Dream Lover (28 page)

Sandra lay in her hospital bed, staring out the window. She asked Tom if he wouldn’t mind going back to her apartment and getting her makeup bag and clean clothes. The pajama bottoms were in the trash can in the bathroom, covered in baby. The horrible emptiness couldn’t be described. It wasn’t simply uterine. She felt it in her throat. Her chest was hollow; the ache around her heart brutal. Even her feet were suffering.

Sandra was guilt-ridden. But the loss couldn’t be attributed to any one factor, the doctor had said, her kindness overshadowed by her need to look at her watch every thirty seconds. Finally unable to tolerate it another second, Sandra released her. “Please, go! If you look at your watch one more time, I am going to lose it,” she said. The doctor turned red and apologized, but she left. Sandra was alone with her thoughts. Life would go on as it had before she’d ever met the flamboyant Jack Smith. She would go to work every day with no plans beyond the immediate needs of her job. She would minimally feed her body. Add the retinue of antiviral drugs, and there was nothing else she needed. At that moment, she was without any emotional feeling for Tom Adams. She wished he would end it as he had before, swiftly and without a look backward. She knew enough about human nature to understand that she shouldn’t make any decisions in this state of mind, so she wouldn’t do it now, she wouldn’t ask him to leave her alone. She had compared him unfairly to Jack. Tom was a fine man, an honorable, faithful man. Jack was a reprobate, apparently a sexual deviate. His interest in her had appealed to her pride, her need for attention. Sandra turned over and put her face in the pillow to cry.
How the hell had it come to this?

She thought of the little baby. Her pregnancy was over twenty weeks, so the hospital treated the baby like a full-term stillborn. It was a girl. After she was born, the nurses cleaned her up and wrapped her in a tiny blanket. The nurses gave Sandra the choice of whether to see her or not. Sandra hesitated but knew that no matter how sad it would be, she might regret it if she didn’t see her, and then it would be too late.

After Sandra left the Recovery Room, the sedation from the procedure barely worn off, they brought the baby in to her. She was confused at first, not understanding what they expected her to do. Was she supposed to just look? Or could she touch her? If she took her from the nurses to unwrap, to examine, how was she going to find the courage to give her back? She had no husband by her side with whom to share her grief. She had never felt so alone.

“What should I do?” she cried.

The nurse grasped her shoulder and squeezed. “You don’t have to do anything, dear. This is your baby. That’s all.” She held her up for Sandra to see. “You may hold her if you want to, but it’s not necessary. It’s enough to just look at her.” Afraid to touch the baby, Sandra lay there and looked, tears streaming down her face. The nursery nurses would take the baby’s photo and her footprints, and give Sandra the blanket and little stockinet hat she had on. Those reminders would be all she would have of the five months of pregnancy and of a short, foolish romance. Sandra had never been so despondent.

“Do you want us to take her back to the nursery now?” the nurse asked. Sandra didn’t want to give in to her fears, so she shook her head no and reached out to take the baby. She was so small. The nurse kept her hand under the baby’s head until Sandra felt sure of herself. The tiny body was still warm in the blanket. Sandra, looking through her tears, carefully lifted the blanket away from the baby’s face so she could see her ears. There was a little blood around her earlobe;
my blood,
Sandra thought.
This is my baby. She grew inside of me for five months. Why? Why did this happen?
Sandra began to cry again.

The nurse never left her side. If there had been a father or a support person available, she would have stepped out of the room and allowed the parent to have privacy.
But this young woman is no more than a child
, the nurse thought. She was in her mid-twenties. The nurse wasn’t going to leave a patient alone when she was so vulnerable.

Sandra unwrapped the baby with the nurse’s help. Her tiny body was so sweet and so sad at the same time. She was no bigger than Sandra’s hand. Sandra peeked under the cap and the nurse nodded in approval. She already had hair, and it appeared to be red. Sandra’s mother’s hair had been red.

“Would you like to name her?” the nurse asked.

“Ellin. It was my mother’s name,” Sandra said. Tom walked in at that moment, as Sandra broke down crying at the thought of her dead mother and now, her dead baby. His police work had not prepared him for this. He went to her side and peered down at the tiny frame in her lap.

“Oh, my God!” he exclaimed, and then he started crying, as well. He knelt down beside Sandra with his arm around her shoulder. “She’s so tiny! Oh, she is so beautiful. Sandra I’m so sorry!” He was so touching, offering his support and showing his concern, that even the nurse was moved. Sandra would never forget how he had offered her exactly what she needed at that moment; validation that her daughter had been important, that she was going to be missed. Sandra reached around with her free arm and hugged Tom. They held each other for a brief minute, the threesome heartbreaking to the onlooker. The nurse left to allow the young couple some time alone.

“Look at her tiny feet,” Sandra said, exposing her body. Tom touched the tiny toes, no bigger than grains of rice.

“How are we going to recover from this?” Tom asked, crying unabashedly. “How are
you
going to?” His vulnerability strengthened her.

“We’ll just take it one day at time. I don’t want to give her up now, but I have to keep telling myself that she is gone. She’s not alive.” Sandra cried again, but this time, she attempted to pull herself together. She pressed her buzzer and the nurse came in immediately.

“I’ll never forget how nice you were to me,” Sandra said to her. The nurse bent over and embraced her patient. “I’m ready for you to take her now.” Sandra started to sob, but she lifted the bundle up for the nurse. “Thank you! Good-bye, little Ellin!”

The nurse left and Tom and Sandra held each other.

“I’ve had enough of this damn place. Let’s get out of her,” Sandra said. She slipped her legs out of the bed. Tom took her clothes out of the Zabar’s bag he had put them in. She immodestly pulled her underpants on over the huge pad she had wedged in between her legs. Tom held her spandex pants open for her to put on; she held on to his shoulder and stepped into the legs. He helped her pull the T-shirt over her head. She put some lipstick on, “just so I don’t scare anyone,” and some blush, combed her hair into a ponytail, grabbed her purse, and motioned to Tom to follow her. She was leaving. They stopped at the nursery for the baby’s belongings and at the nurse’s desk to thank them once again. Whether her doctor was discharging her or not, she was going home.

37

D
ave from Organic Bonanza showed up at the Smith residence with three overflowing bags of deli items for Pam. He remembered to get what she had asked for, but he took the time to check her past deli purchases and brought her containers of all her favorites. He also had sandwiches made for lunch. If she would agree to eat with him, he’d stay; if she were put off by his forwardness, he’d leave. From the moment she opened the door for him, they were friends. Pam couldn’t remember him being so attractive. He was tall and lanky, but he had a firm jaw, an impressive hairline, and he was neat and clean. Dave had always admired Pam, thinking she was striking.

She greeted him at the door and could not hide her pleasure that he had thought of her enough to bring lunch. It was still crappy out, the rain beating down and the sky dark and foreboding, but in Pam’s den, it was warm and welcoming, even with the curtains open wide to the vista of the choppy, black sea. They unpacked the bags together and made up plates of food to take into the den. Pam dragged a table over to the chairs that afforded the ocean view. She made fresh coffee and brought in a tray with cream and sugar. They ate their lunch, talking like old friends. He said “yes” to coffee afterwards, and they sat and talked, drinking coffee for over an hour. The only uncomfortable moment came when Pam went to the pantry to get napkins and realized that the door was locked. On the floor was a pile of porn and the destroyed drawer full of who knew what. She had forgotten about the travesty of the photos. But she circumvented the awkwardness with her usual grace by saying she’d locked the door because she had tossed her tax papers in there when workmen were in the house the day before. Conversation came so easily for them. She was interested in his dogs—English bulldogs, two of them.

“Couldn’t you guess?” Dave teased. “Look at my jaw!”

Pam started laughing, unable to hide her recognition that he had a deep overbite and did sort of look like a bulldog in the jaw! He smiled at her in a way that accentuated his prominent jaw and she just laughed and laughed.

“On a scale of one to ten, I definitely rate this lunch a ten,” he told her.

“Well, the food rates a twelve! Thank you so much. I really can’t remember when I had more fun at lunch in my own house,” Pam said. She picked up her coffee cup, watching him. He was looking around the den, out the window, and finally, at her.

“Can I see you again?” Dave asked. He didn’t see any point in beating around the bush. Either she wanted to see him or she didn’t. Her husband was gone now for almost five months.

She looked him right in the eyes. “Yes,” and she smiled at him.

When she was alone, the afternoon stretched out ahead of her. The contraband in the pantry needed to be dealt with.
But what to do with it?
It was horrible, a chronicle of madness, some of it surely documented right in this very house. She didn’t want to see images of her sister being fucked by her own husband. Was there any reason on earth to save the photos? She just didn’t know. She certainly wasn’t going to look through them; he had to have taken hundreds of pictures.
Just burn them
.

Locking the front door, she turned around and saw the fire pit through the glass sliders that led to the veranda. The motorized canvas roof had been pulled over, so at least it was dry there. She put a jacket on and went out to fire up the pit. Once it was going, she went back into the kitchen and unlocked the pantry door. She turned her eyes away from the photos, suddenly frightened of them, of the knowledge they would force her to have. They needed to be burned as fast as possible. She felt urgent enough about it now, and hoped that someone like Jeff Babcock wouldn’t wander over. The weather would work in her favor. She carried one bundle of photos at a time, turning the image upside down. Tearing them in half to facilitate their destruction, she burned each one until it was gone; fine ash that would blow away in the wind. Finally, the task was completed.

Going out to the garage to go through his tools took a few more minutes, but she wanted to make sure nothing else was there that might mortify her children if they happened across it. It seemed that any locked vessel was a potential problem. She took the lone desk drawer with her, as well. She would toss it out on the next trash day. She thought of the apartment in Manhattan.
Why hadn’t he stashed his photos there? Why keep them in the house?
She remembered her shock the first time she went into the apartment after Jack’s death. The total lack of him there.
Or why not store the photos in his desk at work?
She thought maybe he wanted her to see them. Wanted her to get the full brunt of it. Seeing them ensured that she would get over his death swiftly, not hesitate to move on. They were worse than the AIDS diagnosis. She truly didn’t know him at all.

She looked around the garage and decided there was nothing else she could do out there. She had allowed his clothing to sit in the closet because she thought Brent or Lisa might want something of their father’s. She’d wait a few more weeks until Thanksgiving, but that was the deadline. After that, his stuff would be out of there.

Dave’s visit had been a fine diversion for her. She was looking forward to seeing him again. If a relationship developed, she’d keep it low key so health-related issues wouldn’t have to be discussed right away. If he started reaching for her hand, or kissing her, she’d tell him then. Or maybe that wasn’t fair. Maybe she should tell him right away, explain why Marion and Jean’s treatment of her was so upsetting. Then he could decide if he really wanted to see her again. That settled it. She would tell him the next time they were together, if he called her.

What a hell of a start to the weekend it had been so far.
She thought of Sandra. A pang of sadness passed over her for the little baby, the little sibling of her own children. She hoped Sandra wasn’t alone, that her friend, Tom, was with her. As tragic as the loss of the baby was, it would make life between the two of them a little easier. It just didn’t make any sense why it happened, but she felt certain that Sandra would get through it.

She went in to pour herself yet another cup of coffee; it had to have been her sixth that day. She took a pastry Dave brought and the coffee and went back to the den to gaze out the window. When she was finished, she’d putter for a while and then go to the gym. It would continue to be her way of life. Peaceful, simple, empty.