She reached over and softly gripped his hand. “No more secrets.”
36
“Sunday night? What time?” Tracey dropped the boxes in her hand to the floor then grabbed a pen and a blue notepad from the desk.
“Pick me up from 30th Street at 8:45. The Keystone arrives at 8:35,” Tyler said with crunching sounds between his words.
She placed the pen back in its holder and dropped the pad on the computer desk. “What are you eating?”
“Chocolate-covered pretzels. From scratch, too. Granny made some and put ’em in a big tin to take back to Philly with me.”
Tracey shook her head. Granny Addison makes her own chocolate goodies too? Kyle’s never getting married. “How’s your dad?”
“First he wasn’t real happy about me going back home to Philly, but we talked about it and he’s cool. We drove around a lot while I was here, and I’m taking my license test when I get back. So as soon as Dad buys me my BMW, I’ll come back and forth every other weekend,” Tyler laughed.
“Uh-huh,” Tracey smiled. “Bye Tyler.”
She hung up. Her son? Spoiled as rotten as a four-month-old tomato. What did she expect? Living with Kyle every summer, he’d have to inherit at least a teensy bit of his materialism. God help him.
It was a regular Saturday. How long had it been since she’d had one of those? She’d hit the remote to turn down the music when Tyler called, so she swept up the remote control again and pressed the button to crank up the music on the SoundDock. Smooth jazz. Relaxing. Now back to work. Where was she? Oh yeah. Gathering up the old magazines and papers. She’d tote those down to the recycling bin when she finished in the office, so she put the stack outside in the hallway. The most boring hobby in the world to some people but Tracey loved it. Re-organizing. Moving furniture. Putting things in neatly-designed spaces. All she needed was some music to listen to and time to excavate and she’d get in the zone. Not just cleaning. This was therapy.
Tracey wiped sweat from her brow. The office needed new curtains to replace the sun bleached ones. She’d go out and buy a brighter color like springtime green, and maybe a few accent rugs to pick up on that color. And she’d seen some leather magazine holders at the Container Store. She could get some of those too to organize the periodicals she wanted to keep. Thank goodness Brian was out at the gym. He had plans to run a marathon next spring. Tracey guessed the extra exercise kept his stress level down. So the gym owned Brian, and Brianna would be at a birthday party until four. Tracey could take her time cleaning.
The futon? Hmm. It had seen better days. She could get a new cover for it and big fluffy pillows in green and white. And put it back into the couch position. Of course, that would only be wise if no one would be sleeping on it.
But Brian slept there now.
She placed an empty box on the office chair and stood and stared at the futon. One thing never came up in counseling. When were they going to start sleeping together again? Brian hadn’t brought up the subject and neither had Tracey. Since they’d managed to live in the same house without fighting for almost two months, she didn’t want to rock the boat.
In May she’d been the one who had started the ball rolling in their physical court again. It had felt so good to get back together with him. That was back when she figured they’d moved past the indiscretion and it was time to forgive and forget. She’d played music and lit vanilla scented candles. Skin to skin satisfaction. She’d even brought out the heels and danced sexy for him.
She glanced at the futon again. He could stay there for now. Trust would be hard earned this time. If God wanted to take control of their sex life, she was open to that. Until then, the dancing heels would stay parked in the bottom of her closet.
Tracey glanced up at the shelves again, then plopped down in the office chair. Who was she kidding? She needed to reconnect with her bestie. She had to call Monica.
The phone rang three times before Monica answered. “Hello?”
“Hi.” Tracey tapped her fingers on the desktop, letting a feeling of nervousness pass. “They say if you miss someone, you should pick up the phone and call. I miss you. I’m calling.”
“And I didn’t block your number, so you know I needed to hear that.”
“So how are you doing? How’s everything in your world?”
“I got a promotion. I’m the head of the project management team.”
“Wow! Congratulations, you deserve it. I mean it, Monica.”
“Thanks.”
A moment of silence passed. Tracey didn’t want to launch headlong into a description of how she came back home, or deciding to work things out with Brian, or anything self-centered.
“Go on …” Monica said.
“What?”
“You want to tell me what happened don’t you?”
Tracey’s best friend knew her well, but that didn’t matter. She refused to focus on a personal story that seemed to be working itself out day by day. She wanted to be a friend rather than just have a friend.
Tracey said, “You know what I really want? To tell you I wish I’d called you sooner than this. There’s been some changes going on here, but before I even get into all that, you know what you need?”
“What?” Monica sounded puzzled.
“You need your best friend to come pick you up for lunch and we can celebrate your promotion and you can tell me how your life is going. Can we do that? Please.”
“Since you put it that way, one of my co-workers raved about the lobster rolls at Luke’s Lobster in Rittenhouse. Treat me to some seafood?”
“I’m gonna take a shower and I’m on my way,” Tracey said, excitement in her voice.
“See you soon,” Monica said, and hung up.
Tracey put her phone down, stood up and looked around the room. Later for cleaning. It could wait.
Relationship mattered more.
Tracey and Brian’s dinner that night was grilled salmon with curry quinoa and spinach sauté on the side. Brian had talked about training for a 10K race in the fall, and race training included his diet. Tracey didn’t mind cooking the quinoa, but she turned her nose up at eating it. She piled it on Brian’s plate right before she slid it over to him.
“You’re only having salmon and spinach?”
She swallowed a sip of ice water. “Yep.”
“But quinoa is great for you.”
“Yeah, and as far as I’m concerned, the only people who need to eat it are people in training.”
“Speaking of which …” He picked up his fork and shot her a look.
“Yes, we’re going with you when you run tomorrow.”
He smiled. He looked better and better as the days progressed. The training made his already fit body look even more striking.
The phone rang. “Saved by the bell.” Tracey said as she glanced at the caller ID. Unknown. She answered, “Hello?”
Silence.
She looked the caller ID then repeated, “Hello?”
Nothing.
Brian’s strong hand swooped the cordless away from her. “Who is this?” he demanded.
His face changed as he sat back in the dining room chair. He listened for a few moments. “You need to go see your personal doctor—I can’t help you.”
“Who is that?” Tracey raised an eyebrow.
“Hold on,” Brian said, placing the phone on the table. “It’s Lisette.”
“It figures.”
He grabbed her hand. “Radical honesty, right? I’m putting her on speakerphone.” He pressed the center button and left the phone standing on the table in front of them. “Lisette.”
“Yes,” Lisette’s voice echoed in the kitchen.
“My wife is here on the phone with me. Say what you have to say.”
“She’s there with you now?”
Brian gazed
into Tracey’s eyes. “Yes.”
The voice in the phone spoke again. “Look, whatever. I’m not feeling well this week. I thought you could help me.”
“I’m not your obstetrician. Have you called your OB to report your symptoms?”
“Yes, I have.”
“What did he suggest?”
“I told the office about the pain on my left side and they said I can take Tylenol for my discomfort. The pain is under … under my rib cage.”
“They didn’t ask you to come in?”
“No.”
“And everything looked normal during your last visit? All your tests?”
“Yes.”
Tracey took a deep breath and kept listening. She looked down at the smooth dining room table. Pregnant and alone. Could she blame the woman for reaching out? Yes. She should call 911, or better yet, call the doctor’s office back and demand to be seen. Why did she think of calling Brian?
“When’s your next visit?” Brian continued.
Lisette’s voice sounded weak. “Tuesday, but I’m feeling really tired, and I get up and I have to keep laying back down. My side is killing me. I wanted to know if maybe you could come check me out. I wouldn’t call you at home if I didn’t need help.”
Brian squeezed Tracey’s hand. He cleared his throat. “If I do that Tracey is coming with me.”
“I don’t know about that,” Lisette’s voice squeaked through.
“I’m sorry. Your next choice is to either phone your OB and tell them it’s an emergency, or call 911 to have them take you to the hospital.”
“I thought maybe you’d just help me out,” Lisette whispered.
“I understand you’re in pain, and I’m sorry you feel so bad, but if I come check on you, Tracey comes with me.”
“You know what, forget it.”
Click.
Brian reached over and hung up the phone. They sat there for a minute staring down at their plates before Tracey squeezed Brian’s hand back.
“Maybe we should go see about her?” The words tumbled out before she could take them back. That was not the suggestion of a hurt wife. That suggestion came from the back history of a scared, broken-hearted, twenty-one-year-old, lonely pregnant lady.
“She’s a smart young woman. If her pain is that bad, she’ll call 911,” Brian said, looking down at his plate.
“But shouldn’t we do something.”
He looked up. His words fell out slow. “She will call 911.”
37
Tracey was changing clothes Monday afternoon when the house phone rang. She pulled a fresh shirt down over her torso before answering it.
“Where’s Brianna?” Brian’s voice sounded shaky.
“She’s in the kitchen having a snack. Why?” Tracey switched the phone to her other ear as she straightened out her bra straps. “Tyler?”
“He’s around here somewhere. Last time I saw him he was on his phone trying to track down Jonathan so they could go hang out.”
“So you’re alone?”
Her pulse jumped. “Yes. What’s going on?”
“I overheard Janette talking a few minutes ago. Lisette gave birth last night.”
Tracey’s heart beat fast and her skin grew hot. She eased down on the edge of the bed. They’d just heard from Lisette on Saturday. Now, it was quarter after four on Monday afternoon, and the baby had arrived.
“Last night? Must be at least nine or ten weeks early.”
“Yes … I don’t know the timing … but … uh …”
“What are you thinking?”
He stayed quiet for so long she thought the call had dropped.
“Brian, are you there?”
“Yeah.”
“So …” Tracey said, waiting for him to speak.
“It turns out she had preeclampsia.”
“Aren’t women put on bed rest for that?”
“Sometimes. If the doctors catch it before it gets out of control.” He exhaled a loud sigh into the phone. “We had a patient, two years ago–I believe she was from South Africa. She developed an extreme case, with liver and kidney failure. She collapsed in her home, and her family rushed her to the hospital. She survived, but she was in a coma for three months and had to relearn how to walk. Her child didn’t make it.”
Tracey bit her lip and started to tremble. For so long this had been an event off in the future somewhere. Now, a premature baby. A sick mother. Did Tracey and Brian have any business talking about it? And who was responsible for this woman? She must have friends and family around Philly. Why hadn’t they been taking care of her?
“Early birth?” Tracey said.
“Early means challenges. For her and the baby.”
Tyler ambled past Tracey’s bedroom door. A second later, he came back around, peeking his head through the crack.
“What’s up?” he mouthed, his hand on the edge of the door, his eyebrows raised.
She held up her hand and nodded to him, pantomiming that she was cool.
He waved back then closed the door slowly behind him.
“Well … uh … we’ve got back-to-back patients here, so …”
“Yeah, uh …yeah.” Tracey rubbed her arms. “Listen, I’ll come pick you up today. Wait. Did you hear what she had?”
“A boy.” Brian said.
Complicated.
Tracey sat in the Volvo outside of Germantown Family, waiting for Brian. A light breeze blew bits of paper down the street like dingy confetti dancing in the fading sunlight. She’d waited only ten minutes, till just past seven-thirty, when he emerged. She studied his slumped shoulders, his head bowed as he walked out of the building.
Way complicated.
She climbed out of the car, calling and waving to him. “Hey.”
Brian looked up. She shrugged, leaning against the car door, facing him as he trudged toward her.
“Kids?” He stopped in front of her.
“Ty’s holding the house down. They don’t need me. At least not like you do now.” She jerked her thumb toward the backseat. “I’ve got your gym bag, running shoes, t-shirt, and shorts. You could use a good run to clear your head, right?”
“You have what I need.” A smile settled on his tired face.
“I sure hope I do.” Tracey opened the door and retrieved the gym bag, handing it to him. “Take this, go back in and get changed. Forbidden Drive is calling your name.”
She watched his eyes take in her white t-shirt, black mesh shorts, and Nikes. “You’re running with me?”
“I’ll start with a walk. Then I’ll jog. At some point I’ll run.” She nodded toward the building. “Go on.”
They took Kelly Drive, past the Falls Bridge, over to Ridge close to the Art Museum. Tracey parked the car and the two of them walked to the start of the Forbidden Drive. By the time they approached the thin paved path, Brian started talking. “Tracey, I don’t know what our is role in this situation,” he admitted. He walked faster.
“I know,” she sighed.
“I can’t get my brain around it.”
“I know,” she repeated, kicking a black rock out of the pathway. “Don’t try.”
They walked faster.
“I still don’t think I’m the baby’s father, but if I am, what does that mean?”
A light wind blew across Tracey’s face. She smelled dry grass and earthy moss. “It means neither of you had any idea this would happen.”
She hustled to keep up as his pace quickened.
He breathed harder. “And what do we do with all this?” His fists were clenched at his sides.
Tracey had no business trying to walk faster than a turtle. By the time they took the first turn she was practically wheezing. She did a quick step forward and grabbed his arm. He stopped moving.
“We p
ray,” she said, reaching for his hands.
Brian paced in a slow circle. He ran a hand over his face, turned, and walked around again. Tracey stood still, watching. He dropped his arms to his side and stilled his legs. Alone on the pathway together, orange sun rays washed across his face coloring the brokenness.
“For?” he wondered, looking skyward.
“Lisette,” Tracey sighed. “Because you and me, I think we just might be all right. But that young lady needs something and I don’t think it has anything to do with you. And the baby needs all the prayer he can get.”
They walked off the pathway and joined hands under the treetops. She leaned her head close to him and agreed with his whispered words to the Lord. Together. Talking to God.
Closer than close.
38
On the Friday following Labor Day, Tracey and Brian enjoyed dinner together at the Chestnut Grill and Sidewalk Cafe. That was when Tracey learned it was important for the health of her marriage that she not ask Brian about Lisette or her baby. Bringing up the subject disturbed him and upset the balance of understanding and growth in their shaky relationship.
Right after he ordered coffee, as soon as the waiter walked away, Tracey leaned across the small wooden table toward him. “Have you heard anything?”
“Heard anything?” With a curious look on his face, he reached for her hand, grasped it, and gave her warm smile.
“About Lisette and her son?”
His smile vanished. A dark look took its place. “Tracey, no.”
“No, what?”
He spoke softly, rubbing her fingers. “No, I haven’t heard anything, and I don’t want to talk about it. Tonight is about you and me. Can we relax and enjoy our evening?”
“Of course, I was just asking.”
He shook his head. “I know, but it’s not something I want to talk about now. They’re in our prayers. So, please, this is our time.” He brought her hand to his lips, kissing the back of it. “Just you and me—we need this.”
The waiter came back then and delivered their coffee. It’s warm rich scent teased her nose as she sat back in the chair, watching Brian as he sipped from his mug and signed the charge receipt. The determined set of his shoulders communicated everything he didn’t say—which was, “Until we can establish paternity, there’s nothing we can do, and I refuse to talk about it.”
Broken Together Page 26
