She squeezed a thimbleful of the liquid medicine into Benjamin’s mouth, but it was hard to know if he got enough when some pink liquid leaked out at the corners. He calmed eventually, but when she rocked him in her arms, saying, “It’s gonna be okay, little guy,” he seemed not even to respond. That scared her the most. How she craved her mother’s advice right now! If only she could reassure Lanie over the phone that Benjamin was going to be fine, not to worry.
Rob got the car going and now they were headed to the hospital, the baby strapped into his car seat, a light blanket covering him. Lanie sat next to him in the back. He had been fighting a little cold, but nothing major. When she laid him down to sleep tonight, he hadn’t even felt warm. Or had he? She tried to remember if she had checked his forehead. What kind of a mother didn’t feel her baby’s head before she put him down to sleep?
“Stop it,” she said out loud now.
“What?” Rob looked back at her, his pasty face even whiter in the glow of the car’s fluorescent dashboard.
“Me. I’m telling myself to stop blaming myself.”
“For what?”
“Not noticing that Benjamin was so sick. He seemed fine, he really did, when I rocked him to sleep tonight.”
“And he was fine. Babies spike high fevers all the time. The doctor said.”
Of course, Rob wouldn’t know. She couldn’t ask him how Benjamin seemed to him tonight, because, par for the course, he hadn’t been home before Benjamin fell asleep. Another late night. On top of a string of late nights.
Technically, she wasn’t talking to Rob. Not since he’d skipped out on the fancy dinner she’d prepared for him. After their anniversary dinner at La Lumière, she’d made a vow to cook at least one nice meal a week. She’d forgotten how much she enjoyed relaxing over a good dinner, no babies to tend to. A late-night Friday supper each week, the baby in bed, copious amounts of booze at their disposal, seemed like a marvelous idea. That is, until she’d called him at the office to ask when he’d be home, already angry that it was nine o’clock and still no Rob. When someone else picked up, she first thought it was Kate. Then she realized: Samantha. One-boob-wonder Samantha.
And she hardly sounded stressed. As a matter of fact, Samantha was in mid-laugh, as she said “Hello?” It was more of a question than a greeting, as if she couldn’t fathom who would be calling the office at this hour.
Lanie was so stunned she couldn’t speak.
“Hello? Who’s this?” Samantha tried again.
“Um, Samantha? It’s Lanie Taylor. Rob’s wife.”
“Oh, Lanie, hi! We were just talking about you.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, Rob was saying how in grad school you used to make sure he wouldn’t drink more than three Cokes a night when he had to pull an all-nighter. Otherwise he’d get sick. Is that true?”
Lanie didn’t know what to think or feel. She felt slightly sick that Rob and Samantha had been discussing a personal detail of their married life at nine o’clock on a Friday night.
“Um, yeah. I guess that’s right. I haven’t thought about that in a long time.”
“You’re a good wife, Lanie. Here he is.” She could hear the phone being passed to Rob, something mumbled out of earshot.
“Hey, honey, what’s up? Everything okay?”
Her mind was quickly flipping through the possibilities. For one, what the hell was Samantha doing answering his phone? Where was Kate? She typically helped Rob on his late nights. And Kate was safe, with a steady boyfriend, practically engaged. Samantha, on the other hand, was annoyingly untethered. Untethered and in her husband’s office. A woman whose boob her husband had seen, for God’s sake. She felt the accusation layered thick as the words flew out of her mouth.
“Gee, I don’t know. I was just calling to see when my husband might be coming home. Or maybe you won’t be? Shall I just lock the doors and go to bed?”
There was a pause on the other end. “Lanie.”
“Don’t talk to me when she’s standing right there, Rob. Have a little decency and respect, please.” She could feel the flush in her face. How dare he try to smooth things over with Samantha right there?
A sigh, then, “Lanie. Okay, I’m by myself now. Why are you being so weird?”
“I think you should ask the same question of yourself!”
“Excuse me?”
“I call to check in and find out when you’ll be home for the lovely dinner I’ve been slaving over for you. And what do I find out? That you’re having a rollicking good time with Samantha.” She spit out the name.
“Lanie, you gotta stop this. Please. You’re being ridiculous.”
She almost hung up right there. “I’m being ridiculous? I think I’m being pretty fucking tolerant, wouldn’t you? When’s the last time you’ve been home for dinner, Rob? Did you forget you have a wife and a son?”
She let the words hang in the air and could feel their sting, even on the other end.
“I’m not having this conversation right now,” he said softly, firmly.
“You’re not? Well, I sure as hell am.” She was pissed, but she couldn’t stop herself. How dare he assume she’d be all right with his working late with the most attractive colleague in the office? A colleague, who for all intents and purposes, he’d seen nude. Funny how he never thought to mention it. Funny how it never came up. “Is there anyone else there with you two?”
“I’ll talk to you when I get home.”
“That says it all, doesn’t it? I’ll be asleep. Good night, Rob. I hope you and Samantha have a wonderful night.” She slammed down the phone.
She dumped the steak and the bread for the fondue into the trash. Poured the oil into an old soup can and shoved the Sterno can in the back of the cupboard. They wouldn’t be having fondue anytime soon. She climbed the stairs to bed, but not before throwing up in the toilet. When Rob finally came home at eleven, she feigned sleep, her back turned. He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek, then got his pillow and headed downstairs to the couch.
The rest of the weekend had been hell, both talking only when it was required, each taking Benjamin out to run errands, doing everything possible to avoid the other. The Zen-like calm Lanie had achieved on the massage table the other weekend, ready to give herself over to the world, not to worry so much, had flown right out the window—and she’d given it a huge shove on the way. Sure, it was fine to have balance in your life when your husband wasn’t having an affair. No amount of massage or rain music or Zen training could fix those things.
Rob had tried a few times to start a conversation: “Lanie, there’s nothing going on.” For a brief moment she heard her lawyer’s voice in her head: “Your honor, this is pure hearsay. The case should be dismissed.” But she didn’t want to hear it. Her husband, she was certain with a wifely intuition, was having an affair. She didn’t want to hear him confirm it or for that matter, deny it. Somehow that was worse.
Because mostly, as mad as she was at Rob, she was mad at herself. What a fool she’d been to miss the signs, not to spot the obvious! Rob’s not telling her that Samantha was working on the museum project in the first place—a convenient omission; all the late nights at the office; Samantha’s trying to befriend her at the party and tell her what a wonderful mentor Rob was. Just the thought of it made Lanie want to throw up again.
She was exhausted from the turmoil of it all, the sleepless nights that had followed later that week. She’d shared her suspicions with Ellen and nothing else. Because what else was there to say? I’m such a bad wife that I missed all the signs. My husband is in love with another woman? Who by the way happens to be a dead ringer for Cameron Diaz?
But now, she was praying madly that her little guy be okay.
“Just please, God, let him be all right,” she whispered. She felt the tears coming. Nothing mattered if Benjamin wasn’t okay. She reached for a tissue from her bag. Plenty of moms had sick babies, she told herself. Sick babies got better. No big deal. Stil
l, she hated the thought of stepping back into the children’s hospital, where she hadn’t set foot since Benjamin’s release at birth. Just the thought gave her goose bumps.
When they arrived, the hospital’s fluorescent lights cut through the dark, and an ambulance had pulled up ahead of them, its red lights flashing back to eleven months ago. Rob pulled the car up and Lanie unstrapped Benjamin. His eyes were half-closed, whether because he was half-asleep or despondent, she couldn’t tell. She pressed him tightly to her chest while Rob handed the keys to the valet and took the ticket for their car.
She felt herself breaking into little pieces, as if her body parts were spiraling into the air around her. An elbow over here, an eyebrow over there, a bent knee floating over there. She didn’t think she could take anymore. Who was she fooling? Her marriage was breaking down; work sucked; and now the only thing in the world that really mattered to her . . . well, she couldn’t even think past the immediate fever.
“Let’s go,” Rob said firmly, giving her a little push while Lanie stood frozen, the revolving doors beckoning. “C’mon, hon. We need to get Benjamin inside,” and with those words her legs were moving again, her body whole once more.
They checked in as friendly nurses milled around him, taking the baby’s vitals with cheery voices. Their pediatrician had called ahead.
“We’ve been expecting you, little guy.” Dr. Lisa looked to be in her early thirties. She gently unfastened the top snaps on Benjamin’s sleeper and laid a stethoscope on his chest. He howled at its coldness.
“Well, at least we know you’re feeling well enough to protest.” She looked at Lanie as she listened to his heartbeat. “That’s a good sign, Mom.” Lanie nodded, breathed for what felt like the first time since they’d gotten to the ER.
“His heart sounds good.” She made a note on her chart. “Why don’t you fill me in on when he started feeling lousy.”
“I don’t really know, that’s the scary thing,” Lanie began. “It all came on so fast. He seemed fine, a little sniffly when I put him down tonight, but nothing out of the ordinary. He certainly wasn’t hot like this.”
The doctor glanced at the chart. “One hundred two point five, so the Tylenol seems to be helping.”
“That’s still high, though, isn’t it?” Lanie asked.
“High, but not atypical in babies. Let’s take a look at his throat and ears. Those are typically the culprits when babies spike fevers.”
While Lanie held him, the doctor took a quick swab of Benjamin’s throat and sent it off for a strep culture. Then she looked inside. Benjamin was furious now, kicking his feet and pushing the doctor’s hand away. “Just hold his head still, please.” She looked again, then pulled back. “Some postnasal drip but it doesn’t look like strep to me. Still, I’ve been proven wrong before. We’ll see what the test results say.”
“How long does that take?”
“About half an hour. Plus we’ll want to make sure that fever comes down before you guys leave the hospital.”
“Okay. Good.” As much as Lanie hated hospitals, she felt a twinge of relief that people who were qualified were now looking after her son.
“And now let’s take a look at those ears of yours.” She got out her otoscope. “Has he been tugging on his ears at all?”
“Not that I’ve noticed.” Lanie looked at Rob, who shook his head. As if he would know. “But a lot of kids at his day care are sick right now.”
“Oh, day care. The petri dish of infections.”
Was the doctor trying to make her feel bad? she wondered. But no, Lanie decided this was a young woman who had charted a career path for herself. She was in no position to judge. She was simply stating a fact.
“So we hear,” Rob affirmed. Lanie shot him a look. That felt judgmental.
Benjamin proceeded to holler more loudly as the doctor looked first in his right ear, then in his left. “Yup. You’ve got a double ear infection, buddy. No doubt about it.” She rubbed Benjamin’s head. “That’s why you’re feeling so yucky. We’ll get you better in no time.”
She went to the wall dispenser of antibacterial lotion and squirted a dollop onto her hands and rubbed them together. “If you could just wait around till we get the strep results and the fever comes down, that would be great. I’ll write up a prescription for the antibiotic and maybe, Mr. Taylor, you could go pick it up at the pharmacy downstairs in the meantime?”
“Sure.” It was the first time Lanie detected worry in Rob’s voice, as if the seriousness of the situation were just dawning on him.
“Our nurses will check back every so often to monitor the fever.” She pulled back the curtain that lent their bed an air of privacy. “Don’t worry. I understand you folks have had some tough times here, but Benjamin is going to be fine. This is a typical ear infection. Babies get them all the time.”
Lanie could have kissed her as she pulled the curtain behind her. Those were the words she needed to hear: Benjamin is going to be fine.
• • • •
When the strep results came back negative and the fever had diminished to 99.5, Dr. Lisa returned to sign Benjamin out. He was sitting up in bed now, giggling as he banged together two tongue dispensers that one of the nurses had given him. He didn’t seem fazed by the rough patch he’d been through just hours ago. Lanie and Rob, however, looked exactly like the tired, frazzled parents that they were. Rob’s stubble was already poking through, and his hair was flat against his head on one side, the side he’d been sleeping on, Lanie suspected. She hadn’t noticed that he had a small cut above his eye. When had that happened? Lanie knew she looked like hell, but she didn’t care. She could be the laughing stock of the whole ER, for all she cared, so long as Benjamin was all right.
“So, it looks like you’re feeling a little better, Benjamin,” the doctor said as she came in to check his charts one last time. It was 4:04 in the morning. “Glad to see the fever came down. Keep giving him Tylenol every four to six hours as needed. And that antibiotic should start to make him feel much better in about twenty-four hours, if not sooner.”
She signed off on the sheet and handed it to Lanie. “Thank you so much, doctor. You’ve been great.”
“Happy to help. Give us a call or your pediatrician a call if anything else comes up, okay? Especially if that fever doesn’t break completely in a couple of days.”
“We will.”
“And I’d keep him home from day care for a couple of days.”
“Of course,” Lanie said. “Of course.” She didn’t care if she was expected to litigate the Paul McCartney divorce in court tomorrow. She wasn’t leaving Benjamin’s side. She started to bundle him up in his coat to protect against the early-morning chill. He fought it, but it made her smile. At least her little guy was getting some of his gumption back. She’d take it—happily.
“Let’s go, shall we?” She turned to Rob, who was pulling on his own coat. He smiled at her.
“What?”
“I was wondering where I got that from.”
“Got what?”
“Oh nothing. Let’s go, okay?” He gave Benjamin a kiss on his head.
“Whatever. Yes, let’s go, please.” Suddenly she couldn’t wait to get home.
“An architect’s most useful tools are an eraser at the drafting board and a wrecking ball at the site.”
—Frank Lloyd Wright
By the time they got home, Benjamin had fallen asleep. Rob managed to move him from his car seat to the crib without waking him.
“Well, that was a little more drama than we needed for one night,” he said as they watched their son sleeping peacefully.
Lanie looked up at him, and for a moment he thought she was about to launch another one of the barbed arrows she’d been shooting for the past days. But she refrained. Maybe the all-too-real reminder of what they’d been through at the children’s hospital almost a year ago was enough to make her drop her weapons for a few hours. He hoped so.
At the hospital tonigh
t when he’d watched Lanie holding Benjamin, he felt the anger and accusations of days past slip away. His family meant more than anything in the world to him. How could Lanie think for one minute that he’d fool around with Samantha? At first, when he’d hung up the phone that fateful night, he’d taken her anger as just that: She was pissed because he was late again and she’d made a nice dinner. The fact that Samantha was there added insult to injury, but nothing more. Lanie knew Samantha, had told him on the way home from the company banquet that she liked her, even felt a wee bit sorry for her after the whole breast-falling-out-of-the-dress incident.
“She’s never going to live that one down no matter how smart and successful she is,” Lanie said. “That’s the thing that totally sucks.”
“A thing you’d know something about,” Rob teased.
“I’d like to think so. Because no matter how smart you are, you’re still just a sex symbol to guys. Did you see how the husbands at the table all tried to look away but couldn’t help themselves?”
“Honey, it was a little hard to overlook.”
“You know what I mean. Samantha will forever be known as ‘that woman whose boob popped out.’ She’ll probably quit next week, it’s that humiliating.”
“You really think so?” Rob hoped that wasn’t the case. “She didn’t seem that bothered by it.” He still needed Sam for the museum project.
“She was too drunk to care, but trust me, it will bother her in the morning.”
“I think Samantha may have earned a little more respect with some of the guys after tonight,” Rob had joked. Though when he thought back on it now, he regretted the comment. Maybe he’d planted the seed for his own wife’s suspicions.
And now when he reconsidered, maybe he was a little guilty even. Maybe he secretly had hoped that Samantha would find him attractive. Not that he’d ever act on it, but it would redeem his manhood in a way. His wife hardly looked at him twice these days. If someone young and attractive like Samantha found him appealing, then he must still have something going on. He tried not to spend much time thinking about his sex life—what was the point?—and in that way, work had been a convenient distraction. How ironic that it was now getting in the way.
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