Suzanne's Diary for Nicholas

by James Patterson

  “Is that what happened? You and Nick had a great day together?” he asked.

  I looked deeply into Matt’s eyes. “I’m pregnant,” I told him.

  And then Matt did just the right thing: He kissed me gently. “I love you,” he whispered. “Let’s be careful, Suzanne.”

  “Okay,” I whispered back. “I’ll be very careful.”

  Nicholas,

  I don’t know why, but life is usually more complicated than the plans that we make. I visited my cardiologist on the Vineyard, told him about the pregnancy, had a few tests. Then, on his recommendation, I went to Boston to see Dr. Davis again.

  I hadn’t mentioned the checkup to Matt, thinking it might worry him. So I went to work for a few hours, then I drove to Boston in the afternoon. I promised myself that I would talk to Matt as soon as I got home.

  The porch light of the house was on when I pulled into the driveway at about seven that night. I was late. Matt was already home. He had relieved Grandma Jean of her baby-sitting duties.

  I could smell the delicious aroma of home cooking: chicken, pan potatoes, and gravy warming the whole house. Oh, my God, he made dinner, I thought.

  “Where’s Nicky?” I asked as I entered the kitchen.

  “I put him to bed. He was exhausted. Long day for you, sweets. You’re being careful?”

  “Yeah,” I said, kissing him on the cheek. “I actually only saw a couple of patients this morning. I had to go to Boston and see Dr. Davis.”

  Matt stopped stirring the gravy. He stared at me and didn’t say another word. He looked so hurt that I couldn’t stand it.

  “I should have told you, Matthew. I didn’t want to worry you. I knew you would, and I didn’t want you to; I knew you’d want to come to Boston with me.”

  It was a nervous, run-on thought, my attempt to explain what I had done. It wasn’t right, but it wasn’t wrong, either. Matt decided to leave my decision at that.

  “Well?” he said. “What did Dr. Davis have to say?”

  My mind traced back to Gail Davis’s office, back to the edge of the examining table, where I had sat so tenuously, in a blue of emotions: What did she say? What did she say?

  “Well, I told her about the baby.”

  “Right.”

  “And she was . . . she was very concerned. Gail wasn’t pleased.”

  The next few words locked in my throat, nearly closed off my breathing. I almost couldn’t speak. Tears flooded to my eyes, and I started to shake.

  “She said it was too risky for me to be pregnant. She said I shouldn’t have this baby.”

  Matt’s eyes filled with tears now, too. He took a breath. Then he spoke, splitting the silence between us.

  “Suzanne, I agree with her. I couldn’t bear to risk losing you.”

  I was crying, sobbing terribly, still shaking badly. “Don’t give up on this baby, Matt.”

  I looked at him, waiting for some comforting words. But he was too quiet. He finally shook his head slowly. “I’m sorry, Suzanne.”

  Suddenly I needed to breathe some fresh air, to escape, to be by myself. I left the house in a spin. I ran through the tall sea grass until I reached the beach. Shaken, winded, fatiqued. There was a loud roaring noise in the space between my ears. It wasn’t the sound of the ocean.

  I lay down in the sand and wept. I felt awful, so inconsolably sad for the baby inside me. I thought about Matt and you waiting for me back at the house. Was I being selfish, headstrong, foolish? I was a doctor. I knew the risks.

  This baby was a precious and unexpected gift. I couldn’t give it up. I held myself and rocked with that feeling for what seemed like hours. I talked to the little baby growing inside me. Then I looked up at the full moon, and I knew it was time to go back to the house.

  Matt was waiting for me in the kitchen. I saw him in the mellow, yellow light as I trudged up from the beach. I started to cry again.

  I did a strange thing, then, and I’m not exactly sure why. I knocked on the door, then knelt on the first step. Maybe I was tired and drained from the long, stressful day. Maybe it was something else, something more important, something I still can’t explain.

  Maybe I was remembering the English king who had knelt in the snow hoping not be excommunicated, to be forgiven by Pope Gregory.

  I had been hurting badly out on the beach, but I also knew I had acted selfishly. I shouldn’t have run away and left you and Matt alone at the house.

  “Forgive me for running off like that,” I said as Matt opened the screen door. “For running away from you. I should have stayed and talked it out.”

  “You know better,” he whispered, and gently stroked my hair. “There’s nothing to forgive, Suzanne.”

  Matt pulled me to my feet and into his arms. A feeling of relief swept through me. I listened to the strong beating of his heart. I let him snuggle the top of my head with his chin. I let his warmth seep into me.

  “It’s just that I want to keep this baby, Matt. Is that so terrible?”

  “No, Suzanne. That isn’t terrible. It’s losing you that I couldn’t bear. If I lost you, I don’t think I could live. I love you so much. I love you and Nicky.”

  Oh, Nicky,

  Life can be unforgiving sometimes. Learn that lesson, sweet boy. I had just gotten home from a couple of hours at the office. Routine really, nothing unusual, nothing stressful. Actually, I was feeling pretty chipper.

  I drove back to the cottage to take a catnap before seeing one more patient in the afternoon. You were at Grandma’s house for the day. Matt had a job over in East Chop.

  I was going to take it easy, catch a nice, healthy, and restful snooze. I had an appointment to see Connie in town the next day—about the baby.

  I fell onto the bed, feeling dizzy suddenly. My heart began to pound a little. Strange. I felt a headache coming on, out of nowhere.

  It was about to rain buckets, and the barometric pressure had dropped. I sometimes get headaches when that happens.

  My appointment with Connie was the next day, but I was deliberating over whether I should wait until then. Maybe I would feel better in an hour, or when the rain finally came.

  I was so nervous about staying healthy that I was driving myself into neurotic symptoms, for God’s sake.

  Easy, Suzanne, I told myself. Lie down and close your eyes and tell every part of your body to relax.

  Your eyes, your mouth, your chest, your belly, your arms, your legs, your feet, your toes.

  Relax them all and slip under the blanket, the Golden Fleece.

  All you need is an hour, a break, and when you wake up, it will all feel better.

  Just fall asleep, fall asleep now, fall...

  “Suzanne, what’s the matter?”

  I turned over on the daybed at the sound of Matt’s gentle whisper. I still didn’t feel too good. He leaned in closer, and he looked concerned. “Suzanne? Can you talk, sweetheart?”

  “Seeing Connie tomorrow,” I finally said. This was strange. It took all my strength just to get those few words out.

  “You’re seeing Connie right now,” Matt said.

  When we arrived at Connie’s office, she took one look at me and said, “No offense, but you look less than stellar, Suzanne.”

  She took my blood pressure, then blood and urine samples, and finally, an EKG. All through the tests, I was in a daze. I felt hollow inside, and more than a little worried.

  Following my examination, she sat down with Matt and me. Connie didn’t look happy. “Your blood pressure is up, but it will be a day or so before we get your blood work back. I’ll put a rush on it. In some ways things are steady, but I don’t like how you were feeling today. Or how you look. I’m inches away from admitting you. I agree with Dr. Davis about the abortion. It’s your decision, of course, but you’re putting yourself at grave risk.”

  “God, Connie,” I said, “short of stopping my practice altogether, I’m doing everything else right. I’m being so careful, so good.”

  “
Then stop working altogether,” she said without missing a beat. “I’m not kidding, Suzanne. I don’t like what’s going on with you. If you go home and make your number one priority absolute rest, then we have a chance. Otherwise, I’m checking you in.”

  I knew Connie meant what she said. She always did. “I’m going home now,” I mumbled. “I can’t give up on this baby.”

  Dear Nicholas,

  I am so sorry, sweetie. A month has passed and you have kept me busy. I am also tired, and I haven’t had a chance to write. I’ll try to make it up to you.

  At eleven months, your favorite words are Dada, Mama, wow, watch, boat, ball, water (wa), car, and your very favorite is LIGHT. You are crazy about lights. You say, “Yight.”

  You are like a windup toy these days. You just keep going and going and going and going and going.

  I was in the middle of giving you my “be a good boy” rap when the phone rang. It was Connie Cotter’s nurse, who put me on hold for the doctor.

  It seemed to take forever before Connie got on the line. You came over and wanted to take the phone away from me. “Sure. Why don’t you talk to Dr. Cotter,” I said.

  “Suzanne?”

  “Yeah, I’m here, Connie. Taking it easy at home.”

  “Listen . . . we got your most recent bloods back . . .”

  Oh, that awful doctor’s pause, that search for just the right wording. I know it only too well.

  “And . . . I’m not happy. You’re heading into the danger zone. I want to check you in right away. Start you on fluids. I’ll show you the results on your bloods when you get here. How soon can that be?”

  The words roared through my head with the force of a gale, taking all my strength with it. I was devastated. I had to sit down immediately. With the phone still to my ear, I lowered my head between my legs.

  “I don’t know, Connie. I’m here with Nicky. Matt’s at work.”

  “Unacceptable, Suzanne. You could be in trouble, sweetie. I’ll call Jean if you won’t.”

  “No, no. I’ll call her. I’ll do it right now.”

  I hung up, and you held on to my hand like a strong little soldier. You knew just what to do— you must have learned it from your daddy.

  I remember tucking you into your crib and pulling the cord on your music box. “Whistle a Happy Tune” begins to play. It’s so beautiful— even in my nervous state of mind.

  I remember turning on your night-light and closing the curtains.

  I remember that I was on my way downstairs to call Grandma Jean, then Matt.

  That’s all I remember.

  Matt found me lying as limp as a rag doll at the bottom of the stairs. I had a deep gash alongside my nose. Had I fallen down the entire flight? He called Grandma Jean and rushed me to the ER.

  From there, I was transferred to the Critical Care Unit. I awoke to a whir of frantic activity around my bed. Matt wasn’t there anymore.

  I cried out for Matt, and both he and Connie were at my side in seconds. “You took a bad fall, Suzanne.” Matt was the first to speak. “You passed out at the house.”

  “Is the baby okay? Connie, my baby?”

  “We have a heart rate, Suzanne, but the situation isn’t good. Your pressure is off the charts, your proteins are skyrocketing and . . .”

  She paused long enough for me to know there was another big and.

  “And what?” I asked.

  “And you have toxemia. That could be why you passed out at the house.”

  I knew what this abnormal condition meant, of course. My blood was poisoning both the baby and me. I had never heard of it occurring this early in a pregnancy, but Connie couldn’t be wrong.

  I was hearing what Connie was telling me in dis-jointed sound bites. I wasn’t able to form whole sentences in my head. I felt as if I were being lobotomized. I thought I could actually feel the toxic blood swelling up inside me as if I were a dam about to break.

  Then I heard Matt being ordered out of the room, and an emergency team rushing in. Doctors and nurses were swarming all around me. I could feel the oxygen mask covering my nose and my mouth.

  I knew what was happening to me. In layman’s terms:

  My kidneys were shutting down.

  My blood pressure was dropping.

  My liver was barely functioning as guardian against the poisons.

  My body was beginning to convulse.

  Fluids and medications were given through an IV to stop the convulsions, but then I started hemorrhaging.

  I knew I was shutting down. I knew so much more than I wanted to. I was scared. I was floating out of my body and then falling into a dark tunnel. The passing black walls were narrowing and squeezing the breath out of me.

  I was dying.

  Matt sits vigil by my bedside, day and night. Daddy never leaves me alone, and I worry about him. I have never loved him more than I do now. He is the best husband, the best friend, a girl ever had.

  Connie visits constantly, three or four times a day. I never knew what a great doctor she is, and what a great friend.

  I hear her, and I hear Daddy. I just can’t respond to either of them. I’m not sure why.

  From what I can tell listening to them, I know that I’ve lost the baby. If I could cry, I would weep for all eternity. If I could scream, I would. I can do neither, so I mourn in the most awful silence imaginable. The sadness is bottled up inside and I ache to let it out.

  Grandma Jean comes and sits with me for long stretches at a time, too. So do friends of mine from around the Vineyard, doctors from the hospital and even from Boston. Melanie Bone and her husband, Bill, visit every day. Even Matt Wolfe, my lawyer friend, came by and whispered kind words to me.

  I hear bits and pieces of what people are saying around me.

  “If it’s okay, I’m going to bring Nicky in this afternoon,” Daddy says to Connie. “He misses his mother. I think it’s important he sees her.” And then Matt says, “Even if it’s for the last time. I think I should call Monsignor Dwyer.”

  Matt brings you to my hospital room, Nicholas. And then you and Daddy sit by my bedside all afternoon, telling me stories, holding my hand, saying good-bye.

  I hear Matt’s voice cracking, and I’m worried about him. A long time ago, his father died. He was only eight, and he never got over it. He won’t even talk about his father. He’s so afraid of losing someone again. And now it’s me he’s going to lose.

  I just hold on. At least I think I’m still here. What other explanation can there be?

  How could I possibly hear your laughter, Nicky? Or you calling out, “Mama,” to me, in the black hole of my sleep?

  But I do.

  Your sweet little voice reaches down into my abyss and finds me in this deep, dark, place where I’m trapped. It is as if you and Daddy were calling me out of a strange dream, your voices like a beacon guiding me.

  I struggle upward, reaching toward the sound of your voices—up, up, up.

  I need to see you and Daddy one more time....

  I need to talk to you one more time....

  I feel a dark tunnel closing behind me, and I think that maybe I’ve found my way out of this lonely place. Everything is getting brighter. There is no more darkness surrounding me, just rays of warmth, and maybe the welcoming light of Martha’s Vineyard.

  Was I in heaven? Am I in heaven now? What is the explanation for what I’m feeling?

  That’s when the unexpected happens.

  I open my eyes.

  “Hello, Suzanne,” Matt whispers. “Thank God, you came back to us.”

  KATIE

  THERE WAS only so much of the diary that Katie could take at any given time. Matt had warned her in his note: there will be parts that may be hard for you to read. Not just hard, Katie knew now, but overwhelming.

  It was difficult for her to imagine right now, but there were happy endings in life.

  There were normal, semisane couples like Lynn and Phil Brown, who lived in Westport, Connecticut, on a really
cool little farm with their four kids, two dogs, and one rabbit and who were still in love as far as she or any of their other friends could tell.

  The next day Katie called Lynn Brown and volunteered to sit for the kids that night, a one-night-only offer. She needed to be with the Browns. She needed the warmth and comfort of a family around her.

  Lynn was immediately suspicious. “Katie, what’s this all about? What’s going on?”

  “Nothing, I just miss you guys. Consider it a pre-anniversary present for you and Phil. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. I’m in Grand Central Station right now. I’m on my way.”

  She took the train to Westport and was at Lynn and Phil’s by seven. At least she hadn’t stayed late working at the office.

  The Brown kids—Ashby, Tory, Kelsey, and Roscoe— were eight, five, three, and one. They loved Katie, thought she was so neat. They loved her long braid. And they loved that she was so tall.

  So off went Lynn and Phil on their hot “date,” and Katie took the kids. Actually, she was incredibly grateful to Lynn and Phil for “taking her in.” They had met and liked Matt Harrison, and basically they knew what had happened between him and Katie. They didn’t understand any of it, either. Lynn had predicted that Katie and Matt would be married within the year.

  What a great night it turned out to be. The Browns had a small guest house that Phil was always threatening to fix up and make respectable. That was where Katie always went to hang out with the four kids.

  They loved to play tricks on her, like hiding her suitcase and clothes or taking her makeup and putting it on (Roscoe included). She took the kids’ pictures with her Canon camera. They washed Lynn’s Lexus SUV. Went on a group bike ride. Watched the movie Chicken Run. Ate an “everything” pizza.

  When Lynn and Phil got home about eleven, they found Katie and the kids asleep on pillows and quilts thrown all over the guest-house floor.

  She was actually awake and heard Lynn whisper to Phil, “She’s so cool. She’ll be a great mom.” It brought tears to Katie’s eyes, and she had to choke back a sob as she pretended to be asleep.