by Julie Cohen
‘Well, thanks,’ said Sarah. During the ride she’d only spoken to tell William which house was hers. She opened the door to get out.
Emily should tell Sarah to come into the office tomorrow. She should call Yvette when she got home and get her to book Sarah in and give her a call to tell her what time. She should ask some clinical questions, weigh the baby again, weigh Sarah, examine her again, and see about a prescription to help post-natal depression.
‘Do you have any coffee?’ Emily asked. ‘Or tea? I could do with a cup, if you’ve got some.’
Sarah hesitated, about to slide off the seat. ‘Um. Uh, yeah. I should have some. I think.’
‘Great. I won’t stay long.’ Emily smiled at her and Sarah’s forehead creased. But she got out of the truck, and Emily followed. She turned and leaned in toward William. ‘I could probably do with your help,’ she told him.
William also frowned. But he turned off the ignition and got out.
Sarah was heading for the house. Her feet fitted into boot-shaped prints in the snow. While she dug in the pocket of her coat for the key, Emily spoke to William. ‘Have you got a snow shovel in the back of your truck?’
‘Should have.’
‘She could do with her driveway cleared out, and her walkway. And the car. Come in for coffee after.’
William looked at the driveway. After a little while he nodded.
Emily followed Sarah into the kitchen and wiped her feet on the mat. The sink was full of unwashed dishes and there was an open box of Lucky Charms on the table next to a carton of milk. Sarah looked around as if the room were strange to her. ‘Uh . . . I think I have coffee somewhere.’
‘I’ll make it,’ said Emily. ‘You get Dottie settled.’
Sarah began taking off her coat. ‘She doesn’t sleep in her crib,’ she said. ‘She only likes to sleep on me. And when she’s not sleeping, she cries.’
‘Well, you must be tired after that walk. Sit down on the sofa and put your feet up, let Dottie sleep on you, and I’ll get the coffee on.’
Sarah was obviously too tired to argue. She nodded and went into the next room. Emily looked through the cabinets until she found a bag of French Vanilla coffee and some filters. She washed out the coffee pot before starting it to drip. When she glanced into the living room, Sarah was lying on the sofa, her boots and the baby sling discarded on the floor. She’d taken off Dottie’s knitted cap and both of them were fast asleep. How had she not noticed before, when she’d seen Sarah, that she had Polly’s hair?
Emily emptied the dishwasher and stacked it with dirty dishes and used baby bottles. She wiped down the surfaces and replaced the milk in the refrigerator, which was empty of any food except for a pack of cheese slices and a jar of pickles. The tumble dryer was full of clothes; she folded them, all the little baby clothes. Onesies embroidered with yellow ducks, tiny yellow socks. All of them chosen with care, all matching and perfect. She put them in the empty laundry basket.
She hadn’t even known that Sarah lived in Clyde Bay. She’d seen her only as a patient. But here in her kitchen she could see Sarah’s daily life: she was alone, tired, overwhelmed, in a twilight world of crying baby and all the domestic work to be done. Infants were hard, especially an infant who wouldn’t settle. And Emily had blithely told her not to turn down any help that was offered?
Who was offering Sarah any help?
The door opened and William came in, stamping wet snow off his boots. ‘Coffee?’ she asked him. She got down a couple of mugs and poured it.
He scratched his head. ‘Why are we here?’
‘Because this young woman is our neighbour, and I don’t think she has anyone else. She’s trying to do everything alone, and it’s not possible to do everything alone.’
‘I do.’
‘And look at what a good job you’ve done of it.’ She heard the baby stir and start to grizzle in the next room. When she went in, Sarah was struggling to sit up.
‘Can I have a cuddle with Dottie?’ she asked Sarah, who nodded. She picked up the baby, who was stiff and red-faced, and rubbed her little back. ‘She’s got a bit of colic, hasn’t she?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t know what’s wrong with her.’ Tears welled in Sarah’s eyes. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with me.’
William was standing in the doorway, mug of coffee in hand. He looked from Emily to the baby to Sarah in bemusement. ‘Put down the coffee,’ Emily told him. ‘You need to hold this baby and walk with her so I can talk with Sarah.’
‘I don’t know anything about babies.’
‘The first thing you need to know about them is that they don’t mix with hot liquids. Put down the coffee, and come here.’
She sniffed the baby to make sure she didn’t need changing, and then arranged Dottie in William’s arms, upright with her chin on his shoulder. The baby looked tiny in his arms. She had a yellow duck on the bottom of her onesie. ‘Just walk with her,’ she told him, ‘and pat her bottom.’
‘Pat her bottom?’
‘Like that. Yes. Good. You’re a natural.’ He wasn’t a natural – nobody was a natural the first time – but he would do. ‘Walk around the house with her for a little while – she’s soothed by movement. Talk to her a little. If she falls asleep, keep walking. If she spits up, there are some muslins in the kitchen.’
‘Spits up?’ said William, alarmed.
‘You’re washable.’
‘What do I talk to her about?’
‘Anything you want.’ She sat down on the sofa beside Sarah, who was wiping her eyes and watching this exchange with something like wonder. William walked into the kitchen, self-consciously patting the baby on her duck-clad bottom.
‘Do you sleep at all?’ Emily asked her.
‘Sometimes. Not much. She’s up every couple of hours and sometimes she feeds and sometimes she doesn’t.’ She sniffed, and Emily passed her a roll of toilet paper that was on the coffee table next to a jumble of baby bottles and clothes.
‘I’ll give Yvette a call and get her to make you an appointment with me this week, and also with my colleague Dr Black, who’s a paediatrician.’
Sarah’s eyes filled with tears again. ‘I’m not doing anything right.’
‘You are,’ said Emily. ‘You’re doing everything right. You love that baby and you are doing everything for her. But you have to look after yourself, too.’
‘I do love her. But I don’t know what to do for her. I’m a horrible mother. My mother – my mother could do anything with babies. I wish she were here.’
‘I miss my mother, too.’
Her own words surprised her. She did not speak of her own family with anyone other than Robbie and Adam. She avoided the questions, sometimes gracefully, sometimes not, when they were asked.
‘Is your mother in England?’
‘She’s dead. I’d just heard when I saw you in my office the last time. That was why I missed seeing that you were upset. I’m sorry, Sarah.’
‘Don’t be sorry. That’s awful. When my mom died it was the worst thing in my life.’ Sarah laughed shakily. ‘She would have killed me for having a baby without being married. But she would’ve forgiven me eventually. That’s what mothers do.’
Maybe if I’d done more, thought Emily, maybe if I’d tried harder, my mother would have forgiven me.
‘I hope so,’ said Emily. ‘I really do hope so.’
In the kitchen, she heard William talking to the baby – not the words, just the sound. She wondered what he was talking to her about.
‘Your stepson seems nice,’ said Sarah.
‘I think he can be when he tries.’ She smiled at Sarah. ‘Listen, we’ll do all the medical stuff when you come to my office. But, right now, I think you can do with some sleep. Why don’t you go to bed for an hour and William and I will look after Dottie. I’ll make up a feed an
d see if she’ll take it.’
‘You don’t have to do that.’
‘I want to. I’ve got a couple casseroles in the freezer; I’ll drop those by later. You need to sleep and to eat, Sarah. It’s no good for Dottie if you don’t look after yourself.’
‘Why are you helping me?’
‘Do you want the real reason? The selfish reason?’
‘You’re not selfish.’
‘You remind me of my sister. I mean, you’re nothing like her in personality, but you look like her, a little bit. And I miss my sister.’
‘Is . . . did she die, too?’
Emily shook her head. ‘No. But it’s too late for her and me. So I need to make things right with the people around me. And now that includes you and Dottie.’
In the end, Sarah slept for two hours. After some experimentation, William had discovered that Dottie liked lying stomach-down on his forearm, arms and legs dangling either side, head cradled in his big hand. After a feed she fell asleep like that. William held her and looked out the window, not saying much, glancing down at the baby every now and then, while Emily got on with doing some more laundry.
Maybe if she had tried harder. Maybe if she had brought Adam over to England to see her family, years ago, when he had been a baby. Babies healed, babies helped. At the time she had been too afraid of rejection, too afraid she wouldn’t be able to bear it if they sent her away, but maybe she should have tried. Her mother and father had wanted grandchildren so badly.
It was too late now to do anything differently. All those choices had been made.
With the baby on his arm, William could rock her easily back and forth. She slept with her little lips pursed out.
‘You really are a natural,’ she said to him. ‘I was just saying it before, but now I really mean it.’
‘Nah.’
‘Have you ever thought about having children one day?’
‘I’d just fu—’ he glanced at the baby— ‘mess it up, like I mess up everything.’
‘You’d be surprised how much responsibility can change you. Responsibility and connection.’
He shrugged. There was a small noise from the doorway and they both looked up to see Sarah, her hair mussed from the pillow. ‘You got her to sleep,’ she said to William. ‘Thank you.’
William actually blushed. Emily watched it with wonder.
‘Your front porch step needs shoring up if it’s going to last the winter,’ he said to her. ‘I’ll do that for you before we go. I’ve got some wood in my truck.’
A little later, in William’s truck, Emily said, ‘You’re very like him, you know.’
‘I wouldn’t know.’
‘Maybe you’ll get the chance to find out.’
He grunted. She wondered, again, what he’d said to the baby.
‘So, are you going to Portsmouth?’ she asked.
He drove for a few minutes in silence. They passed the place where they had seen Sarah walking, where Emily had thought the young woman was Polly, a younger Polly, before all the bitterness and separation.
‘I might drop you off at home,’ he said, ‘and then go down to the boatyard for a while. Help Adam with that dinghy.’
Robbie was in the office, on the phone with a client, when he glanced across the workshop and saw William walk in. He went straight to the corner where Adam was working. Robbie saw the smile break on Adam’s face when William spoke to him.
He finished updating the client and put down the phone, watching his two sons together for a little while. He watched William pick up a piece of fine-grade sandpaper and kneel beside Adam at the little boat’s hull. The two of them, dark hair and light, a grown man and a boy on his way to being grown. They sanded with the same movement, the same rhythm, stroking their fingertips over the wood to check its finish.
He joined them. ‘Nice to see you, William.’
William looked up, and Robbie saw his expression change from calm to wary. And that was all right, maybe. William was here, at least. Sometimes being present was all that mattered.
‘I thought I’d better help,’ said William, ‘if Adam’s going to get this boat in the water before he turns thirty.’
What miracle had Emily wrought? He’d have to wait till he got home to find out.
‘I’ll help too,’ said Robbie. He picked up a piece of sandpaper and began to work beside them, rubbing down the rough wood into smoothness.
PART THREE
1975-1977
Chapter Fifteen
July 1975
Miami, Florida
‘You’re doing so well, darling. So well. Everything’s going to be all right. You just need to push now.’
Jaquinda shook her head. ‘I can’t. I can’t push.’ She gasped it out with the strength of the contraction.
‘You need to,’ said Emily. ‘Your body is telling you to, for a good reason.’
‘I’m too scared.’
Emily took off her glove. She reached for Jaquinda’s hand and she held it. The other woman’s grip was crushing, desperate.
‘I understand why you’re frightened,’ Emily told her. ‘Anyone would be.’
‘Are you frightened?’ Jaquinda’s face was shiny and wet with the pain of labour and the effort of clenching her body tight.
‘A little tiny bit,’ said Emily. ‘But I know that everything is going to be all right this time, Jaquinda. I’m certain of it.’
‘How can you be certain?’ Jaquinda wailed.
Emily couldn’t. Every birth was a risk, and this one especially. Jaquinda had had two second-trimester miscarriages and a stillbirth. Everything with this pregnancy, so far, had been normal. But so had her last pregnancy – and the ones that had miscarried, too. They had all been fine. Both mother and baby were healthy. Right up until the moment they weren’t.
She’d been waiting for the call to say that Jaquinda was in labour for the past two weeks, both anticipating it and dreading it in equal measure. She could only imagine how Jaquinda and her husband Miguel felt.
‘I’m certain,’ she told Jaquinda, knowing that if anything went wrong, Jaquinda might never believe her again. Emily would have destroyed their patient/doctor trust with a single lie. And she and Jaquinda weren’t merely doctor and patient any more; she had gone through some of Jaquinda’s ordeals with her and, as a high-risk patient, Jaquinda had seen her for frequent antenatal appointments.
But sometimes it was better to tell a patient what they needed to hear, instead of the strict truth. Eight months ago, Jaquinda had told her, ‘This is the last chance. I can’t go through it any more. If this baby doesn’t survive, we’re going to stop trying.’ So perhaps, if this went wrong, she would never see Jaquinda again anyway. Emily wasn’t sure if she would have been strong enough to try for a fourth time herself, if she had lost three babies.
Jaquinda panted in between contractions, her belly heaving. Emily moved up so that she could look into her patient’s eyes. They were wide, the whites bloodshot, the irises almost as dark as the pupils. Jaquinda had refused pain relief. She was afraid of losing control.
‘This is going to be fine,’ she said. ‘You’re doing really well. And you are going to hold your healthy baby in your arms. You are, Jaquinda. You’re going to be a mum.’
Jaquinda shook her head. Her expression battled between hope and fear.
‘You are. I have faith. And you’re surrounded by the best people to help you. But you’ve got to trust, Jaquinda. I know you want to keep this baby inside you where it’s safe, but you have to push now. With the next contraction. All right?’
‘I don’t want to.’
‘You have to. Promise me, darling. Promise me, Jaquinda. It’s the best thing for your baby if you push.’
Jaquinda nodded, and her face immediately contorted into the pain from the latest contraction. Em
ily swiftly put on a fresh glove and moved into position.
She could see the baby’s head. She could see Jaquinda still clenched tight. She put her hands on Jaquinda’s legs, hoping the touch would comfort her. It must be such an effort for Jaquinda to resist every instinct in her body, to try to keep the baby in when everything wanted her to push it out. It must take an enormous effort, and enormous fear.
‘Push now, Jaquinda. Please push.’
Jaquinda let out a hoarse, incoherent yell as instinct overran fear and she bore down.
The baby crowned and Emily supported its head with her hand. Twenty months ago she had just started at this hospital and she had held Jaquinda’s baby’s head in her gloved hand and had felt the sick, impotent sensation when she saw that underneath the slick of hair, the baby’s scalp was blue.
The best people hadn’t been able to help Jaquinda then. Emily hadn’t been able to help her.
‘You’re doing marvellously, Jaquinda. I think the baby’s head is going to be delivered in the next contraction. You’re so brave. So very brave. Miguel is going to be proud of you, and so is this little person.’
‘I can’t do this,’ Jaquinda sobbed.
‘Yes, you can. You can do it. It’s the most natural thing in the world, and in a few minutes you’re going to hold your baby in your arms.’
The baby was blue, its limbs floppy. As if made of rubber. The most unnatural sight in the world. Jaquinda panting, and Emily silent, the nurses silent; and over everything, quieter than them all, the baby’s silence.
‘Why isn’t my baby crying?’ Jaquinda had asked.
The contraction came. Jaquinda yelled and pushed and the baby’s head was a hot slippery weight in Emily’s hand.
‘It’s going to be all right,’ Emily said. ‘It’s all going to be all right.’
‘Please,’ said Jaquinda. ‘Please, God, please. Please. Please.’
