Composing Amelia

by Alison Strobel

  She stopped the slow breathing and dropped the earbuds. Marcus picked them up, but she pushed his hands away as he tried to give them back. She began to pant, and her chest spasmed tighter. Despite her terror, the thought that this might provide a way out was enough motivation to keep her going.

  “Amelia, what are you doing?” Marcus grabbed her shoulders but she jerked herself away. “Amelia—”

  “Leave me alone.” She gasped out the words as she tried to stand and get away from him, but her legs were too shaky to support her. She turned her back to him and closed her eyes. Just take me. Please, let this be the end.

  It didn’t work. Within ten minutes the crushing weight on her chest had subsided and her breathing had evened out. Marcus helped her to the bed and she lay unmoving, utterly spent, as tears gathered in her eyes.

  Marcus pulled the duvet to her shoulders. “Get some rest. I’ll start calling doctors.” He kissed her cheek and closed the door behind him.

  The doctor’s waiting room needed serious redecorating. Amelia didn’t have the best eye for design, but she knew outdated when she saw it. It didn’t surprise her, though—somehow it made sense for the small-town setting.

  She held a four-month-old copy of People magazine on her lap but didn’t care enough to actually open it. Instead she stared at the framed Norman Rockwell print, faded from years spent across from the window, and tried to let her mind go blank. Since yesterday’s panic attack she’d been nervous about a repeat, and her scattered, racing thoughts surely weren’t helping matters. She meditated on the tranquil scene in the picture to no avail. She shifted her gaze to the white wall beside it, hoping it would fill her mind, but that didn’t work either.

  Her phone buzzed in the seat beside her. She glanced at the screen and saw Jill’s name. Amelia hit a button to send the call to voice mail. Jill had called twice and emailed a handful of times, but Amelia hadn’t felt like talking. She didn’t have the energy right now to maintain that relationship. She was too busy trying to figure out how she was going to live in Wheatridge without losing her mind.

  “Amelia?” A middle-aged woman in turquoise scrubs called for her from a door that led to the back of the office. “Please follow me.”

  Amelia obeyed and sat on the paper-covered exam bed, and the nurse took her vitals as she chatted amiably. “Dr. Robinson will be in to see you soon,” she said after filling out the chart. “It’s cold out there—can I get you some tea?”

  That was an unexpectedly nice touch. “Thanks,” Amelia said. “That would be nice.” The nurse returned with the tea, and moments later the petite Dr. Robinson appeared. “I’m Dr. Robinson. Nice to meet you, Amelia,” she said in a quick clip as she shook her hand. “Welcome to the practice. I see on your forms you had a panic attack yesterday—is that why you came in?”

  Amelia scratched a thumbnail against the Styrofoam cup. “Partly, yes. My husband thinks I’m depressed, too.”

  Dr. Robinson’s mouth quirked a small smile. “Do you?”

  Amelia shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe. I was a lot worse, and then I started getting better. But then … Well, something’s not right, I know that much.”

  Dr. Robinson scanned Amelia’s chart again. “You checked off recent weight loss. Was that intentional?”

  “No. It just … happened. Well, maybe not ‘just.’” Amelia gave the doctor an apologetic look. “I lost my appetite so I just stopped eating.”

  “Ah, I see. That is a sign of depression.” She scribbled something on the chart. “Let’s see … insomnia, inability to enjoy life, weight loss, panic attack … It does sound like depression to me. There are plenty of ways for us to treat it, luckily. Let’s go through this depression inventory real quick and see what we find.” She ran through a list of questions, almost all of which drew a yes from Amelia.

  “Depression indeed,” the doctor said as she flipped to the second page of the chart and made notes. Then she went back to the first page of the chart and frowned. “Is this right? Your last period was in November?”

  Amelia nodded. “I have ridiculously long and irregular cycles.”

  “Are they always this long?”

  Amelia felt a flutter in her chest. “Um … no. I guess not. Not usually.”

  “And you’re sure you’re not pregnant?”

  Amelia shook her head. “Uhh, nope. Not possible. When I was twenty I was diagnosed as being chronically anovulatory.”

  Dr. Robinson tapped her pen to her lips. “Okay. And you noted on your intake form that your most recent illness had been the flu?”

  “Seemed like it, yeah. Tons of nausea, threw up a few times a week. Lasted for … I don’t know, almost six weeks?”

  Dr. Robinson gave Amelia a curious look. “All right then. We’re going to do some routine blood work, just to make sure your thyroid is functioning properly—when it’s off it can cause the symptoms you’re dealing with, and even cause depression—but I’m also going to have you humor me and take a pregnancy test.”

  Amelia’s mouth went dry. “Why?”

  “Because not all antidepressants are safe in pregnancy, and we don’t want to take any chances.”

  “But I can’t be.”

  Dr. Robinson studied her with eyebrows raised. “Have you had sex since November?”

  “Well—yes.”

  “Then there’s always a chance; I don’t care what diagnosis you’ve been given. Stranger things have happened.” She closed the chart and pocketed her pen. “I’ll have Linda come in and do your blood work in a minute, and she’ll also bring in a pregnancy test. Bathroom’s down the hall to the left.”

  Dr. Robinson shut the door, leaving Amelia to absorb information that felt like a mental hand grenade.

  Linda came in with a wheeled cart carrying the blood work vials and tools. Amelia saw the pregnancy test beside them. “Can I do that first?” she said, pointing to it. She had to settle the issue, before she let herself get worked up.

  Linda handed it to her. “Take off the cap; pee on the end. It’ll take about three minutes to register. You can leave the test for me if you’d rather not sit there and stare at it.”

  “Are you kidding?” Amelia slid off the exam bed and picked up the test. “I’m not leaving the bathroom until I’ve seen the results.”

  Linda smiled. “Good luck—whatever you’re hoping for.”

  Amelia ripped off the paper wrapper as she walked down the hall. She shut the bathroom door and examined the test, which showed two symbols beside the result window. A minus sign indicated she wasn’t pregnant. A plus sign meant she was.

  She took the test, set it on the counter, then righted her clothes. Don’t look, she told herself. At least count to a hundred first. Slowly. Linda had said three minutes.

  She couldn’t help it. She looked.

  Plus sign.

  CHAPTER 8

  Easter morning brought a veritable heat wave that Marcus hoped would brighten Amelia’s spirits. Clouds had hidden the sun since she’d arrived, and he could see the toll it was taking. She’d gotten worse since her panic attack that past Tuesday. The doctor had prescribed an antidepressant, but had said it might take a few weeks to see any benefits. Marcus hoped it kicked in sooner than that, for both their sakes.

  Maybe getting out in the sunshine would help, he thought as he showered and shaved. Maybe they could go for a walk that afternoon. Ed and Lucy had invited them to dinner, but Marcus knew Amelia wouldn’t be up for getting together with strangers, and they had no big plans for a holiday meal. Maybe they could grill burgers in the courtyard.

  He checked his watch as he dressed. They had to leave in less than an hour, and Amelia was still sleeping. He hated to wake her, but he also didn’t want to be late on one of the two Sundays of the year that were sure to draw holiday-only attenders. He straightened his tie and went back to the bedroom to wake her.

  “Hey, babe,” he said, gently shaking her shoulder. “We need to leave at—hey, what’s wrong?”

&
nbsp; She wasn’t sleeping. She was curled into her pillow and crying without a sound. He sat on the bed beside her and handed her a tissue from the box on the bedside table. “Is it just, you know, the new usual, or is something else wrong?”

  She shook her head as she sat up and dragged the tissue against her cheeks. After some deep breaths that curbed most of the tears, she said, “It’s … It’s nothing. Never mind. I’ll get up now. How much time do I have?”

  “About forty-five minutes. But … You don’t have to go if you don’t want to, Amelia.”

  “No, it’s fine,” she said between sniffs. “Just let me shower.” She stood, still not making eye contact with him, and pulled an outfit from the closet before leaving for the bathroom. He frowned, watching her. What’s really going on? he wondered. It was the second time this week he’d found her like that, obviously deeply upset, but unwilling to tell him why. He didn’t like to think she was keeping secrets from him.

  Marcus went to the kitchen to pour her some coffee, figuring she’d need it this morning. The one improvement he had noticed lately was that she was eating again. Not much, but more than she had when he’d visited her in LA. He pulled a loaf of bread from the fridge, deciding to make her some toast. Peanut butter or butter and cinnamon? He went to the bathroom to ask her.

  He knocked, and heard her call to come in. He opened the door and poked his head in, unable to help the smile that crossed his face when he saw her through the glass shower door. It had been a long time since he’d seen her unclothed, and he’d deeply missed the view. “I’m making you toast. What would you like on it?”

  “Peanut butter.”

  “Okay.” He went to shut the door, then looked in once more, paying closer attention. Her body looked … different. He shut the door again and went back to the kitchen, thinking. It was probably the weight loss. The parts of her that looked skinnier must just be making the more … curvy … parts of her look larger. Things just seemed a little out of proportion.

  Unfortunately the encounter sent his thoughts on to tangents that he couldn’t afford to follow, not when he’d be greeting parishioners in an hour. He took a deep breath and blew it out pursed lips. I can’t deal with this right now, God. Focus me on You and this sermon.

  But all he could think about was how seeing her nude heightened his sexual frustration. It had been far too long since they’d been intimate—she just didn’t seem interested any longer. He prayed it was because of the depression, and not because of him.

  A knock on the front door brought his thoughts out of the bedroom. Through the peephole he saw Karis and Audry standing in the hall. Audry looked adorable holding an Easter basket.

  “Happy Easter,” he said as he opened the door, grateful for the distraction. He smiled down at Audry, who held up her basket. “Well, lucky you. Look at all that chocolate.”

  “She asked if we could come share some with you,” Karis said with an apologetic grin.

  “Aw, that’s really sweet, Audry. Thank you. Come on in.”

  “We won’t make you late, will we?” Karis asked as she eyed his suit. “I know this must be a big day for you.”

  “Yes, Christmas and Easter. They’re the Super Bowls of the church world.” Karis chuckled and Marcus waved them inside. “But there’s still some time before we have to leave.”

  Karis’s eyebrows nudged higher. “‘We’?”

  He acted casual, hoping to dispel the awkwardness. “Yes—Amelia is here now.”

  A clouded look flickered over Karis’s face before she smiled. “I’d forgotten when she was coming. You must be so happy to see her. Well anyway, we’d better get going, Audry. Why don’t you give Mr. Marcus your gift and we’ll leave.”

  “No, there’s no rush, really,” Marcus said as Audry began rummaging in her basket’s plastic grass. “Besides, I’d love for you to meet Amelia.”

  Karis silently perched on the edge of the armchair while Audry placed foil-wrapped chocolate eggs in Marcus’s hand. Marcus couldn’t figure out why Karis was being so quiet. “So … any plans for today?” he asked, trying to draw her out.

  “No, not really,” she said. “Just—oh.” She stood, one hand clasping the other against her middle as she stared over Marcus’s shoulder.

  Marcus turned and smiled at Amelia, whose dress and done-up hair were a nice change from the slumming look she’d been sporting lately. “Hey, babe. This is Karis and Audry, who I told you so much about. Karis, this is my wife, Amelia.”

  Karis offered a hand. “Nice to meet you,” she said. “Marcus talks about you all the time.”

  Amelia’s face was neutral as she stepped forward slowly and shook her hand. “Yes—he’s told me about you, too.”

  “Well, it was lovely to meet you.” Karis placed a hand on Audry’s shoulder. “Sweetheart, we really need to go.”

  “’Bye, Mr. Marcus,” Audry said as she hooked her arm through her baskets handle.

  “Good-bye, Audry. ’Bye, Karis. Service starts at ten if you’d like to stop by.”

  Karis smiled but didn’t look him in the eyes. “Thanks. Nice meeting you, Amelia.”

  “Yes, you, too.”

  Marcus shut the door. “I’m glad you two got the chance to meet,” he said. “I really think you guys will get along.”

  Amelia said nothing as she walked into the kitchen. He followed her. “Amelia, are you all right?”

  “Fine.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  She set her plate of toast on the table with more force than necessary and sat down. “So that’s Karis.”

  “Yes. So?”

  Amelia rolled her eyes. “You didn’t tell me she looked like Nicole Kidman’s prettier younger sister.”

  Marcus frowned, thinking. “Well, she looks a little like her, I guess. I never noticed.” Understanding dawned and he straightened from where he’d been leaning against the counter. “Ames, tell me you’re not jealous of her.”

  “I’m not jealous of her.” Her voice was flat and unconvincing.

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake.” Marcus sat down across from her. “Seriously, babe, you have nothing to worry about.”

  “Why—not your type?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Not my wife.”

  She licked peanut butter from her finger. “And it’s just that easy for you, huh?”

  “It is, in fact.” Wait. What was that supposed to mean? “Why—isn’t it for you?”

  Their eyes locked and Marcus’s blood chilled when her expression told him loud and clear that it wasn’t. She stood abruptly, dumped the rest of her toast in the trash, and headed for the front door. “Come on. Let’s go.”

  The ride to the church was almost completely silent. Amelia stared out her window as Marcus drove, her profile looking preoccupied and occasionally tortured. He tried not to jump to conclusions, but his imagination was having a field day concocting scenarios in which her fidelity had been tested. Was that what was bothering her? Was that why he kept catching her crying, and why she wouldn’t tell him what was wrong?

  He bit back his questions. This wasn’t the right time. After church, we’ll take that walk. If I can get her to go, that is.

  The parking lot already had a handful of cars in it when they arrived. Normally only Marcus and Ed were there this early. “I’ll show you where my office is, if you want to hide out,” he said as he gathered his things from the backseat. “I need to do a meet and greet at the front door starting …” Another three cars pulled into the parking lot. “Starting now, I guess. I sit in the front right pew, right on the aisle, so when you’re ready to come into the sanctuary, just come there. I’ll put my Bible and notes there before I post myself at the door, so you’ll see where to go.”

  They walked up to the front door and Ed greeted them with an enthusiastic handshake. “Good morning, Marcus. And Amelia! Such a pleasure to meet you.”

  She smiled brightly, but he could tell the smile wasn’t reflecting in her eyes. He hoped Ed wouldn’t notice. �
��Nice to meet you, Ed. Marcus has told me a lot about you.”

  “I’ve heard a lot about you, too. I’m so glad you’re here. I hope we get a chance to hear you on the piano soon; I doubt our little Steinway has seen anyone as talented as you.”

  She chuckled. “Thanks, Ed.”

  “I’m going to take her to my office and then I’ll come join you,” Marcus told him. He took her hand and led her on the short walk through the building to his office. “Here’s the office key,” he said, pointing it out on his key ring before placing the keys on his desk. “Lock up when you come down.”

  “All right.”

  He gave her a hug and felt her tense in his arms. It broke his heart. “Amelia,” he said quietly, “I know something is wrong. I know this isn’t the right time to talk about it, when I can’t give you as much time as you might need. But this afternoon, I promise, you’ll have my full attention for as long as you want it. I hope you’ll be able to share what’s got you in so much anguish.”

  She finally looked him in the eyes. “It’s that obvious?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  He kissed her. “I have a stash of food in the lower drawer of the desk. Help yourself if you get hungry.”

  She smiled slightly. “Thanks.”

  He kissed her again, hating to leave. “All right then. Showtime. See you in a bit.” He shut the door behind him, straightened his tie in a window’s reflection, and joined Ed at the front door just in time to shake hands with a steady stream of attendees. As he traded “Happy Easters” with familiar faces, he kept a mental list of women he might introduce Amelia to after the service. Maybe if she connected with someone it would help smooth the transition to Wheatridge and make her more willing to stay once her depression had cleared. He couldn’t stand to think of her going back to California, especially if he had competition there.

  When he and Ed entered the sanctuary, Marcus saw Amelia sitting where he’d told her he’d be, surrounded by three of the women Marcus had hoped she’d meet. He gave a subtle fist pump as he made his way up the aisle. “Thanks for welcoming Amelia, ladies,” he said when they greeted him. “I was hoping she’d get to meet some of you.”