Renata and the Fall from Grace

by Becky Doughty

  "Ew. Actually, I don't think I want to know about that." Renata took John's place and reached over to press a hand against Levi's neck, his cheek, his forehead. "It doesn't feel like you have a fever, Levi. How's your tummy?"

  "It feels good. Daddy thinks I just ate something rotten. I'm sorry, Mommy. I didn't mean to barf on your face like that." Levi looked like he was about to cry again, and Renata shushed him.

  "It's okay, Levi, honey. I know you didn't mean to. And I'm sorry I freaked out like that. It did kind of startle me. I wasn't mad. Just surprised." She brushed the damp hair away from his forehead; John must have completely hosed the little guy down.

  "You seemed pretty mad, Mommy." Then he grinned.

  "What are you smiling about?"

  "I just called you 'Mad Mommy.' That can be your pirate name." His gray-green eyes were starting to drift shut. "You did say 'argh' like a pirate."

  "Did I?" She smiled, slightly abashed that it was Levi who was soothing her spirits, not the other way around. "Well, my wee matey, it's off to the land of dreams with ye, y'hear?"

  "Aye-aye, Mad Mommy," Levi murmured. He turned onto his side and tucked his hands under his cheek. Renata sat and watched him drift away. All was at peace in Levi's world; now she had to face her own.

  She turned to find John standing in the doorway, watching them. Even though one side of his mouth was hitched up in a half-smile, she could see that his brow was furrowed.

  "He doesn't have a fever. Maybe just a little flu bug or something he ate. I'm not going to make him wake up for medicine; he probably just needs to sleep. I know I do." She didn't want to talk; not right now, anyway. Being awakened in such a sudden and disturbing way had her feeling completely out of sorts, but not in a way that would keep her awake much longer. She just wanted to go back to bed and try to pretend this had all been a bad dream.

  "Okay." John kept looking at her, waiting for something.

  "What?" She stood up and arched her back, her long, wet hair leaving a chilled patch down her spine. She reached up and lifted it away from her neck, wishing she'd at least braided it. Now she'd have to change her top again.

  "Nothing bugging you?"

  "Just a barfing kid and not enough sleep." She crossed the room and tried to slip around him, but he reached out an arm to block her, his hand gripping the door frame.

  "You reacted pretty harshly. Levi thought he'd done something wrong." He spoke softly, so as not to wake the boys, but his tone demanded an explanation.

  "I know. And I feel terrible. But I apologized and Levi understands." She pushed a shoulder against his forearm but he wouldn't budge. "Let me through, John. I need some sleep. If he's not sick, then the morning will be that much busier because I'll have to get him up for school and he'll be exhausted. If he is sick, then it'll be a miserable day for both of us here, trying to keep Judah busy and quiet and away from him."

  John let go of the door frame, but slipped his arms around her, pulling her up against him. His chest was still bare but his skin radiated heat and she leaned against him, tucking her cheek into the crook between his neck and shoulder.

  "Baby," he murmured, his hushed voice loud against her ear. "You've been so wound up. I'm worried about you."

  Renata didn't lift her head, but she scowled as she listened to the constant rhythm of his heart working beneath the muscles and bones of his chest.

  "I know you're still hoping, baby, but maybe God doesn't want us to have a little girl. Maybe our little family is perfect just the way—"

  "Good grief, John. Levi woke me up out of a sound sleep by throwing up all over me. Don't you think a little freaking out is to be expected? I said I was sorry, okay?" What on earth made him assume this was about her wanting another baby? Besides, she didn't want to talk about it. Not now, anyway.

  She thrust out her chin toward the now-softly snoring boy. "Levi got over it; maybe you should, too." She pushed against his chest with her hands, harder when she realized he wasn't planning on releasing her. "Let me go. You're making a mountain out of a molehill, and you're going to wake up the boys."

  At an impasse, the two stood frozen that way for a few moments, eyes locked, his probing, hers resisting, then he released her.

  For the second time that night, John raised both hands in the air in mock surrender. Suddenly bereft of his warmth, she crossed her arms and hugged herself, then scurried back to their own room where the bed awaited, fresh sheets and blankets emitting a faint French Lavender and vanilla scent from the potpourri packets she kept tucked into the linen closet. It made her think of her mother.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Renata stood at the kitchen sink, listening to the chatter behind her. The four boys were seated on the two benches of the built-in corner breakfast nook and were discussing the latest superhero movie they'd seen. At least Simon and Reuben were. Judah had his feet on the bench and was sprawled across the table on his stomach, stretching for the sugar bowl just out of his reach.

  "What do you need sugar for, Judah?" Renata didn't rush over to stop him this morning; she was too tired. She'd lain in bed beside the instantly sleeping husband of hers, wide awake and plagued by his words. Of course, her heart ached with the unfulfilled desire for a little girl, but it didn't change the way she felt about her other children. She loved each one of their boys immeasurably. What exactly did John expect, though? That she wasn't going to mourn their decision to stop trying? It felt like giving up. It made her feel like a failure.

  "I jeswanna eat some sugar." Judah was nothing, if not guileless.

  "We are not having sugar for breakfast."

  "But it's on the table." Judah propped his chin in one hand, still staring longingly at the sweet treat he was missing out on.

  "Get off the table, Judah. Now."

  "I want some sugar," he grumped, but shimmied backward until he was back on the bench. Renata hoped there hadn't been anything on the table beneath him; it would be all over his shirt front now.

  "Mom, Levi looks like he's going to hurl." Reuben and Simon were both leaning away from Levi, who did, indeed, look a little green around the mouth. His eyes were watery and now his cheeks looked flushed. He'd seemed fine an hour earlier when she'd gotten him up.

  Renata hurried over to the table, lifted Judah out of the way, and reached for Levi's hand. "Let's see if we can make it to the toilet this time, okay?" But as he started to slide out of the bench, he lifted tear-filled eyes to her face, and brought both hands up to cover his mouth. To no avail; Levi, once again, vomited all down the front of her.

  "Levi! What is wrong with you? Why did you wait so long?" She stood there, arms akimbo, glaring at her son. The room fell silent as the other three stared up at her in shock. Levi just sat curled in a ball on the edge of the bench, sobbing quietly, head down, his soggy hands held out in front of him.

  "I'm sor—sorry, Mommy. I didn't know fast enough." She almost couldn't hear him, he spoke so softly.

  Reuben slid out from the opposite side of the bench. Without a word, he headed for the bathroom and returned shortly with a wet washcloth for Levi. "Come on, dude. I'll call Dad."

  "Excuse me, young man. You will not call your father. I'm right here."

  "Yeah, Mom. I know. But you just yelled at Levi for puking. Just like last night." Reuben didn't turn around to look at her when he spoke, and Levi followed solemnly, holding the wet washcloth to his face. Renata wanted to rebuke him, but she couldn't find the right words. She just stood there, her mouth opening and closing like a disgruntled goldfish.

  "This place sucks."

  "Simon! Watch your mouth!"

  "Fine. This place stinks. It smells like rotten barf." Then he, too, slid off the bench, leaving his dirty dish on the table, and headed down the hall to join the other boys. Only Judah remained, still standing just behind her where she'd set him. When she turned to look at him, she saw a funny expression on his face, then his eyes got really wide.

  "
Mommeeeee!" Judah screamed, a high-pitched keening wail, as his body heaved, then emptied itself of everything the boy had just eaten for breakfast.

  Renata scooped him up and followed Reuben and Levi into the boys' bathroom. Standing Judah in the tub next to Levi who was shivering and crying, she turned to Reuben.

  "Reuben, honey, you're right. I'm sorry I overreacted. I'll take care of them from here. Why don't you go wash your hands, with soap, in my bathroom. Can you call Aunt Georgia to come pick you and Simon up for school, please?" As an afterthought, she added, "And check on him, will you? Make sure he's not sick, too."

  Reuben didn't say anything, but turned and left the room. She had no doubt he would do exactly as she asked. She just didn't know whether or not he'd call John, too. Or what he would tell him if he did.

  Renata climbed into the tub with the two boys and reached for the hose attachment on the showerhead. Turning on the water, she waited until it was warm, then began to hose all three of them off, clothes and all.

  An hour and a half later, the two sick boys were sound asleep in their bedroom. Renata was trying to work up the courage to tackle her bedclothes from the night before, but she was so tired of body fluids and bad smells that she didn't move. The kitchen was completely sanitized; she'd hosed things down with a bleach mixture and followed up with an antibacterial room spray on everything. She could hear the thumping of Levi's sneakers in the washing machine out in the garage and she tried not to focus on the unsteady rhythm as she sipped on her third cup of coffee. At least this one she might actually finish before it got cold.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Two of them down. Two to go. And that's if you and I don't catch it," Renata sighed as she flopped back on her pillow at the end of the day. John was already in bed, scanning the pages of a new magazine he'd received in the mail. How he could sleep shirtless in the middle of January always confounded her. "I'm exhausted. I hope I'm not next. I hate throwing up."

  "You'll be fine. Just get some sleep tonight. I'll get up if someone needs a parent." John absentmindedly reached over and patted her shoulder, not taking his eyes off the page he was reading.

  Renata turned to look at him, his words reminding her of Reuben's. "Hey. Did you talk to Reuben last night? Did he wake up?"

  "Yes. Briefly."

  "Briefly he woke up? Or briefly you talked to him?"

  John closed the magazine and looked down at her over the top of his reading glasses, but he kept his forefinger marking his place. "Actually, both. He woke up briefly, asked what was wrong, and I answered briefly. Then he went back to bed. It was all done very briefly."

  "Huh."

  He blinked slowly, still eyeing her. "And what does that mean? Say what's on your mind, Renata. I can't read it."

  "It's nothing. Don't worry about it." She turned on her side, her back to her husband, but softened her rebuttal by turning to look at him over her shoulder. "Goodnight, John-Boy."

  "Oh, no. Don't pull that with me, woman. I'm tired, too, but this is no way to end the night. Turn back over and tell me what's on your mind. Besides…." He pointed at the handmade picture frame on his nightstand that held a photo of the two of them on their honeymoon, lips locked. In Renata's flowery script, she'd written "Always Kiss Me Goodnight" along the bottom of the frame, and it had been a hard and fast practice in their marriage. Even on the rare nights they spent apart, John took it upon himself to call her and describe in detail how he would kiss her in person when he returned home. It was almost as delicious as being kissed for real. Almost, but not quite.

  Renata sighed long-sufferingly, and rolled back over to face him. John scooted down in the bed so they lay looking at each other. "What's going on in that sexy head of yours, wife of mine?"

  "Am I a terrible mother, John? Do the boys think I'm awful?"

  When he didn't immediately respond, she closed her eyes, unable to watch him trying to come up with a kind way of telling her the truth. Because the truth he would tell, she knew that for a fact. And he'd do it in love. But even truth in love usually still stung.

  John reached over and cupped her cheek with his long-fingered hand, his palms rough against her soft skin. "Hey, we've been through some tough stuff lately. The boys know you're sad. No one thinks you're a terrible mother."

  "But today Reuben said something that made me feel like he thinks I'm not doing a good job. I'm trying, John. I really am."

  "I know, baby. We all know that. The boys may not completely understand, but they know you love them. Give yourself a break, okay?" He kissed her on the nose, then the lips, then pulled her close, holding her comfortably against him. "You know, maybe you should do just that. Maybe you should take a break. You haven't done anything for yourself in a long time, why don't you call up your sisters and plan some time away. When was the last G-FOURce weekend?"

  Renata pulled back, propping her head up on her hand. "That sounds like a terrible idea right now."

  "Why? They love you, Renata. Don't think they haven't noticed you're struggling. Juliette asked me the other day if you—"

  "Juliette talked to you about me?" How dare she? "Why didn't she ask me?"

  "Let me finish, Renata."

  She pushed herself up into a sitting position and crossed her arms over her chest. "I can't believe that she, of all people, would gossip about me to you. And you let her."

  "Let me finish, Renata," he repeated. "She asked me if you and I were doing anything for your birthday next month. She said the girls want to do something special but they didn't want to step on my toes if I had made plans already. That's why she asked me and not you." He lay back and laced his fingers behind his head, gazing up at her with hooded eyes. She hated that look, and his words made her feel even worse about herself.

  "Apparently, I'm a terrible sister, too."

  "No, you're not, but I really believe it would make things better if you talked to them, if you told them about your miscarriages."

  "I can't tell them. They wouldn't understand. None of them are married, none of them have children. I don't even know if any of them want children. How can they possibly understand my pain? Besides, they'll just think I'm trying to manipulate them into feeling sorry for me so they'll be nice to me right before my birthday."

  He didn't speak, but from the corner of her eye, she could see him frown.

  "You don't know my sisters, John."

  "Actually, I do know them, and I think you're being ridiculous. Not even Phoebe would think that about you."

  "I'm not being ridiculous. Don't call me that. Juliette's in love and doesn't need my woe-is-me news. Phoebe could care less, and Georgia? She's too young to understand how devastating miscarriages can be when you so desperately want a baby. Our miscarriages, by the way. Not my miscarriages, our miscarriages," she clarified.

  "Our miscarriages." John nodded, sat up, and slid his legs out from beneath the covers.

  "Where are you going?" She glared at him, angry that he was walking out on their conversation. In the winter, he lost some of the coppery highlights that the sun painted into his hair, but the ends still shone burnished in the lamplight. He looked like a torch lit by banked embers, and she wondered what was going on inside his head.

  "To get a shirt. I'm cold."

  "Oh." But she knew that even if he wasn't going anywhere physically, she'd already lost him. "I can help keep you warm."

  "I'm going to check on the boys, too." He threw on the brown t-shirt he'd been wearing before bed, the one that said, We interrupt this marriage to bring you HUNTING SEASON. She hated it; not just because of the stupid words on it, but because Phoebe had given it to him for Christmas. She'd given Renata a long-sleeved black one with the term Hunting Widow emblazoned in pink rhinestones across the chest; like she'd ever be caught dead in something like that. And she wasn't about to let John wear his in public, either. She compromised by letting him wear it as a pajama top. He usually took it off before crawling into bed next to h
er…but not likely tonight, it seemed.

  She glared at his back as he left the room, then flopped over on her side, facing away from the door, her back to the empty place where he would lay beside her. She really did not want to wake up and see those words first thing in the morning.

  And she really did not want to think about Phoebe first thing in the morning, either.

  ~ ~ ~

  Why couldn't she just talk to her sisters? This whole situation was driving John crazy. He had become her only sounding board, and he didn't know how much more he could stand of her rollercoaster emotions. He loved his wife to distraction; she was beautiful to look at with her thick, black mane of hair against her porcelain skin, her well-toned body kept in shape with regular work-outs and healthy meals. She didn't go overboard with that stuff—she never served him wheat grass or flourless bread—but it was important to her, he knew, and frankly, he enjoyed the benefits of having a wife who didn't mind taking her clothes off in front of him. She didn't try to convince him to join the gym with her…although she teased him about his little love handles every once in a while. It didn't bother him, though, because he knew they didn't really bother her, either. He was in pretty good shape for a guy in his mid-thirties. He didn't drink beer, he didn't stop at the donut shop on his way to work in the mornings, and his job required him to be pretty fit.

  As an electrical engineer, he spent much of his time climbing, crawling, digging, lifting, and performing various other strenuous tasks. His physical condition played a huge part in his efficiency and focus at work, but also in his extracurricular activities, too. He wasn't a big guy—he had no delusions about being some muscle-bound jock—but he knew he could hold his own when and where it counted. Like in the woods.

  The adrenaline rush of taking down a Blacktail deer at 200 yards was something else. The band of brothers he hunted with made the trips that much better. They were all believers, so there was never an issue about partying or any other rough living; instead of BFFs, Phoebe called them JFFs. Jesus Freaks in Flannel.