Scrapping Plans

by Rebeca Seitz

  I slide down the hallway. At least ten feet. I see two doors pass as I slide, slivers of light shining from under their doors. I hear laughter behind those doors. Not a child’s uninhibited, innocent merriment and delight with life. No, this sound is of evil having its way.

  I come to rest in a heap, breathing hard. Am I okay? Have I broken anything?

  That’s when I feel the warmth between my legs.

  Twenty-Four

  Clay? Clay!” Tandy flew through the back door of the diner. “Clay! Where are you?”

  Clay burst through the swinging doors that separated the kitchen from the diner. “Right here. What’s wrong?” One look at Tandy’s face and he rushed to her and took her hands in his. “What’s happened?”

  “It’s Joy. She’s at the emergency room.”

  “Let’s go.”

  Clay dialed his cell while they ran to his truck. “Oscar, it’s me.” Tandy heard him making arrangements for Oscar to take care of the diner, but it seemed as if he stood at the end of a very long tunnel. The sound was there, but muffled. Distant.

  Joy in an emergency room. Joy losing the baby. This couldn’t be. They’d bought a crib. This couldn’t be.

  “Hurry, Clay.”

  He reached across the seat and held her hand and she was grateful for its warmth. Hers felt like blocks of ice. Useless and frozen.

  Stars Hill flew by her window as Clay’s hazard lights blinked and he broke every traffic law on the books. Red lights were ignored. Stop signs brushed away like a bad suggestion. They swung into the hospital parking lot six minutes after Tandy had run to the diner—which was six minutes and ten seconds after she’d left the receiver dangling against the wall on the upstairs phone—which was six minutes and sixteen seconds after Meg called to tell her Joy needed them.

  She had the door open and her seat belt off before the truck came to a complete halt under the Emergency sign.

  “Go,” Clay said. “I’ll park and come in.”

  Go she did. Through the double doors that whooshed open, down the long hallway tiled in white that had been buffed so hard it shone like wax on a hot summer’s day, and around the corner to the nurses’ station. Tandy skidded to a halt in front of the receptionist window, wondering in the back of her mind why the glass had wire crisscrossing it on the inside. Did a lot of people try to break into or out of the receptionist area?

  Corinne Stewart, Stars Hill’s emergency nurse for the past thirty years, stood as soon as Tandy came into view. “She’s in room 3.”

  Tandy didn’t even stop to say thank you, just flew back down the hallway and turned right, down the patient room wing. She hadn’t been in here since junior high, when Kendra had tried to jump from one tree limb to another—like a flying squirrel—and ended up flat on her back between the massive oak trees.

  The sight of Daddy sitting on a bench outside room 3 finally slowed her mad flight.

  “Daddy?”

  He looked up and the anguish in his eyes made her heart break into a million pieces. Fifty new wrinkles had found a home in his face. The eyes that had danced with delight at dinner just a few hours ago now looked at her from a shuttered, dark place.

  No niece or nephew Lasky. Tandy knew the truth before Daddy opened his mouth.

  “Is she …?” Tandy couldn’t finish the question.

  “She’s in there. Scott’s there and Meg. Kendra’s on her way.”

  Tandy waded through what felt like a wall of water ensnaring her feet and stopped in front of Joy’s door. “I don’t know what to say,” she whispered.

  Daddy reached up from his bench and took her hand in his. “You don’t have to say a word. Just be there.”

  Tandy squeezed his hand, knowing his words were borne from the wisdom of a husband who sat by his dying wife’s bedside for months. She pushed open the door and entered Joy’s room.

  Joy could never have been described as a large woman, but the bed made her seem like a child. The black of her hair lay fanned across a stark white pillow. Her face nearly matched the bed linens.

  But it was the look in her eyes that caused Tandy’s swift intake of breath. All hope, all life, all energy had escaped into a black void of nothingness. Joy raised her eyes to Tandy, yet nothing of Joy lay behind the startling blue pools.

  Tandy stepped forward and took Joy’s hand in hers. It felt colder than the glacier that hit the Titanic.

  “Oh, Joy.”

  Her sister gave a mirthless laugh. “We’ll be changing that soon enough.”

  At least she was talking, if incoherently.

  “What, honey?”

  “My name. I think those sisters at the orphanage either missed their message from God or weren’t talking to Him at all. I’m changing it as soon as I get out of here.”

  Best to leave that alone for now.

  Tandy cast about for something to say. Asking for details on how this happened seemed like it would cause Joy more pain than release. Talking about everyday matters though would be heartless and cruel. So Tandy did what Daddy said to do and simply stood there, holding Joy’s tiny hand in hers, stroking it.

  She looked over to Scott, who hadn’t moved since she came into the room. He stood staring out the window, one hand across his abdomen, the other propping up his chin. His body had settled into the curvature of defeat.

  Meg sat on Joy’s other side, her legs curled up beneath her in the giant hospital chair. She held Joy’s other hand. Tandy met her eyes and they shared a look of helplessness.

  How could Joy have a miscarriage? They were all healthy as could be. Meg had carried all three of her babies with no problem at all. No one they knew had experienced this before—at least not that they’d shared with the sisters.

  How could this be?

  Tandy lost track of time as she shifted from foot to foot, alternately wishing for another chair and chastising herself for worrying about her own comfort at a time like this.

  As the second hand swept around the white face of a large, round clock on the wall, Tandy entertained for the first time the thought of never having children. If this could happen, then perhaps motherhood wasn’t for her after all.

  She’d need to talk about that with Clay. Where was he? Probably outside the door with Daddy and Zelda. Clay would know to leave this to the sisters.

  Scott, on the other hand, would benefit from Clay’s presence right now. Staring out that window couldn’t be doing him any good.

  Tandy reached into her coat pocket and pulled out her cell phone. Typing a text message with one hand was laborious, but she managed. No way would she let go of Joy right now.

  She finished the message in a few minutes and hit Send.

  It took less than a minute for Clay to come through the door. He met Tandy’s eyes, and she tried to tell him with a look what she felt right now. Which proved too difficult since she had no idea how she really felt. Everything mixed together in her heart and mind, and all she knew was that Joy no longer had a baby Lasky growing inside her.

  And that truth changed a lot of what she thought she knew about the world and the way God worked.

  * * *

  AN HOUR LATER Kendra, Meg, and Tandy sat at a table in the hospital cafeteria. Joy—with the blissful aid of modern pharmaceuticals—lay sleeping.

  “How could this happen?” Tandy said for the fiftieth time. “I keep saying it, but I can’t get past that. Did she fall or something?”

  “I don’t think so.” Meg sipped her coffee, her hands wrapped around its soothing warmth. “Scott told me when I first got here that she woke up right after they’d gone to bed and there was blood on the sheets. They called 911 and here we are.”

  Kendra threw a handful of M&Ms into her mouth and handed Tandy some.

  Thank heaven for comfort food. “What do we do now?” Tandy lay the buttons of chocolate on the table and began sorting them by color.

  Kendra swallowed. “First things first. We’ve got to get to her house and change those sheets. Scott shou
ldn’t have to, and Joy’s definitely not going to be subjected to it.”

  “Oh, God, why is this happening?” Meg lay her head on the table.

  Tandy considered chastising her for using the Lord’s name in vain, then realized Meg was really asking God for understanding.

  “We need to call USA Baby and cancel the crib.”

  “I never even got to see it.” Meg’s voice was muffled by the wood of the table.

  Tandy shook her head. “I don’t get this at all.”

  Meg sat up. “Me either. I don’t think we’re going to get a reason this side of eternity though. And we’ve got to buck up. Joy will need to lean on all of us to get through this, so we have to be strong.” She swiped at a tear. “I’ll go to her house and get the sheets changed.”

  “No, you stay here with her.” Tandy tucked a curl behind her ear. Her hair probably looked like birds had nested in it. She’d been in bed with a good book when Meg called, waiting on Clay to close up the diner. “She’ll want you when she wakes up. I’ll go to her house.”

  Kendra crumpled the empty M&Ms bag. “I’ll go with you. We can call Noni on the way and cancel the crib.”

  They looked at each other, then came together in a hug. “We’ll get through this,” Tandy promised.

  “We always do.” Meg stepped back and pulled a crumpled Kleenex from her coat pocket. “Y’all go on. I’ll find out about how many of us can stay the night and all.”

  “If they think they’re kicking any of us out, they have another thing coming.”

  “Ms. Corinne’s on duty,” Tandy said. “She won’t send any of us home.”

  Kendra nodded. “Yeah, she knows us too well to have that fight.”

  “And she’s too wise.” Meg lifted a hand and gave a small wave. “See you two in a bit. Be careful. And wear your seat belts.”

  “Don’t worry about us. One tragedy a year is plenty.” Kendra threw her scarf over her shoulder and headed out the door with Tandy.

  Twenty–Five

  The house felt like a crypt when they entered, as if all the wood and marble knew a life had ended a few short hours ago.

  Tandy crept up the stairs, trying not to disturb the shroud of silence around them.

  “Do you think houses have feelings?” Kendra’s voice came almost at a whisper.

  “I think this one may.”

  Their feet sank into the plush hallway carpeting. Tandy tried to walk slowly, but she still arrived at Scott and Joy’s bedroom door entirely too soon. She took a deep breath and looked at Kendra. “You ready for this?”

  “No.”

  “Me neither.”

  “But it’s got to be done.”

  “Yep.” She pushed open the door.

  The room looked like a hurricane had blown through. Sheets were twisted and falling off the bed, the telltale blood now disappearing over the mattress’s edge. A light blue silk comforter lay crumpled on the far side of the room, where the bench seat that normally sat at the foot of their bed now lay on its side as well. The overhead light shone brightly on the scene, not leaving anything to imagination or shadow.

  “Oh my,” Kendra breathed.

  Tears poured down Tandy’s face. They didn’t show this part in movies, this destruction of a personal space. As if losing a baby wasn’t insult and injury enough, Joy would have come home to a ransacked bedroom. Joy, who prided herself on Martha Stewart-like rooms of order, peace, and relaxation.

  Tandy swiped at the tears, but they kept coming. God’s way of blurring the vision when reality painted too harsh a picture.

  Too soon though, the tears stopped, leaving a small hiccup in their wake.

  Tandy squared her shoulders and breathed deeply. “Okay, Ken, we’ve got to get this place picked up.”

  Kendra nodded, swiping her face with a Kleenex, then cramming the tissue into her pocket. “You’re right. Joy doesn’t need to see this.”

  They set about cleaning the room, righting the bench seat and stripping the bed linens.

  “I think we burn these sheets.”

  Tandy nodded. “I’ll go get new ones from the linen closet.”

  In short order the room returned to its serene vision. Tandy and Kendra stood in the doorway, surveying their handiwork.

  Kendra slipped her coat back on. “I think that’s as good as it’s getting.”

  “It still feels sad in here.”

  “That’s the house talking to you.”

  “You’re right.” Tandy sighed and flipped off the bedroom light. “Come on, let’s get back to the hospital and see how she’s doing.”

  * * *

  MY TUMMY NEVER got round. I never got to feel him or her kick. Didn’t get that flutter that Meg told me to expect in a few months.

  Why, God? Why would You let this happen? I’m a good person. I go to church. I’ve believed in You since childhood. I trusted You. Loved You. Asked You to be Lord of my life. I followed the plan.

  Why would You not protect the life inside me?

  I don’t know how to tell You I don’t like You. I’m afraid You’ll smite me too. But I don’t like You right now. I don’t understand You. How can I love what I don’t understand?

  Which isn’t to say I ever completely understood You, but I thought I at least knew how You worked. I’ve abided by Your laws, loved Your word, and yet still You took my baby.

  Could you not let me at least hold my child in my arms before bringing her back to heaven? Or was I to have a son? Will I ever know? They say there are no tears in heaven, and I know I would shed some if you introduced me to the child I didn’t get to see on earth.

  Does that mean I’ll never see the child I shared life with for two months?

  That stupid nurse told me one in three pregnancies ends in miscarriage. How about You smite her, God? How about You tell her that I don’t care if every woman on the planet has had a miscarriage, that it doesn’t make mine any easier to bear?

  Oh, God, I’m losing my mind. I need You to somehow get me through this. I don’t know how to lean on You when I’m so mad at You.

  And Scott. Poor, dear, sweet Scott. He thought we’d triumphed. That we had beaten this infertility monster that had invaded our home. I’ll bet he harbors secret anger toward me. After all, he conquered the problem. I couldn’t see us to the finish line though.

  I’m too young for this.

  I’m too old for this.

  I hate this. I hate not being in control of my own body. I hate the look of pity that nurse gave me. I hate these scratchy sheets. I hate this ugly hospital room. I hate the sound of ambulance sirens in my driveway. I hate flashing red lights that bounce off tree limbs and porch stairs. I hate dreams that tell me what reality is about to deal.

  I hate everything. I hate it all!

  I hate.

  * * *

  “THANK THE LORD we made it back today.” Zelda took Jack’s hand in hers and leaned against him. “I don’t think I’d have forgiven myself if this happened and we were out of town.”

  Jack kissed the top of her red, spiky hair. “I know. Thanks for coming home.”

  “My pleasure.”

  They sat without words for a bit, letting the squeak of nurses’ shoes and beeping of monitors surround them. Had it only been a few hours since they sat around Joy’s dinner table talking about nursery colors and raising children?

  Zelda remembered the day the marine sergeant climbed the two porch steps to her front door and delivered news that Ray Jr. wouldn’t be coming back from Iraq. She’d had years now to think through that, to let the scar form over the hurt. And until now, she’d never known to be grateful that she’d had eighteen years with her son.

  Those were eighteen years Joy would never know.

  Was it easier, letting go of a child you hadn’t held— releasing a dream you never saw or touched? Zelda sighed and rubbed Jack’s hand. “I love you, Jack.”

  “I love you too, Zelda Marelda.”

  “One of these days you’re going to
call me by my real name.”

  “Zelda Suzanne just isn’t as much fun as Zelda Marelda.”

  “You take all the fun you need right now, love.”

  They let the hospital sounds wash back over them. Zelda counted the cracks in the tile one more time. Still thirty-two cracks in the thirty tiles she could see. Her eyes weren’t what they used to be.

  “I should go in there and check on her.”

  Zelda straightened and met Jack’s eye. “Yes.”

  “I’m not sure I can yet. That’s my baby girl in there hurting.”

  “Oh, love,” she reached up and patted his face, “you do just what you told Tandy to do. Joy needs to know her daddy is still here for her.”

  Jack nodded. “I wish Marian was here. She’d know what to do.”

  Zelda smiled, wishing again she could have met Marian. They would have been friends. “I wonder sometimes if those in heaven know what’s happening on earth with their family members and friends they’ve left behind.”

  “Me too.”

  “If Marian knows, then I’m sure she’s doing everything in her power to send love and comfort to Joy.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And her biggest asset would be you.” Zelda nudged him with her shoulder. “Go on in there and tell your little girl that this too shall pass, but we all have a time for weeping.”

  Jack kissed her cheek and cupped her chin in his hand. “You’re a mighty wise woman, you know?”

  “I just say what comes to mind. Go on now. I’ll wait right here for as long as it takes.”

  Daddy stood and, with a last look to Zelda, entered Joy’s hospital room.

  Twenty-Six

  Three days later the moon had just begun to rise when Jack reached in front of Zelda and opened the door.

  “Thank you.” Zelda walked in front of him into Brick Tops Restaurant. “Did you talk to Joy before we left Stars Hill?”

  “I talked to Scott. He says she’s doing a little better. Even cracked a smile today. It’s only been three days. She just needs some time.”