept you back with missing pieces. If you won’t give all of you, our marriage isn’t worth saving.”
Marty walked toward me. The tight thickening of my heart had begun to weaken as he came closer. Standing before me, he watched me and I watched him. “I didn’t cheat on you, not with Stella, not with anyone. I’ve been faithful to you since the day you walked into my office.”
“You were dating seventeen different women,” I said, tears welling up in my eyes.
“And I got rid of them all for you,” he professed. “Listen to me,” he continued, taking my hand into his, his voice hoarse and dry, “That week, when you couldn’t reach me, I was with Ari and Beth in DC. I missed him. I wanted to see him, so I flew out and met them all. I didn’t want you to know. Marla must have been confused when you called, because naturally she assumed I was with you. I haven’t told her what’s going on. Nobody knows, not even Jeff and Sharon. If I talked about it with anyone, the actual separation, there would be a finality to it. I was hoping we could work through this…and my ring, Ari insisted on showing it to his playgroup, so I had to take it off for a day. Other than you, he’s the only person I can’t say no to.”
His confession of innocence flooded through me, and when it reached places torn and battered, a calm rushed over me. I clasped harder to his hand; the smooth skin welcomed me like an old friend. We had lost a lot over the last year. With all that anger and hurt, it was hard to see a way for things to be right again, but I found some comfort in knowing that there was still love. Marty kneeled before me and cradled me in his arms while I unleashed a fountain of tears. I remembered in college when I’d come home for a weekend and walk through the door and the mere smell in the air would take me back to childhood. Being close to Marty again was like walking through that door. It was like being home.
We sat like that for a while, Marty holding me in his arms and loving me more than I deserved. I didn’t want to tell him what I’d feared, that the possibility existed that I might never have a child, whomever the father might be. I didn’t want to need him. I didn’t want him to feel sorry for me. I was doing a good enough job at that myself. But for a few moments, we let down our defenses, and I thought that maybe, just maybe, we could make this thing work.
My cell phone rang, and I looked down to see Jonas’s number across the screen. I didn’t take the call, but it didn’t matter. My body tensed, and I pulled away.
Marty said, “I lost you again, didn’t I?”
I got up, unable to answer.
If only there wasn’t Jonas, Jonas, who had stolen my strength and dignity, the man who would make it impossible for love to be uncomplicated. Marty was standing before me,
and I saw in his eyes what I already knew. He was right, I was gone again. And I hated myself for it.
CHAPTER 40
The flight back to New York was a difficult one. My mind was full of confusion and longing that clouded my better judgment. Jonas was expecting another procedure, and instead I had to tell him that I wasn’t sure it could happen, that our promise to our sick child might be broken.
When I arrived at the hospital, there was a bustling I felt around me at once. You just know something important is going on when a flurry of doctors and nurses speed through the hallways and urgency fills the air. I found Jonas heading in my direction. We always met in the lobby. He seemed pale and distressed about something. My instincts took over.
“What’s the matter?” I asked, knowing right away something was wrong. “Is it Michelle? Is she back in the hospital?”
He didn’t answer. I don’t think he physically could. Something deep within his body was choking the words from coming out.
“Come with me.” He took my hand and led me to the elevator.
“Tell me, Jonas.” His eyes were glazed over. The life inside them had all but vanished.
The elevator doors opened, and there they were, Michelle’s parents turning the corner toward us. Mrs. Sammler was openly crying, Mr. Sammler was trying to comfort her.
It wasn’t registering with me. I couldn’t get a handle on what the others already knew.
Dr. Greene appeared in a doorway. He was hiding his pain behind a stoic face. He was a doctor, but nothing prepares you for the death of a child.
“I’m so sorry…” I heard him say.
Mrs. Sammler let out a groan that sounded more animal than human.
“She’s gone,” Dr. Greene confirmed.
I clutched on to Jonas, unable to support myself.
Mrs. Sammler was whisked away by her husband, barely able to walk. He had to physically carry her down the hallway while she flailed in his arms shouting, “No, my baby, no…” I knew I would never see her again. I wondered if I would always picture her face as it was when she was dragged through the hospital corridor. Would it haunt me for the rest of my life?
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