Tomorrow and Always

by Rachel Ann Nunes

  Karissa was amazed at their strength and self-discipline. “We’ll come back tomorrow, then,” she promised.

  “Oh, can’t you tell us some more names of the plants?” begged Camille.

  Karissa thought she might have found a kindred soul. “Sure. Look, this one’s an orange tree. And I have a grapefruit as well. I brought those with me from California.”

  “Do they give real fruit?”

  “Yes, really small ones in October. But only if I remember to pollinate them.”

  “What?”

  “Pollinate. It’s what the bees usually do. But here I have to shake the blossoms to spread the pollen around. It’s quite involved.”

  Karissa continued with her explanation as Camille listened in fascination and the others with tolerance. Then she moved to the next plant. Before she realized it, she had named over half the plants in the greenhouse.

  “Girls,” Brionney called from the door, “your father’s home. Time for scripture and prayer.”

  “Bye, Aunt Karissa,” the girls chimed together. Savannah and Rosalie ran toward their mother, but Camille paused. “I really like the plants,” she said. “Do you think I could help you water them sometime?”

  “Sure, Camille.”

  The little girl ran off, padding on her bare feet along the pathway.

  “Thank you, Karissa,” Brionney said from the doorway. “I appreciate your letting the girls come in here, and for letting us stay at your house.”

  “You’re welcome.” Karissa found she meant it. “Besides, if you keep making food like that, I’m going to beg you to stay.”

  Brionney laughed. “Trial and error, you know. I wasn’t always such a good cook. And now I’m afraid I eat too much. I was thin once—not like you, but thinner than now. Only I keep getting pregnant and never have the chance to get it off.” She shrugged. “My only comfort is that Jesse has gained weight, too.”

  They laughed together. “Jesse really loves you,” Karissa told her. “I don’t think it matters to him what you weigh.”

  “You’re right, it doesn’t. But all men aren’t that way.” A curious shadow flitted over her face and was gone. Karissa wondered what it meant. For the first time, she felt something other than envy for the other woman. Perhaps it was the beginning of friendship.

  After Brionney left, Karissa made the rounds to her favorite plants, checking for pests and watering problems. She had enjoyed being with the girls, and an idea was forming in her mind. Even though she couldn’t have her own children, perhaps she could find a way to share in these three little girls’ lives.

  Or perhaps finally a specialist would be able to help her have a baby. Karissa couldn’t help the new hope burgeoning inside. Fresh and painful though the feeling was, she didn’t fight it. For once, she would allow herself to dream, however briefly, of a happier future.

  She went to bed happily, curled up against Malcolm. But she had forgotten the medication, and the dream came again, relentlessly pushing its way into her subconscious. She was looking out the window in an upper floor of her house, a baby cradled in her arms. The baby clapped her hands joyfully as Karissa showed her the outside world. Then the baby was falling from the window as Karissa clutched at the empty air after her, screaming in horror, “No! I didn’t drop you! Come back!”

  The baby looked at her calmly as she plunged to the dark earth, seeming to ask, “Why did you do it?”

  Karissa awoke, sweating in the cold of the night. At her side, Malcolm slept soundly. She felt at the nightstand beside her bed and grabbed a sleeping pill, swallowing it dry. There. Now there would be no more dreams.

  Chapter Five

  Malcolm awoke early on Monday morning. He showered and dressed before Karissa had even stirred. Finally, he woke her with a single kiss on her cheek. She opened her eyes groggily.

  “Sorry to wake you,” he said, “but the doctor’s coming in especially for us. We wouldn’t want to keep him waiting.”

  The hope flared in her emerald eyes before she could stop it. For a moment she looked so . . . so unprotected in her white nightgown with her tousled dark hair framing her pale face. As if reading his thoughts, she turned her head. When she next met his gaze, her feelings had been masked, leaving only the memory.

  She should have hope, he thought. He did. He could never believe they wouldn’t have children, even if they were to adopt. Having Jesse’s daughters at the house had only increased his desire for a child. But would Karissa agree to adoption? The only time he’d ever brought it up, she’d reacted violently. “There’s nothing wrong with me!” she had said. Her face flushed, and he sensed there was something she was not telling him.

  “But maybe this is what we’re supposed to do,” he’d countered.

  “If God wants us to have a baby, then He’ll give us a reason why we can’t have children. Or He’ll send us a baby. Maybe we’re not ready to be parents yet. Let’s just give it more time!”

  So he’d backed off, thinking that maybe she wasn’t ready. Now two more years had slipped away.

  While Karissa showered, Malcolm made coffee and toast. She appeared a mere fifteen minutes later with her hair still hanging in wet tendrils, dressed in a sleek black and white plaid suit that hugged her slender figure and accentuated her womanliness. He had always appreciated her beauty. It was what had drawn him to her at the first, though he had found so much more beyond her physical appearance. Or at least he had once.

  “Coffee?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “Not today. Is there any orange juice?”

  “Yes, but I think Brionney must have brought it. Have some, and we’ll replace hers on the way back.”

  They ate their toast and jam in silence, occasionally glancing at each other. Why don’t we have anything to say? Malcolm wondered.

  A flurry of footsteps on the kitchen stairs broke the silence, and he looked up to see three curious faces peering in the door. Malcolm glanced at Karissa, whose features softened as she spied the children. Once again, he was reminded of the woman he had married.

  Jesse appeared in the doorway behind the girls, rubbing his eyes. He looked at Malcolm. “Looks like I’m on breakfast detail for the next few months. Brionney can barely get out of bed in the morning. She still feels sick during the afternoon, but at least she can function somewhat then. I feel so bad for her.”

  “She’s sick because we’re going to have a baby,” Savannah said.

  “I wish Mom would have two so I could have one all to myself,” Camille mumbled. Jesse gave a short, abrupt laugh, but for a brief moment his brown eyes looked strangely sad.

  Malcolm smiled. “We’ll leave you to it, then. Karissa and I have an appointment in Kodiak.” He glanced at his watch. “You ready, hon?”

  “Yes.” She said good-bye to the girls and followed him out the door.

  Since both needed to work after the appointment, they drove separately to Kodiak in the drizzling rain. As they approached the hospital, Malcolm’s nervousness grew. So much seemed to be riding on this new doctor; he didn’t know if their marriage could take one more failure.

  The sky was streaked with different shades of gray, looking like a child’s painting, but one with a certain something that demanded his attention. The clouds were not puffy like those from a storybook, but were long, irregular ones, random and erratic, yet striking a chord within him. Behind these odd clouds, the sun tried to poke through, sending shafts of frail light into the bold gray. Far beyond the clouds, out over the water, Malcolm could see a large blue stretch of sky, reaching as far as he could see. The end to the rain was on the way—if the direction of the wind held.

  He stifled the urge to stop and get out the video camera he usually kept in the Jeep for opportunities like this. The clouds would make a great scene in his documentary.

  Dr. Taylor had arrived at the hospital and was waiting for them in one of the examining rooms. He was an extremely thin, youngish man of average height who had pale hazel eyes. His head was n
early devoid of hair, except for a scruffy fringe of white circling the back of his head. “Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Mathees? Come on in. How are you today?”

  “Good, thanks. And yourself?” Malcolm asked, shaking the man’s hand. Karissa shook his hand as well but was strangely silent, her face drawn and white.

  The doctor smiled as he picked up their file. Each of his motions exuded a sense of brisk confidence. “I’ve examined your records, and I must say, I feel the other doctors’ assessments were correct. However, I’m willing to do all the tests again, if that’s what you want.”

  “It is,” Karissa said.

  “Very well, let’s begin. Maybe we’ll find something the others missed.” Dr. Taylor called in his assistant and went to work.

  “I’ll call you by the end of the week to let you know the results, and about any additional tests we might need,” the doctor said when at last they were finished.

  Malcolm stood up and proffered his hand. “Thank you.”

  “Uh, Dr. Taylor?” Karissa began hesitantly. “Do you think the way a person eats could affect fertility? I mean, if we ate right and didn’t smoke, could it have any effect?”

  “Well, nutrition is vital in reproduction, and while I don’t think it has actually been proven to affect conception, my feeling is this: if it helps during pregnancy, then why not before? Certainly stranger things have happened. If I can find nothing physically wrong with you, then it’s as good a chance as anything that poor nutrition or smoking could be the cause. We’re a long way from knowing everything about the human body.

  “As to whether or not you should quit smoking in the overall picture, consider that if you don’t quit smoking, any baby you do have will be at risk. Recently I read that over six thousand children die annually in the United States because their parents smoke. Many of these deaths are caused by low birth weight because their mothers smoked while they were pregnant, and another two thousand deaths that are labeled sudden infant death syndrome are actually ascribed to secondhand smoke. Then there are more than a thousand respiratory failures and hundreds of children who are burned to death in fires related to smoking. Children also die from smoking-related asthma attacks. Our country spends billions of dollars a year to treat asthma and ear infections that could be eliminated if the children’s parents would quit smoking.” The doctor shook his head. “Those are not pretty numbers, either in dollars or in deaths.”

  “I had never realized it was so serious,” Karissa said, her green eyes open wider than Malcolm had ever seen them.

  “Then there’s the whole question of your own health,” the doctor continued, “and the choices your child will make when he’s older. Do you want your child to smoke? Do you want to die of lung cancer before you get to play with your grandchildren? These are some serious questions all smoking parents have to ask themselves. Me, I’d rather see those cancer-sticks banned completely. I’ve seen too much hurt and death because of them.”

  For a moment the doctor’s professional manner had slipped, and Malcolm could see the inner man. He had the distinct impression that Dr. Taylor cared about them deeply, that he was the type who cared not only about his own patients, but even people he only read about. In Malcolm’s opinion, there were not many men like him left in the world.

  “Now, your last doctor prescribed fertility pills,” Dr. Taylor continued in his former brisk manner. “I’d rather wait until all the tests come in before I do that again. I’m hopeful we’ll find and resolve whatever it is that’s holding you up.”

  “Thank you,” Karissa said, then walked with him to the door. “I appreciate your coming in to see us.”

  “Anytime. Of course, you know that you’re not my only patients on this island, only my first. I’m seeing four other couples today.”

  Malcolm nodded. When specialists did visit Kodiak, they usually had people lined up to see them. Dr. Taylor would probably have others coming in besides those with firm appointments.

  As they left the room, Karissa looked at Malcolm, holding his eyes with her gaze. “What would you consider your greatest sin?”

  Malcolm’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “My greatest sin?”

  “You do believe in sin, don’t you?”

  “Well, I’ve sinned in the past—”

  “I don’t mean those kinds of sins.” She stared down at the shiny tile in the hospital corridor where the overhead lights reflected from above. “There’s nothing you can do about those kinds of sins. You can’t go back and change the past. I mean sins we do every day, like smoking.”

  “Is smoking a sin?” he asked, wishing he knew what she was driving at.

  “The Church says it is, and so does the medical community. It hurts our bodies.” She paused, as though waiting for him to say something.

  “I guess it’s a sin,” he said. “I just haven’t thought about it. But is it any worse than drinking and not going to church? I don’t know how you can classify sins as being better or worse. They’re all sins.”

  “Would you be willing to give up smoking and coffee and alcohol for a baby?” Her green eyes still refused to leave his.

  “Does this have anything to do with my mother?” He didn’t bother to keep the aggravation from his voice.

  Her lips pursed slightly. “Maybe. But your nephew said that if we wanted something, we should be willing to give up our greatest sin. Do you think that might work for us? Despite . . . despite . . .”

  Whatever she had planned on saying, she obviously couldn’t finish it. Malcolm felt a rush of tenderness toward his wife. She was usually so self-assured. “Are you asking me if God would help us?”

  She looked away. “I—I guess so.”

  He wanted to reply but didn’t know the answer. It had been a long time since he’d been sure about anything regarding religion. He took a step away, finally free of her eyes, but she put a hand on his arm.

  “I’m willing to do it, Malcolm.” She met his gaze once again. “Are you? I’ll give up smoking and everything that’s not healthy, if you will.”

  He made a quick decision, prompted by her desperate expression. “Let’s give it a try.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t just try. I have to do it. Trying makes it sounds like I might fail.” She’d never looked so vulnerable as she did at that moment, and Malcolm knew he still loved her.

  “Okay, Karissa. We’ll do it.” He hugged her tightly. When he let her go, she had hold of his cigarettes, lifted from the front pocket of his button-down shirt. She tossed them into a garbage can, then rummaged through her purse to throw her Camels into the bin as well. She looked determined, and Malcolm felt guilty for the craving already rising in his gut.

  “Are you going out to Karluk again?” she asked.

  He nodded. “We finished the commercial, but I decided to work on my documentary while I’m there. It’ll be another day or so before I have enough footage of the area, then I’ll move to the other parts of Kodiak that I want to film. I especially want to get some good shots from the top of Pillar, and of course I’ll need to go to the National Wildlife Refuge. Not everyone knows that three quarters of Kodiak is a wildlife preserve.”

  “Not many people outside of Alaska have even heard of Kodiak.”

  “They will when my documentary is aired.” He still felt contentment at having found ample backing for his pet project. He enjoyed the work much more than shooting commercials.

  “Better not make it too good, or we’ll have more tourists than we can handle,” she teased.

  He was glad to see her smile again. “Where else can you catch halibut over three hundred pounds?”

  She laughed. “A lot of places in Alaska.”

  “Yeah, but none so pretty as Kodiak.”

  “I guess.” Her voice lacked conviction, as it always did when they discussed Kodiak’s wonders. Before he could think about it too deeply, she grimaced at her watch. “I’ve got to go. Good luck. I’ll see you tonight.” She kissed him quickly on the lips, then turned and disap
peared in the direction of her office.

  Malcolm watched after her for a moment. Then he glanced down and saw his full pack of cigarettes in the open wastebasket. With a quick check to make sure no one was looking, he scooped them out and put them back in his pocket. No use letting a full pack go to waste. He could give it to one of the guys working the cameras for him.

  “Hey Malcolm!”

  Guiltily he turned. “Hi, Jesse.”

  “Have you seen Karissa?” Jesse was out of breath, as though he had been hurrying. “She’s not in her office, and I’ve got to go over some of these papers with her. I’m late getting here because of Brionney being sick and because Savannah took so long getting ready for school, and now I’m worried about having the presentation ready before this afternoon.”

  “She should be in her office now. We just finished our appointment.”

  “Oh, thanks.” Jesse ran his hand through his hair. “For such a small place, Kodiak can get awfully hectic.” He turned to go. “At least the rain seems to be letting up.”

  “Uh, Jesse,” Malcolm said.

  His friend paused. “Yes?”

  “I was just going to ask you about your mission. You went to England, right?”

  “Yeah. It was great.”

  “The best two years of your life?” Malcolm tried to make his voice light, but the words his nephew had spoken at his homecoming had been bothering him.

  “The best two years? I don’t know about that. It was fun and hard and spiritual, but nothing compared to when Brionney and I were married in the Provo Temple. Then my daughters were born—that was really neat—and I’ve had some wonderful experiences blessing them or spending time with them. No, my mission definitely wasn’t the best two years of my life, not at all. And I expect the future holds even better things.” He watched Malcolm curiously. “What’s this about, anyway?”

  Malcolm shrugged. “Just wondering. Some men say their missions were the best two years of their entire lives. I wanted to know what you thought.”

  “Well, you could ask yourself. I mean, I’ll bet you and Karissa have had some really great moments, experiences that keep you together. You know.” He clapped Malcolm on the back. “We’ll see you at your place. I really appreciate your letting us stay there.” He snapped his fingers. “That reminds me, I’m supposed to pick up a treat for family night. Can’t forget, or the girls’ll never forgive me.” Pulling out a thin note pad, he scribbled something as he walked down the hall.