by Judy Baer
“What are you doing?”
“Eating, of course. What does it look like?” Mitzi sipped on her bottle of Evian and daintily picked up an asparagus spear.
“I thought you were hung up on nutrition these days.”
“And your point is?”
“That’s hardly a balanced diet.” I pointed at the generous bags of candy.
“It most certainly is. Haven’t you ever studied nutrition?” Mitzi calmly picked up her fork to point at the salmon and then at the asparagus. “Protein and veggie.” She skewered the dinner roll. “Grain and fat. And fruit.”
“I get the protein,” I agreed, “and even the dinner roll. But fruit?”
She looked at me wearily, as if beleaguered by my idiocy. “Chocolate-covered raisins and chocolate-covered cherries. Whitney, don’t you know anything?”
Saturday, June 12
It must have been something we ate.
Instead of going to Kim and Kurt’s to have dinner and watch another video on China, Chase and I lay around the living room, wondering which of us would throw up next.
As a doctor, Chase is exposed to everything, but he rarely catches anything. I, on the other hand, can pick up any flu virus within a twenty-five-mile radius.
“Want to watch a video?”
“What do we have?”
“Titanic, Castaway and The Perfect Storm.”
“Too much rolling water. We’d get seasick.”
“Want a ginger ale?”
“We finished it.”
“Saltines?”
“All gone.”
“Maybe we could just move into the bathroom and play checkers on the tile floor.”
“Chess?”
“You’ve got it.”
Of course, neither of us had the energy to stand up and move, which precluded any sort of competition. Instead, we lounged where we were until I recalled seeing a bottle of Pepto-Bismol in the bathroom cupboard.
“I’m going to run for supplies,” I announced, and rolled off the love seat onto the floor. “If I’m not back in three hours, come and find me.”
Chase lifted a hand and waved me off.
It felt good to move. Being curled in a fetal position is fine for a fetus, but when one is five foot seven, it gets a little old.
As I went by the laundry room, I threw in a load of clothes and folded a few towels before continuing on my mission.
I was positive I’d seen Pepto-Bismol somewhere, but obviously it wasn’t our medicine cabinet. There was, however, a box in the top back corner that I’d nearly forgotten about. I lifted it down gently and stared at the label. It was a home pregnancy test I’d purchased once and never used.
“Out of date,” I muttered, and threw it into the trash.
Chapter Twenty
Wednesday, June 16
Office meeting—9:00 a.m. promptly. No stragglers. Harry’s rules.
I squeezed my arms tightly across my chest and willed Betty and Bryan to arrive. Harry likes these meeting to be as quick and efficient as possible.
Personally, I could barely put two sentences together today, so it would be impossible to follow Harry’s scattershot method of running a meeting. Besides that, Mitzi is up to something. I can always tell.
If she doesn’t give you her opinion, it’s there to read on her face. She came to work looking like Mr. Tibble with cream on his whiskers, complacent and utterly self-satisfied. When Mitzi is cheerful, it usually means trouble for us. Not only do we have to listen to stories about the source of her joy—“Arch said it was the biggest diamond the jeweler had ever sold…” or “…then they asked if I’d ever considered modeling…”—but we also have to sit at rapt attention and murmur “amazing” or “congratulations” every few minutes until she dismisses us, her captive audience.
“Come on, come on, come on!” Harry bellowed, shooing the others into the room as if they were wayward sheep.
“Now that I’ve got you all here,” Harry began, “and before we get to what I have, do any of you have anything to report?”
“The building custodian said the elevators will be out between 1:00 and 4:00 p.m.” Betty announced. “Please use the stairs.”
Harry nodded vaguely. “Anybody else?”
Bryan gave details on the status of our new computer system, and Kim turned in the budget she’d been working on. Then Harry turned to Mitzi and me.
“Do either of you have anything to say?”
I stared at the agenda I’d prepared and watched the words blur before my eyes. Unbidden, something unstoppable bubbled up inside me and escaped my lips.
“I think I’m pregnant.”
If that old pregnancy test is accurate. Maybe I shouldn’t have dug it out of the garbage last night, but I couldn’t help myself.
I paused and blinked as my words echoed in the room. Echoed?
Mitzi had repeated my words.
I turned to gawk at Mitzi, who was gawking at me. “I think I might be pregnant,” she said.
“No, I said I might be…”
“You? Not you. Me.”
Kim uttered a piercing shriek that called dogs from all parts of the city. Bryan’s eyes bugged out of his head, and Betty started to clap furiously.
“This is wonderful!” Kim threw her arms around me. “Both of you! But are you sure?”
“I didn’t mean to say anything…” I blathered, amazed at the size of my mouth and the lack of a filter on my brain. “It just spilled out. The test wasn’t new…. The expiration date had passed…. Chase says he thinks it was all right, and he should know. I’m going in today to—”
“No fair!” Mitzi howled. “I wanted to be first to tell. I didn’t think we’d both be—”
Harry, who’d been sitting in his chair looking stupefied, jumped to his feet and roared, “Both of you? Two at once?” He bounced on the soles of his small feet, and what little hair he had stood straight off his head. “Not now, not with the deadline for the Kelsey and Klanger project only ten months away! I need you here!”
“This,” Kim observed with a huge smile on her face, “is like an avalanche that’s already started rolling down the hill, Harry. Kelsey and Klanger Project or not, there’s no way you’re going to stop nature now.”
Needless to say, the rest of the day was shot.
Harry walked around pulling on his few fragile curls. Betty began giving advice from the birth of her son nearly thirty years ago, and Bryan, ever-predictable Bryan, went into avoidance mode and clamped his hands over his ears every time someone said the words pregnancy, hormone or birth. Kim just sat at her desk with a huge, stupid grin on her face.
Fortunately, Mitzi decided not to spend her time pouting about the fact that I had announced my news first, and we got directly to the good stuff.
“It was the chocolate cake that tipped me off,” she said giddily. “Even as a child, I spit the chocolate chips out of cookies. But there I was, having my second piece of this delicious concoction—and M&Ms—and not even thinking for a moment that I don’t like them.” She dug into her purse and pulled out a candy bar. “Look, a Snickers!”
Proof positive. Mitzi is definitely pregnant. Or taste-bud-damaged. Or has been replaced by another alien from her home planet.
Then the uncertainty set in. What if I’m not pregnant after all?
I should never have said anything until I knew for sure. The test was past the expiration date. Perhaps pregnancy tests are made to self-destruct if not used by the proper time. Was Chase wrong to think it would still be accurate?
Why didn’t I keep my big mouth shut? I felt like banging my head against my desk. I might just have done so, if it wouldn’t have attracted attention. Impulsive fool, blurting out that I’m pregnant that way! Now I’m one of those people my mother talks about, the excited woman who announces her twenty-four-hour-old pregnancy in June, saying she’s expecting a baby in February. How embarrassing.
But it’s impossible not to be excited. My thirty-third birthday
isn’t far off. If Chase and I are going to start a family, we shouldn’t wait much longer. Hmm…Now that makes me sound desperate.
Which is more pathetic? An overly enthusiastic big mouth or a woman desperate and grasping at hope? At least Mitzi had had a doctor confirm her news. And she’s eating chocolate. What would suggest that I could be in the same condition, other than a questionable test? Nothing! Nada. Not a thing.
Except that pickle incident. Maybe it was a little odd that Chase came home last week and found me dipping pickles in fudge ice-cream topping. Did that count?
“How cam’st thou in this pickle?” Bill Shakespeare once wrote. He was obviously talking about me.
After work I stopped by Chase’s office to take a fresh—as in not expired—test and wait in his office for the results.
Chase sat with me as I twitched and squirmed.
“What’s taking so long?”
For once, he wasn’t patient, either. Potential fatherhood can do that to a guy. Finally he jumped to his feet and went in search of the lab report.
When he returned carrying my chart, his face was a studied blank. He looked very aloof and professional in his white coat with his stethoscope looping out of his pocket. My heart sank.
I rose partially from my chair before dropping back into it again. “Chase?”
“Good news, Mrs. Andrews.” His blank eyes began to sparkle. “You have passed your test. You will be promoted to the next grade—motherhood.”
A wash of emotion overtook me as I launched myself out of the chair and into his arms.
I felt Chase bury his face in my hair. He was trembling.
I lifted my face to his. “Honey? Are you okay?”
“I’ve never been so okay in my life, Whitney.” He crushed his lips to mine. “We’re having a baby.”
“Oh, Chase, we’ve got to get busy. We’ve got less than eight months to get ready. The nursery…”
He laughed and stopped me with a kiss. “I’m almost done for the day. Two more patients. Wait for me?”
“You’ve got it.”
I sat in the waiting room, trying not to explode, tapping one foot and then the other. Finally I stood up and began to pace. The emotions rioting within me were legion. Excitement, I’d expected. Delight, ecstasy, exhilaration, anticipation? Of course. Gratitude? Without a doubt.
But fear, trepidation and alarm? I hadn’t realized how scary the idea of becoming a parent could be.
A young mother exited an examining room carrying a squalling baby. The more she attempted to soothe it, the louder it wailed. Its tiny red face was distorted with fury and indignation.
Oh, Lord, what have I gotten myself into now?
Well, whatever it is, there’s no turning back.
When Chase had finished with his last patient, I could finally do what every maternal cell in my body was screaming for me to do—go shopping!
I felt as giddy as a girl on a first date as we walked hand in hand down the long corridors of the Mall of America.
“Let’s go in here.” Chase tugged on my hand and pulled me into a specialty children’s store populated with tiny ducks, soft bunnies and sofas and chairs no higher than my kneecaps.
I fingered a blanket that was soft as cashmere. “I want to buy something.”
“We don’t know if we’re having a boy or a girl.”
“Then we will buy green or yellow. Or peach.”
Chase scowled. “No son of mine will wear peach.”
Oooh. Macho Dad. Cute.
He picked up a soft white blanket. “How about this?”
“White? Are you sure? Babies have a lot of…excretions…you know.”
“A baptismal blanket. Something special he can pass down to his children.” His eyes burned into mine. “Our grandchildren.”
“I’m sure she will like that. But don’t give her children yet. She isn’t even old enough to date.”
“Enjoy it. As long as that baby is hanging out in your womb, at least you’ll know where it is at night.”
Ewww. Had Chase and I thought this through thoroughly enough?
Then I punched him on the arm. “Whattdayamean, ‘grandchildren’? Don’t rush me. I want to enjoy every single moment of this.”
“Okay. Enjoy this.” He pulled me close and kissed me, right there, between bibs and receiving blankets.
Thursday, June 17
At five o’clock I began to wonder where Chase was, and by seven-thirty I was worried. He’s never late without calling. As I dialed the number of the hospital, I heard his car pull into the driveway.
“Where were you—?” I began, bursting with thoughts about our baby that I wanted to share, but when I saw the expression on his features, I stopped cold. “Chase? What’s wrong?”
He shrugged out of his suit coat and dropped it over the back of a chair. Without speaking, he took me in his arms and laid his cheek against my hair. A tremor shuddered through him.
“Honey?” I pulled away to look him in the face.
“Give me a minute, will you?” He pulled out a kitchen chair and sank into it heavily. “It’s been a rough day.”
Silently, I poured him a cup of coffee and waited.
He bowed his head to knead the muscles at the back of his neck until he winced. Finally he looked up.
“Sorry about that. Thanks for the coffee.”
I pulled out a chair across from him. “What’s happened?”
“I lost a patient this afternoon,” he said softly. “It was totally unexpected. If I’d had any idea…”
Chase doesn’t usually bring his work home to me. What happens at the hospital stays there. He’s a stickler for confidentiality, so the fact that he was even speaking of this was unusual.
“What happened?”
“That’s the crazy thing,” he murmured absently. “He came in for a follow-up on a broken arm. He’d had X-rays and everything looked fine. Then he told me he’d been having some unusual pain in the arm and up into the shoulder and asked if that was normal.
“It isn’t, really—not with a break like his—so I suggested we investigate a little further. He was too young to be much of a candidate for heart trouble, but I never let shoulder pain go unexamined. We joked around a little. He told me that his oldest boy had just learned to ride without training wheels and that had given him a few breathless moments. Then I sent him down for an EKG just as a precaution, never thinking…”
Chase looked up, and for the briefest moment his guard was down and the wells of pain behind his eyes seared my heart. “He coded during the EKG, and we couldn’t get him back. Massive heart failure. Here one minute and gone the next. None of us had a clue, least of all me, his doctor.”
I wanted to speak, but no words came. The grief I read in Chase’s eyes wasn’t going to be allayed by sympathetic but helpless words or empty assurances.
“It was unbelievable, Whitney, bizarre. There we were, joking about ‘the big one’ and within a half hour…”
“You did the right thing,” I ventured. “You sent him for an EKG.”
“Sure it was the right thing, but it didn’t help. I’ve been racking my brain, trying to think of anything I missed that might have tipped me off, any signs—shortness of breath, sweating, even poor coloring—but there was nothing.” Chase sounded bewildered. “He literally just dropped dead.”
“I am so sorry.” How shallow the words sounded in response to so deep a pain.
“So much was going on that at first I didn’t realize that his wife and children were in the waiting room. They’d come with him because they were on their way to a baseball game.”
My stomach lurched. “Wife and children?”
Chase looked at me, his eyes brimming with misery. “He was thirty-five years old, with two children and another on the way.”
I laid my hand protectively across my still-flat belly. Another on the way. What must that poor woman be thinking? Feeling?
What would I have done if he hadn’t come home
tonight? If he’d been the one taken? What would I want to say to him when I no longer could? What would I have regretted?
There are no moments in life that we can take for granted, not one.
Chapter Twenty-One
Friday, June 25
We’d planned to tell my parents about the baby last night, but neither Chase nor I could muster the energy. We’d spent a good deal of time in prayer and gone to bed early, neither of us feeling much like celebrating.
Tonight, then, I was pleased to see my mother appear at our door with a German chocolate cake with pecan and coconut frosting, an armful of catalogs and my father.
My father gets dragged to a lot of things. The only things he absolutely refuses to attend anymore are rummage sales. He says that rummage sales “diminish his manhood.” Maybe it has something to do with the fact that if my mother finds a piece of clothing she likes, she insists on draping it across Dad so she can see how it looks.
After more than thirty-five years of marriage, Mom is as energetic and full of life as she was at twenty, he tells me in a tone somewhere between awe and dismay. He’d hoped they’d grow old together, but so far he’s the only one willing to age. Of course, living with my mother would make any man grow old quickly. The odds are stacked against him. When he looks at her, however, it’s with a tender, indulgent sort of gaze that tells me how much he’s still in love with her.
Mom, who can read me like a book, studied me with an appraising eye. “You look terrible. What’s happened?”
I was taken off guard, and the story of Chase’s patient just came pouring out.
“He was so young,” I blubbered. “What’s she going to do? I barely slept last night. I can’t get it out of my mind.”
Mom considered me for a moment. “You have a tender heart, Whitney, but I’ve never seen you quite this emotional. It’s as if you were…”
Then she changed her mind about saying more and, with a flourish, spread her catalogs across my dining-room table. “Look at this.”
