A Summer in Sonoma (13 page)

“What life did you lose?” she pushed.

“The one where we were supposed to be in love and happy and having fun and not scared or worried or pinching so goddamn hard we squeak! I'm okay with a little struggle, but every goddamn day is a struggle! The kids were screaming for McDonald's the other day, something they
never
get, and I was counting pennies out of the bottom of my purse! I let them split two Happy Meals three ways and they were all still hungry afterward. It's not supposed to be like that!”

I have so much money even with my debts, Beth thought. Even with med school loans—so much money.
A swank town house, great clothes, a sharp car. Problems like these aren't even real to me! In fact, I'd give anything if these were my biggest problems. But she had to rein that in; it was her job to take care of Julie and not the other way around. “Aren't those the kind of stories you tell your kids when they're older? About how you had to manage it? About how tough it was? Billy's not irresponsible with money, is he?”

“Oh, stop it,” she said with a sniff. “On our budget, he only gets one beer on a night off, which is a rare thing. That's his big splurge.”

“Yeah, he's disgustingly good, isn't he? Sorry about that.”

“You have no idea how hard it is….”

Beth smiled. “Well, I owe two hundred thousand dollars for school loans. I have no guy in my life, not even a really bad one.”

“Oh, Beth,” she said, rising up a bit. “God, I'm sorry. Sometimes I just think of myself! Why don't you seem worried? You're not at the end of your rope.”

I'm close to suicidal, Beth thought. But she said, “Well, I'm lucky there—the practice is working me to death, the loan people are patient and I make a decent wage.” But, she thought, I have some issues that might get me before I get them. “It's all how you see it. And you're seeing it all to the south right now. There's good stuff in your life—I've been to your house. Billy is a great guy, the kids are pretty cute for kids and they don't seem to have any idea you're broke. You're in good health and you're still as disgustingly pretty as you ever were.”

“We had a get-together a couple of weeks ago at Marty and Joe's. Chelsea was there, coming on to Billy. She looks better than all of us put together.”

“Chelsea? She's still got her eye on Billy?”

“That's how it looked to me….”

“Well, let's just concentrate on you right now.”

Julie was quiet for a second. “I can't have another child, I just can't,” she said, so softly she could barely be heard.

“Did you talk to Billy about this?”

“I told you, I—”

“No, did he tell you it was up to you? Because I know you're struggling, but he's struggling, too.”

She looked away. “He said everything would be all right. That's what he always says.” She propped herself up on her elbows. “Have you ever known a woman to complain because her husband is too happy-go-lucky? I don't understand him. It's not like he lives in some la-la land. He scoops people off the freeway, pulls them out of mangled cars, pumps on their chests to get their hearts going—he lives in a world more real than most of us will ever know. But when it comes to our problems, which are major, he treats them like they're just a minor inconvenience. Beth—if anything happened to Billy and I needed help, I'd have to go to my brother or my parents. And I've gone to them before. Lots.”

“I take that to mean he wouldn't consider ending the pregnancy.”

“He wouldn't go for that idea, no.” And if she could find even a smidgen of hope in her ability to keep the house and food on the table, neither would Julie.

“Well, this might actually come as welcome news to you. Depending on where that IUD is situated, you have a better than average chance of miscarriage. Also depending, this could turn out to be a high-risk pregnancy….” She shrugged. “On the other hand, I've pulled many an IUD out right behind a perfect full-term baby.”

“What if you pulled it out now?”

“We
can
take it out. We do that from time to time. Usually a little later, with an ultrasound to guide. But that carries a risk—it could compromise the pregnancy. Sometimes it's a tough call.”

“Compromise it later? Or now?”

“Either time, I'm afraid. But we'd take every precaution.”

“And if you just pulled it today? Now?” Julie asked, wiping her tears away with the back of her hand.

Beth shrugged. “Maybe nothing. Maybe some spotting and that's all. Maybe a spontaneous miscarriage.”

And maybe no pressure to make a decision about keeping it or letting it go?
Julie thought for a second, then said, “Do it. Get it over with.”

“Jules, if you want it out, we should wait, do it with an ultrasound, when the fetus is larger.”

“There'd still be a risk of losing it, but I'd be further along? No,” she said, shaking her head. “This is bad enough. I don't want to make myself accept this and then lose it. I don't want to feel it move and then… Just pull the goddamn little traitor IUD out!”

Beth tugged on Julie's hand to help her sit up, then she sat on her stool and looked up at her friend. “All
right, listen. It's legally your right to choose termination, but I strongly urge you to get a little quick counseling—it's free. Get Billy on board so it doesn't affect what appears to be a very loving and supportive marriage. Huh?”

“Is it my legal right to have that IUD removed?”

“Julie, think this through….”

“Beth, I have thought it through. I'm afraid of what one more will do to our family and it's a real fear—not just me overreacting. And I definitely can't get used to carrying a baby and then lose it. I don't know how I'd recover from that.”

“Then I suggest you make an appointment and take Billy with you, tell him this is urgent and critical and you need his support and—”

“Beth, can you just remove my IUD? Without all this crap?”

Beth pursed her lips for a second. Then she said, “Yes, I can. It may or may not make any difference.”

“Explain. Again.”

“I can remove the IUD and the pregnancy could be unaffected. Or you could have spotting, bleeding and possibly a miscarriage. If you really don't want to be pregnant, it makes better sense to see a doctor who can take care of both the IUD and the pregnancy. But…”

“But if you just take it out right now, I might be saved the trouble,” Julie said.

“Jules, don't you want to think about this?”

“I
have.
Take it out. Now.”

Beth connected eyes with her for a long moment.
Then she said, “It will go in your chart—that I removed the IUD at your request, that I informed you—”

“I know.”

“You're sure?”

“I'm absolutely sure.”

“Lie down.” The gloves went back on, the speculum back in. Beth began to work, talking to Julie's vagina. “You might have some cramping, some spotting. The spotting could last a few days, then stop. Or you could miscarry spontaneously, in which case I'd like to check you, maybe do a follow-up D and C. If you have any heavy bleeding, please let me know immediately—I'm on call tonight. You have my cell number. If I don't answer on the first try, just leave a message and come into the E.R. and I'll see you there. I don't anticipate problems, but you should be aware. No matter which way this goes, I'll have to see you in two weeks.” She glanced over Julie's drape. “Sure?”

“Do it.”

And while Beth did her work, Julie cried silently, tears sliding out of her eyes and into the hair at her temples.

 

Cassie was getting pretty flexible with this riding stuff. She packed them some sandwiches and wore a tank top and shorts under her jeans and borrowed leather jacket. They went back to Sonoma, but this time north of San Francisco they got off the road and went along the beach toward Bodega Bay. They found a peaceful spot to park where she disrobed a little bit and produced food and drink. Then Walt surprised her by pulling out
a blanket and they sat in the sun on a cool, rocky northern Pacific beach and enjoyed the seascape.

“Tell me what it was like, growing up with three brothers,” she said.

“Like a circus,” he said, laughing. “We were each born two years apart—I was the second. My mom always worked, so when we were real young, my grandma took care of us. It's amazing she lived as long as she did—she only passed a couple of years ago. But my mom was a teacher, so once we were in school, we were on the same schedule. She taught special ed—did I tell you?”

“You did,” she said, chewing on a pastrami sandwich. “And your dad was a grocer. What does that mean, he was a grocer?”

“Well, he bought a little corner grocery store—kind of like the precursor to the 7-Eleven. It was in a crappy neighborhood, but did a great business. Rental houses were his thing, though—great for him, awful for the rest of us.”

“Why is that?”

“He'd search for a deal—a repo or falling-down piece of junk—and then we'd live in it while he fixed it up. The second any of us could hold a hammer or paintbrush, we were working on it, too. We lived in one once that had no kitchen appliances at all. My mom kept a refrigerator in the garage. We had a grill in the backyard and a hot plate. There were times he had to turn the water off to plumb—now we're talking about four little boys and a gnarly mom. We boys would pee in the yard
and we'd all shower at Grandma's before going to work and school. Mom would rag on Dad to get the water or electric or whatever back on before she killed him.” He laughed. “We had a new place every year. I mean an old one every year. Sometimes we could turn 'em in less than a year. I think I remember every one, and there had to be more than twenty. They were awful. When they were fixed up, he'd rent 'em and buy another dilapidated house. At some point my mom was fighting to live in a finished house while he fixed up an empty one, but he wouldn't hear of it. He just couldn't throw away money like that.”

“Is he still doing that?”

“Nah, it worked out for him. About twenty years ago or so when we had a real-estate boom, prices doubled or tripled. The other thing—he bought small houses all the time, so the margin was greater and the market better. You know, more people can afford three-hundred-thousand-dollar houses than million-dollar houses. Plus, if you can't sell 'em, rent's cheaper. So when real estate was good, he started selling 'em and bought a few more small grocery stores. Same drill—he'd buy 'em in trouble, get 'em right, sell 'em—but at least we didn't have to live in those! My mom and dad live in a real nice house now—she finally beat him down. Me and my brothers, we give them a lot of grief about never having lived in a finished house, growing up.”

“Tell me about your brothers,” she said.

“They're all married, have kids. You know about Kevin, the cop. Twenty-eight, wife of one year, pregnant
with their first. Joel—the student. He's working on a Ph.D. in bugs so he can be super Orkin. He has two kids and a wife who's a professor already. And Tommy—he's a CPA. He has his own little firm. He handles all the family's stuff along with his other clients. He's thirty-four, been married ten years already—three kids.”

“Six grandchildren,” she said. “You're the only one not contributing.”

“I know,” he laughed. “I don't think anyone expects much out of me that way….”

“Aw, they shouldn't write you off so soon.”

“That's what I say.” He grinned. “Your turn. Tell me about growing up.”

“Hmm. Well, it was just me and my mom until I was eight, and then she met Frank, my stepdad. That made her so happy. When I was ten, their first baby came—and I was pretty thrilled to have this little play toy. When I was twelve the next little baby girl came. Then, when I was fourteen and the third one was on the way, Frank got a promotion and transfer to Des Moines.” She looked at him and said, “By that time I was pretty reluctant to move, so when Julie's family offered to let me stay with them, my parents agreed to it. I found out later that nobody expected that to work out, but it did. You know, Frank and my mom had this whole new life, new family. I never really felt a part of it.”

“Did you miss them?” he asked.

“Sure I did. I visited, spent whole summers there for a couple of years. But then I started getting jobs and my visits were shorter.”

“What about your dad? Your biological father?”

“Never knew him,” she said with a shrug. “My mom died young—she was only forty-four—a freak brain tumor. She only lasted six months, and I was in Des Moines most of that time, taking care of her. I tried to locate my father then, but I didn't find him. There are all these networks to post your search so the missing parent who might not want to be found can get in touch with you, but he never has. Who knows, maybe he's gone, too? Anyway, I don't care anymore. He was never a part of my life. If he got in touch now, I'd ask him some medical history questions, but I don't have much else to ask. Except…”

He gave her a second and then said, “Except?”

“Well, I'm curious about why he left us.”

“You don't know anything about that?”

“My mom said they weren't together long. She got pregnant, he married her but never really lived with her, wasn't around for my birth. The divorce was final before I was six months old. They were both young. It was like a big mistake, an accident he ran from. So far in the past and so irrelevant, it seems ridiculous to wonder anymore.”

Walt put his big hand against the hair at her temple and ran it back in a caress. “Are you okay about that now? Does it hurt?”

She shook her head. “What hurts is not having my mom anymore. She went on to a new life with Frank, but we stayed real close. We'd spend hours on the phone, talking about everything. Sometimes I miss her so much.”