Chad and her mother each took one of her arms as the pastor’s wife, Carol, began to sing the first notes of “Amazing Grace.” Her voice, sweet and high, cleared Mary’s mind. She heard the words and music for the first time, really heard them.
For a thousand years.
Was blind but now I see. Was Meme in heaven now with the angels? Would they hold her if she was scared or hungry? Who would take care of her now that her mother had been left on earth?
Once was lost but now I’m found.
She wished the song would never end. If the sweet sound continued, she could stay with Meme. She could hear the voices of the angels welcoming her baby. She could believe they would see each other again.
When we’ve been there ten thousand years.
She prayed silently. Please God don’t take me further in my life than this moment. Just let the hymn go on and on with this song in an endless loop so I don’t have to walk out of here and leave my baby in the dark, cold ground.
Carol held the last note as if she knew Mary’s prayer. But it ended after all. Her beautiful voice was not that of an angel but of a human like Mary, stuck on earth. The leaves of the maple tree next to them shuddered with the last note.
Mary fell to her knees and howled. The pain gobbled pride and gutted her, split her open and left her sprawled on the ground begging God to take her too. Her mother knelt beside her. She wrapped her arms around her grown daughter and rocked her like a baby as the tiny coffin was lowered into the ground.
* * *
Now, beside her, Violet’s arms encircled her, held her close, as her mother had. Mary touched the side of her face, surprised to find it wet. When had she started crying? Maggie’s voice faded away with the last note of the hymn.
“I’m sorry.” Mary wiped her face with her free hand.
“Don’t be,” Violet said. “Don’t ever be sorry for your grief.”
“That hymn. It was sung at Meme’s funeral.”
“Oh, sweetie.”
“Like Brody and Kara, I had the nursery all decorated too,” she whispered. “For a baby that never came home.”
“What was the nursery like?”
Mary was surprised by the question. People never asked questions like this. Discussions of death were to be avoided.
“I spent weeks and weeks on every detail,” Mary said.
“Tell me.”
She’d painted the walls pink and yellow and had used a stencil to paint Meme’s initials. On the wall across from the crib she’d arranged framed vintage covers of her favorite children’s stories.: The Velveteen Rabbit, Goodnight Moon, Corduroy, Ferdinand, The House at Pooh Corner, and Are You My Mother?
The first night after the funeral, she’d sat in the rocker her father had lovingly refurbished from her own nursery and stared at that cover. Are You My Mother? What if Meme was searching for her? Where was her daughter? Was she wandering the afterlife looking for her? Mary had rocked and wept, holding the stuffed bear her mother had brought over when she first told her parents about her pregnancy.
Finally, exhausted, she’d taken the cover of Are You My Mother from the wall and fallen to the floor. She’d cradled both the stuffed bear and the picture to her chest and begged God to take her. Please, take me to Meme. I have to find her. She has to find me.
In the morning, she’d awakened in the same position. Chad stood in the doorway, his face, twisted and ugly, full of contempt for her.
“It’s not like we knew her,” he said.
She’d raged at him, digging her nails into the flesh of his arms and chest. “I knew her. I knew her, you son of a bitch.”
“He said my grief wasn’t warranted because I didn’t know her,” Mary said, softly, to Violet. “But I did. The moment I saw her face, I knew her exactly.”
Violet rested her head against Mary’s shoulder. “I know. Dakota too.”
“Even before, we know. Kara knew.”
“Yes,” Violet said.
Brody and Lance burst into the room, with Freckles on their heels. “Where is she?” Brody asked.
“In the bathroom getting cleaned up.” Violet ambled to her feet, encumbered by her belly. “Wait here. I’ll get her.”
Freckles ran to Mary and licked her hand before sitting on his haunches like he waited for her command. If only there were something a sweet dog could do for her friend. She looked up at Lance, who stood frozen in the middle of the room.
Mary reached for him, like it was pure instinct. He took her in his arms. She clung to him until she could breathe again. They turned just as Kara came into the room, wearing the pajamas Mary had set out for her. Escorted on each side by Maggie and Honor, Kara hobbled, her face bleached of color. When she saw Brody, the wounded animal cry from earlier unleashed from her chest.
“I’m here.” He ran to her and scooped her into his arms. She looked like a ragdoll against his large, muscular frame as she buried her face into his chest.
“I’m here,” he repeated.
Without another word, he strode across the room and out the door. Mary moved from Lance to the other women.
Lance knelt on the floor and put his arm around his dog. “What do we do?”
“Pray,” Mary said.
The other women nodded as they moved together in an unspoken dance—a dance without words or music other than the notes of motherhood. The melody swelled and coursed with the flow of their blood, the beat of which were their children’s thumping hearts, whether on earth, heaven, or growing in their wombs.
They held hands and bowed their heads. Honor whispered a prayer. The words did not matter because they knew every word, as did God.
We are not alone when others grieve with us. Mary had not known this until she felt Violet’s arms around her, their tears intermingled in the fabric of their blouses. Now she understood. When one mother weeps, we all weep.
Are you my mother?
I’m your mother. I’ll always be your mother.
The weeks rambled by with work, evenings with Lance and Freckles, morning sickness, and nights where she slept long and soundly. She and Lance had established a routine. Unable to hide, as he put it, she found herself in the same place every night. By his side. They made dinner and hung out together, either reading or watching television. Lance had found a reality show on television about three obstetricians and their patients. Lance was especially obsessed, with Mary not far behind. They were fascinated by the tales of the couples and the births of their babies. The filming of the actual deliveries left little to the imagination. Even Lance had become accustomed to watching the details of each birth.
He seemed careful around her, sure to keep his distance physically. It broke her heart, but she knew it was best. She could not tell him the truth. If he knew how she’d tricked him, they would no longer be friends, let alone lovers. Keeping his friendship was vital to their baby’s eventual happiness and security.
At the beginning of her fourteenth week of pregnancy, she had her weekly appointment with Jackson. The young Doctor Waller performed an ultrasound and assured her the baby showed the right amount of growth and a strong heartbeat. Her cervix was behaving as it should, but he agreed with Doctor Freddie that she should have a cerclage put into place at the end of the week.
After the examination, Mary asked Jackson for news of Kara.
“She hasn’t come to work since it happened,” Jackson said. “My dad’s been filling in for her.”
“Lance stopped by their house the other day. The housekeeper said they weren’t accepting visitors,” Mary said.
“If space is what they need, then we have to give it to them, even though it’s hard,” Jackson said. “As a man, I just want to fix it for them.”
“Lance too.” Just that morning Lance had told her how helpless he felt. Brody wasn’t the type to talk through his feelings. Between the miscarriage and his forced retirement, Lance knew Brody was hurting. There wasn’t a thing any of them could do.
“Is Maggie feeling w
ell?” she asked.
“Yes. She’s rehearsing with her band in the city right now. But she’s plagued with guilt.”
“About Kara?”
“Yes, and about her friends from New York. Lisa and Pepper. Did you meet them at the wedding?”
Mary nodded. They were hard to miss. Gorgeous and glamorous, they’d glittered like diamonds.
“The three of them went to NYU together and were all struggling actresses for years in New York,” he said. “Now that Maggie’s having success and they’re not, she feels strange.”
“It would be awkward,” Mary said. “Female friendships are tricky, especially between women with so much in common.”
“Maggie said that too. Men are lucky, I guess. We just mock one another and get into occasional fist fights and all’s well.”
After he left, she dressed and confirmed her next appointment with the receptionist. She’d left Freckles tied to a post outside the doctor’s office. By the time she got back to him, an anonymous donor had given him a bowl of water and a chew toy. She looked up and down the street, but the culprit was nowhere to be seen. This town—they loved dogs and babies.
She untied his leash from the post. Freckles gave a hopeful wag of his tail. A walk would do them both good. She had an hour before she had to open the shop. Temperatures were in the mid-sixties with sunny skies and no wind, a promise that spring would indeed arrive by the end of the month. “Come on, then. But afterward, straight to work.”
He wagged his tail and jumped into the air.
“Crazy dog.”
Mary stopped at the car to change into a pair of tennis shoes she kept in the trunk. She put on her sunglasses and followed Freckles down the sidewalk toward the ocean. He walked at the perfect pace with his head held high as if to demonstrate what a superior creature he was to ill-mannered dogs. They soon reached the end of town where a long stretch of public beach sprawled in a lazy arc along the coastline. She and Freckles stood by the wooden bench and looked out over the water. Initials of lovers were carved in various places on the bench. Decades of sweethearts canonized forever. How many have stayed together?
Gentle waves crested and broke over the sand. Seagulls squawked overhead. “Nuisances,” she said to Freckles.
He barked in agreement and pointed to the beach with his nose.
“Down to the sand?” she asked.
Another bark.
“Fine, come along.”
Dressed in jeans and a light cotton blouse, the sun warmed her back as they trudged over the sand. The beach was empty other than a few walkers and hungry seagulls. She decided to let Freckles loose. He deserved a chance to run after seagulls. When they reached the wet sand, she knelt to unlatch the leash from his collar. Instead of running, he looked up at her for permission. “Go ahead. Run.”
He barked and jumped at least two feet in the air, floppy ears like the sails of a boat, before taking off down the shore. As she turned to watch him, she noticed a woman with a long stride just up ahead. Long brown hair swept in a ponytail swung as she walked. Kara.
Should she say something or just let her be? Since the night of the miscarriage, they hadn’t talked. Mary had sent a card and a book up to the house, but as Jackson said, they needed privacy.
She shouted out to Kara, almost hoping her voice would get lost on the breeze. Kara turned and put her hand over her eyes to shield the sun. Mary waved. Kara returned the gesture and started toward her. A wave crashed near Mary’s feet. She scampered away.
Kara’s tall, muscular frame looked small next to the ocean. Nothing like the Pacific to remind us of our fragility. Dark smudges under her eyes hinted at sleepless nights. Still, she looked better than the last time Mary had seen her, with cheeks pink from exercise and the brisk air.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been in touch.” Kara dug a hole into the damp sand with her foot and pushed stray hairs away from her face.
“It’s nothing to worry over. I understand.”
Kara squinted as she turned her gaze to the water. “Today’s the first day I’ve left the house.”
“I’m not surprised.” She could imagine all too well what the past few weeks had been like for Kara—all day in her pajamas, unwashed hair, intermittent crying, unable to keep any food down.
Kara stuffed her hands into the pockets of her sweatshirt. “Brody’s worried about me, so I had to pretend I felt like a walk.”
“It’s a nice day.” Mary took off her sunglasses and cleaned them with a corner of her blouse to hide her discomfort. “The sun always cheers me.”
“Does it?” Kara asked in a tone that mimicked a sigh.
“No, that’s a lie. The day of Meme’s funeral was a day like this. The sun made me mad.”
Kara turned toward her and smiled. “Really?”
“Furious. At God mostly.”
“Me too,” Kara said. “Not about the weather.”
“The beauty of the world seemed an afront that day,” Mary said. “Like the colors were too bright, almost mocking.”
Kara waved her hand toward the ocean. “Like this. When I first moved here I couldn’t stop marveling at the beauty. But today it makes me cold.”
“I understand.”
The women stood together as the waves crashed to shore inches from their feet and sprayed mist. Seagulls flew and screeched overhead. Miles out to sea, a cargo ship looked no bigger than a toy.
“I appreciated your kind note,” Kara said. “And the book was perfect. I haven’t been able to read, but maybe today I will.”
“It’s what I would’ve wanted. An old friend to comfort me.” She’d sent a copy of Little Women. “I’m sorry. I can’t tell you how much. Especially because I know only too well what it feels like,” Mary said.
“I wish you didn’t.”
“Me too. I wish that for both of us,” Mary said. “I’m here if you need to talk. After Meme died no one would talk about her. Friends and people at work seemed to think mentioning her death would remind me of it and make me feel worse. When the truth was, her death was always with me. Every second of every day. Acknowledging it would have been a relief. Maybe they thought death was something contagious.”
Kara pointed up the coastline. “Want to walk?”
“Sure, I have some time before I have to open the shop.”
They headed north, walking briskly without talking.
After a few minutes, Kara broke the silence. “Brody wants to try again right away.”
“Is that what you want?”
“I guess. I’m a nurse, so I know it wasn’t a viable pregnancy. There’s a reason it happened, some abnormality, but for some reason that doesn’t help. I wanted that baby. Not a substitute. Men don’t understand.”
“Most don’t.” Chad hadn’t, but he was a pig, so there was that.
“How’d you get through it?” Kara asked.
“Books. Time. I’ll never get over it, but eventually I started to want to live again. I believe it took me longer than most. I’m stubborn that way.” She smiled to take the bitter edge from her voice.
Freckles circled back around to them, barking a hello.
“Who’s this?” Kara asked, clutching Mary’s arm. “Friend or foe?”
“This is Freckles. Our new dog,” Mary said. “Definitely a friend. Not much of a foe to anyone, I’m afraid.”
After assurances that they were fine, Freckles leapt ahead, ears plastered to the side of his head as he sprinted down the beach.
“Where did he come from?” Kara asked.
She explained how Freckles showed up at the shop and Lance immediately suggested they adopt him.
“Lance can’t resist a dog or a child,” Kara said. “And they can’t resist him.”
“They say dogs and children can always tell the best people.”
They continued to walk, arms linked, as they followed the grinning dog.
“He came to us just when we needed him,” Mary said. “A distraction from my worries.”
“That too.”
“Walking feels better than I thought it would,” Kara said.
“My mother always said any problem could be solved during a brisk walk on a beach.”
“It’s not true.”
“I know,” Mary said. Freckles barked at a wave that broke too near him. “Some hurts are too big even for the ocean.”
“I came here today looking for God. I’ve always been able to find him by the ocean,” Kara said. “But again, all I feel is cold.”
“My mother used to say something else, which I do think is true. God shows up in other people. He sends the right person to you when you most need them. Even if you didn’t know you did.”
Kara pressed Mary’s arm to her side. “I believe we have proof of that today.”
“After Meme, I went to a grief support group for parents who’d lost a child. One of the women in the group was an actress. She’d lost her little girl to cancer. In previous meetings she’d shared with us about her little girl—how unselfish and generous she was—how she believed our purpose was to help others. One night she told us she’d been offered a part in a play about a mother who lost a child. Her initial reaction was to turn down the part, sure it would be too painful. But then, on the way to our meeting, her child’s favorite song came on the radio. It was like a sign, a reminder, of her daughter’s belief in service to others, and she thought of all the parents who had lost a child. Perhaps the play would mean something to them, remind them they’re not alone, or break open a taboo topic, maybe even soothe a broken heart with her courageous performance. She said, if she could help someone with her work, then her incredible loss might mean something. Not that she wouldn’t continue to wish for a different outcome, but that there was a kernel of beauty in her pain. I’ve thought about that a lot over the years. All the books, the hearts of the writers spilled onto those pages, how they’ve helped me, how they used their pain to write stories and poetry that entertain and heal and remind us of our humanity. Other than recommending books to people in various kinds of pain, I’ve never thought I had much to offer. I’ve used my pain as a shield instead of for good.”
Tainted Page 14
