The use of the affectionate term softened her resolve. Sniffing back tears, Tamarind pulled up her shorts and opened the door to face her sister-in-law, who looked up at her with sympathy warming her amber eyes. “Well, you don’t look as bad as you sound.”
“I’m afraid I’m having a miscarriage.”
“Oh. Oh no, honey.” The news registered in Kaysandra’s eyes like a stone settling in a pond. She rubbed Tamarind’s shoulder, her expression softening. “You going to see a doctor about that? Or you want Pete to get you home?”
“I called the doctor. I need to head over for tests, but I’m kind of nauseous and the cramps keep coming, and I don’t want to walk around with this stain on my shorts.”
“Okay, then. You still feeling punky? You want to wait here while I get Pete?”
Tamarind nodded.
“All right, then. I’ll get my brother and be back in a flash. You stay put.”
“Thanks.”
Kaysandra waved her back into the booth. “You just sit and rest. And you know what? This could be a false alarm. That’s what I’m praying for.”
“Me too,” Tamarind agreed as she watched her sister-in-law head out. She would keep the dark predictions to herself as she went through the tests at Urgent Care, but in her heart, she knew.
She had lost the baby.
CHAPTER 8
“Winston, where are you?” It was getting late and Glory wanted to put both the kids to bed, but not before they had a chance to see their father.
With her cell phone on speaker Glory let it pulse on and on, waiting for Winston to pick up as she walked the baby around. She stepped over Ruby, who had lined up stuffed animals against the couch and was systematically feeding them with a plastic spoon from the food court. Ruby could entertain herself for long periods of time now, but Aurora was at a stage where she couldn’t self-soothe and she wanted to nurse all the time. Poor little sweetie. Walking her around was the only thing that calmed her when she couldn’t feed, but Glory was exhausted from wearing a path through the carpet. Her shoulders ached and the baby’s warm body seemed glued to her chest.
“I know a girl; her name is Rory. Hey, Rory, Rory, roar. She makes everything a story. Hey, Rory, Rory, roar,” Glory chanted as she paced across the small room and tried to interest the baby in her Huggy Bear toy. “Of course, we’ll never call you Rory, sweet pea. Not when your mom is named Glory. People will think we’re weird.” She laughed at herself. Of course, she and Winston were weird. They prided themselves on traveling a different path, listening to a different song, grabbing ahold of life by living. When she got pregnant and Winston got injured, they’d both realized that their education wasn’t going to come from college, but from the real world. “School of life, babe,” Winston liked to say.
Sometimes it was a harsh school, spending your days and nights taking care of two little girls. Aurora’s eyes were open wide, her gaze latched on to Glory’s face. “I know, you find me mesmerizing. But where’s your daddy?”
The baby gurgled and Glory caught a glimpse of the photos on the built-in shelves. “Here’s a picture of your dad.” She held up a framed photo of Winston, her favorite, where he was wearing a white hard hat and showing off his biceps with a fat snowcapped mountain on the horizon behind him. A chubby-cheeked scholar, Aurora studied the photo with the eyes of a skeptic. “And this is us.” The photo of the two of them, arm in arm, was a selfie taken on the bricks of Pioneer Courthouse Square when Glory was pregnant with Ruby. “Must have been four or five years ago.” Glory and Winston looked so hopeful and happy, she in her favorite black raincoat, he in his letter jacket from high school. All hormonal, she had given five dollars to a woman who claimed that she’d run out of diapers for her baby at home. “You’re an easy target,” Winston had claimed. “Gullible Glory.” He was always on her about being easily swayed by people, but she couldn’t help it if she had a big heart. Really.
“What do you think, little one? Is your daddy the best in the world?” Glory asked.
But Aurora had already turned away from the photo; the man pictured there struck no spark of recognition in her infant mind. She’d never even met Winston. Unlike Ruby, who’d spent the first two years of her life being carried around in her father’s arms. Those two had bonded like peas in a pod. When Winston returned, he and Aurora would have a lot of catching up to do.
There was a click on the phone followed by his voice. Winston! “There’s your daddy.”
She hurried over to the table to prop up her cell phone and position its camera. As the screen opened to Winston’s face, Glory had to bite her lower lip to keep from crying. The streamed video made him seem so close, it was like a sick joke, dangling a picture of the bait without the tangible flavor. He was a beautiful man, with bold cheekbones, bronze skin, and amber eyes. She missed his calm, his humor, his sanity. And the safety and comfort of his arms.
“Hey, baby. You look tired. “Did I wake you up?” she asked.
“Nah.” He rubbed his eyes. “I was in the saloon, talking with the owner. Just to give you a sense of how things are up here, people call him Bear. A weird dude, but he’s renting me a decent room.”
“Day drinking?”
“Maybe I had a few.” He tilted his head, giving her that slow smile. “It’s my day off, babe, and I waited until I got back to Livengood. But let me see my girls. Hey, Ms. Ruby!”
While Winston made a fuss over Ruby and the baby, Glory backed out of the image frame and dropped the happy face. This was the first she’d heard of Winston drinking alone up there. He had never been an alcoholic or anything like that, but he’d gone overboard a few times back in high school after big football wins and he’d drunk by himself after his knee injury, when he’d lost the chance to play college ball. But she’d pulled him out of that. He always said that she was his compass, helping him stay on course. How would he navigate temptation without her?
Would it help him to know how much she missed him? Probably not. It wouldn’t help for her to go all Hallmark Channel on him while he really wanted ESPN. So far she hadn’t confessed, but before he’d left for the job in Alaska she’d snagged one of his old T-shirts. The shirt had been washed dozens of times, its fibers worn soft and full of his scent. Glory kept it folded and tucked under her pillow, except at night when she curled up with it pressed to her face and neck.
Six more months . . . that’s all they needed to build up their savings and get Winston some welding experience. She could hang on that long.
“Have you been counting things out for me?” Winston asked Ruby.
“Daddy, Daddy . . .” Ruby reached for the phone, and Glory had to caution her to leave it be or else they all wouldn’t be able to see him.
“I’m feeding the babies,” Ruby said.
“You are? Feeding Aurora?” he asked.
“Feeding the stuffed animals,” Glory explained, “but she’s been counting away. I got her signed up for preschool, but you won’t believe the list of supplies they want her to have. It’s crazy.”
“You’re going to school, Rublekins?” Winston said.
“No . . .” Ruby hesitated. “I’m gonna stay with Mommy.”
“But you got to go to school to learn more things.”
“No, Daddy. I’ll take care of Rora.”
Winston thought her resistance was adorable, which irked Glory. Who would have to coach their daughter through these fears and leave her crying in the classroom? Sometimes Winston didn’t understand that his long-distance parenting was making the situation worse for Glory.
I’m tearing my hair out here, and you think it’s all cute?
“Stop it!” she snapped at Ruby. “If you don’t leave the phone alone, you are going to have a time-out in your room.”
CHAPTER 9
Ruby used to like FaceTime with Daddy, but not anymore. She didn’t want to talk to him on the screen anymore. She wanted him to be here.
“When are you coming home?”
�
�Soon.”
“Tomorrow?”
“No.”
“The next tomorrow?”
“No. You need to be patient.”
Be patient. Be patient. Ruby was sick of that. Patient was boring.
She grabbed for the phone to get a better look and Mommy kept yelling at her to stop.
“Bye, Daddy!”
She ran into the big room and jumped onto the bed and burrowed under the covers. No one would find her here until Daddy got home. She was a fish swimming, swimming in a river. Then it was hard to take a breath, so she pushed the covers down and hugged Daddy’s pillow.
She hunched on her belly, gripping the pillow, and she saw herself becoming a little turtle on a rock in the sun. But the turtle was so lonely without any other turtles in the pond. She imagined little turtles swimming toward her, baby turtles who were struggling in the water. “I’ll save you!” she called to them. “Give me your flipper!” Holding tight to the rock, she reached into the water and pulled a baby turtle to her rock. She saved one, two, three, four little turtles! The turtles were so happy to be together that they made up a little song and huddled close together as they sang it.
Ruby felt so cozy with the other turtles gathered around her that she closed her eyes and sat listening to their cute turtle voices.
When Mommy came in and sat in the bed beside her, she opened her eyes and the turtles were gone. It made her want to cry, she missed them so much.
“You found your own bedtime.” Mommy smoothed down Ruby’s hair. “You must have been tired.”
“I was playing, Mommy. I saved baby turtles.”
“That’s nice. Let’s get your jammies on and get you to bed.”
“I wanna stay here, Mommy. I’m tired.”
“I’m tired, too.” Mommy bowed her head. “Fine. But when you start school, you need to have a more regular bedtime, in your own bed.”
Ruby crinkled her nose. None of that sounded good. “I don’t want to go to school.”
“Just for half a day. And I know you’re going to love it. Look.” Mommy picked up a book from the nightstand and opened it to the middle. “If you go to school and learn a little bit every day, you’ll be able to read this to me.”
“I can read it. It’s about poor Pepito. He loves to dance, but everyone makes fun of him. Except that one man.”
“You know the story, but after you go to school you’ll know how to read it yourself. Soon you’ll be able to read any book you want. You’re going to love reading. You’ll be getting the key to open a new door.”
Ruby wanted a key. Aurora liked to play with Mommy’s keys.
But you didn’t need a key to open a book.
“What’s the key for?”
“To open new doors.”
“But what’s behind the door?”
“A whole new world.”
“Like the moon?” Ruby didn’t want to go to the moon. Mommy said men went there on a rocket ship, but then they came home. There was too much night between her home and the moon, which was farther away than ’Laska. “I don’t want to go to the moon,” she said.
“That’s good, silly, because you’re stuck here with us.” Mommy leaned close and kissed her cheek.
“And I don’t want to go to school, Mommy. I’ll stay home with you.”
“But you like the school. It’s got a playground with swings.” Ruby wasn’t so sure about school. They passed the school building on their way to the park, and it had a loud bell that rang for no reason, and the girls and boys in the school yard thought she was invisible because no one ever noticed her walking by with Mommy and Aurora. And Mommy and Rora were going to leave Ruby there, and if she was invisible they would never find her again.
Ruby wasn’t going to the moon and she wasn’t going to school. She was going to stay right here and wait for Daddy. Even if she had to be patient.
CHAPTER 10
Juggling the roses and the takeout box, Pete turned the key and tried to push through the door without disturbing Tamarind or dropping the almond French toast that she always ordered for Sunday brunch at Tucci’s. She hadn’t eaten since early yesterday, and he was determined to get her on the road back to health with good food and TLC.
But it would be a slow process; he was beginning to see that. He dumped the box and keys on the kitchen counter and placed the bouquet of flowers beside the sink. Where did she keep the flower vase things? He wasn’t big on that stuff. He’d gone to two markets to find her favorite color—bright coral roses, a flaming orange, the color of a sunset or a tandoori oven. Would she see them through the haze of grief and pain?
Last night she had been suffering both emotionally and physically. Pete had felt hollow and sick himself, but he didn’t have to deal with the physical stuff, the cramps and dizziness and all those other plagues that women suffered. She’d had a rough night, and he’d lain awake, his hand on her shoulder, just being there, because there was nothing else to say or do at that juncture. Earlier in the doctor’s office they had passed through limbo, the not knowing, to hell as the doctor on call had told them that they’d lost the baby.
“I’m sorry,” the female physician had said, taking a moment to sit with them and talk as a human being while Tamarind sobbed and he had rubbed her shoulder, holding back the rise of bitter sorrow in his gut. The doctor waited a full minute, surprisingly comfortable with giving Tamarind time to wail. “Was this your first pregnancy?” the doctor asked.
“Yes, and we’ve been trying awhile,” he answered, aware that Tamarind was too overwhelmed to find the words. “We went through in vitro. Tamarind’s been through a lot, but we wanted this baby. Do you know why it happened?”
“That’s a question I can’t answer. Based on what you’ve told me, it’s nothing you did or didn’t do, nothing you ate. Miscarriage is a natural event that usually can’t be prevented.”
Although the doctor’s statement had been clear, Pete had replayed the afternoon in his mind, scouring the day for anything that might have set off the terrible end of the pregnancy. Maybe he shouldn’t have left Tamarind alone while he played football. Maybe he shouldn’t have dragged her to the picnic at all. Though she tried to make the best of McCullum events, he knew that she didn’t feel a strong attachment to his family yet. Maybe he should have stayed out of hot tubs. Maybe when he was an idiot college freshman he shouldn’t have bet his friends that he’d never have kids. Never was a dangerous notion; he knew that now. He could spend the rest of the week second-guessing his actions, but it wouldn’t change what had happened.
The roses looked kind of bushy in the vase, too much green, but if he messed with it he’d only make it worse. Pete slipped his shoes off by the kitchen bar and quietly carried the flowers to the bedroom, peeking into the shadows. Facing away from him on the bed, she was a study in dark and light—black hair, white cotton T-shirt, and a white sheet drawn up to her waist, clamped down by one cinnamon-toned arm. Her beautiful form exuded pain, and he wished he could take it on for her.
He couldn’t tell if she was awake. “Dilnashi?” He whispered the endearment she had taught him, the Hindi word that meant “one who lives in my heart.” When there was no response he circled the bed and saw that her face was a mask of sleep, her black eyelashes emphasizing the ridge of cheekbones shimmering with the dew of sweat. At least she’d found sleep at last. He set the roses on the nightstand and slipped out of the room quietly, closing the door behind him. Sleep mattered most; the French toast could wait.
He brewed himself a single cup of coffee and stretched out on the couch with his cell phone. Maybe a short nap, then he would scramble some eggs and check on Tamarind again. There were a few messages from their Realtor, who’d lined up condos and small houses for them to look at today. That wasn’t going to happen. He dashed off a quick message declining, saying that Tamarind wasn’t feeling well. Maybe next week.
Or maybe not. If their family wasn’t going to be expanding in a few months, the mad search for a n
ew place might be off.
He took a sip of coffee, mulling that one over. Tamarind would have something to say about that. And much as he liked the low overhead of this place, it had the feel of a collegiate apartment, thin walled and temporary.
A new wave of sorrow was sinking in when there was a tap on the door. Pete sat up, wondering who would tap and not ring the bell. The short, dark-haired woman was still knocking, her face stern with a grimace, when he peered through the peephole.
He opened the door to his mother-in-law. “Rima! I wasn’t expecting you. Tamarind said you didn’t need to come.” Tamarind had been emphatic that she was fine when she’d talked to her mother this morning, but it was just like Rima to pick up on the nuances of her tone.
“She always says that. She thinks she’s independent, but I know.” Rima wheeled in a rolling suitcase, propped a fat tote bag on top of it, and slipped off her shoes. Dressed in a teal sari with a matching blue-green bindi on her forehead, Rima Singh looked the role of a modern Indian woman. When Pete had first met Tamarind’s mother, he had asked Tamarind about the meaning of the dot that seemed to be tattooed on Rima’s forehead. “Traditionally it’s a sign of respect and blessing for the Hindu woman who wears it,” Tamarind had explained. “But here in America, it’s also a fashion statement for Indian women.”
“Where is she?” Rima placed her gray pumps neatly in front of the hall closet.
“She’s asleep now. She didn’t get much sleep last night.” Rima picked up Pete’s shoes from the kitchen floor and lined them up beside hers with a disapproving expression. Pete bit his lower lip, wanting to laugh in the awkwardness. In less than sixty seconds his mother-in-law had corrected him in his own home, but he wasn’t going to get annoyed. He’d been around strong women all his life, negotiating childhood with a handful of sisters who had taught him that every man and woman had to stand his or her ground with strength and humility.
“Has she eaten? I brought some peppermint tea, very good for calming the stomach. And bananas.”
The Sisters Page 6