Even though it had been over thirty years since the death of her younger sister, Amelia, Angie’s mom never quite recovered from the trauma of losing her youngest child. Though Angie didn’t understand it at the time, as she grew up and started to study science, she discovered Amelia had been born with Down’s syndrome. Her arrival was a surprise to begin with, and her medical condition sent her parents into a tizzy. Though Angie had worked hard to block out most of her childhood memories, she still shuddered at the memory of the morning her mother screamed in terror after finding Amelia unresponsive in her crib. Angie watched from the hallway, terrified into silence. Her father tried to revive her blue, unmoving sister on the floor of the bedroom, but all his efforts failed.
Things had changed dramatically in the Langford house after the day Amelia died. SIDS is what she kept hearing family members whisper. It wasn’t until she was in high school she figured out what the acronym meant: sudden infant death syndrome. The loud and extravagant parties her mother meticulously planned, the guest list—a veritable who’s who of the society circles Dr. Jerome and Annette Langford traveled in—stopped. Angie’s mother, once a vibrant woman with enough energy to rival a teenager, sank into a deep depression that no amount of affection or cuddles from Angie could bring her out of. Even her mother’s sister, Aunt Miriam, couldn’t reach her. Angie’s father became a distant recluse. When he was home, which wasn’t often, he spent most of his time in his study.
Angie stopped inviting friends over after school and on weekends. She didn’t want others to see how her family had changed, or the perpetual mess inside the house. Angie tried to keep up the housework, but she was too young. Cleaning nearly a 5,000-squaree-foot house by herself was next to impossible.
For the first seven years after Amelia’s death, Angie watched her mother shuffle through the days in a haze, rarely venturing out of the house. Angie spent a lot of time at her aunt’s house, and grew extremely close to her cousin, Kevin. Instead of taking the yearly excursions to distant locales with her parents, Angie went on vacations with her aunt, uncle and cousin.
During her medical training in college, when they covered psychological disorders, Angie discovered her mother was bipolar. Not only did her mother display all the symptoms, but when Angie looked up the numerous medications she was prescribed, it was a dead giveaway. On one level, it made complete sense, and Angie’s childhood anger at her mother disappeared. Guilt for all the years she’d resented her mom for not being there for her other child made Angie’s head swim. Worry about her own mental state crept in. The fear of the possibility she would turn out just the same wedged under Angie’s skin like a leech.
The death of Amelia caused a huge rift in the family. Though her mother remained close to Aunt Miriam, her husband, Dr. Clifford Stephens, became distant. Wouldn’t attend family get-togethers, or even come for a visit. Angie never knew why, and was too scared to ever ask when she was little. By the time she was mentally ready to broach the subject with him, Uncle Cliff had passed away from kidney disease.
When little, Angie had no idea what changed her mother’s demeanor, since she never actually witnessed her mom pop a pill or swallow a drink, but the effects were enough. Twice, when her father tried to clean out Amelia’s room, her mother’s response had been violent and extremely aggressive. Angie wasn’t sure exactly what happened. Since both times frightened her so much, she ran and hid in the closet. While she cowered inside the dark space, Angie heard glass breaking and her mother shrieking, followed by ugly words hurled between her parents. Then, the next day, her mom was gone. Her father’s only explanation given in a quiet, distant voice at the breakfast table: “Your mom is at the hospital getting better. She’ll be home soon.”
Angie’s father dealt with the loss in his own way. He went from a social, smiling man—one who loved to have Angie sit on his lap as he read her bedtime stories—to a silent figure wandering through the house. A typical man, he dove head-first into work, sometimes staying at the hospital for days on end. With her parents grieving in their own ways it left Angie alone to try to come to grips with what had happened. Her friends gave up on trying to cajole her into playing or attend sleepovers. Though she grew very close to Kevin, he was a child as well—two years younger than Angie—so talking to him about how she felt was impossible.
She was fortunate a counselor at school was kind enough to take her under her wing. Hours were spent inside the office of Rosalind Pritchard. Though the counselor tried, Angie refused to dump all her thoughts and feelings regarding the death of her sister. Ms. Pritchard tried a different tactic, focusing her probing questions on Angie’s sudden change in the friend department. Wanted to know why Angie stopped attending gymnastics. Did she need a ride to practice? Had someone said something ugly to her about her sister? The sentence Angie remembered hearing the most was “What may I do to help you overcome this, Angie?”
Angie’s answer was always the same: a shrug of her thin shoulders.
Even though Angie had the outlet, if she were to be completely honest, she hadn’t really dealt with the life-altering event, either. Amelia came along when Angie was seven. Angie thought the little bundle of wiggly arms and legs—one who smelled like baby powder and diaper cream—was a living version of one of her dolls.
As she aged and Angie understood just what exactly had happened to her family, she was petrified of having children. The fear of dealing with such intense emotions also drove her away from making strong connections with others. Oh, she had friends, just not close friends. Keeping people at arm’s length, never allowing the friendship to move past the acquaintance stage, was much easier. Less painful.
She shoved the memories, the pain of that horrible day, deep inside her soul. So far, in fact, by the time Angie was in her twenties, only gray undertones remained. Like looking at old, grainy photographs from the past, unsure if the image was even real or not. It was someone else’s tragedy, not hers. The thought of suffering so much grief overshadowed Angie’s desires to be a mom, so she concentrated on high school, college and then working at the hospital.
Her father had been beyond irritated that Angie didn’t continue on in school to become a doctor, but she had no interest. To her, doctors weren’t the real caregivers. They just came in—poked and prodded on the patient, ordered tests if necessary, cut out diseased body parts—and then left the real work to the nurses. Angie realized during high school where her skill-set rested: caring for those who couldn’t care for themselves.
When Angie announced the pregnancy, her parents insisted she undergo an amniocentesis to ensure the child was healthy. Angie and Drake refused. The procedure was risky and could potentially cause more harm than good. Drake agreed with her and they stood firm on their stance. It was the first time in Angie’s life she’d ever defied a direct order from her parents. The truth of the matter was, at least for her, she didn’t want to know. If something, Heaven forbid, was wrong with their child, they’d deal with it once he or she was born. Besides, Angie’s love wouldn’t change or be stipulated on anything. A baby was a baby, and she already loved her little bun in the oven. Nothing would change that.
Her pink-and-blue fluffy slippers didn’t make a sound as Angie crossed the hardwood floors. They were another thing she knew Drake hated, but she couldn’t help herself. They were adorable. A gift from her mother from one of the numerous baby showers she’d thrown during the past two months. Since Angie and Drake both wanted to be surprised in the delivery room as to their child’s sex, the slippers were a gag gift. Her mother told her, “I’m covering both bases here! So long as the little bundle is healthy, that’s what counts.”
Once in the kitchen, Angie set about fixing breakfast. She stared at her choices in the fridge, waiting to see if her tastes were the same. Nope, it would be yogurt, oat bran and blueberries. Anything else would come right back up. She rummaged around in the fridge, but the yogurt container was empty and there were only two blueberries left.
“G
reat, just great,” Angie muttered. “Fantastic! Barely enough milk for a bowl of oats.” She snatched the milk container and poured the remaining dribbles over her cereal. “Hey, babe? We need some groceries before the storm hits.”
Angie waited for a response, but heard nothing. Drake was either still on the phone or in the shower. She was so glad he owned his practice and had the flexibility to work from home. If the weather reports were correct, it was needed. Supposedly, a wicked storm was on its way, and the forecast was calling for at least a foot of snow. While watching the news earlier, Drake smiled when the screen displayed all Pulaski County offices, including the courts, were closed.
Before grabbing her bowl, Angie moved over to the side cabinet to get the prenatal vitamins. She grimaced while picking up the bottle. It was empty, which was odd.
Didn’t I just have them refilled last week?
Angie let out a huff of air, irritated at the frequent lapses in memory. With a snowstorm on the way, it was not a good time to have memory breakdowns. Angie scooped up her breakfast and headed to the dining room table, watching through the kitchen window as the ugly storm clouds twisted and churned. She nearly jumped out of the chair when Drake’s lips tickled the back of her neck.
“Were you yelling something earlier, or was I hearing things while in the shower?”
“Jesus, Drake! You scared the shit out of me!”
Drake planted another kiss on Angie’s neck, then walked into the kitchen. “Sorry. Want me to start wearing bells or something? You’re too jumpy. Must be another side effect of pregnancy brain.”
Angie let Drake’s dig pass without commenting. “Yes, I did say something. We’re out of several things, including yogurt and my vitamins. I swear I just went shopping earlier this week!”
Drake returned to the table with two steaming cups of coffee and sat down. He patted Angie’s back reassuringly and handed her a cup. “Honey, that was two weeks ago, remember? Right before you started bleeding. You haven’t been anywhere since you came back from the hospital.”
Frustrated with her lapses of time, Angie scowled. “Decaf?”
Drake nodded.
Angie smiled and took a sip. “Thanks, babe. See? I even forgot to fix myself a cup of coffee! Can’t wait for our little one to arrive so my mind will reset. Between the vivid dreams at night and the loss of time, I’m a wreck. What if I’m like this when…?”
“Babe, stop it. You and your brain are fine. This is only temporary. You’re a nurse, you know that.” Drake stood and kissed the top of Angie’s head. “I’ve got some motions I need to complete before it starts snowing. Shouldn’t take too long, so why don’t you make a list of what we need at the grocery store, and I’ll go when I’m finished. Okay?”
Angie sighed and looked up into the beautiful green eyes of her husband. God how she loved Drake… He was a good man, extremely intelligent, an amazing attorney who represented his clients with fierce intensity. Drake knew how to make Angie laugh, ease her fears and was a fantastic lover. He was the only person she’d ever met who made her mental shields—ones erected when Amelia died—crumple to the ground. Drake was the first real connection she had with another person since Kevin.
Angie pushed aside the guilt inside her chest for the lack of intimate contact between them for the last two weeks. She would change that later. While Drake was at the store, she’d start a fire, then fix a nice dinner, something other than her standard fare. They’d eat in the living room, watch the snow fall. Make love on the couch, or maybe have Drake set out pillows and blankets from the spare bedroom on the floor in front of the fireplace.
“Okay, babe. Good idea. Now, hopefully, I’ll remember what we’re out of!”
“What’s the number two rule of pregnancy brain?” Drake teased.
Angie rolled her eyes. “Take notes.”
“Exactly! Now, let me go work on the pleadings. Shouldn’t take too long. Love you, sugar.”
Angie blew an air kiss. “Love you.” She watched Drake saunter down the hallway toward his study, enjoying the view. His physique was still a sight to behold, his butt firm and tight, nestled inside a pair of jeans that fit just right. She couldn’t wait to grab it later.
Looking down at the bowl, Angie’s stomach rolled and her appetite disappeared. Sipping the rest of the coffee, she hoped it would settle her stomach, but it didn’t. She cleared the dishes, rummaged around in the drawer until she found pen and paper, and went from cabinet to cabinet, writing down things they needed. Angie scowled. It seemed like everything. Poor Drake would have a full cart when he finished shopping.
4
Life Changes
“I don’t care what he said, or why he thinks this is acceptable. It’s not. Period. Not only is it morally reprehensible, it’s illegal. I know you are under a lot of pressure, Mrs. Williamson, but please, stop listening to your husband, your friends, or anyone else except me. I’m your lawyer, and you hired me to represent you and your best interests, remember? It’s my job to worry about these things, not yours. So please, don’t sign anything he presents to you, and for God’s sake, quit talking to him! Yes, yes, I know. Please, don’t cry. I have the motion for contempt right here, ready to file upon your approval. No, I’ll file it electronically. Once the judge sees it, I can assure you, Mr. Williamson will not be selling anything. Your home is safe. Yes, you too. Stay safe in the storm.”
Drake disconnected the call and stared out the window. He sighed when he noticed large flakes of snow falling from the gray skies. He had to hurry to file the motion and get to the store. He’d wasted nearly an hour by talking to the distraught Mrs. Williamson. Her thirty-year marriage was in shambles, destroyed after she’d discovered her spouse’s predilection for pornography and her obsession with credit cards. Her soon-to-be-ex had been hounding her for the last two days through texts and phone calls, insisting if she was adamant about alimony, he’d be forced to sell their residence. The poor woman was beside herself when she called, rambling incoherently for the first ten minutes.
He logged on to the e-file portal and uploaded the motion. Once finished, Drake prepped and digitally signed an order for the judge and faxed it over. Though the court was closed due to the weather, it was sent, and the judge would be notified it awaited his ruling once he returned to his office.
Glancing at his watch, Drake was surprised to see it was after three p.m. He’d been in his office for hours and wondered why Angie hadn’t stopped in to check on him. Shutting his computer down, Drake rose and left his study to get dressed for a trip to the store.
“Angie? Babe, why did you let me work so…?” He let his words trail off when he found Angie asleep on the couch, shopping list on her very pregnant stomach. Drake crept across the hardwood floor and gently picked up the list. Angie looked like a little girl, her beautiful hair piled on her head, her face a sea of calm.
Drake left the room and headed to the bedroom to put on some warm clothes. He stopped in the kitchen and stared out the sliding-glass door, admiring their backyard. The falling snow was heavier than before and at least five inches covered the ground and trees. The forecast earlier mentioned they could receive anywhere from two inches to a foot, depending on how the system rolled in. Judging by the near white-out, Drake guessed the totals would hover near the foot mark.
Once in the bedroom, he turned on the television to the local news while he dressed. The temperature was below freezing and the forecast had changed. All the counties in the central part of the state were under a winter storm warning and the snowfall totals increased.
“Shit, that means another lost day at work tomorrow, maybe even the day after,” Drake muttered as he pulled the sweater over his head. “I hate winter. Well, not really. It does have its perks.”
Dressed in layers, Drake shut the TV off and grabbed his cell and keys from the hutch. Even though his car was in the garage, it would be cold, so he walked down the back hallway toward the garage to start it up. When he reached the door, his cel
l phone rang. Drake grimaced when he saw the call was from his mother-in-law.
The woman was beyond irritating. Textbook mother-in-law. The kind off-colored jokes were made about, the ones husbands told each other when out of earshot of their pampered wives. Annette Langford was nuttier than a Christmas fruitcake. Certifiable, actually, for according to Angie, Annette Langford had been in and out of mental hospitals for years. A confirmed whack job and a snob to boot. During the first few years of marriage to Angie, Drake secretly worried that Annette’s mental issues might be hereditary. He watched Angie like a hawk, mentally cataloging any strange activity. Other than being sort of scatterbrained, his wife didn’t exhibit any other symptoms, so Drake quit worrying.
Until Angie told him she was pregnant. The lapses in memory, loss of time, the forgetfulness, worried Drake. When Angie slept at night, he spent a lot of time in his den, reading every article, blog post, paper and anything he could get his hands on that dealt with mental issues during pregnancy. His research concluded it was fairly common for the first pregnancy to wreak havoc on a woman. Something about all the hormones, the worry, lack of sleep. So Drake dismissed his old fears and concentrated on his work.
His mother-in-law was a different story. Annette lived and breathed for sticking her nose in the middle of their relationship, and Drake hated her coddling ways. There was an air of superiority about her that made Drake want to scream. On more than one occasion, he’d overheard her mention in passing to Angie her concerns about “marrying a shyster lawyer” rather than a stable doctor like she had. Drake knew the old biddy thought her daughter married beneath her status, which royally pissed him off.
Whispered Pain Page 2
