My Son's Next Wife

by Shelia E. Lipsey

  “Does Detria know?”

  “Yes. We had to tell her because she had to have a procedure called a dilation and curettage. In laymen’s terms, a D and C. It means we opened her cervix and removed remaining tissue to prevent infection and excessive bleeding. She’ll probably continue to have some bleeding for a few days and maybe light abdominal cramps. And I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that she’s distraught. I’m so sorry for the both of you.”

  His expression serious, his eyes dark with sadness, Stiles spoke rather softly. “Dr. Henderson, I’m praying for God to give me the strength to hold up after I see her. She . . . we wanted this baby so badly. But God is able. I know He doesn’t place more on us than we can bear.”

  “Do you need a few minutes alone? Or are you ready to see your wife?”

  “I need to see my wife.” Stiles stood up just as Dr. Henderson opened the door.

  “Follow me. She’s in exam room seven.” They walked the short distance and paused before they entered the room.

  Stiles walked inside the room, and Detria looked at him with swollen, water-filled eyes. Her hair was frazzled. Her beautiful smile was gone, only to be replaced with sadness. He walked over to her, and she reached for him. Stiles gathered her into his arms, and the two of them cried over their loss. He rubbed Detria’s hair over and over again, mouthing words of comfort to her.

  “I’m sorry, Stiles. I’m sorry that I lost our baby. Oh, God, I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault.”

  “Shhh. It’s not your fault. Don’t even think such a thing. We never know why things happen, Detria. But we do know that God is still in control. And it’s going to be all right.” He regained some of his composure so he could help his wife and give her the support she needed. “It wasn’t your fault, okay? Please believe that.”

  Dr. Henderson chose that moment to step up and talk to the couple. “Detria, your husband is right. The loss of your baby is not your fault. It’s not your husband’s fault. It’s not anyone’s fault. Like I explained to Mr. Graham, it had to do with chromosomal abnormality. It happens in fifteen to twenty percent of women in their twenties like you. We don’t know why, but it does. But the important thing is that you’re going to be fine, and I know this is a terrible loss, but remember there is no reason why you and your husband can’t get pregnant again.”

  Detria acted aloof, like she didn’t hear anything Dr. Henderson said. Instead, she looked in the eyes of her husband pleadingly. “I want to go home. Can you just take me home?” she asked him.

  Stiles shifted his eyes toward Dr. Henderson.

  “Detria, I’d like you to stay here for observation for a couple more hours. I want to make sure you don’t experience any complications. You need to empty your bladder before you’ll be allowed to be discharged. Are you still in pain?”

  “A little,” Detria mumbled.

  “I’ll get the nurse to give you something for your pain, and I’ll write a prescription for something, too. If there isn’t anything else for now, I’ll leave the two of you alone. I’m sure you want to spend some quiet time together. And please know how sorry I am.” Dr. Henderson touched Detria’s arm and rubbed it lightly. “I want to see you in my office in four weeks.”

  Dr. Henderson focused on Stiles. “Will you please make sure you call the office and make a follow-up appointment? But if she continues to bleed, have severe pains, anything that you aren’t sure about, please call me right away and get into the office to see me. Understood?” Dr. Henderson asked.

  “Thank you, Doctor. I’ll make sure she’s taken care of. I’ll call tomorrow and schedule that appointment,” Stiles said in a shaky voice.

  “Good.” Dr. Henderson left the room, leaving the couple to start their journey through grief.

  Chapter 10

  Love me when I least deserve it,

  because that’s when I really need it.

  — Swedish Proverb

  Stiles couldn’t shake the odd feelings he had started to develop toward Detria. It had been more than a month since her miscarriage. The empathy he had toward Detria had disappeared, and the scary thing for Stiles was he didn’t know why. He wasn’t a dummy by any means. He understood the medical reasons Dr. Henderson gave them for losing the baby, but the more he thought about it, the more his frustration grew. He tried to fight against it through prayer, yet he couldn’t shake his mounting disdain toward his wife.

  Losing a child, even though it was fairly early in the pregnancy, still had a horrific effect on Stiles. He talked with Deacon Jones about his reservations. Detria had taken on too much after her pregnancy had been confirmed. Stiles tried to get her to slow down some, but she’d refused. She was adamant about maintaining her daily routine as much as possible. He admitted that she had reduced the time she spent working out, but she still had a busy full-time job, which was followed by coming home to look after Pastor and keeping up with the 101 other things she had on her daily agenda. Maybe she hadn’t wanted a baby as badly as she said she did. If she had, why didn’t she take better care of herself? The more Stiles thought about the loss, the more he felt distant from his wife. He hadn’t touched her intimately since the miscarriage, and he had no desire to do so.

  Stiles found his thoughts drifting toward his relationship with his ex-wife. Rena had betrayed him, and it was hard for him to forgive her. In fact, it was so hard that he was driven to divorce her. The issues between him and Detria were a far cry from the problems in his marriage to Rena, but there was still a feeling of betrayal that tried to settle in Stiles’s heart. Why couldn’t Detria have taken better care of herself? She didn’t have to work out almost every day. He’d told her to be careful because of her pregnancy. But no, she insisted that she was not bringing harm to their child. But there was some reason for her losing the baby, and he could not swallow Dr. Henderson’s explanation.

  Stiles shifted nervously in his chair and used his shoulder to hold the phone to his ear. Jones was on the other end. “You know something, Jones. This is killing me, man. Detria hasn’t said anything about losing the baby or anything. She’s acting like everything is kosher when I’m dying inside.”

  “Look, Stiles. Women are different creatures. You know that. She may be walking around acting like everything is hunky-dory, but inside she’s probably hurting more than you can imagine. The thing is, man, you have to be there for her. Both of you need each other for support.”

  “I hear what you’re saying.” Stiles reached to the side of his desk and pulled the string to the wood plantation blinds until they opened slightly. He watched the pall of smoke that trailed behind the city bus as it passed by the church. “Thanks for listening, Jones. I guess it’s going to take time for things to get normal again.”

  “Time and prayer. Crystal and I are going to intercede for you and Detria. You’re going to overcome this. But you’re grieving—both of you are. People handle grief in different ways,” Deacon Jones said.

  “Yeah. Well, look. I’ve got to go. I have a class this evening. We’ll talk later,” Stiles told Jones.

  “Sure. Take care of yourself. And, Stiles, remember it’s not Detria’s fault. It’s no one’s fault that y’all lost the baby. God is sovereign, and He knows exactly what He’s doing.”

  “You’re right. I gotta go.”

  After his evening class, Stiles hung around his office at school and read some of the essays the students submitted. He made it home around nine thirty. When he walked inside the house, it was eerily quiet. He went to Pastor’s room. Pastor was lying back on his hospital bed with his head turned toward the television screen.

  “Pastor, you awake?” Stiles asked as he walked around to see Pastor’s face.

  Pastor’s sunken eyes had dark circles around them. He was frail. This stroke had done some major damage. Pastor was once a distinguished-looking man. Now he looked like a badly preserved fifty-eight-year-old man with arms that looked like they’d been squeezed from a toothpaste tube. He hated to see his father like this.
“Hello, Pastor,” Stiles said when he saw his father’s eyes open. “How are you doing?”

  “Ugh,” Pastor moaned. Stiles grasped his thin hand. He felt Pastor’s gentle squeeze.

  “Is there anything you need?” Stiles asked his father. He further examined him by pulling the covers back to make sure Pastor’s bedding was fresh and clean. He had no doubt that it would be because Detria took excellent care of Pastor. It was Detria who practically saved his life. Who knows what would have happened had she not been home when Pastor had his stroke? Stiles checked Pastor’s legs and feet, and then slowly pulled the cover back up over him. He made conversation with Pastor, and Pastor’s eyes seemed to focus intently on Stiles as he spoke.

  “Good evening,” Detria said as she walked in the room. Her arms were folded against her rib cage.

  “Hi. How are you?” Stiles asked like he was a schoolboy who’d accidentally bumped into the most popular girl at school.

  “Good. Is everything all right with Pastor?” she asked Stiles and walked farther into the room.

  Stiles answered, “Yeah, I think he’s okay. I just got here and came to check on him before I headed upstairs.”

  Detria moved closer. Pastor’s eyes locked with hers as she stood at the foot of his bed. He groaned like he was in pain. “Pastor, what’s wrong?” Stiles asked. “Are you uncomfortable? Let me see what I can do to get you settled in a little better.” Stiles began to straighten the bedsheets underneath Pastor. Pastor didn’t take his eyes off Detria. “You want Detria to do this?” Stiles inquired when he noticed Pastor’s piercing stare. Stiles looked over his shoulder at his wife. “Looks like you’ve got him spoiled. I don’t think he wants me to do this. He keeps looking at you.” Stiles smiled.

  “Let me see.” Detria walked past Stiles and finished what he’d started. Pastor groaned several more times while Detria tugged on the sheets and gently eased Pastor onto his side to make sure he was dry. Incontinence and basically a loss of bowel control were another result of the stroke. “How is that?” Detria asked and moved out of the way.

  Pastor’s eyes seemed to relax somewhat, and Stiles moved next to him. He patted his father on the shoulder, and then leaned his long body down to kiss Pastor on his forehead.

  “It’s about time for your night meds,” Detria said. Stiles watched her as she walked into Pastor’s bathroom. When she returned, she held a blue pill holder in her hand and a paper cup filled with water. She passed it to Stiles.

  Stiles lifted his father’s head, removed the pills, and placed them in Pastor’s opened mouth. Detria passed the cup of water to Stiles next. Stiles proceeded to hold the cup so that Pastor could drink from it. “Try to drink all of it, Pastor,” Stiles told him. Pastor did.

  He squeezed the paper cup in his hand. “Would you like me and Detria to pray with you before we go upstairs?”

  Pastor nodded. Stiles reached for his wife’s soft hand. A flicker of desire surged through him. He was glad. He didn’t want to neglect Detria. She was a good woman, and she proved it every day by the way she took care of his father. It was good to have help during the hours both of them were away at work, but Detria had stepped in and provided Pastor’s care from the time she came home from work until bedtime. The strength of heart she displayed toward him and his father was one that he didn’t want to take for granted.

  Stiles bowed his head and prayed for God’s healing power to shower down upon his bedridden father. He prayed until he felt his spirit growing full like he’d inhaled a mighty rush of wind. He squeezed Detria’s hand as he prayed harder and harder. When he finished, his eyes were teary, and he sounded exhausted. Stiles looked at Pastor, whose eyes were also shining from the mist of tears that had formed in the corners of his eyes. Stiles let go of Detria’s hand, which felt like it was trembling. He reached for a tissue next to Pastor’s bed and then proceeded to wipe the tears from Pastor’s eyes.

  “I love you, Pastor,” he said. “Rest well.” Stiles took hold of Detria’s hand again.

  “G’night, Pastor,” Detria said. “I have the monitor on, so if you need something, anything, all you have to do is make a sound, and Stiles or I will be here, like always.”

  Stiles led the way and Detria turned off the light switch. They left Pastor’s room.

  “You want something to eat?” she asked Stiles as they neared the kitchen.

  “I think I’ll have a glass of juice and a sandwich. But you go on upstairs. I know you’re tired, too. It’s not easy working a full-time job and then coming home every evening to take care of your ailing father-in-law. I can’t tell you how grateful I am for you,” Stiles said.

  This time Detria took the lead. She walked in the kitchen with Stiles still holding on to her hand. “Sit down,” she ordered. “It won’t take me but a minute to make you a sandwich.”

  Stiles released her hand and did as he was told. How could he not be enthralled by such a wonderful woman? What was his problem? He was baffled. He watched her as she prepared one of his favorite sandwiches—roast turkey and ham with all the fixings. She poured him an eight-ounce glass of grape juice, placed the sandwich on a plate along with some potato chips, and sat it before him.

  “Aren’t you going to have something?” he asked, then took a bite of his sandwich.

  “No, I ate leftovers, and you know it’s too late for me.” Detria sat in the chair across from Stiles. “What’s happening?” she asked.

  Stiles stopped chewing. He focused on Detria. She looked at him with something fragile in her eyes. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about us, Stiles. You”—she pointed at him—“and me.” Detria pointed at herself. “Since I lost the baby, you’ve barely held a full conversation with me. And God knows that you haven’t touched me, held me. Need I go on?”

  Stiles was momentarily speechless. He searched the recesses of his mind. He wanted to tell her that he believed she could have done something, though what that something was, he didn’t know.

  “Look, things have been tough for both of us. I mean, losing a child is something neither of us has experienced before. I—” Stiles rubbed his forehead back and forth. “I think about my mother’s death, and now Pastor is in there suffering, and on top of all of that, for you to—”

  “For me to what?” Detria’s tone registered a subtle change. “For me to have a miscarriage? Are you blaming me for losing the baby?” She suddenly bounced up from the chair. “That’s what this is all about, isn’t it?” she cried out.

  “I didn’t say that. You said that. So don’t make this out to be about me,” he snapped back. He balled up his napkin and threw it on top of his half-eaten sandwich and chips. “I’m done.” He got up, bolted out of the kitchen, and bounded up the stairs.

  Detria hung her head, and tears rushed from her eyes and dropped on the table like giant pellets of rain. She rocked herself like a baby. “It’s all your fault,” she cried. “It’s your fault.”

  Suddenly, she heard Pastor groaning rather loudly. Immediately, Detria raced to his room. Stiles was at her side by the time she turned on Pastor’s bedroom light.

  “What’s wrong? Pastor, are you all right?” asked Stiles.

  Detria shooed Stiles away. “Go back to doing whatever it was you were doing. I’ll take care of Pastor,” Detria said. She rolled her eyes at Stiles. He turned and practically stormed out of the room. Detria remained still until she heard his footsteps fade and the door to their bedroom close.

  In two quick steps she was stationed by Pastor’s side. She watched the whites of his eyes flash in warranted fear. She turned off the monitor and then yanked the cover off of him. With a tightly balled fist she punched him with full force on the side of his thigh.

  “If I hadn’t been trying to help you, I wouldn’t have lost my baby,” she said to him. Her voice dripped with venomous hatred toward Pastor. “I convinced your son to take you into our home. I took care of you and your wife before she died. And this is how you repay me? You r
epay me by causing me to lose my baby? Trying to pick you up, to save your life. And what do I get out of it?” She punched him again.

  Pastor’s mouth opened; his face was reduced to a bevy of frowns. His eyes loomed large and fierce with pain. Detria placed her hand over his mouth and leaned in so close to Pastor’s face that there was barely an inch between them. “Don’t you dare try to call out to your precious son. Did you know that he blames me for the loss of my child? Me,” she mumbled with so much force her face turned a shade darker. “I hate you for what you’ve done,” she mouthed and punched him again. She pulled away from him and saw tears streaming down the side of his face. With one hand she wiped them away forcefully and then jerked the covers back up around his neck. She pinched her lower lip with her perfect, even teeth. “Sleep on that.” She whirled around and walked out of the room.

  Detria slammed their bedroom door as she walked in and jarred Stiles from his sleep. He twisted around in the bed and propped his body on one elbow. The sight of his bare chest snapped Detria’s attention from the pain that nestled in her heart.

  “Sorry,” she said.

  “How is Pastor?”

  Short of patience, she responded, “He’s fine.”

  Detria despised the act she’d committed against Pastor, a man who had been nothing but kind and loving toward her. The first time she struck him had been a week after she lost the baby. The quickness with which it had occurred shocked her to the core. It started when Pastor lost control of his bowel. It frustrated Detria because she had just come inside the house and said good-bye to the home health aide who sat with Pastor during the day. She went into Pastor’s room and, as usual, spoke to him and sat beside his bed to tell him all about her day. He seemed to enjoy it, and Detria believed that she detected a sparkle in his eyes whenever she spent time with him. Within minutes of telling Pastor about something that went on at the office, she smelled a foul odor, and there was no mistaking what had happened.