The Newport Ladies Book Club: Daisy

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The Newport Ladies Book Club: Daisy Page 19

by Kilpack, Josi S.


  “Yeah,” Paige said. “I’ve had a few moments of that myself.” She paused then looked up sharply. “Not that I’m saying you shouldn’t have stopped going or anything. I’m not trying to be judgmental.”

  She spoke fast and scared, and I smiled. “I didn’t feel judged,” I said. “Church just didn’t work for me. It doesn’t bug me to say that.”

  “How about God? Do you believe in Him? I’m just curious.”

  I thought about what my mom had said, how church was a vehicle to God, and how well that blended with the conversation we’d had at book group when we’d discussed The Poisonwood Bible. “I believe in God,” I said. “I’m not sure I like Him all the time, though.”

  I could tell Paige was uncomfortable with that, but she didn’t say anything, so I quickly changed the subject back to the movies. “And what about the whole Return of the King? It’s only the base foundation of all Christianity, awaiting the Second Coming. Am I right?”

  It ended up being a very good day. We were both hurting, and yet we had found some sisterhood together. I was grateful. At the end of the night, after we had beat the Tolkien discussions to death, Paige asked me what I was going to do now that Paul had left.

  “The house is Paul’s,” I said. “I’m not on the mortgage, and he makes the payments. I keep hoping he’s going to come home and have a different opinion, but I feel silly holding my breath. I guess I need to look for an apartment.” I paused, letting the idea settle like a hammer on my toe. I took a deep breath and tried to shrug as I pinched off a corner of a leftover brownie. “This is still so Twilight Zone.”

  Paige gave me a sympathetic smile. “The office isn’t open on Monday, so I have the day off. What if we go look at apartments and maternity clothes?”

  “Sounds horrible,” I said, brushing crumbs from my fingers.

  “We could get pedicures, too,” she said.

  “Okay, you talked me in to it.”

  I was only half paying attention when Paige and I went out on Monday. We found two apartments that looked good. One wouldn’t be ready for a month, but the other one was available now and not far from Paige. I was so not happy about returning to apartment life, but I tried not to make a big deal about it due to the fact that Paige was in an apartment, and I didn’t want to sound like a snob.

  We also found a few maternity boutiques. I pretty much bought whatever Paige said looked good since it all looked ridiculous to me. I was such a zeppelin. The pedicures were the best part—I chose red for the season I didn’t feel much enamored with. At the end of the day, I gave her a big hug, thanking her profusely for making the holiday bearable.

  “Right back at ya,” Paige said. “You totally saved me.”

  I went back to work on Tuesday despite the fact that half the office didn’t come in. I heard nothing from Paul, and Wednesday became almost the same day as Tuesday, except that I wore a different whale costume to work. On my way home Wednesday night, I stopped at the apartment complex near Paige’s place in Tustin. The manager met me at the door of the available apartment, and I walked through it with new eyes, trying to quell my resentment of having to make yet another change in my life.

  “Let me think on it a little longer,” I said, forcing a smile as we headed out of a place that didn’t seem as though it would ever really feel like home. Would the people below me have late-night parties? Would someone down the hall cook with onions too often? I hated living in apartments.

  I went home to a dinner of leftover fettuccine in an empty house. I texted Stormy to tell her I loved her. She didn’t text back. I cried myself to sleep for the fourth night in a row.

  Thursday afternoon I left the office early to go to my appointment with Dr. Cortez. He tried looking for the baby’s gender, but the appointment was instead dominated by the discovery that the placenta was covering part of my cervix—placenta previa, he called it.

  “It should move up as the baby grows and expands the uterus,” Dr. Cortez said, the hint of a lilt to his words. “But avoid lifting or aerobic exercise until your next appointment, okay? And give me a call if you have any cramping or spotting.”

  “Okay,” I agreed. I didn’t realize until I was getting dressed that I hadn’t even looked at the monitor when he did the ultrasound. Not that I’d ever been able to tell what it was on the screen anyway, but why hadn’t I even looked?

  I was invited to a New Year’s party by a neighbor I talked to only a few times a year. Paige had a date with a guy named Derryl that she didn’t talk about much but smiled over every time she said his name. I was glad she was going out, but a little jealous too. Livvy called and invited me to her house for the holiday. I was touched, but had already committed to my neighbor’s party, which turned into a total bore. I was in bed by ten, spent New Year’s Day catching up on a scrapbook I’d abandoned five years earlier, and breathed a sigh of relief when I went to bed that night.

  The holidays were over. I had survived.

  At work, I finally let myself think about the fact that I hadn’t seen or heard from my husband in a week and a half. Nothing. I suspected that he’d come home for clothes once or twice while I was at work last week, but he’d managed to avoid me entirely. I called the manager of the apartment complex I’d looked at and asked if the unit was still available.

  “Yes,” he said eagerly. “You could move in tomorrow.”

  “How about Saturday?” I had the brief reminder that Saturday was book group night and grimaced. I’d thrown my copy of Silas Marner at Paige and never gotten it back. But I wanted to go. Maybe it could be my reward after I moved all day. I’m sure the girls in the group wouldn’t mind that I hadn’t finished the book.

  I made an appointment to sign the contract the next morning. Then I dejunked every closet in the house while playing my Forrest Gump soundtrack at full blast. I didn’t have any boxes to pack things in yet, but left my closet fodder in piles and stacks throughout the house so that only Paul’s stuff went back in the newly cleaned closet. I cried the whole time.

  The next morning I lay in bed too long. Everything had become so real and so heavy. I couldn’t get out of bed. I couldn’t go to work. I couldn’t do this. But I did get out of bed, feeling sore and heavy, and got ready for work. I did what I had always done—pulled myself up by my bootstraps and got on with my life, even though I felt dead inside. I stopped at the apartment complex on my way into the office and signed the contract. I’d pick up keys on Friday. Wow.

  At the office, I took the stairs in hopes that I could stave off the insane weight gain that had me in its sights. By the last floor, my belly was hurting, and I was breathing hard. Was I already that big that it hurt to do normal things? No more Szechuan chicken and pralines and cream for me. In between work projects, I called the utility companies to get things switched over and hired a moving company to come to the house at eight o’clock Saturday morning. Every time emotion threatened to overcome me, I took a breath and pushed it away. There was too much to do to waste time with so many feelings.

  At eleven, I took a break to use the bathroom. That’s when I realized I was bleeding.

  Chapter 39

  “Good news and bad news,” Dr. Cortez said as he pulled the rolling stool up to the exam table an hour later. I’d been instructed to lie on my left side while he went over the results of the ultrasound, and I tried to stay calm.

  I felt numb and didn’t dare ask any questions for fear that I’d be inviting an answer I wasn’t prepared to hear.

  “The bad news,” he said in that lilting voice of his, “is that the placenta has not moved as we had hoped it would. In fact, it’s covering more of the cervix than it did at your previous appointment, which is why you had the bleeding. The placenta has pulled away from the uterine wall.”

  “And you can’t fix it,” I summed up. The mental canvas I had been painting on was suddenly blank again.

  “No, we can’t,” he said with a shake of his head and a sympathetic expression. “There is no preven
tion or cure for placenta previa, but there is still some good news.”

  “Okay,” I said.

  “The baby is fine,” he said, smiling for the first time. “Heartbeat is normal, and development is right on schedule. The other good news is that the tear from the placental displacement was minor. It will heal.”

  I took my first deep breath in nearly an hour and stared at the ceiling.

  “But . . .” His voice trailed off.

  My eyes snapped back to his licorice ones. “But?”

  “I’m ordering you to stay down.”

  “Stay down?” I repeated as though confused, but I knew what he meant. I just couldn’t comprehend how it was possible.

  “Bed rest,” he summarized. “Full bed rest for at least two weeks, then we’ll reevaluate, see if we can lift some of your restrictions. For now, no intercourse, no lifting, no walking except to the bathroom and the kitchen a few times a day. Three-minute showers.”

  “That means not going to work,” I said. How could I not work? I wasn’t worried about the intercourse part—that was not an issue any longer. But I had just signed a contract to move on Saturday. I couldn’t stay in Paul’s house forever.

  “I will write a note to your employer.” He looked up at me. “It’ll be okay.”

  That’s when I realized I was crying. I hurried to wipe away the tears and nodded, embarrassed to be so emotional, not that I was all that surprised—I was always emotional these days.

  “Do you have people who can help you?” he asked.

  I almost shook my head. My husband had left me. My daughter wasn’t speaking to me. My extended family lived on the opposite side of the country. I was more alone than I’d ever been in my life.

  “Yes,” I lied, thinking about online grocery delivery. Movers. A housekeeper.

  “And, Mrs. Atkins,” he said, still looking at me with that bold stare of his. “I will take good care of you.”

  I looked away as more tears sprang up, but my glance stopped at the cross at his neck. I stared at it for a moment and then asked, “Do you pray, Dr. Cortez?”

  He smiled widely, showing bright white teeth. “Every day,” he said. “I pray for my family, for my patients, and for the Lord to help me be the man He sent me here to be. Do you pray, Mrs. Atkins?”

  “No. Not anymore.” I looked at the cross again.

  “With God, all things are possible, Miss Daisy. His peace He will give you, if you will only ask.”

  “Ask? That’s kind of the problem I have.”

  He smiled warmly at me. “Finding one’s faith is a journey that can take a lifetime, and there is no saying where anyone is at any given time in their life. But”—he lifted one finger to make his point—“I believe that a life with a belief in God and in His mercy and justice is better than a life without it. Asking for His peace and comfort does not make us weak.”

  Dr. Cortez gave me permission to drive myself home, but made me promise to arrange for help as soon as I could. I drove slowly, and when I got home, I went straight to Stormy’s room to lie down. It took all of five minutes before the weight of the entire situation pressed in on me. More tears. How would I do this?

  How can I make it work? I can’t take four months off of life. How will I function? How will I do the basics? Laundry, grocery shopping, earning a paycheck. I raised my hands to cover my eyes as though hiding from someone who might see me losing it, see me breaking under the pressure.

  And then I felt something flutter in my belly, a feeling like cresting the first hill on a roller coaster, or stepping into a high-speed elevator. I held my breath and went very still, my hands going from my wet eyes to my rounding stomach. I’d wondered a time or two over the last few days if I’d felt the baby move, but I hadn’t been certain. I wasn’t sure I was ready to acknowledge it. But . . . there. I felt it again.

  And there.

  I closed my eyes and felt myself smile as I focused intently on this reminder of why I would take four months off of my life. Tears ran down the sides of my face. I pressed both hands against my belly and took a deep breath.

  Ask.

  The word was just there. Maybe it was Dr. Cortez’s voice, I couldn’t be sure.

  Ask.

  Could I bear the rejection if my request was met with silence?

  Things were silent anyway. Dr. Cortez had said that a belief in God’s justice and mercy was better than a life without it. Did I dare believe that? Did I want justice to get its due? Only if I didn’t trust mercy. Did I trust mercy? Did I believe it? Did I deserve it?

  Ask.

  I exhaled slowly, closed my eyes, and with my hands on my belly, I began to pray.

  “Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name . . .”

  Chapter 40

  “Well, I suppose we’ll have to make the best of it,” Sam, my supervisor, said when I called the next morning. I hadn’t had any lightning bolts following my prayer last night. I hadn’t felt anything, really. But the prayer hadn’t hurt. That was a start, right?

  Sam continued. “I’ll get with Amy and Lenny to see how we’ll split things up. Can you work from home?”

  I was stuck on the idea of having to work with Amy. That would be awkward to say the least. “I’ll have my laptop,” I said. “I can do plenty through that, but I won’t have access to any office documents or files.”

  “Understood,” he said. “Perhaps we could put Naomi from underwriting in your office, and she can be your hands and eyes here.”

  “That would work,” I said, relieved even though the idea of having someone else in my office made my skin itch. Another call was coming in, and I pulled the phone away from my ear long enough to see that it was Jared. Why was he calling? I didn’t take his call and talked to Sam for another ten minutes. Then I called Jared back.

  “I just got a text from Stormy,” Jared said. “What’s going on?”

  Ask. Such a small word for such a big thing. Stormy had been the safest person to tell, but I’d known it was just like telling Jared directly.

  I explained it all to him, hating the weakness and vulnerability I felt at having to divulge all the tragic turns of events I’d been navigating. I assumed he knew about the pregnancy—no doubt Stormy had already downloaded her feelings on that subject—and although I hesitated to tell him about Paul, there was no point in pretending things were different than what they were.

  “Wow,” he said. “You sure know how to pick ’em.”

  It wouldn’t have been so funny if he hadn’t once been one of those I’d picked. It was nice to laugh with him before he turned serious again. “You going to be okay?”

  I thought about that, struck by the sincerity of his comment. “Yeah,” I said. “In the long run, I will be. Right now I’m just trying not to panic.”

  “Aren’t you moving to a new place?”

  “How did you know that?” I hadn’t actually talked to Stormy since I made the announcement, and I hadn’t brought up the move with her in the few texts we’d sent back and forth.

  “December told Storm you were looking at apartments last week. Did you find something already?”

  It was so tempting to lie to him and pretend I had everything under control.

  Ask.

  “I did find a place. In fact, I’m supposed to move in on Saturday,” I said. “I signed the contract less than two hours before all this happened. Amazing timing, huh?”

  “This Saturday? Are you still following through on it?”

  “I already have movers coming, and I thought if I used the office chair, with rollers, I could do most of the packing before then.” How idiotic could I be? Did I really think I could finish separating my things from Paul’s without having to stand? It made me sad to think about disentangling our lives from one another. It was all so surreal.

  “Storm and I could come help. I could knock off work early. January’s a lousy month for sales since the holidays tap everyone out.”

  I wanted so badly to say that I di
dn’t need or want his help. That I was perfectly capable of doing this myself. But I wasn’t. And I knew it.

  “Really?” I hadn’t really asked for his help, but I hadn’t refused him either, and that was a step in the right direction.

  “Sure. I assume you won’t be going anywhere, so we can come anytime, right?”

  “I’m a lump,” I said. “But I feel bad putting this on you.” He was my ex-husband. He didn’t owe me anything—not even child support now that our child had chosen to live with him.

  “Don’t feel bad,” Jared said. “It’s about time Storm got over herself, ya know, and you need us, right?”

  Need. That was almost as bad as ask. Like it or not, however, I could not do this alone.

  “I really do,” I finally said.

  “Good deal. We’ll be there.”

  They came at six, and Stormy acted as though everything was fine between us. I lacked the energy it would take to discuss things and played along. Stormy came back and forth between my room, which used to be her room, and the rest of the house, asking questions while Jared provided the manual labor. He’d even brought boxes. At seven thirty, Paige showed up, though I didn’t know it was her until she tapped on the bedroom door where I was laid out like a very round Queen Bee while people buzzed around me. I hated it so much.

  “You going crazy yet?” she asked as she came into the room. She had a reusable bag from Trader Joe’s in one hand; whatever was inside it was heavy, which meant it was not potato chips—bummer. I had hesitated to tell her anything at all, but knew she’d be hurt if I didn’t include her. She immediately said she’d do what she could to help. The process made me realize how hard it was for me to take anyone’s charity, and that made me feel bad. Had I lived my life as such a rock and an island that I couldn’t reach out? What kind of relationships did I expect to have if I didn’t let anyone be necessary to me?

  “I passed crazy a long time ago,” I said in answer to her question. “Now I’m on to neurotic. After that comes insanity, and I should reach it by Sunday at the rate I’m going.”

 

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