“So. You and Angela, huh? Getting pretty serious, buddy.” Bill and I had broken away from the festivities to grab a cup of coffee in the kitchen. Blustery wind blew ice particles and snow against the window above the sink. It was looking like a White Christmas this year.
“Nuts, right? I’m really into this one, Rick. There’s something about her I can’t put my finger on. She’s different than the others I’ve dated. It’s kind of scary.”
“Could it be that she’s smarter than a box of hammers, unlike your usual bang buddies?”
“That may very well be the case, my good man. Never dated girls with such fancy book learnin’ ‘afore.”
“Except for Cat.”
“And you saw how long that lasted. Angela’s more willing to put up with my shit, God knows why. She also does this thing with her—”
I held up a hand. “I really don’t need to know, Bill.”
“Pussy.”
“Okay,” I sighed, my male propensity to know all smutty details getting the better of me. “Lay it on me.” He whispered something filthy in my ear, the likes of which I’ll not repeat. My eyes went wide. “No shit?”
“No shit.” He nodded to the living room where Cat tickled Sam and Jeff, her face lit up brighter than a thousand Christmas trees. “She really dotes on those kids, huh?”
“Loves them to death.”
“You two still having trouble with … you know what?”
I shrugged “It’s taking longer than we’d thought. We’re staying the course, though. As long as it takes, buddy. As long as it takes.”
Mom’s voice drifted in from the living room with all the subtlety of a typhoon: “Did I ever tell you about the Christmas when Richard was five? He drank a whole bottle of food coloring. Pooped green for a week.”
They laughed. I groaned.
“Shit, I better get out there before she does irreparable damage.”
Bill patted me on the back in mock sympathy. “I feel for you, buddy. I really do.”
CHAPTER 43
My first Christmas morning as a married had arrived. That’s a pretty big milestone when you think about it. There would be more Christmases to come—not nearly enough—but the first always ranks amongst the most special.
I woke up alone. The alarm clock read seven-thirty. Figuring Catherine must already be downstairs, I roused myself out of bed.
“Merry Christmas, Ricky!” She greeted me in the foyer with a hug and a kiss, and ran her fingers through my rumpled hair. “Nice bed head.”
“Hey, you. Merry Christmas. You’re up awful early. How long have you been awake?”
“Not long.” Her smile was a mile wide. We both loved Christmas, never denying that we were nothing more than a pair of overgrown children, but Catherine was more excited than usual. She must have gotten me something really good, I thought. “C’mon. Let’s go open our presents.”
We sat in front of the tree. I always liked to get the lay of the land before I opened up presents. As a kid, I’d mastered the art of separating boring shit like clothes and socks from what had to be the really good stuff. While I scanned, I noticed something the size and shape of a toothbrush wrapped in bright red paper jutting out prominently next to the ‘First Christmas In Our New Home’ ornament Mary Jo had given us last year
“This wasn’t in the tree last night.” I reached for it but Catherine stopped me.
“Uh uh uh,” she said, eyes gleaming. “Open that one last.”
After a flurry of shredding wrapping paper, destroying bows, and making our way through both the presents under the tree and those in the stockings, one last gift remained: the peculiar item nestled in the branches. Catherine took it from its perch and handed it to me.
“Okay,” she said. “Now you can open this one.”
“What is this?” I shook it close to my ear, trying to divine its contents. “A toothbrush? Is this some kind of hint about my dental hygiene?”
“No, dork. Open it and find out.” She seemed ready to jump out of her skin.
“Okay, okay. Relax, Ralphie.” I tore open the wrapping paper and found …
A white stick of sorts. Nope. Not a toothbrush.
Not even close.
“Is this what I think it is?”
She nodded excitedly. “Mmm hmmm.”
I looked at the item again and my eyes fixed on the small, round window in the middle … and the even smaller digital plus sign within it that stood out like a beacon against the background.
“Really?” The word came out slow, measured.
“Really.”
“Really really?”
She laughed and threw her arms around me. “Really really. I’m pregnant, Ricky.”
CHAPTER 44
The pitter-pat of little footsteps and a high pitched mumbling drifts into the funeral parlor. If I still had a heart it would be pounding with excitement. The sounds can only mean one thing: Jude is ushering the twins and my little girl back inside. It feels like an eternity since I’ve seen Celeste and I find the chest that I don’t have aching to lay my spectral eyes on her.
The twins, Sam and Jeff, walk in first. Damn if they’re not growing at a geometric rate.
My young niece and nephew are an interesting amalgamation of their parents. They inherited Rob’s lean, lanky build, but get their light hair and blue eyes from Jude. As far as personalities, Jeff is like Jude, wild and a bit of a good natured smart ass, and Samantha is quiet and reserved like her father. It would be nice to see how they’ll change over the years but I doubt I’ll get the chance.
Finally. In walks little Celeste, led in by her Aunt Jude. Catherine’s sister kneels down and whispers in her ear. Celeste nods uncertainly, big brown eyes nervous as she takes in all the serious-looking strangers. That’s to be expected from a six-year-old who’s been thrown into something she knows little about. Still, she’s the cutest thing in the world, despite the nervous cast to her face. I watch as she shyly shuffles her way over to her mother, blond pigtails swaying in time with her steps.
“Hi, Mommy.” She taps Catherine on the knee. Cat gives a start, obviously not having noticed her approach. That’s my little ninja. Celeste could skulk with the best of them. Her catching us unawares as Mommy and Daddy ‘wrestled’ in the bedroom was proof of that.
“Hey, you.” Catherine pulls Celeste onto her lap. “Did you have fun playing with your cousins?”
“It was okay, I guess.”
“Just ‘okay’?”
Celeste’s shoulders slump and her eyes focus on the floor as she swings her legs, shiny new shoes dangling a foot in the air. “Yeah. We played tag and I didn’t even fall down once.”
“That’s good, sweetie.”
The little one’s pride quickly fades. “But …”
“But what?”
Celeste’s eyes dart from Catherine to her cousins then back to the floor. “Sam and Jeff were mean to me.”
Cat’s head snaps around to address her sister. “Oh really?”
“They got into a little argument outside,” Jude sighs. “It’s nothing to worry about, Cat. I had a chat with the twins.” She shoots a glare at Sam and Jeff. They shrink like ants under a magnifying glass and shuffle off, heads bowed. My wife wasn’t the only one who’d inherited The Colonel’s evil eye. Like father, like daughters.
“Mommy, Sam and Jeff said there’s no such things as angels.” The hurt in her voice is palpable. “And that’s just not true, right, Gramma Beth?”
Mom puts on a brave face. “So very untrue, Pookie Bear. We’re surrounded by guardian angels all the time. They watch over us and protect us.”
“See, Mommy? I teld them, but they kept saying I was wrong. They kept saying I’m too little, and that angels aren’t real.” Her next words are a whisper. “But I want them to be real.”
“Why do you want them to be real, Celeste?” Catherine asks.
“’Cause if they’re real, then I won’t have to miss Daddy so much.”
; Catherine becomes worried, her face haunted. “Beth, can you do me a favor, please?”
“Of course, sweetheart.”
“Can you bring Celeste into the lobby? I have a bag out there by the coats with some coloring books in it.”
Mom’s smile is sad. “Of course I can. How about we do some coloring, Celeste? Just you and Gramma?” She tickles Celeste’s neck, makes her giggle.
“Okay.” Celeste hops off Catherine’s lap. She and my mother head toward the lobby, hands interlocked. Before they vanish through the double doors, my daughter looks over her shoulder in my direction. Her brow scrunches, and she turns her attention to her mom one last time. Then they’re gone.
Once they’re out of the room, Catherine folds in on herself, hands covering her face and shoulders shaking. Jude puts an arm around Cat and rubs her back. A small consolation, but it’s a hell of a lot more than I can do.
CHAPTER 45
“I’m scared.”
“We’ll be there in a few minutes.”
Gritting my teeth, I thought back to how a normal March evening had turned into a nightmare come true. And like most nightmares, it blindsided us.
Catherine and I were sacked out on the couch watching Blazing Saddles when, in the middle of the classic baked bean scene, she’d walked off to the bathroom. It wasn’t long before I heard her scream.
“Rick? Ricky!” The fear in her voice chilled me. I stumbled over the back of the couch, rushed to the bathroom, and threw open the door.
“What? What’s wrong?” Catherine was sitting on the toilet, shaking and scared out of her mind. Her worried expression told me something was very, very wrong. She held up her trembling hands. They were covered in bright crimson.
“Ricky …” She looked down, and I followed her eyes to the source.
“Oh fuck.” My mind had caught up with the situation and gave my body a mental kick in the ass. “We’re going to the hospital. Now.”
I squeezed her blood-tacky hand as I drove one-handed at a breakneck pace. When I saw what had happened, I’d reacted. Didn’t even bother calling 911. I knew I could make it to the hospital faster than if we’d waited for an ambulance to arrive.
We skidded to a halt in front of the emergency room, startling a large orderly on his way in. I slammed the gear shift in park and bounded out before the shocks had a chance to absorb the abrupt change in momentum.
“We need help!” The hospital employee was already jogging toward us. “My wife has lost a lot of blood.” I tore open the passenger side door and cradled her in my arms. Catherine’s face was pale and sweaty, eyes glassy.
The orderly rushed over with a wheelchair, and as soon as I deposited my wife in it, he spun around and we darted inside.
“Get Dr. Horner,” the orderly called out, voice loud but calm.
“Ricky, don’t tell anyone,” Catherine pleaded, begging me with her eyes.
I nodded.
A dignified man with thick-rimmed glasses and silver hair pushed through the swinging double doors, his white lab coat billowing behind him. He looked at the dark red stain between Catherine’s legs.
“She’s pregnant,” I said.
He nodded. “Do you have any allergies, miss? Latex? Any medicines? Anything?”
Cat shook her head slowly. “No.”
“Okay, let’s get her in back,” he commanded. A team of nurses appeared behind him as if by magic and then they disappeared through the double doors from which he came.
Lost and alone, I stood in the lobby, staring at the portal that had swallowed my wife like an offering to a leviathan.
A voice broke my fugue state.
“Sir? Excuse me. Sir?” I turned to see a matronly woman calling to me from behind the round admissions desk. Like a zombie, I lumbered over and placed my hands on top of it. She noted my ring. “Who’s your wife’s doctor?”
“Dr. Ann is her OB/GYN. Dr. Ann Conera.”
“If you could, please fill out these forms.” A clipboard appeared, and she slid it toward me. “Please, sir?”
“Right, okay. Thank you.” I took the clipboard and fell into a chair. I pulled my insurance card out of my wallet and prepared to fill out the multitude of forms before me, but none of it made any sense. Dropping everything on the chair next to me, I buried my face in my hands.
~~~
“Your wife is going to be okay, Mr. Franchitti.” Dr. Horner looked at me with kindly eyes. He pulled off his sea foam green surgery cap and ran his hands through his sweaty gray hair. “Unfortunately, the baby didn’t make it.” I’d realized that as soon as I saw the scene in our bathroom. Words failed me. I looked at the floor. “I’m very sorry. The good news is that there’s no material remaining …”
Material
I stopped listening after that, only catching words like ‘infection’ and ‘observation.’ Everything else he said disappeared into the ether. My wife was going to be okay. There was nothing more important than that.
“Can I go see her?” I asked.
“She’s sleeping right now …”
I looked him in the eyes. “Can I go see her?”
The doctor pursed his lips. “Yes, I don’t see any harm in it. But don’t disturb her.”
“Thank you,” I said, the words lacking emotion.
My wife looked so small and helpless. Tubes and IVs snaked out of her arm, leading to monitors and machines I didn’t even know the names of much less what functions they served. I watched the slow rise and fall of her chest, her face slack with sleep. Not knowing what else to do, I kissed her lightly on the forehead and settled into the bland green chair in the corner of the room. I stayed up as long as I could before I was overcome by a dreamless sleep.
~~~
“Are you sure you shouldn’t let your family know what happened?”
“I’m sure.”
Catherine hadn’t said much on the drive home. I’d made attempts at conversation—about anything—but her replies were terse. She’d spent most of the morning with her head turned, staring at the recovery room wall with her limp hand in mine, and the only time she hinted at emotion was when Dr. Ann stopped by to check on her.
“The hospital called me last night,” Dr. Ann had said somberly. “I’m so sorry. I spoke to Dr. Horner afterward and if there’s a silver lining to all of this, it’s that there isn’t any scarring or internal issues. There’s absolutely no reason why you won’t be able to conceive and carry again.” Catherine bit her lip as Dr. Ann spoke of miscarriage percentages. Her eyes pooled with unshed tears, and she remained silent. Not a scream, not a whimper, not even a ‘why’. The lack of reaction unnerved me. It was if someone had reached in and turned off her inner light. I couldn’t blame her. Her last doctor’s visit—on Valentine’s Day not even a month ago—went well. The first loss was a horrible blow. But this one? This one would linger, I could feel it.
After that appointment, we’d eaten at a romantic Italian bistro.
“I’m stuffed,” Catherine had said, leaning back with her hands on her stomach.
“You sure there’s only one kid in there? With the amount of food you put away tonight, it looks to me like you’re eating for three, not two.”
She puffed her cheeks. “Will you still love me when I’m big and fat?”
“More of you to love, baby.”
“I was thinking …” Fingers caressed her C&R bracelet, and candlelight danced off the polished silver.
“Don’t hurt yourself.”
She threw a packet of butter at me. “As I was saying, wiseass—maybe we shouldn’t tell anybody about the pregnancy right away.”
“Why not? You’re not getting superstitious in your old age, are you?”
“No, it’s not that. You heard what Dr. Ann said. Even though the percentage of having a second miscarriage is lower than the first, the first trimester is still the most likely time for something wrong to happen. I think we should wait it out before we announce it. This way nobody gets worked up if things d
on’t work out.”
We were on our own this time. I’d promised her I wouldn’t tell, and I’d learned the hard way not to break that promise, no matter how much it went against my ‘puker’s’ nature.
Dr. Ann cleared her throat, shattering the memory.
I followed her out of the recovery room.
“She’s in shock, Rick. I’ve seen it plenty of times, especially when it’s not the first loss. The only thing you can do right now is be there for her. If she seems distant or angry, you must realize that it’s not personal.”
Now, Catherine stared into the backyard from where she sat at the kitchen table while I placed her meds on the counter.
“You should take a week off. I know you have the time. There’s no need for you to go back to work right away.”
“I’m not taking the week off. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
“Okay, as long as you’re sure.”
“I just said I was sure, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, you did. Sorry.”
“I’m not an invalid, Rick.”
“That’s not what I meant. I know you’re not. I’m trying to help, that’s all.”
“I know.” She stood up. “I’m going to lie down for a little while.”
“Do you want me to get us something to eat?” I called after her as she headed up the stairs. “I could go to the deli and pick up whatever you want?”
The sound of the bedroom door closing was the only answer I got.
The next few weeks were anything but comfortable. Life had become a pale imitation of itself, as if we were fleeting shadows of real people living a life together. Wake up, go to work, arrive home, eat dinner, engage in meaningless chit-chat, sit and stare at the idiot box, go to bed … wash, rinse, repeat. Physical contact bordered on extinction. Other than a chaste peck on the cheek or an unintended brush up against one another, there was nothing. Our sex life was dead and buried. I couldn’t remember a time when we’d been so sexually inactive, but ever since the trip to the emergency room it was like someone had thrown a switch and cut the power. Tension enveloped our everyday lives, night and day, day and night. I felt suffocated, and despite Dr. Ann’s advice, I couldn’t help but take it personally after a time.
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