“It’s magical.” So warm and bright, a sign of good things to come.
She linked her arm through his and leaned close to Leo. They seemed suspended in time, on a floating island of snow, as they walked down the crystal lane, flanked by trees lifting white arms to the sky.
We could be walking through a poem . . . the center line in a haiku.
It was a poetic, magical beginning to their life together.
“This house is going to be great for us,” Leo said. “After the apartment, it’ll be a freakin’ castle for the two of us.”
“Maybe three soon.”
His lips stretched wide in that smile that always softened the rough edges of a situation. “You know, maybe we’d better get started on that,” he’d said. “Don’t want to waste any time.”
“I was just thinking the same thing.”
In the back of her mind there was the worry that she might have the same problems conceiving that her sister Emma had endured. But then Emma had always suffered from cramps; she’d always had female issues. Chelsea had a feeling that their journey would be different. They had always made a good team, but they were moving into new territory now, buying a house, leaving the city, starting a family.
As they headed back to the apartment, she leaned into Leo, thinking that snow had never looked so beautiful.
Snow with iridescent city lights pooling upon it, like a water-color tray.
Ice crystals that sparkled silver on the bare trees.
Snowflakes filling the air, whispering excitement . . .
Not like the snow fading on their front lawn.
She lifted her head from the steering wheel long enough to glom onto the gray patch melting by the edge of driveway.
This was not the snow she had wanted to share with her daughter. It was faded like everything else, its brilliance tainted by the shadows that seeped from her dark soul. It just wasn’t pretty anymore.
Chapter 5
As soon as she turned onto Chelsea’s street, Emma saw the familiar green Subaru parked in the driveway.
Thank you, God.
As she parked on the street, she noticed a figure in the driver’s seat behind windows that were opaque with steam. Chelsea was still in the car. For how long?
Through the misty window she could see the baby carrier in the back. Annabelle squirmed, probably eager to get out.
Chelsea was a mound in the driver’s seat, hunched over the steering wheel.
Emma rapped on the window, the glass cold against her knuckles.
Her sister didn’t move.
Emma knocked again. “Chelsea, honey, it’s me. Are you asleep?”
Again, no response.
If it’s locked, I’m calling the police, she thought. She didn’t know how to handle this. Chelsea needed real help, not her ditzy sister who had barely made it through Psych 101.
Her fingers closed around the door handle, and it popped open. From this close, she could see her sister’s shoulders trembling. Strands of hair fell over Chelsea’s face, and the scrunchie was slipping loose from her ponytail.
“Oh, honey . . . am I glad to see you.” She pressed her hand between Chelsea’s shoulder blades and gave her a little rub intended to sooth her. “You had me so scared.”
“I’m going crazy,” Chelsea sobbed into the sleeves of her jacket.
Such a thin blazer, and it was freezing out here. In the twenties. How could Chelsea stand to be out in this cold without her coat?
“I wanted to smash into the barrier. I almost turned the wheel and crashed the car with . . . with my baby in the back. I’m losing it. I’ve lost my mind.”
“You’re not crazy.” Emma banged into the steering wheel as she hugged her sister, wishing she could transmit feelings of love and security and hope with her touch. “But you’re going through a scary time. Promise me you won’t do anything to hurt yourself or Annabelle.”
“What’s the point? I’m crazy.” Chelsea’s shoulders shook as a sob tore through her.
“Chelsea, you are the most honorable person I know. So if you make this promise, I know you’ll keep it.”
“I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.”
“Just promise me,” Emma said, trying to rationalize her sister to a place where everyone could be safe for now. “Promise me.”
Chelsea sniffed. “I promise.”
“Okay then.” Emma stroked a hand over her sister’s smooth, shiny hair. She noticed a slip of paper on the passenger’s seat. A prescription. “Can you walk? Let’s get you and Annie inside, where it’s warm. I’m freezing my petooty off out here.”
Although Chelsea didn’t laugh, she did push away from the steering wheel and slide out of the car. Emma balanced her sister on one arm, struggling as she reached in to extract the keys. Chelsea was dead weight. She was falling apart and it was up to Emma to help her out of this. Mom had warned her that Chelsea would need help.
She guided her sister to the side door, managed to unlock the door with the key on her set, and ushered Chelsea in to the small kitchen. The place wasn’t looking its best, with dirty dishes and stacks of mail here and there. Clearly it wasn’t up to Chelsea’s high standards, which Emma suspected made Chelsea’s outlook even darker.
While Chelsea settled into her favorite corner of the sofa, Emma hurried back to the car for Annabelle. It worried her to leave the baby even for a minute, even with the car locked. Such precious cargo!
But Annie was fine, squirming and chirping those sharp little squeaks that probably were a sign of hunger. From her observations, nearly every one of Annie’s little disturbances seemed to boil down to cries for her mother’s milk.
Emma unstrapped her and lifted her out of the infant seat. “You’re getting heavy.”
Annabelle’s stern eyes found hers and her face puckered.
“Oh, don’t take it personally. You’re supposed to be gaining weight. Just like your aunt Emma.” She slammed the car door and moved up the driveway, stepping carefully. By the time they reached the door, Annie’s whimpers had accelerated to a crying session.
“Music to my ears,” Emma whispered, holding her close. She was so relieved that Annie and Chelsea were okay.
“It’s okay, little one,” Emma cooed as she carried the baby into the living room and placed her gently on the changing table that had been set up behind the couch. Although she couldn’t seem to reach Chelsea, this was something she could do . . . loving Annie. She leaned in to one of the baby girl’s chubby, sweet cheeks and planted rapid-fire kisses.
“What’s the matter, Annie-bananee?” Emma ignored the baby’s bleating cries as she stripped off her little terrycloth outfit. “I think you need a diaper change.”
Annabelle raged in response, her face red, her arms shaking.
“Oh, I know, my hands are cold,” Emma said. “Sorry, sweetie.”
Loving the infant squirming on the table, Emma set to changing her diaper. The changing table was chic, a cabinet that blended into the living room décor when the doors were closed. Chelsea had driven out to Long Island to find just the right table. Décor had been important before Annie was born; not so much afterward. Today the cabinet doors were open, with a balled-up diaper and a stray wipe on the floor by Emma’s feet. Before Annabelle was born, Chelsea had worked out every little detail of this room so that its design was interlaced with function. Eventually, Chelsea would care about things like design again . . . just not today.
Annabelle had soaked through her onesie, so Emma quickly replaced it with a pink romper with covered feet. “This is such a cute outfit. I love the little baby footie pajamas. I need to get some for these cold winter nights.”
Emma lifted her head to check on Chelsea, nestled into the couch. “So what do you think this cry means? You think she’s hungry?”
“She just ate at the doctor’s office. How could she be hungry again?” Chelsea pressed her fingertips to her temples and let out a breath. “She never follows the schedule. Whoever thou
ght a baby would pay attention to a feeding schedule? It’s all so ludicrous.”
“What do you think?” Emma scooped Annie up and rocked her in a dancing rhythm. “Should I try to put her down for a nap?”
“I don’t know. I’ll feed her again. Just give her to me.”
She sat beside Chelsea and held the baby toward her. “Here you go, Mom.”
Chelsea turned toward her, her blue eyes flashing with anger and annoyance. Was it because she’d said the word Mom, reminding them both of their own mother? Frowning, Chelsea took the baby, resting her on her lap while she unbuttoned her shirt.
Brushing the awkwardness aside, Emma offered Chelsea water or tea, or maybe a snack.
“Some cheese and crackers?”
It seemed inappropriate, offering a snack to someone who’d just been to the edge of hell and back, but Chelsea seemed unfazed. “No.”
Emma bit her lip, studying her sister. Should she press Chelsea to talk about her panic attack? She wanted answers, but she didn’t want to batter her poor sister with questions.
“Chels, do you want to talk about it? What happened on the parkway?”
Tears flooded Chelsea’s eyes. “There’s nothing to talk about. I freaked out. Crashing into the wall suddenly seemed like the right thing to do. I know it sounds crazy.” She swiped at her cheeks with her free hand. “I guess that’s it. I’m losing my mind.”
“But you’re not.” Emma sat down again, wishing she could hug her sister, spin her around. All the tricks that used to work to calm Chelsea when they were kids were now useless. “Honey, you’re upset because you care so much. I know you love Annie, and you’re not going to hurt yourself, right? You promised.”
Chelsea nodded.
“So just remember that, for starters. And when your medication starts to take effect, I’m sure you’ll start feeling better.”
A red flush suffused Chelsea’s cheeks as she collapsed into a sob. “The medication. Yeah, I have to get that filled, but it will take a week, at least. And I’m not allowed to see a therapist. And there was no blood test or screening.”
Emma squinted at her. “What do you mean?”
“Dr. Volmer says it’s just the baby blues and I should tough it out. And the insurance won’t pay for it.”
“Are you kidding me? There’s no toughing it out in your situation. I can’t believe that guy.”
Chelsea stared down at the floor. “Dr. Volmer doesn’t even like to prescribe medication.”
“Well, I don’t like to eat my vegetables, but it doesn’t keep me from digging into the broccoli.” Emma was so furious with Dr. Volmer, she wanted to march into his office and demand that he treat her sister properly. “Did you tell him everything that’s been happening? That this isn’t just a bad mood?”
“I told him enough.” Chelsea’s mouth twisted as she tried to hold back tears. “He said stuff like this happens to every new mother. He thinks I’m just a complainer.”
“Which couldn’t be farther from the truth.” What kind of a doctor treated a depressed woman this way? “You’re one of the strongest people I know. You’ve been dealing with this practically on your own since Annabelle was born, but honestly, sometimes the most difficult part of any illness is asking for help. You reached out for help, and he turned you away. What kind of a moron doctor can’t diagnose postpartum depression?”
“If that’s what I have,” Chelsea said, her voice hollow and thin. “We don’t know for sure.”
“I know for sure. Honey, you’ve got all the symptoms, and some of the key risk factors, too. Any decent doctor would see you’re suffering from postpartum depression.”
“That’s just a guess, Emma. You’re not a doctor. You’re not even a nurse.”
The comment stung, but Emma tried not to show it. Though a few years had passed, she was still sensitive about dropping out of nursing school. Nursing had been a dream of hers, but six months into the intensive program she had realized she didn’t have the math tools to make it through the meds and chemistry classes.
“I’m not a nurse,” she said quietly, “but I know how to research a topic, and I’ve been all over the Internet on this one.” She had combed through some books from the library, too—books she’d passed on to Chelsea—but she didn’t want to bicker right now. It wasn’t about winning the argument; the important thing was to get Chelsea some help. “This thing that’s knocked you over, there’s a cure for it. There’s a treatment that goes beyond a prescription. And, honey, you need the cure. It’s time to do an end run around this Dr. Volmer and get you to a specialist.”
Chelsea shook her head slowly, lowering the baby who had dropped off to sleep.
“Do you want me to take her?” Emma offered.
“Please, take her.” Chelsea handed Annabelle to her, pulled her shirt closed, and curled into the couch. “Take her away. Take her home with you so I don’t hurt her. I can’t be a good mother to her, but I know you’ll take care of her. You’ll keep her safe.”
“Oh, honey, don’t say that.”
But Chelsea closed her eyes and withdrew into herself, leaving Emma sitting there with the baby in her arms and a terrible feeling of inadequacy.
Chelsea needed help. She had almost run her car off the side of the expressway, and Emma couldn’t get her to talk about it. Her arms full of life and beauty, Emma leaned down to kiss the baby’s forehead.
Sweet Annabelle . . .
Someday, your mother will be back to normal, and you’ll know how much she loves you. Someday, you’ll bask in her love.
Hold on, little one. Better days will come.
She let Chelsea doze off while she took Annabelle to her crib and settled her on the mattress. “Sweet dreams.”
Back in the living room, Emma picked up two pillows that had fallen to the floor and sat beside her sister. Nestled in the couch, Chelsea rubbed the cuticle of one thumb as if scraping off paint. There was such turmoil in her demeanor, so much raw pain behind her stormy blue eyes.
Emma’s heart ached for her.
“About the doctor,” Emma began, trying not to badger. “I think it would be better if you saw someone else . . . a specialist.”
Chelsea shook her head. “Dr. Volmer is my assigned ob-gyn now. And we can’t afford to go out of plan. I promised Leo we could make his health insurance work.”
That was so typical of Chelsea: buck up and stick with the plan, even if it was killing you.
“Honey, I’m not going to let you suffer with this just because your lame insurance provider doesn’t want to shell out the money. We’ll put a little pressure on them and make them pay.”
“But they don’t listen. I struggle with them every day . . . all the time.” Chelsea chewed her thumb as she looked over at the disheveled stack of letters on the desk. “Sounder Health Care does not cave with pressure. They’re ruthless. They’re still refusing to pay for my C-section. The excuse is that the procedure wasn’t preauthorized, which was true. So I keep calling and telling them it was emergency surgery. And they keep saying my doctor has to submit some extra form, which they’ll send to me. P.S. Three months later, I still haven’t received the form. Instead I’ve got a mountain of bills they won’t pay.”
Chelsea wasn’t exaggerating; the bills were about to spill off the desk. “But we know they’ll pay eventually,” Emma pointed out. “Not to diminish your frustration, but a lot of insurers drag their heels. I think they just hope that people like you will give up and pay it themselves.”
Chelsea’s lower lip jutted out. “We can’t afford to pay it.”
“I know, honey. I just used you as an example.”
Tears flooded Chelsea’s eyes. “You don’t understand. Every day I call them. Every day they say they’ll fix things, but they don’t. They haven’t paid any of Annabelle’s bills either. They say she’s not on the plan until they scan her birth certificate. I’ve sent them five copies. Five. And still they don’t have it on record. They say things like ‘lost in
the mail’ or ‘it takes time to scan in.’ ”
“Monsters . . .” Emma felt a rush of sympathy. Normally, her sister would tear into unscrupulous business practices like this, but right now Chelsea didn’t have the stamina or strength to fight this battle. “I’ll help you straighten it out. Jake, too. We’ll get him to sue their ass. But for now, we’ve got to take care of you. I’m going to call my doctor, Virginia Chin. She’s a real woman’s advocate and a lot better informed than your Dr. Volmer.”
“But we can’t afford it,” she said. “We’re already drowning in insurance bills.”
“Don’t worry about the money right now. If we can get you in to see Dr. Chin, it will be my gift to you. Mine and Jake’s.” Emma realized that this would probably cost hundreds of dollars, but at this point she would pay thousands to get help for her sister. She reached into her purse for her cell phone. “I’m going to call her office right now. Maybe she’ll get you started on a prescription over the phone.”
“Would a doctor really do that?”
“Maybe. It doesn’t hurt to ask.” Emma rose and paced into the kitchen. The yogurt and berries she’d had for breakfast were a distant memory, and she didn’t want to deprive her baby of nutrients. The stack of dirty dishes, with something dark swirling in the water, put a dent in her appetite. She grabbed two slices of cheddar cheese from the fridge, then stepped out into the cold to make her call.
Sucking on the tart cheese while she waited on hold, she circled the little bench in the side yard, an old castoff that Chelsea had turned into a piece of art. Covered with mosaic tiles, it glimmered in the waning light of the pearl-gray winter sky.
The bench was a reminder of Chelsea’s vision and resourcefulness. In her work for the magazine she had brought old houses back to life, turning them into beautiful, functional spaces.
Emma wanted her sister back. Healthy and happy . . .
Dr. Chin was not available, but the nurse practitioner came on the line, and Emma quickly explained Chelsea’s situation.
Donna agreed that it sounded like Chelsea was suffering from PPD, but the doctor wouldn’t prescribe medication without an exam. “Dr. Chin will want to see her.”
All She Ever Wanted Page 4
