Jeffrey also noticed the change. He began to pick at her for everything imaginable.
“Look at you,” he’d say. “You’re fatter than Aunt Sophie!” He found fault with Elizabeth’s appearance, criticized her weight gain, claimed she did nothing to control the children, and insisted the house looked worse than a pigsty.
At times Elizabeth had to bite her tongue to keep from pointing out the true cause of his irritability—Caruthers Couture. A disastrous retail venture that failed to catch on. At one time Jeffrey had been the ideal husband, a man who adored his wife and covered her with compliments as lavishly as ladling hot fudge over ice cream. Now his words were resentful, harsh, and, at times, even cruel. They tore through Elizabeth and left her hiding inside herself.
When that happened, she’d try to remember better times. Times when he’d promised eternal love and placed the world at her feet. But how could she remember those things when she sometimes couldn’t remember why she’d opened the refrigerator door? Last Tuesday, a morning when Jeffrey had been at his absolute worst, Elizabeth poured a puddle of coffee on the breakfast table because she’d forgotten the cup. On days like that she leaned on her mother.
The distance from one house to the other was less than two miles. Claire jumped from her bed as soon as the sun cleared the horizon, ran a brush through her hair, and drove the short distance. She had to be there in time to dress and feed David and Kimberly. Well, she didn’t actually have to, she wanted to. Claire knew a woman had her grandchildren for only so many years. Then they grew too old and reached the age where a display of affection generated an indignant, “Geez, Grandma!”
“Good morning,” Claire called out as she sailed through the kitchen door.
“What’s good about it?” JT grumbled.
Most mornings he ignored Claire, which she preferred if he happened to be in one of his moods. She filled the pot and set the coffee to brew. “Have you had breakfast?”
“No time,” he answered flatly, then tore through the house looking for an inventory report.
“Is this it?” Claire fished a stack of papers from beneath David’s coloring book.
JT snatched the papers from her and stuffed them into his briefcase.
~ ~ ~
Caruthers Couture was in the downtown area of Westfield, a place where most merchants had thriving businesses. When Jeffrey cleaned out their savings account to purchase an expensive line of evening wear and designer clothing, he swore his store would make millions. It didn’t. In fact, for two years it ran a deficit month after month.
“Is it my fault,” he complained, “that the women of this town have no eye for fashion?”
Determined that his strategy would pay off, he sat behind the counter day after day and watched as the ladies of Westfield marched past his store in their wool slacks and parkas. After several months, he began chewing his fingernails down to the nub. In early March he told Charlie he’d been eyeing a high-end line of costume jewelry.
“I need something like that to bring new customers into the store,” he said. “Thing is, I’m gonna have to borrow at least ten thousand to finance it.”
“Another ten thousand?” Charlie grunted. “In addition to the twenty-five thousand you already got?”
“It takes money to make money,” JT snapped.
“I don’t know,” Charlie said, shaking his head dubiously. “I’m gonna have to think it over.” In the past two years, he’d given his son-in-law four sizeable loans, none of which Jeffrey had repaid. This, it seemed, was throwing good money after bad.
That evening Jeffrey brought Elizabeth a bouquet of pink roses and offered an apology for his sour disposition.
“Once your dad gives me this loan,” he said, “I can get Caruthers Couture back on track, and things will be better for us. I promise.”
They made love that night and then while they lay side by side in the dark, he suggested she ask Claire to talk to Charlie.
“Ask Mom?” Elizabeth said. “Why?”
“Because I need the money. Your dad will give me the loan if she tells him to.”
~ ~ ~
The next morning when Claire arrived, the coffee was brewing and both children were already dressed. Elizabeth looked better than she had in days and smiled happily as JT breezed by with a quick kiss. “Don’t forget,” he whispered, then left.
Claire lifted an eyebrow. “What’s up?”
Elizabeth poured some coffee and sat down at the table. “JT’s planning to make some changes at the store,” she said. “Changes to help the business.”
“Like what?”
“He’s gonna specialize in jewelry and more elegant evening wear. He thinks that stuff will attract customers with money to spend, and it’s got a better profit margin.”
Elizabeth spoke for a while longer, and then explained how JT needed additional financing.
“Mom, please tell Daddy he ought to help out,” she said. “JT really needs the money, and he promised to pay Daddy back as soon as this new line gets going.”
Claire didn’t for one minute buy into the idea that the trouser-wearing ladies of Westfield would suddenly switch to party dresses, but despite these doubts she did insist Charlie give JT the money.
“Good or bad businessman,” she argued, “it doesn’t matter. He’s our daughter’s husband!”
So JT got the loan he wanted, and he filled an entire display case with evening bags, thinly-plated gold bangles, and sparkling rhinestones. When the new merchandise did nothing to improve business and sat there gathering dust, his moods grew blacker. In April he stopped talking about how the store would make millions and before long began saying it generally took years for a business to turn around. He finally settled into eating dinner alone, watching television, and trotting off to bed without a word to anyone.
Elizabeth, trying to cope with her explosive weight gain and burning thirst, paid little attention as she downed glass after glass of water. She felt ready to burst out of her skin. By mid-April she appeared to be on the verge of delivery.
Her forgetfulness seemed to get worse. In the second week of April, Elizabeth discovered three whole days missing from her memory. She woke on Thursday, believing it was Sunday, and insisted she had no recollection of having gone to the library on Tuesday or the dentist on Wednesday.
“Surely you remember, dear,” Claire prompted. “Tuesday I made that delicious macaroni casserole for lunch, and Wednesday David skinned his knee on the front walkway. You remember that, don’t you?”
“David skinned his knee? On our walkway? Where was I?”
“Sitting on the porch in the rocking chair. You put the Band-Aid on David’s knee after I cleaned it, remember?”
Elizabeth’s blue eyes filled with tears. “I’m afraid not,” she said. “It must be because I’ve had this terrible headache.”
~ ~ ~
Two weeks later Elizabeth went for her second prenatal check.
“Good grief,” Doctor Watkins gasped. “You’ve gained forty pounds! That’s way too much.” He glanced at the scale a second time. “What have you been eating?”
“Some ice cream,” she said. “Very little of anything else. With my stomach so bloated, the thought of sitting down to a meal nauseates me. I’m not the least bit hungry, but I’m thirsty all the time. I can drink a gallon of water and still be thirsty.”
“Water? You’re gaining weight on water?” Doctor Watkins asked incredulously. “No salty foods? Pretzels, maybe? Potato chips? Peanuts?”
Elizabeth shook her head.
Doctor Watkins grimaced. “These headaches you’re having, did you experience that with either of your previous pregnancies?”
“Not at all,” Elizabeth answered.
“What about the lack of energy? Thirst? Forgetfulness?”
She shook her head.
“Taking any supplements or medications I’m not aware of? Handling pesticides? Paints? Turpentine?”
Elizabeth shook her head again and
again. When he’d run out of questions, Doctor Watkins scratched the name “Rebecca Sorenson” on a slip of paper and passed it across the desk. “This is an endocrinologist I’d like you to see.”
“Endocrinologist?” Elizabeth repeated nervously. “Why?”
“There’s something going on,” he said. “It could be gestational diabetes. An endocrinologist can say for certain.” Noticing the look of panic on her face, Doctor Watkins placed his hand atop hers.
“Don’t worry,” he said reassuringly. “It happens with some pregnancies but virtually never results in birth defects. The hormone helping your baby to grow can block your production of insulin. But once you’ve given birth, your body reverts back to its normal state. Then the gestational diabetes usually disappears.”
“You’re sure this condition won’t be harmful to the baby?” Elizabeth asked.
Doctor Watkins shook his head, giving her hand a gentle pat.
That evening after tucking David and Kimberly into bed, Elizabeth sat on the sofa next to JT.
“I went to the doctor today,” she began, waiting for him to ask the obvious. He focused on the words of a market analyst explaining why a recent issue had unprecedented gains.
“Well, if that don’t beat all,” JT grumbled. “Here I was gonna buy that stock and would’ve if I’d had the money.”
Elizabeth snapped off the television.
He glared at her angrily. “I was watching that.”
“I went to the doctor today.”
“Okay, so?”
“Doctor Watkins thinks I might have gestational diabetes. He told me I have to see a specialist. An endocrinologist.”
“Diabetes?” JT scoffed a sigh of intolerance. “No wonder, with all that ice cream you’ve been having. You should eat salads or something that doesn’t make you gain weight. Yeah, I know, the pregnant piggy has a craving for ice cream,” he muttered sarcastically. “Now I’ve got to pay for a specialist to tell you the exact same thing I’ve been saying all along.”
Elizabeth felt her eyes welling. “How could you say such an awful thing? Don’t you care about my feelings? Do you think I like being so overweight? Do you think—” She gave way to all that she’d held back and began sobbing.
“What about me?” JT said angrily. “You think I like having more bills than I can afford to pay? I bought this money pit for you! You’re the one who wanted a big house and lot of babies! Now I’m the one who’s stuck paying for it! I’m sick of it!”
He turned and stomped out of the room.
~ ~ ~
Almost two weeks passed before Elizabeth could actually bring herself to call Doctor Rebecca Sorenson, and then she did so only at the urging of her mother.
“Think of the baby!” Claire pleaded. “Think of yourself!”
Finally Elizabeth scheduled an appointment and nervously asked JT to go with her.
“Can’t your mother do it?” he answered.
“No. I was gonna ask her to stay here and watch the kids. I thought you might want to—”
“Will you stop?” he said, rolling his eyes. “You always do that. You make it sound like I don’t want to go with you. It isn’t that I don’t want to go, I can’t. I’ve gotta open the store. Who else is gonna do it? All the responsibility is on my shoulders, but does that bother you? Nope, not one bit. It’s never gonna end, is it?”
“I only thought—”
He grabbed the remote control and turned up the sound.
~ ~ ~
On the first Tuesday of May, a day so unseasonably warm that women switched to sandals and men pulled short-sleeved shirts from the back of their closet, Elizabeth rose early. She showered, washed her hair, and left it to hang loose across her shoulders. Then she dressed in the one maternity outfit that still fit. By ten o’clock she and Claire sat in Doctor Sorenson’s waiting room, their fingers entwined.
This waiting room, with its line of light gray chairs pushed against a darker gray wall, had none of the usual baby magazines. No Parenting. No “What every mother needs to know” articles. Here, elderly people with brown spots freckling their hands read things such as Living with Diabetes and Blood Pressure, the silent killer. After waiting what felt like hours, a male nurse stepped from behind a closed door and called out, “Caruthers.” They stood and followed him through the hallway into a small but somewhat brighter examination room.
Doctor Rebecca Sorenson was not what they expected. For starters, she was young enough to make Claire wonder how long she’d actually been practicing. She was the type of woman men turned to look at—tall, slender, dark eyes, and flame-red hair. She entered the room with a welcoming smile and a file folder.
“Well now,” she said pleasantly, “let’s talk about this problem you’re having.”
Elizabeth related the experiences of her first two pregnancies then told of her extreme thirst, rapid weight gain, forgetfulness, and recent feeling of depression.
“Any history of diabetes in your family?”
“None.”
“Okay then, we start from square one.”
By the time Elizabeth watched Rebecca Sorenson write orders for several tests that afternoon, she had begun to like her. Her smile, the casual ease with which she spoke. Under other circumstances, Elizabeth could envision them becoming friends. Going to parties together. Book clubs maybe. Sharing recipes.
“Do you have any children yourself?” she asked.
“Afraid not,” the doctor answered laughingly. “I’ve yet to find my Mister Right.”
“Children are a true blessing,” Elizabeth said.
~ ~ ~
After spending hours at a nearby clinic, Elizabeth and her mother returned to Doctor Sorenson’s office to learn the results of the tests.
Rebecca leafed through several pages of reports. “It looks like your obstetrician was correct. This is definitely not all baby weight. Something more is going on.”
“What is it?” Elizabeth asked nervously.
The doctor shrugged sympathetically. “We don’t know yet. The tests show certain abnormalities in your system, but the source of the problem isn’t obvious. We know it’s a neurological malfunction, but to pinpoint the origin we’d need a CT scan.”
“Is that the next step?” Claire asked.
“Unfortunately no,” Doctor Sorenson replied. “We can’t do it while Elizabeth is pregnant. The scan involves radiation, and that’s harmful to an unborn child.”
She turned to Elizabeth. “Our best bet is to get you into the hospital. There, I can monitor you and control any complications that crop up. With a few more tests, maybe we’ll get lucky and find out what’s causing the problem.”
“But I have kids at home, I need to—”
Claire eased her arm across Elizabeth’s shoulder and squeezed. “Don’t worry. It’ll be okay.”
Elizabeth looked at Doctor Sorenson and asked, “Will it? Is my baby really okay?”
“Right now, yes,” Rebecca said, “and I intend to do everything possible to make sure it stays that way. You’re the one I’m worried about.”
~ ~ ~
JT had come to expect bad days. He’d settled into them the way one settles into riding an overcrowded bus. But this particular day was one of his worst. Before he left the house he and Elizabeth had another argument, and then Eleanor Morgan returned the opera coat she purchased last week claiming it was much too dressy.
“I can’t imagine what I was thinking,” she said as she collected her refund.
Not long after that, the sales representative from Lady Lorraine called to say his boss refused to ship any more merchandise until JT paid his outstanding invoices.
“You have three invoices that are over ninety days!” the rep growled. “You know our policy is ten days net!”
With his patience already worn thin, JT was unprepared for what greeted him at home.
“Where’s Liz?” he asked Claire, who tried to coax Kimberly into eating some green peas.
“In
the hospital,” Claire answered, extending the pea-filled spoon toward Kimberly. “One little bite,” she cajoled. “They’re yummy, just try them.”
“Hospital? What hospital?”
“Saint Barnabas,” Claire answered absently. “But don’t worry, she and the baby are both okay. The doctor just wants to keep an eye on her.”
“What for? What’s wrong?”
“They don’t know yet. Doctor Sorenson said they need a CT scan to know for certain…” She turned toward JT, and in that instant Kimberly’s hand shot out and sent the peas spiraling into the air.
“Shame on you doing that!” Claire scolded. She bent to retrieve the peas from the floor.
“When is this CT scan?” JT asked, ignoring the pea rolling past his shoe.
“She’s not having it, at least not now. It’s a radiation thing that’s dangerous for the baby.”
“So why is Liz staying in the hospital?”
“The doctor just wants to keep her under observation.”
“I can’t believe this!” JT said, slamming his fist against the wall. “How long is she gonna stay there? Until she has the baby? Until we don’t have another nickel to our name? Until I’m totally bankrupt?!”
Claire tossed the handful of peas in the sink.
“Elizabeth is sick,” she said, “really sick, and all you can think about is money? You should be ashamed!”
Jeffrey didn’t jump down her throat this time. He stood there with his shoulders curling toward his chest and a hateful look in his eyes. “You’re right,” he mumbled resentfully; then he turned and walked out.
Claire expected he’d return in an hour or so, after he had time to collect himself, after he had time to reconsider the value of money when weighed against caring for someone you love. But he didn’t come back. Claire finished feeding David and Kimberly, gave them their baths, and tucked them into bed. Still thinking he’d come through the door any minute, she waited until nine-thirty then called Charlie and suggested he fix himself some soup.
“There’s no telling how long I’ll be here,” she said.
It was after eleven when she fell asleep on the sofa. When she woke the next morning, Jeffrey still had not returned.
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