Finding Bliss

by Dina Silver

  “It’s no trouble, my dear,” he said, folding his hands in front of him. “I was only going to tell you that you are early. Tonight’s evening service was moved to nine o’clock to accommodate the youth group event. It’s their annual spaghetti dinner tonight.”

  “Thank you, Father.”

  “I’m Father John. Is there anything I can help you with?”

  I sat back down and thought, Here’s my chance. My one-degree of separation from God. This man standing calmly before me had an “in” with possibly the only person, or deity, who—according to Dixie Reed—was necessary to help me achieve my dream of having a child. Instead of formulating an intelligent and thoughtful request, I did what I’d done that entire summer: I burst into tears.

  Father John did not move a muscle as I wiped my face. I wanted to tell him that I wasn’t weak. That I was an accomplished and successful lawyer, and that he needn’t feel sorry for me—but I said nothing. Once I had composed myself, I moved over, and he joined me on the pew.

  “I see you are not yourself,” he said. Maybe he did know me after all.

  I took a deep breath. “My husband and I are trying to have a baby, and it’s been very hard on me, as you can see,” I started. “I must confess that I’m not much of a churchgoer, but something drew me in here today.”

  “This is God’s house, open to everyone who needs it.”

  “Thank you. I was going to say a prayer, but I wasn’t sure how to phrase it,” I told him. “Should I just ask for what I want? Like meeting Santa?”

  Thankfully, Father John had a sense of humor. “There is no wrong way to pray,” he said, speaking in short, majestic statements.

  I see you are not yourself.

  This is God’s house, open to everyone who needs it.

  There is no wrong way to pray.

  Things he could’ve said to anyone for any reason, yet I felt intrinsically moved by his words.

  I looked him in the eye and smiled as he stood.

  “Tell God what’s in your heart. He is always with you,” he said and smiled. “Stay as long as you wish.” Father John turned and walked away toward the other end of the pew. Once I was alone again, I knelt and prayed.

  Hey God,

  Thank you for inviting me into your home. I know this is a little weird, well, maybe it’s not since Father John says you’re always with me…in which case, you probably know why I’m here. As you know, Tyler and I have been trying to have a baby and, well, that old-fashioned method you created hasn’t really worked out for us. So we’re now among the weary masses trying to conceive a child through science, and deep down I’m losing faith. My patience is nonexistent, and my hope is fading fast. I work with people who take their children for granted every day, which you also must know, and it’s getting harder and harder to do my job…which I love, by the way. There’s a new bitterness about me that I hate. I don’t want to cringe when I hear of other people’s pregnancies. I don’t want to judge other parents, waiting for my chance to do it better. I don’t want to wait any longer for my baby, and I don’t want to let Tyler down.

  I’m sure I can’t just waltz in here and ask you for my baby, because if that were the case, I’d have to ask for world peace and a cure for cancer first. I guess what I’m asking for is some more strength. I need to be able to carry this burden, and it’s gaining weight with every day that passes. Please just equip me with what I need to get through this. As much as I want this baby, I want to be able to forge ahead and do whatever is in my power to make this possible for Tyler and me.

  Thank you for listening. And last, I’m not above a little immaculate conception…just saying.

  My phone rang as I was inching my way out of the pew. I silenced it immediately when I didn’t recognize the number on the screen. When I got outside there was a new voice mail, so I pressed play.

  “This message is for Chloe Carlyle Reed. This is Officer Gregory of the Florida State Police calling. We have your mother, Jane, in custody.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  I ran to my car and dialed Officer Gregory’s phone number.

  “This is Chloe Reed. I just got a phone call about my mother; can you tell me what’s going on?!” I shouted into the phone when he answered.

  His voice was very methodical and void of inflection. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Reed. We responded to a call from the Publix grocery store on Collins Avenue earlier today. It appears that your mother was screaming obscenities at the cashier when the store manager intervened and called us. She then began threatening the manager once our officers arrived on the scene.”

  I almost ran back inside the church yelling, one more thing!

  “Anyway,” he continued. “She’s calmed down considerably, but she’s going to need someone to come down to the Sunny Isles station and post bond.”

  I closed my eyes and exhaled. “What’s she being charged with?”

  “Disorderly conduct—it’s a misdemeanor, but she’ll need someone to come get her and pay a five-hundred-dollar bond. In cash.”

  “Oh my God, okay, well, I live in Chicago, so I obviously can’t get down there. Let me call her caregiver and see what I can do. Can I at least wire the money to the station to cover the bond?”

  “You’ll have to call the bond desk about that.”

  “I don’t suppose you have their number?”

  “Nope.”

  I hung up with him and searched for Vivian’s number on my phone. She answered on the first ring.

  “Vivian, oh thank God you’re home. It’s Chloe, Jane’s daughter, and I just got a call from the police station that Mom has been arrested.”

  She gasped. “Oh no, Ms. Jane, no—what happened?”

  “I guess she got belligerent with one of the cashiers at Publix…”

  Vivian made a tsk tsk sound on the other end.

  “Is something wrong?” I asked.

  “I told her the women there were not talking bad about her, and she never believes me.”

  I dropped my head back onto the headrest. Poor Vivian now had this to add to her list of things to manage when it came to my mother. “I’m going to wire the money to the station. Could you please get down there to pick her up? She has no one else, and I’d hate for her to have to jump in a cab after that ordeal.”

  “Yes. I will get her and bring her a Diet Coke.”

  I smiled. “Thank you, Vivian.”

  Just as I hung up, I got a call from Tyler.

  “Hi,” I answered.

  “Where are you?”

  “Sitting in my car outside the Saint Francis church—where I just had a heart-to-heart with God—and fielding calls about my mother’s arrest. You?”

  “Your mother got arrested?”

  “Yup,” I said, accentuating the p.

  He sighed. “And you’re going to church now?”

  I knew Tyler could see my own mental demise through the phone. “I have my blood test in a couple of days, and I thought I could use a little extra help.” I’d already taken twelve pregnancy tests since the two eggs had been replanted in me. Eight were positive and four were negative. I confessed only two of them to Tyler.

  “Come home,” he said.

  Two days later I went back to the fertility clinic to get a blood test that would confirm whether I was pregnant.

  “Okay,” the nurse said as she placed a cotton ball on my arm after removing the needle. “You’re all set. We’ll call you tomorrow with the results.”

  “Who calls, you or Dr. Wilder? I heard the nurses call with bad news, and the doctors call with good.”

  She laughed. “I’ve heard that, too, but I promise you that is not our policy. I can’t say who will call you, but you will definitely get a call either way.”

  I hopped off the table. “Do you happen to know what time? Because I’ll be obsessing until I hear from someone.”

  “I can’t say for sure, but we typically get the results back by noon. But don’t hold me to that.”

 
; Back at the office, I threw myself into my work with a vengeance. I answered e-mails, ran two meetings, wrote two petitions, and even returned Kimberly James’s phone calls from the day before. I got home late that night and nearly burst into tears when I saw that Tyler had waited up and cooked dinner for me. Spaghetti with our favorite vodka cream sauce, an iceberg salad with Thousand Island dressing, and vanilla ice cream for dessert.

  At ten the next morning, my cell phone rang. I looked away from my computer and saw THE CLINIC on my phone. My throat tightened.

  “Hello?” I answered.

  “Chloe, this is Dr. Wilder. I have some good news for you.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  I hung up the phone and leaned back in my chair. I placed my hands on my flat stomach and smiled. It worked. The candles, the prayers, the IVF. Everything had come together and brought us a baby. I didn’t want to be cruel and make Tyler sweat it out, but I wanted to surprise him with the good news in person. His production offices were in Old Town, about fifteen minutes from mine in the Loop, so I jumped into a taxi and went to find my baby daddy.

  I spun through the revolving door of his building and took the elevator to the third floor.

  “Hi, Megan. I’m here to see Tyler,” I said to the receptionist. I began to walk right past her when she stopped me.

  “Hi, Chloe, how are you? Do you mind waiting one sec while I grab him for you? The Brain Berry clients are back there.”

  I glanced over her head. “I really wanted to surprise him. I’ll be very discreet.”

  “Um, well, let me just get him for you.”

  “Okay,” I said, throwing my arms up in defeat. As much as I wanted to surprise him, I wasn’t going to let her ruin my mood. A minute later, Tyler walked up to me behind Megan.

  “Did you hear?” he asked, smiling. “You wouldn’t be here if it was bad news.”

  “I might be,” I teased, but there was no hiding the elation on my face.

  Tyler lifted me off my feet and spun me around. “Oh my God, I’m so relieved,” he said kissing me on the cheek.

  “Me too.”

  “Have you called your mom?”

  “Nope. I ran straight over here. I haven’t told anyone.”

  Tyler latched onto my hand and led me back to his office where we spent the next hour making phone calls—and making people’s day—with our good news.

  I texted Cam when Tyler was on the phone with his mom.

  The candlesticks worked. We’re expecting! I hit send and smiled. Every Monday morning for the next four months I got a phone call from my mother at nine o’clock. The conversation was almost always the same.

  “Hi, Mom,” I’d say.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Good, thank you.”

  “Are you taking your vitamins?”

  “I am.”

  “Are you staying away from alcohol?” she’d ask.

  “I am, yes.”

  “Are you staying away from caffeine?”

  “I’m trying.”

  “Is everything okay with the baby?”

  “Yes, so far so good.”

  “When is the next doctor’s appointment?”

  “I have one every few weeks, so I’ll be going back early next month.”

  “When is the baby due?”

  “Still on April twelfth.”

  “And what date are you coming to visit me?”

  “I’m coming the weekend of December tenth.” Among the many relationships I’d ignored throughout my quest to have a child, the one with my mom had suffered the most. She refused to come visit me in Chicago, and I had put off visiting her in Florida more times than I could count. I knew that if I didn’t get down there before the baby was born, I’d never do it.

  “Okay, be good.”

  “I love you, Mom; talk to you later.”

  I battled a mild case of morning sickness for the first couple of months, but once that passed, I felt great—and very fortunate. The only thing weighing on my mind was Tyler. He and I had so much to celebrate, but so little time together. We were both working ridiculous hours, and I hardly ever saw him. He often had commercial shoots that were scheduled at night, and I had early court times in the morning. We communicated through texts and Post-its. As often as not, I found myself walking in the door at nine o’clock at night, hungry and tired, throwing a Hot Pocket in the microwave, leaning against the counter, and wolfing it down by myself.

  Tyler had missed two ob-gyn appointments because he never got my messages. So for my twenty-two-week appointment on Wednesday, December 8th, I called him ahead of time to make sure he’d be there. He’d been at work until past midnight working with Mitch on some animation for a new client, and I knew he was exhausted, but my gyno appointments were always at nine o’clock. I routinely booked their first appointment of the day so that I didn’t have to wait, and so that I could get back to work as soon as possible. But at nine fifteen I was still waiting to be called in, and Tyler had yet to arrive.

  At nine thirty I was called into the examination room. I dialed Tyler’s phone as I followed the nurse. There was no answer, so I called the house phone. When our voice mail picked up, I called his office, but Megan said he hadn’t been in yet that morning. I shook my head, silenced my phone, and threw it in my bag.

  Once I had finished with Dr. Wilder and his staff at the fertility clinic, I had gone back to my ob-gyn, Dr. Leonard. He walked in that morning with the ultrasound technician after I’d changed into the robe that was left for me. Open in the front. I knew the drill by then.

  “Good morning, how have you been?”

  “Pretty good,” I said, my mind sullen and elsewhere.

  “Everything seems to be progressing nicely; nothing out of the ordinary for you, I hope. Any pains or spotting?” he asked.

  “Nope.”

  “All right then, I’m going to have Avery do the ultrasound and take a few pictures. We should be able to get a gender for you today if you’d like. Let her know if you’d rather she keep it a secret.”

  I sighed. I’d completely forgotten that we were going to find out if the baby was a boy or a girl today. The thought made me even angrier with Tyler than I already was. I wanted to strangle him for ruining that moment. I had pictured myself lying there, holding Tyler’s hand, our eyes gazing at the screen with anticipation—a nail-biting, cinematic-worthy event—waiting for what I thought would be a highlight of my pregnancy. As we’d endured the arduous process of fertility treatments, the last thing we’d focused on was the sex of our baby. We just wanted a baby. Any baby. All we dared to dream about was having one that was healthy. But I knew that Tyler wanted a son more than anything. There had always been so many things I wanted for Tyler. For him to be happy with himself. For him to love his job. And for him to have a son. I still wanted nothing more than to bring that joy into his life. But this still wasn’t how I’d imagined finding out. All alone with a random technician.

  “Let see here,” Avery said as she began the ultrasound. “It looks to me like there’s no question with this little one. Would you like to know the baby’s gender?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  After braving the snow in heels and brushing my car off, I returned to the office and called Hollis. She and Mitch had eloped in Las Vegas the weekend before, and I’d set up a dinner at NoMI, a swanky restaurant nestled in the Park Hyatt on Michigan Avenue, for the four of us to celebrate that night. But since my mood had taken a nosedive after sitting at the doctor’s office alone all morning, I called her to cancel.

  “I’m so sorry, I’m just not feeling up to it tonight. I’m supposed to leave Friday morning to visit my mom, and I haven’t even begun to pack.”

  “Of course,” she said. “Don’t be silly, we can get together anytime.”

  I’d purposely left my cell phone at the bottom of my tote bag and in vibrate mode all morning, so I wasn’t shocked when Rachel popped her head in my office arou
nd noon to tell me that Tyler was on line one.

  My heart ached as she waited for my response. I wanted so badly to talk to him. Being silent and stubborn was difficult for me, but I had a point to make and couldn’t think of any other way to make it. His absence that morning had emptied me of the joy that was rightfully mine. Robbed me of celebrating with friends and toasting to love and life.

  “Take a message,” I said.

  Rachel left without hesitation but came back a moment later looking apologetic. “He really wants to talk to you.”

  I shrugged. “Then he should’ve shown up to our appointment this morning,” I told her. “Sorry, I shouldn’t put you in the middle. Tell him dinner’s canceled tonight and that I’m leaving for court and will call him from my cell.”

  She smiled. “Will you?”

  “Hell no.”

  Tyler never called back, which only intensified my resentment. I had wanted and needed—and expected—him to grovel. I was already asleep when he came home that night, and gone at the crack of dawn the next morning. By the time I left the office the next day at four o’clock, it had been over thirty-six hours since we’d spoken.

  Thursday evening I was upstairs in our bedroom packing a bag to leave for Florida in the morning, and it was still snowing. Half of the flights out of O’Hare had been canceled, but mine was still on schedule. A weekend with my mother had never looked better.

  I heard Tyler enter the house around seven o’clock. My car was in the garage, so he knew I was home. He walked into the master bedroom carrying flowers. I knew from experience that he didn’t do apologies very well. The sight of him crushed me. I wanted to forgive him in that instant and run into his arms. But I didn’t move.

  “I fucked up,” he said profoundly.

  My breathing intensified.

  “Chloe, I’m sorry, but avoiding each other isn’t going to do any good.”

  I stared at him, barely recognizing the look on his face. He was apologizing, but his eyes were inscrutable. His words did not match his cool demeanor. I had so much to say, yet so little faith that any of it would have an effect on him.