I’m Keeping You

by Jane Lark

  I got changed in the room, watching Rach as she slept, then went over to the narrow desk opposite the bathroom and scribbled on a piece of hotel paper, with the pen they’d left there. ‘I’ve gone for a run, Rach, I need some air and exercise, that’s all, don’t worry, I’ll be back soon xxx, I love you, Jason :-) .’ I left the note on the nightstand and moved her cell over to there so she had it if she wanted to call me.

  Then I put my earphones in, hung the Do Not Disturb sign on the outside of the door and left her, my heart thumping.

  It was the first time I’d left her alone in that state. I didn’t know if it was right or wrong to do it. But I needed to run. The woman was right. I’d be in a better condition to look after her if I looked after myself. I could cope if I had time to run. I ran fast, like I had the day before, challenging myself and pushing harder and harder. My breathing formed a hard, fast rhythm, like my feet hitting the asphalt as I ran along the sidewalk, then over Manhattan Bridge. I ran past the place where I’d found Rach.

  That day she’d been so low she couldn’t even remember how she’d gotten from Mr. Rees’s to the bridge.

  The woman was right. Rach had to be on meds, for her safety and for the safety of the people around her, and if she was too sick to make the choice, I had to. I was going to have to be the meds police. It was better that she was safe and dopey than dangerous and hurting, and I loved her whatever—it didn’t matter if we weren’t having a ton of exciting sex—God, when I’d been with Lindy, I’d hardly had sex, I hadn’t even really discovered it until I’d met Rach. I could live with a slower sex life. I didn’t like Rach dragging me into restrooms anyway, not when it was only done because she was sick.

  As I kept running, I worked out in my head that the answer was simple. All I had to do was keep loving her.

  When I got back to the room I was sweaty and hot, she wasn’t awake, and she didn’t look like she’d woken. I opened the curtains, to give the room a lighter atmosphere, took my earphones out and left them and my cell on the nightstand. She didn’t wake.

  I went into the bathroom to have a shower, then changed into jeans and a top. When I came back into the room I decided the time had come. I had the inner strength to wake her up and hold it together; she’d never guess I’d fallen to pieces.

  I picked up her meds, poured a glass of water and put them beside the bed. Then picked up my cell and looked up the video I’d made of Saint laughing at the worm in a can we’d used as a Halloween trick. God, I loved his laugh. It filled my soul and gave me energy. I sat down on the bed beside Rach and played it near her ear. Her eyelids moved, as though she’d heard it.

  I played it again.

  Her eyelids lifted and her pale-green, mossy eyes looked at me. I stroked her blonde hair behind her ear. It was lank today because she hadn’t gotten up and washed it. “Saint,” she breathed.

  She was really bad; her brain had gone into shutdown. She was talking through a dense oppressive fog, I could see it in her eyes. “He’s not on the phone, it’s the video. I wanted you to wake up. I want you to take your meds.” I took a breath. “For me… Because I want you to be well, and you aren’t well at the moment.”

  She didn’t answer, just looked at me, but I knew she didn’t have the energy to move. I touched the play icon again in the hope that the sound of Saint’s laughter would seep into her brain and change her mood. I put my cell down, leaving it to play, and popped a pill out of the packet.

  I lifted her head and shoulders, with an arm around her, and put the pill in her mouth. She obeyed my commands without a battle. I gave her the water and got her to take a sip to wash it down. She lay back down then and started crying and trembling.

  I slipped off my shoes and walked around the bed, then lay down beside her, wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close, so her head rested on my chest. She continued crying and shaking.

  Bipolar was a sickness, the same as MS or cystic fibrosis, or anything else more physical, and if she had something physical I wouldn’t hesitate in committing to support her forever. I’d married her in sickness and in health. Just because this wasn’t something physical but mental, and I couldn’t see it, or manage it easily for her, I’d been letting it scare me. I had to stop letting it scare me. So, yeah, I’d go to a group and admit I needed help.

  I’d faced everything in life head on, I tackled stuff, chucked myself at it, ran at it. I’d been brought up with a belief that hard work always won out. But if I needed to work hard and be strong for Rach and Saint for the rest of my life, this wasn’t something I could run at. If I put all my energy into it, I was going to burn out. I needed to recharge. I had to support me too. I’d been working hard to fix things, but Rach’s illness wasn’t fixable. The solution was accepting how it was. I’d never make Rach better, but I could love her, happy or down, and while I did that, I had to be me, strong or weak, hurting or happy. None of those emotions were wrong; they were just going to be a part of the fault line I’d chosen to live on.

  I felt better with a plan.

  She fell asleep on my chest. I lay quiet and held her.

  People with a physical condition could pop a painkiller and it would take away the pain within an hour; Rach’s pills would take days to work again. Bipolar was not a nice thing.

  She woke up at five o’clock and suddenly leaned up on one elbow, her palm settling on my chest. “Have I slept all day?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Sorry.”

  My fingers stroked through her hair. “You don’t have to be sorry for being who you are.”

  “You’ll make me cry.”

  “It’s okay if you want to cry, if crying makes you feel better.”

  She sniffed and did start crying. I laughed. Which perhaps was a bit inappropriate, but it was funny the way her tears had switched on when I’d given them permission.

  “You’re laughing?”

  “Yeah, I feel better. Do you remember I gave you your pill?”

  She shook her head.

  “Well, I did, and I’m going to keep giving them to you, and watching you take them, so I know you’ve had them, because I want you to be okay. I love you and I don’t want to see you going through what you’ve been going through since we’ve been in New York.”

  Her forehead dropped against my shoulder and she hugged me. “I love you too.”

  I smiled, then started moving. “Come on, get up. You can argue with me about your meds when you feel better, if you want. I know you’re not up to anything now, but, for the record, you won’t win anyway so you may not want to bother trying. I’ll run you a bath, you can have a soak that’ll make you feel a little better, and I’ll call down for room service so we don’t have to go out, then we can chill out up here and pick a film.”

  She nodded as I climbed off the bed.

  I went into the bathroom and started running the water for her.

  “Hey, Mom. Can I speak to Saint?” The words were said quietly.

  I walked back into the room. She was lying down with her cell to her ear.

  “Hi, darling, it’s Mommy,” she whispered into the cell. “I love you.”

  She was silent, for a moment, then—

  “Hush, little baby, don’t say a word, Papa’s gonna buy you a mocking bird.” Her voice was really low and husky from sleep. It was beautiful and entrancing—like her. “And if that mocking bird won’t sing, Papa’s gonna buy you a diamond ring, and if that diamond ring don’t shine… “

  She was terrified she was a bad mom. She wasn’t. She was a wonderful mom. She loved Saint so much.

  My heart swelled with the love I felt for them both.

  I bent and clasped her foot through the comforter, and gave it a squeeze.

  She gave me a little smile when she’d finished the song, then she was silent for a moment, and just listened, I presumed, to Saint’s reaction.

  She held the cell out to me. “Do you wanna speak?”

  “Yeah.”

  I took the cel
l, and held it to my ear. I could hear him breathing. “Hey, trouble, it’s Daddy. How have you been doing? Have you been keeping Granny and Grampy up at night?”

  There was a slightly different sound, like Saint had listened and answered, in his baby form of talking, just different sorts of breaths. “I love you, buddy, I’m missing you like crazy. So’s Mommy.”

  Rach watched me. I smiled at her, broadly, telling her, I love you. I’d recharged. I had the energy to deal with this. I did.

  Mom came on the call. “Hello, darling. How are you? Rachel said you weren’t there yesterday, she didn’t sound well.”

  “She’s doing alright. She’s a tough girl. She’ll be fine and we’ll be home soon anyway, as soon as this is fixed.” I’d refused to think all day about the fact that it wasn’t fixed and there was no sign of it being fixed. I was going to fix Mr. Rees. I was going to run as fast as I could at it and fix Mr. Rees. That did not have to be like it was.

  “I’m glad things sound okay, sweetheart, look after yourself and Rachel. Give our love to her.”

  “I will do. I love you, Mom. Thanks for everything you’re doing.” It was odd that she’d chosen those words, look after yourself and Rachel, but knowing me, she’d probably said that a hundred times and I hadn’t heard what she’d meant.

  “We love you too.”

  “Bye.” I ended the call and put Rach’s cell back on the nightstand.

  She was lying there watching me.

  “I’ll check the water for your bath. What do you want to eat?”

  “Do you reckon they’ll have a grilled cheese sandwich?”

  “If they don’t have one I’ll tell them to fucking go buy the stuff and make one.”

  She gave me a weak smile before I turned away to go and check on her bath. The water was deep enough, and warm. I tipped some of the hotel’s shower gel into it and swished it around so it gave her some bubbles.

  “Thanks.” She was at the door.

  I straightened up. “You’re welcome.”

  “I’m sorry I shouted at you yesterday.”

  “That’s okay, I know you didn’t mean it.”

  “Are you still angry with me?”

  “I wasn’t angry with you then. I was struggling for a while. I’m okay now.”

  “Sorry.” She came toward me. She only had her panties and a loose tee on, another one of my old ones that she’d adopted and kept since we’d gotten together. Her arms wrapped around my middle and she pressed against me.

  My hand stroked over her hair. “I love you.”

  “Thank you—for loving me. I know I never ask how you are, but I do care… I love you so much…”

  “I know.”

  I wrapped her up tight in my arms, hugging her right back, and gave her a squeeze like I did with Saint when I hugged him. “I’d suggest that you just make sure she knows how much you love her, and that you’ll be there for her… Go give your Rachel a cuddle.”

  My cell rang in the other room. I let her go. “You get in the bath.”

  My cell was vibrating and ringing on the nightstand by the bed. I picked it up. The screen said Justin. “Hey. What’s up?”

  “Hi, Jason, it’s Portia. I know something. I think I worked out where and exactly when Mr. Rees is buying drugs.”

  Oh Lord. “Yeah…”

  “Yeah, he goes to a gym every Friday morning at eleven-thirty. He had it down as a business meeting, but I checked the address because it’s the only constant he has on that day, and it’s a gym and we know he’s got a gym in his penthouse, so I’m guessing he isn’t there to exercise.”

  My heart did a frickin’ leap in my chest. “How good a bet do you reckon this is?”

  “A very good bet, eighty percent…”

  Shit. Had we caught him? “Thanks, Portia. What should I do? Is it safe to call the cops? What if we’re wrong?”

  “If it was me I’d call them anonymously, from a phone that can’t be traced to you. Then if I’m wrong, there’ll be no comeback. But I think I’m right. Can you imagine him stopping in a parking lot to pick up his fix? No, he’d go somewhere indoors, and somewhere he can be private without being obvious. What better place than a gym locker room?”

  “Okay, I’ll call the cops. Thanks again. You didn’t have to help.”

  “You’re welcome. You’ll keep in touch this time, won’t you? Justin missed you.”

  “Hey!” He shouted in the background.

  “He did. He likes you. He doesn’t have a guy to talk to at work since you left.”

  I smiled into my cell. “Tell him I’ll keep in touch. I promise. But he does pretty good at talking to the girls.”

  She laughed.

  She was okay. “What’s the name of the gym? Where is it?”

  I walked over to the desk and wrote it down on a sheet of hotel paper. “Thanks, Portia. I’m hoping you’re going to see us next week, with any luck I’ll be bringing the adoption papers in for him to sign.”

  “I hope so. I want this to come out good for you two, you deserve it.”

  “Thanks. You’re a darling. Bye.”

  “Bye, Jason. Good luck.” She ended the call.

  I held my cell in my hand for a moment, staring at it, my fingers tightening and gripping it hard. Euphoria played with hope.

  We had him!

  Then anxiety kicked in. Maybe we had him. Anxiety danced around with uncertainty on the cloud of hope, and the air solidified in my lungs … This wasn’t over yet. We needed the police to catch him.

  “Jason! Who was it?”

  I threw my cell on the bed “Portia!” and walked back into the bathroom. “She thinks she’s got Mr. Rees pinned down.”

  Rach sat up, the water swaying around her. “Declan… How?”

  “He goes to a gym every Friday at eleven-thirty, like clockwork.”

  “Oh my God.” Her arms wrapped around her bent-up legs, gripping her knees. “What will you do?”

  “Go down to the lobby and ask to make a call on their phone and give the cops a tip-off that someone is dealing drugs at this gym and I know there’s an exchange going on with Declan Rees, who’ll go in there at eleven-thirty.” I smiled at her. “I’m going to go order your supper now, though. The cops can wait.”

  I left her and went back into the room. After I’d rung room service I went back in the bathroom and lowered the toilet lid to sit down and talk to her. “How are you feeling?”

  “Whacked out, like I’m a corpse.”

  I smiled slightly, she was trying to be light-hearted. “I went for a run while you slept. I left a note by the bed in case you woke up.”

  She nodded. “I know you need to run. I’m sorry I told you not to.”

  I leaned forward and rested my elbows on my knees. She was still sitting upright with her arms wrapped around her legs. She’d sat in the bath like that the first night I’d met her.

  “I called a support group too.”

  Her green eyes widened a little. I loved that unusual color.

  “I spoke to this woman who told me loads of people with bipolar stop taking their meds. You aren’t alone in hating them.”

  “You hate them too.”

  I sighed and cringed inside. She was thinking about our I miss you conversation over Halloween. I’d probably handled that all wrong. But I’d only been with her a year, I was still learning how to speak to her bipolar, I wasn’t going to get everything right straight off. “I did. I do. Yeah. I hate that they hold you down. But most of all I want you to be well, Rach, and you aren’t well when you’re off the meds. The woman said you might get off them again later, people do, but for now, I should make sure you take them, so I’m going to.”

  “What else did she say?” Rach’s tone was flat, maybe because she was low, or maybe because she was worried about me speaking to someone else about her—about us.

  “That I should show you how much I love you and not listen when you rant at me.”

  Her lips twisted. It wasn’t in a sm
ile, but there was a hint of one.

  “And that I should look after myself too, because if I’m going to help you, I need to help myself as much.”

  “I want you to be happy. I want you to love me. But I don’t feel like you are or you do anymore.” She said it quietly, as though she was afraid of saying it, in case it was true, and her eyes looked at me, windows into a soul that was in a lot of pain today.

  I’d always love her.

  “I told you on Halloween I did. I do. Please will you take it as given? I still love you, I always will, you don’t need to worry about it. But sometimes I’m going to get tired and I’m going to find it hard. It doesn’t mean I don’t love you. Or that I want to give up. Just that for a short while I need space to deal with my own feelings, because sometimes I’m going to get down or angry, and, I admit, I’m not happy at the moment, but it’s not because of you. Don’t you dare let your brain start taking the blame for it. It’s everything. It’s gotten to be too much, that’s all. They have a support group somewhere in our area; it’s made up of other people who support someone with bipolar. I’m going to go when we get back home. I think it’ll help me, so I can help you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “For putting up with me…”

  “I don’t put up with you, honey. I’m here because I love you.”

  She nodded, then her chin rested on her knees. My words hadn’t sunk into her heart or her head. She was too ill today.

  “Lie back and soak, I’ll make you a coffee.”

  “Thank you.”

  The water stirred as she moved and I walked out the door. I felt calm.

  When I was making coffee, there was a knock on the door; it was room service with our supper. I took our grilled-cheese sandwiches and coffee into the bathroom, then she lay in the bath eating and drinking as I sat on the closed toilet and ate. She was quiet, but not as bad as last night.

  When I’d finished eating I got up and took my plate out to put it down on the desk in the room. The water stirred as she climbed out of the bath. I turned back to look at her. She wrapped a towel around her body.

  “I’m going to go down to the lobby to make that call to the cops.”