Tainted by Love

by Jones, Gillian

  “No. She’s my wife. I’m not leaving.” I rush in, placing my hand on Trinity’s face, trying to brace her neck. “She’s going to hurt herself. Help her, please. Make her stop moving like that.” I spit out the demand as a mix of anger and fear simultaneously sprint through my veins. Tears stream down my face as I am forcefully pushed to one side and stand helplessly watching, willing her body to stop doing whatever it’s doing wrong. Willing her to open her eyes.

  “I said get him out of here, Marie. I mean it,” Dr. Hussein, the obstetrician shouts again.

  “Sir, please,” the nurse starts, but I ignore her, too focused on Trinity.

  “Please, baby.” My hands begin to shake and I step back in disbelief.

  “Her pressure’s dropped, it’s too low. I need the husband out now. I need space. Get him the hell out of here. I need the paddles,” the doctor yells at a nurse, who’s suddenly being extremely kind to me.

  “Please, sir, let them work,” she says in a way-too-soothing voice. “The baby is having her bath, let’s go see her. Your wife is in good hands, give the team room to work. You don’t want to watch this. Please don’t make me call secu—” I don’t register the threat, all I hear is the doctor speaking to my wife.

  “Damn it. You stay with me, Trinity.” I back up, sidestepping the nurse so I can focus.

  I stand there, giving my head a hard shake, hoping it will wake me up from what has to be a dream—a nightmare.

  As he’s doing chest compressions on her, I hear the doctor shouting: “Don’t you stop fighting. You hear me? You’ve got a baby girl who needs you. Come on, Trinity. Fight. Fight. Fight, goddamn it. Clear!”

  There’s a loud bang and I see Trinity’s body arch and jerk hard on the bed as the doctor takes the paddles off her chest. Stunned by the violence of the procedure, I watch, frozen again, in stunned silence as they work on my wife, and feel a hand take my own. It’s that nurse.

  It’s like I’m here, but I’m not. This isn’t real. I squeeze my eyes closed then open them, over and over again, but nothing changes.

  “Let’s give them space to help your wife. And your family needs to know what’s going on. Let’s go tell them,” I hear the nurse say, who now has a tall security guard standing beside her. This time, I listen, and I reluctantly start to shuffle my feet toward the exit door. Trinity doesn’t need me making a scene. She needs me to be strong.

  “Okay,” I whisper, still not taking my eyes off the bed where my wife lays fighting for her life, a nurse squeezing a bag attached to a mask on Trinity’s face to make her breathe while a sweating Dr. Hussein pushes up and down harshly on her chest, his arms locked and a grim look on his face. I hear a cracking sound.

  “The ribs are going…” a nurse says to the doctor.

  “She’s in the best hands, Hendrix. Trinity has the best team working on her…”

  I barely register the nurse’s murmurings as we walk to the waiting room where everyone’s sitting, waiting for the good news.

  News I just can’t give them right now.

  63

  Hendrix

  Pacing the linoleum in the family waiting room, I’m about to march off to the nurses’ station again to find out what’s happening when I see Dr. Hussein walking down the hall towards us. A swooshing sound takes over my senses and a tingling sensation pulses through my body when I hear the doctor’s tone as he asks, “Trinity Hill’s family? Are they all here?” He glances around, taking us all in as we look up from where we feel we’ve been sitting and waiting for days.

  “Yes. Here,” Dexter Flynn calls, gesturing to the group of us before making his way closer to the doctor, soon joined by Tillie, then by me. A feeling of dread washes over me.

  I know what he’s about to say before the words even leave his mouth…

  “Mr. Hills, I’m sorry. We tried…”

  I think I’m going to pass out.

  “No. It can’t be…” Flynn spits out, shaking his head in disbelief. “No.” He turns on his heel with his hand over his mouth and stalks over to the window, away from the rest of us, waving off Tillie as she tries to touch his shoulder.

  “It happened so quickly…” I hear Doctor Hussein begin to explain, but I can’t make out the words over the sound of my heart exploding in my chest.

  “Not possible,” I hear my mum whisper as she comes up to stand beside me.

  I want to say something, but I can’t find my voice. I feel as if my own body’s shutting down.

  “And the baby? Is the baby…” sobs my mother.

  “The baby is fine, ma’am. The baby is just fine, she’s sleeping in the nursery,” says Dr. Hussein softly.

  “Oh, Trinity,” I hear Tillie cry. “Nooo. It can’t be, it can’t. Tell me there’s a mistake! Not my sweet girl…” She moves across the room, now throwing herself at Flynn. “She can’t be gone, Dexter. Not now. Pleeeaaase,” Tillie howls, full of anguish and hurt.

  No. No. This isn’t real. I think to myself, unable to make a sound, because in this moment, I honestly believe that if I don’t say it out loud, it won’t be true. That’s the last fucking thing I want. I feel as if I’m floating, dreaming. I’m here, but I’m not. I can hear, I can see, but I cannot move. I can barely breathe, or speak past the huge lump that has formed in my throat. Even if I wanted to.

  “Mr. Hills?” The doctor says, putting his hand on my shoulder.

  “Hendrix?” Flynn calls, holding Tillie tighter. I can hear Shannon, Nadia, and the others all crying and trying to seek some kind of solace, each in their own way.

  “No,” I shout, pushing past the doctor, running out of the waiting room straight to where I last left Trinity.

  “Fruitloop?” I burst through the door, startling the nurse who’s still inside, my eyes immediately looking at the bed, where I’m expecting to see her lying awake and holding our baby girl, to see her cooing and smiling down at her. That’s the way it needs to be.

  Instead, rushing in closer, I don’t see Zara, and Trinity’s eyes are closed as if she’s sleeping soundly. Taking her hand in mine, I kiss the back of it. “Baby? Trinity? Can you open your eyes? Can you do that for me?” I ask, crouching down on the floor beside her bed, keeping her hand in mine and squeezing it a little. But she gives me nothing in return.

  I sit, holding her dangling hand, splaying soft kisses on top of it, then stand again to look at her. “Fruitloop, please open those big beautiful eyes for me…please,” I beg, my voice gruff, tears blinding me from seeing if my words are working, changing anything. “Trinity, you come back to me right fucking now!” I choke out.

  Again she gives me nothing. I wipe my eyes. And now I see how pale her face is, how blue her lips are. And how one eyelid is ever-so-slightly open, just barely. And how still she is. How perfectly, perfectly still.

  “Goddamn it, Trinity Hills, you hear me? Open your eyes and come back to me, to us. Zara and I need you so fucking much, you can’t do this! You can’t leave us. I love and need you too much, Fruitloop. You’re my light…and I can’t do this without you. We’re supposed to grow old together. You were winning the fight. Goddamn it!” I cry, anchoring myself to her arm as I again drop back down to my spot on the floor.

  She’s my light…and she’s gone…

  The soft sound of footsteps registers as they make their way in behind me. “Mr. Hills, I’m so sorry for your loss. Is there anything I can get for you?” a voice asks. I don’t bother to look; instead I stand in a state of continued disbelief, staring again at Trin’s lifeless body.

  After a few moments, the nurse speaks again. This time, a gentle hand is placed on my back. “I’m just outside if you need anything. You take all the time you need.” She squeezes my shoulder before retreating.

  “A blanket,” I call out. “She was cold, earlier. I can’t let her be cold.”

  “Sure. I’ll go get you one right away.” I hear her footfalls as she moves toward the door.

  “A warm one, not just a sheet. She’s going to get co
ld, I can’t let her get cold,” I argue, running my hand down her beautiful cheek, her skin so soft. There’s no way this is real.

  “I’ll get the biggest and warmest one I can find,” she replies kindly. “Did you want me to get the rest of your family?” she asks.

  “She is my family.” I shake my head, holding on to the bedrails. “Please, she’s my light. I need her, and our daughter needs her. I can’t let her go, we need her. Just her. Bring her back.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss, Hendrix. I wish I could. I’ll go get the blanket and be right back, then you can let me know if I should get the others to come say their goodbyes.”

  “Thank you,” I barely manage, past my emotions. “She’s my home, you know… my happy…” I utter, letting out a huge body-rattling sob as she walks out to me find me a blanket and to check in with the family.

  The family who were all waiting to celebrate with us. Only now there isn’t an us.

  We aren’t the right version of the us we’re supposed to be today. Trinity is gone; now, it’s just our little miracle and me.

  Oh, God. My poor princess. She has just lost her mother.

  How will we go on without her?

  My light is gone.

  “Here you are,” the nurse says, beside me again, handing me a large baby blue blanket.

  “This will be perfect, thank you,” I sniffle, taking the blanket from her arms. I gently begin covering my wife.

  Leaning down, I sweep her brown bangs off her face with my hand and kiss her cheek, whispering in her ear one last time. “I’ll always love you, Fruitloop.”

  Suddenly, an overwhelming ache to hold my daughter consumes me. Turning to face the nurse, whose mouth is a thin line, I demand: “Take me to my daughter.”

  64

  Hendrix

  “It’s okay, Zara. Daddy’s here. I’ll always be here.” I cradle my two-week-old daughter as we sit in her nursery. The lyrics to “You Said You’d Grow Old with Me” by Michael Schulte coming from my phone ring true. This is the last place Trinity was alive when she was inside our home. I feel her here the most. I swear I can smell her fruity scent lingering in the air.

  This is where I come to feel close to her. Not our bedroom, or the kitchen, but here, where she was last. How did I go from joking about onesies and kissing my wife to coming home a single dad? A widower? I’m a fucking widower.

  Zara and I sit in here to listen to music and rock back and forth. It’s become a part of our routine—she cries until I rock her to sleep, then I sit savouring the closeness I feel with Trinity when we’re here. We do this, the same way, on and off all day, ever since we’ve been home. It’s a bittersweet feeling, holding this precious little girl, feeling a love so strong it’s inexplicable, while at the same time feeling as if I’ve been sucker punched by the loss of my Trin. Unable to catch my breath, I’m drowning, and my life preserver is missing. She’s gone, and I’m not sure I’ll ever be the same.

  An amniotic fluid embolism is what killed my wife. A rare condition affecting only a small percentage of women—I think Dr. Hussein said between 1 to 12 woman out of a 100,000 will experience the condition. It can happen when amniotic fluid or something as simple as hair, fetal cells or some other kind of debris from the baby passes through the placenta into the bloodstream causing an inflammatory reaction, which caused her to die of cardiac arrest. Her HIV had nothing to do with it at all.

  I mean, what the fuck? I’m in utter disbelief. As if my girl didn’t have enough shit thrown at her in her lifetime? How cruel can the world be to one person? Anyway, my incredible girl never let it beat her down. She never let the shitty hand she’d been dealt get the best of her.

  As quick as that train of thought enters my mind, though, I push it aside. Because if Trin could, she’d tell you she died happy. She’d tell you that together we lived a life she never expected to have…that of a very much loved wife and mother. Trinity may have started off a little broken on the inside after being diagnosed with HIV, but she portrayed nothing but beauty and happiness on the outside to everyone and in every situation. Trinity Adams Hills’ strength and determination was not to be rivalled by even the strongest men and women. It wasn’t the weight of her troubles I saw on her shoulders; it was a pair of angel wings. I’ll miss you everyday, angel.

  And even if it was only for a very short time, my Fruitloop was the best mum to our daughter, and it’s my goal to make sure Zara grows up knowing her mother as if she were right here with us. Trin would tell you that she lived and loved and wouldn’t change a thing. She’d tell you to get a move on, and not to dwell on the past. I have no doubt she’d be pissed seeing me like this. Too bad. I can’t seem to accept it, even though I know that’s exactly what my incredibly strong wife would tell me to do, if she could. And, fuck, do I wish I could hear her voice, more than anything.

  Closing my eyes, I sit while Zara sleeps in my arms and reflect back on all the wonderful times Trinity’s words rocked my world.

  “You’re impossible…” I grin at the way she always sounded exasperated.

  “I like you. A lot. But you terrify me…”

  I smile, remembering our game of “Truths”.

  “And I see you, too, Hendrix. So much. And I want this, so much.”

  I remember the admission as if it were yesterday.

  “You’re an incredible man, Hendrix. If we do this, I might never let you go.”

  You leaving me wasn’t part of the deal.

  “Thank you for loving me, Hendrix. For opening my eyes and helping me to see me, the way you saw me from the start.”

  You saw me, too, sweetheart, and for that, I’ll always be grateful. Thank you for giving an ogre a chance. I just needed to find the light.

  “Fuck, I miss you, Fruitloop.” I move Zara up to rest on my chest a little more snugly, needing the comfort only she can bring in these moments. Sure, the others try and have been here daily, but it’s Zara and me now…we’re a team.

  And I know, eventually, we’ll make it through this.

  Because Trinity would want us to, and all I ever wanted to do was make her happy.

  EPILOGUE

  “Here you go, boys,” our server Amy says, placing the pitcher of Bud we ordered in front of Flynn and I. Amy’s the newest addition to the Dugout staff, and she’s been getting friendlier and more flirty with me over the past few weeks. “Anything else I can get you before your food’s up?” She looks at me, a sincere smile gracing her glossy lips. Unfortunately for her, she’s wasting her time and energy by putting her sights on me. Amy’s cute, sure, but I have zero interest in reciprocating.

  “Nope, we’re great, thanks,” I nod, sliding my empty glass towards Flynn so he can pour.

  “Sounds good, holler if you need me.” Amy pats my arm before leaving.

  “I think you have a fan, son,” Flynn says, watching her walk away. “She’s a pretty one, too,” he notes.

  “I didn’t notice,” I tell him, truthfully. “Besides, I’m not looking for a replacement. Why would I want what can’t be replaced?” I say, tapping my knuckles on the distressed wooden table top while I try to stop the memories of Trin from taking over.

  “You can never replace the ones you love. And you shouldn’t ever feel that’s what you’re doing by moving on,” Flynn says, pouring our beer.

  We’re sitting in our usual booth at The Dugout. It’s Thursday night, the one social night I agreed to start having after Zara’s first birthday. It took me a year of listening to my mum, Arran, Flynn and Tillie, all trying to get me to leave Zara for one night and get back to living some sort of life outside my daughter and the garage. I finally conceded, and agreed that it was time for me to start being quasi-social again. That was three years ago. Thursdays have since become my pool- and beer night at The Dugout with Flynn, Arran, Cannon, Joe, Brody, and sometimes Simon.

  Simon and I have remained close over the years after Trin’s and Andrea’s deaths, and he’s become one of my dearest friends. H
e’s a really great guy, very sensible; I guess you could say we bonded over our losses and Simon was an ear when I needed one most. Not to mention, he and Zara are thick as thieves, so much so that Zara calls him “Uncle Simon” and very much looks forward to his visits.

  Speaking of Zara, Thursdays have also become a big night out for my girl. It’s Zara’s, Tillie’s and my mum’s girls’ night in, one complete with a sleepover, pizza, Barbies and a movie. It’s Zar’s favourite day of the week, I swear, a fact I try to pretend doesn’t bother me, especially when Tillie tries to get me to let her keep Zara on Friday nights, too. I keep telling her maybe one day if I have a date or something I’ll ease up and allow a weekend sleepover, but, for now, when I’m home I want Zara with me. Otherwise, I might drive myself crazy with memories and allow myself to be consumed by the grief I feel every single day. The one night is hard enough; I couldn’t imagine two nights away from my princess. It’s bad enough having her in daycare when I’m at work.

  “You know I’m right. It’s okay to start getting out there. It doesn’t have to be Amy,” Flynn says, breaking through my thoughts.

  “I know, you’re right. I’m just not sure I’m ready to try,” I admit. Brody, Simon, Cannon and Joe couldn’t make it tonight, so it’s just Flynn and me. We decided to forgo pool for wings and beer.

  “Trinity would be losin’ her shit if she saw you sitting here thinking this way. Worried you ain’t ready, worried you’d be replacing her. I know you don’t come right out and admit it, but I know you. Trust me. Thinking that you could replace Trinity is stupid, ’cause it would be different. You can’t replace her, but you can restore your heart a little.” He raps his glass on the table as if that will make it so. “Ain’t no one gonna fault you for moving on. Trin would want that for you. And for Zara,” he says cockily, raising his glass and taking a long sip.