by Pike, JJ
She’d done so much therapeutic work around the issue it was a wonder she hadn’t latched onto it immediately. Nothing hit Betsy harder than being around “bad” mothers. It was her Achilles’ heel. But Petra hadn’t even given birth yet. Perhaps she’d be like so many women before her and find herself becalmed by the chemistry of pregnancy?
Betsy needed to give herself a stern talking to. Whether Petra was going to be a good or bad mother was beside the point. The point was her own reaction.
You know where this kind of bitter thinking and rehashing of your regrets leads, she reminded herself. It’s not good. It leads to the bottle. You have to slow yourself down and release all these thoughts. Hand them over to Him.
What would her sponsor, Evelyn, have her do? “Fall back to the basics. Remember the steps.”
Yes. Good.
“Go to the phrases that have been your mantras. They’re simple and cheesy for a reason.” Evelyn had been a fantastic sponsor. She wasn’t the smartest woman in the room on any given Thursday—when they met in Baptist First’s basement, over on Utica Avenue—but she was the kindest. Their partnership had been good for Betsy. She’d been sober all this time in part because of Evelyn’s solid, plain advice. “When you begin to spiral and find this character you call ‘Bad Betsy’ taking over, go all the way back to the core values of the program.”
Betsy closed her eyes and imagined her hand in Evelyn’s at the end of the meeting, all these alcoholics hoping and praying for the same thing: that they not be taken down by their addiction on this day, or this day, or this day (or, when she’d just stopped drinking, “this hour” or “this minute”).
“It works if you work it.” She’d said it so many times it had become one of the cornerstones on which she’d built her life. She’d joined Alcoholics Anonymous because she wanted to be a good human, doing good things, for good reasons and not the broken, judgy, boozehound she’d been after she lost Esther.
She took a deep breath.
Tenth step: “We continued to take personal inventory, and when we were wrong, promptly admitted it.” It wasn’t enough. She needed to reach out and ask for help.
Tenth step:
I pray I may continue:
To grow in understanding and effectiveness;
To take daily spot check inventories of myself;
To correct mistakes when I make them;
To take responsibility for my actions;
To be ever aware of my negative and
Self-defeating attitudes and behaviors;
To keep my willfulness in check;
To always remember I need Your help;
To keep love and tolerance of others as my code; and
To continue in daily prayer how I can best serve You,
My Higher Power.
Evelyn’s voice reverberated in her mind. “Work the program. Remember the steps. You’re not in control of, or responsible for, anyone else’s thoughts or feelings. Until they tell you what’s going on in their hearts and minds, you have no clue what their responses are going to be.”
Good.
Good.
Years of AA were paying off, as they always did. She was coming down from her moral high ground to a place where she would be able to turn around and congratulate Petra on her good news.
She just needed one more second to fully banish the Bad Betsy thoughts. She pulled back the cloth they’d draped over Paul’s belly and checked the wounds. All good. No seepage or swelling. Well, there wouldn’t be. Too soon. He was only-just post-op.
She smiled—not fake, she genuinely felt a surge of warmth—as she turned her face towards the young woman who’d shared the news Betsy had prayed to share her whole life. “How are you feeling?”
Petra nodded. “Not bad.” She’d been standing only a few feet away, while Betsy had battled her baser instincts to a draw, and been none the wiser.
What did she need to do now? The patient on the operating table was stable. Midge was doing as well as anyone could hope for, given what she’d been through. One of her charges was pregnant. Manhattan was burning, along with parts of Connecticut and Pennsylvania. A nuclear power station was going into meltdown.
Nigel was right. They needed to plan. The FDA had guidelines for pregnant women. If they were exposed to fallout, they might need to give Petra a dose of potassium iodide, but they couldn’t keep dosing her. They didn’t want to block fetal thyroid development. They weren’t going to be able to monitor TSH levels or T4 levels.
Reality gave her a good kick in the pants and stopped her from meandering through her “should haves” and “could haves” and “might have beens.” Practical, everyday Kind Betsy stepped back up to the plate.
Did they have neonatal vitamins? Could they send Sean back out to get what they needed?
“How many weeks?”
“Eight.”
Gosh. That far along. She’d kept it very quiet. But, then, women do. Most don’t share news until they’re past the first trimester. But there’d be no amnio, no testing. They were going to have to do this the old-fashioned way.
“How’s the morning sickness?” Betsy had a pang. What wouldn’t she have given to throw up every morning?
“Stay in the present.” It was Evelyn’s voice, measured and sensible.
“I haven’t had any. That’s how come I didn’t know. I thought I was late because of stress. College is tough. I’ve been away from Paul. It seemed normal that I’d skip a period. But two is different. I started noticing I was moodier. That happens, right? Women get crabby and emotional?”
Betsy nodded. “Some people are more sensitive to the rise in progesterone.” She had a momentary pang of guilt. She’d judged Petra as “emotional” and “unstable” when in fact she’d been battling her own body chemistry.
Aggie strode back into the room. Betsy hadn’t noticed her leave. She’d been too wrapped up in her own internal drama.
“Midge is awake.” Aggie let a little flicker of fear show, just around the corners of her eyes. No one who wasn’t looking carefully would have seen it.
Once again, the room broke out, this time in cheers. It seemed it was a good day for the Everlees. The celebrations exploded around her. Mimi put her head on the table and cried so hard she almost choked. Petra and Sean hugged.
Betsy sorted the “challenges to come” in ascending order:
Indian Point was pouring poison into the air (if that radio presenter was telling the truth and/or had access to the actual facts). Betsy wasn’t sure she was full-on convinced he could know what Aggie said he knew.
If the wind changed, even for a few minutes, they might find themselves in the path of radioactive isotopes.
Their cellars had been ransacked.
Her husband had been arrested and detained. She wouldn’t be truly content until he was at her side and she could measure the extent of his injuries.
Alice and Bill were MIA.
Their supremely competent neighbor, Jo, was also MIA, though not in the same way as Alice and Bill. Jo had gone back to work.
Paul had a belly full of stitches and needed antibiotics, calm, and care; much of which was now up in the air.
Petra was pregnant at a time when no one should be thinking about babies. There was no reliable food source; their heat and water was all going to be hand-sourced; she had no way of ensuring that the baby would be healthy; when the time came there’d be no epidural, no birthing suite, no post-natal specialists if anything should happen to the baby during the birth, no formula if Petra’s milk didn’t come in, no…
Aggie tugged on Betsy’s sleeve. “We need you. Come check her out. She’s awake. Midge is coming round.”
Midge! Midge was awake. Thank the Good Lord they had a pediatrician on hand. At least that was one less thing she had to worry about. It was one thing to treat a soldier in her tent in the jungle, then send him off in a chopper to be cared for by a well-equipped, well-managed hospital and a team of highly skilled surgeons and nurses,
it was quite another to remove a tiny human from a hospital and care for her in your own home. Still: no regrets. She stood by her decision. Midge was better off here where she could take care of her…
Betsy hustled towards the door. “Sean, you’re in charge of Paul’s evacuation. He needs to remain flat. And stable. I don’t want him jostled.”
The baby of the family needed her. What could be better?
“Petra, stay with Paul. I’ll send Nigel as soon as I can free him up.”
Aggie and Betsy charged across the house to the spare room where Midge lay.
Nigel and Fred were already there, asking her to follow a finger, squeezing her toes.
“Where’s Daddy?” Midge was groggy, but absolutely coherent.
Betsy’s surge of elation expressed itself as a sob.
Aggie petted her arm before the two of them immediately went back to their customary stoic and hard-to-read selves.
“She’s verbal.” Nigel was grinning. “That’s the best we could possibly have hoped for.”
The baby was going to make it. Amazing.
“Does this mean we can move her now?” said Aggie.
“We still need to move Paul and Midge slowly and carefully.” Betsy turned away from the source of all joy—a living, breathing child—and faced Fred. “Are you staying or going? You’re needed.”
“You’re in better shape now,” said Fred.
He was going to go. There was no point fighting him. He’d made his decision. So, let him go. They’d make do without him.
“Fine. Good luck,” said Betsy. “I hope your family is well and you get to safety.”
“Can I have a blister pack?” Fred had never once raised his voice. It was reasonable for him to ask for protection against fallout. Betsy understood that. But there was a baby on the way. If the wind took a turn—and she and Jim always did their calculations based around the worst-possible eventualities—if radioactive fallout headed towards them, they might need to micro dose Petra for days. Aggie had never said how many packs the Everlees had, but Betsy was pretty sure it wasn’t going to be like their opioid stash. She and Jim had stockpiled enough for the two of them to “get out of the contamination zone” and hunker down some place that wasn’t poisoned. That might take a week or more depending on the state of the roads and the general level of panic and disorder. They’d bought double the recommended supply, but that didn’t mean she could be foolish and give it away to just anyone. Now was the time to be selfish in the way mothers were selfish.
“Sorry, Fred. I’m grateful for the work you’ve done, but the medical supplies are for those who are staying.”
He opened his mouth to protest, but she didn’t let him get a word in. “We have no reports of radioactivity in the area. If you go now and don’t look back there’s every chance you’re going to be just fine.”
“I’ll stay,” he said.
Betsy narrowed her eyes. No one flipped that fast. He was trying to bamboozle her. Well, this wasn’t the first time she’d been around drug-seekers. This wasn’t precisely the same, but it was close enough. The man was desperate and would say anything to get what he wanted. “I appreciate that. Thank you.”
“So can I have some?”
“We’ll distribute doses as we leave the compound. Everyone who’s part of the crew will be administered potassium iodide. Have no fear. We take care of our own.”
Fred hovered over Midge as she and Nigel ran through all the basic tests but excused himself when he thought she wasn’t looking. Classic drug-seeking behavior.
“I’ll be right back,” she said.
Nigel didn’t look up from his work.
Aggie stood at the foot of Midge’s bed gawping at her little sister. What was going through her mind was anyone’s guess.
Betsy tiptoed through the house. Who would Fred seek out? Who did he think was their weak link?
She could hear him in the kitchen, simpering and wheedling. “Betsy said I could have a pack of potassium iodide.”
Wow. That took some nerve.
“Oh?” It was Petra who answered him. “Did Aggie do the math? Are we all sorted? Do we start taking it now?”
“We do,” he said.
“I’m not sure where it is. Aggie’s in charge of the stocks and store rooms. Ask her.”
“Right,” said Fred.
“Did Betsy tell you my news?”
“No,” he said.
“I’m pregnant.”
Fred didn’t answer.
“Betsy said we need low doses, me and the baby, so his thyroid isn’t affected. That’s what she said, right?”
“Yup.” Sean was still there, even though Betsy had told him to create a conveyance for Paul. She’d need to whip them into shape. They were dawdling. They needed a general to direct their efforts.
Fred slid out of the kitchen, stopping when he saw Betsy. She knew he knew that she knew what he’d tried to do.
“She’s pregnant,” he said.
Betsy nodded.
“You’re going to need me.”
Betsy didn’t smile or nod or give him any indication that she believed him. He’d been caught red-handed. He might stay and help, he might not. She had no way of telling what the future might bring. They needed a pediatrician, for sure, but not one who was also a lying, thieving snake. She let him pass. She was going to need to keep a close eye on him.
“Sean?” She stood in the doorway to the kitchen. “Why are you still here?”
Sean was frozen to the spot, unable to move. “I’m going to be a dad.”
“Yes. But if you don’t move your butt right now, you’re going to be a dad who gets a good whipping and that’s probably not the example you want to set for your newborn.”
Sean extracted his hand from Petra’s grasp, kissed her, and joined Betsy in the doorway. “I don’t know how to make a conveyance.”
“Go to the garage. Collect an axe. Take it upstairs and pull apart our bed.”
“Your bed?”
“It has the longest pieces of wood. Plan first. Know what you’re going to build. Then take it apart and make me something so I can move this young man.”
The roar of a motorcycle sent Betsy running for the front door.
CHAPTER NINE
“Fran? Are you still there?” Alice hadn’t hung up when Pottinger handed back the phone. “I don’t know how much you heard, but they’re escorting us to Springfield.”
“I heard that. Everything’s a mess here. It turns out Michael’s working for the Chinese government. Christine’s having a fit. They’ve been screaming at each other off and on for the last hour. I don’t know who to believe anymore.”
“Wait, what?” Bill knew all the players and the idea that Michael Rayton was working for the Chinese was a genuine shock to his system. He was instantly less groggy; as if someone had taken a gallon of coffee, distilled it down to its essence, then shot him up with a triple dose. He was awake, alert, curious. “Back up. Tell us the whole story.”
“I don’t know everything,” said Fran. “I’m piecing it together as I go. Christine doesn’t trust anyone. The Michael revelation sent her into a blind panic. Jo’s conducting interviews, but I don’t know that that’s helping. We need you, Alice. We’re falling apart. They were taking us to a military installation so we could work on MELT, but I think that fell apart and finding a new place is taking forever. We’re on the road and going nowhere.”
“Jo?”
“Jo Morgan. Your neighbor. She’s been with us since New Jersey. It turns out she works for the FBI…”
“Woah,” said Bill. “Jo? That’s wild. I mean, she’s always seemed competent. No, more than that. She’s on top of everything in her own, strange way. But I never had her pegged as FBI.”
“Alice?” Fran didn’t address Bill at all. She wanted to hear from her boss.
Alice didn’t seem the least bit surprised by the news about Jo.
He watched his wife as she tapped the edge of the
steering wheel with her nail. She was deep in thought. They’d been here before. Many times. She wanted to be with her family, but duty called. Surely this time…
“Where are you?” Alice was in work mode. Her voice had a slightly different quality when she’d rolled up her metaphorical sleeves. She was plotting.
Please, he thought. Let her plot for us this time. We need her more than they do.
“I have no idea. We’re in a military convoy. We stop every half hour or so and Jo swaps out one member of staff for another and continues her interrogation. It’s nuts. We’re making no headway. MELT is devouring everything it touches and she’s trying to find Professor Baxter’s traitor. You need to get us back on track. Baxter especially. She’s lost it. Truly. She won’t listen to anyone. It sounds mad, but I think you’re our last hope, Alice. Without you the only person who has the raw brain power to stop this catastrophe is no use at all.”