Impulses (81 page)

With my elbows on my knees, I hang my head and the weight of the universe is ousted from my lungs in one simple breath. I heave myself up from my squatted position beside the bed. As I scurry past the dark-haired woman, she grasps my forearm.

“I am sorry. But this is something that needs to be done sooner, not purely to eliminate risk of infection, but she will need to grieve.”

“It’s easier said than done. I am sure you can appreciate that. Now if you will excuse me, I have to find my distraught partner.” I jerk my arm free of her grasp and rush out of the room, allowing the door to rebound off the wall and slam shut behind me.

“Samantha!” I peruse the length of the corridor, but there is no sign of her. “Samantha!” I repeat, pacing up the left side of the hallway. I cautiously knock the door of the restroom. “Samantha, are you in there?” When I am answered by silence, I hesitantly push the door open. Nothing but a vacant room stares back at me.

Fisting my hands through my hair, I rush down to the opposite end of the hallway to reception. As I ask the staff on duty if they have seen her, an additional woman who exits the elevator rounds the desk and overhears my description.

“There is a woman matching your depiction downstairs at the entrance.” She gathers her hair and pulls it back into a ponytail.

The confirmation that she hasn’t gone up to the roof to do something spontaneous in her distressed state, floods my veins with a form of relief. I turn on my heel and head for the elevator, muttering, “Thank you,” behind me.

As I enter the car, I faintly overhear the woman call, “She was by the flowerbed.”

Stepping through the automatic doors, the cool breeze of the early morning San Francisco air hits me unexpectedly and covers my body in goose bumps. In the actions and haste of the emergency I overlooked retrieving a jacket or sweater for either of us. Although the cold has a physical effect on my body, emotionally, I’m can barely feel it.

The overhead white lights of the awning shine brightly through the darkest hours of the night. An ambulance parks into the bay, just in front of the teal awning that states Hospital Main Entrance in bold, white lettering.

“Samantha!”

Following the sound of sniffling, I notice a shadow cast along the floor along the side wall corner that harbors an array of brightly colored flowers.

I move closer.

“Samantha?”

She sits on the solid, cold floor, her knees pulled in close to her body, her back resting against the pebbledash surface of the wall. Sinking down beside her, I encircle my left hand around her shoulders, and pull her into my side.

“I didn’t know where you were. I thought…” I halt my words. The last thing I want to do is plant that seed in her head.

Her shoulders vibrate as she succumbs to her grief. With my right hand, I push through her tresses, before holding her head against my chest and kiss her hair.

“You know, when I found out that I may be pregnant, I wished so hard that I wasn’t.” I kiss her head again then rest my chin in its place. “I know I’m being punished.”

I roll my eyes and blink back my tears.
I must stay strong. I must stay strong.

“You’re not being punished, beautiful. Why would you think that? Punished for what?” I murmur gently, my voice cracking and breaking under the strain of my suppressed emotion.

“For living the life I have lived. Hayden, I don’t deserve children. The things I have seen, the things that I have had laden on me, my approach…” she gasps and I hear the whistle as the air passes through her teeth and the mass in her throat. “Any life unfortunate enough to have me as a mother would surely end up fucked up.”

With my chin still resting atop of her head, I screw my eyes shut. “No, Samantha. You stop that right now,” I chide then hold my breath, endeavoring to stop my voice from wavering, and my lower lip from trembling.

“It’s my fault. And now she’s gone. Our, Rose is gone and we didn’t even get the chance to hold her, or say goodbye.”

Sharing my body heat as she shivers against me, I pull her closer and hold her tight. She howls into my chest. And for a moment, I allow myself to feel all the pain, all the anguish and loss, and consider the impossible opportunities that we anticipated, but will now never experience with our daughter, and my face is soon flooded with warm salted streaks.

We rest in silence, just holding each other. I don’t know how long for, but I know it is time which we need to savor the period that we have left with our baby, before having to go back inside and…

Samantha outstretches her legs, crossing them at the ankles.

I splay my right hand onto her bump.

We didn’t even get the chance to meet you. But for the short few weeks that we knew you existed––that you were in there––we loved you. We loved you with everything we had. You will always be with us, Rose, always in our hearts. I love you, my gorgeous girl.

I silently say goodbye, before I have to walk Samantha back into the hospital, to do the most harrowing thing any woman could possibly endure.

It’s 4:18 p.m. Samantha and I have been sat in the recovery area for nearly an hour and a half. She’s silent, I don’t expect anything less. Motionless, she rests in the blue padded seat, staring blankly at the flooring in the center of the room as the light streams through the blinds of the window, casting light and shadow streaks on the ground.

Red, swollen eyes are narrowed into slits that hold so much pain, distress…numbness. She’s ashen, static. Her lips are pale, dried and cracked, yet she remains still, not even moving to open her mouth to rid herself of the parched, shriveling flesh. I study her chest as it gradually raises then drops with each shallow, unseen breath.

“Sam?” I murmur. She doesn’t respond she doesn’t even blink in her catatonic state. I try again, but there’s no life left.

She is completely taken.

“Mr. Wentworth?” I direct my focus towards the doorway where Janna stands just on the threshold.

I peek back at an unresponsive Samantha, push myself from the blue padded seat, and stroll towards the woman.

“Here are some pamphlets on what to expect. The bleeding will be heavy for about ten days and she will continue to experience cramping for the next few days.”

I take her proffered leaflets and drop my arms to my side. With a creased brow, I inhale deeply and open my mouth to speak. Nothing comes out. Finding my voice, I try again.

“What…” pushing back the bitter taste in my throat, I force my eyes closed. “What can I do to help her?” My voice breaks, and as I open my eyes, twin tears are freed.

Her eyes blaze with empathetic assertions while her mouth forms a sad firm line. She places a hand on my forearm. “Just be there for her.”

I nod my head deliberately. She turns and disappears down the hall.

I feel impotent as I lower myself back into my seat next to Samantha. If I could take away her pain then I would, if I could take away only half, then it would be better than what she has to bear right now.

“Do you want a drink, Sam?” I offer tenderly. “I can get a coffee, or water?” I discern a faint shake of her head, as she continues staring absentminded at the center of the flooring in recovery. “Sam, what can I do, honey?” I move to place my left hand on her knee.

“Don’t…” she escapes from her inert state, and now glares at me with wide, terrified eyes. She shakes her head insistently.

Moving very slowly and guarded, I pull my hand away from her and rest it on my own thigh.

“Please, don’t touch me…” her face flushes, her lips curl and tears cascade as she sucks in rapid, grueling breaths. “Please, just don’t touch me.”

I feel what was left of my heart shatter into pieces. But it’s not me that matters, it’s Samantha, and if she doesn’t want me to touch her…then I won’t. All I am left to do, is sit at her side, while she gazes at me in unmasked fear, and merely nod my acquiescence.

Sniffling, I push my tears back. “Okay.”

Swimming in the deepened sea of mixed, conflicting emotions, I steer Samantha into the apartment. As I follow behind her, I shut the door carefully behind me, wishing to all the stars in the sky that as soon as I lock that door, everything over the past seventeen hours will be locked out with it.

Emptying my pockets, my keys clatter loudly as I place everything on the table to the right side of the door. Regardless of the thunderous sound through the stillness of the apartment, Samantha remains unmoved, unresponsive as she stands just on the edge of the open-plan living area. With a steady hand hovering over her abdomen, she begins a subtle perusal of the room. I hear her sharp intake of air and her long, anguished sigh that follows, traveling on her outbreath.

Treading deeper into the apartment with tangible caution, I close the small distance between us physically. Mentally, the distance between us is immeasurable. I stand behind her right shoulder, towering over her, and battling every fibre of my body and my heart that screams to reach out and have her sink into my arms, to allow her to find the comfort that she needs in my embrace.

Hands that so desperately seek to support, freeze and loiter midcourse over her shoulders.

Obviously sensing me behind her, she forcefully mutters passed the constriction in her throat, “Don’t, please, Hayden.” She hangs her head as I respect her wishes and make no attempt to place my hands on her body.

Instead, I fist them through my hair before concealing them in the depths of my pockets.

“It’s strange. She wasn’t even born, yet I can sense the absence of her presence in the apartment. It feels so cold, so big…so empty.”

I must stay strong. I must stay strong.

“Yes. It does,” I retort barely audible. “Sam, is there anything I can get for you? Anything I can do?”

Inert and rigid, she turns to face me, her gaze gingerly traveling from the flooring, up the length of my body, to finally meet my eyes.

“Can you turn the clock back twenty-four hours?”

I screw my eyes shut and hang my head.

“Can you bring her back?” She cries, and I lift my head to see her mouth quivering and her eyes swimming in moisture.

“If I could, Samantha, don’t you think I would have?” I whisper, narrowing my eyes and pulling in my brow. My heart is beyond repair, but I seek a miniscule of inner-strength that I know is hidden somewhere to stop my voice from trembling.

“I’m tired, Hayden.”

I nod. “I know. Let’s get you into bed.”

Step-by-step, I sense Samantha’s apprehension as I guide her down the hall to the bedroom. She freezes on the threshold and gasps, lowering her face into the concealment of her hands.

An unkempt bed with the comforter thrown back to the footboard welcomes us. The horrific sight of a crimson stain, pooled in the center of the sheet, is a patent reminder of the onset of the most horrifying seventeen hours of our lives.

“Why don’t you go and sit on the couch, Sam? I will sort this.”

Docile, she nods her head, lets her hands slip away from her face, and backs away from the room.

By the time I have stripped, scrubbed, flipped and remade the bed, the sun has mostly set. I peek out of the floor-to-ceiling window on Samantha’s side of the bed and permit myself to be temporarily hypnotized by my perception of the heavens. With vibrant oils of blues, peaches and lilacs, dripping and streaming into each other gracefully, naturally––silver linings peek over the clouds as the sun sinks in the sky.

As I reach the apartment door, carrying the bagged soiled sheets readying to dispose, I take a moment to check on Samantha. Her fragile, enervated body curled up on the couch. Her hand balled into a fist, her chin propped up on her knuckles. She’s exhausted.

I drop the knotted bag to the floor against the front door and silently stroll to the couch. Scooping her limp body up into my arms, I make the most of this brief moment of contact, and summon the internal strength to get us through this traumatic time.

With my arms around her body, she answers me with a softly emitted groan and wraps her arms loosely around my neck while I carry her to the freshly made bed.

Groaning once more, she rolls away from me to face the window as I lower her into the center of the mattress. Once I cover her body with the comforter, I comb my fingers through her hair.

“I’m hurting, too, Sam. But I am going to be the rock that you need. I will be as strong as I have to be to get you through this. I love you, beautiful,” I press my lips to her temple with profuse tenderness, and then leave her to rest.

“Where have you two been? I have been trying to ring you both all day but your phones were off. Did you forget that we were supposed to be decorating today?” Jessie booms down the speaker.

Perched on the silver barstool at my kitchen island, I take tiny sips of my coffee. I found myself unwarily in front of the bottle of Southern Comfort, but I combatted the urge to drown myself in hard liquor––knowing that I can’t possibly be what Samantha needs if I’m drunk and choose a strong, black coffee as an alternative.

“Jess, we have been at the hospital since the very early hours of the morning. We haven’t long got back home.”

“You have what!? The hospital? Why? What’s happened?”

I rub at my brow, free a heavy sigh, and go into the details.

“Oh, fuck, I can’t believe this. That’s it––I’m on my way over.”

“She asleep, Jess. I–I don’t know what I can do to help her. I hate seeing her like this. I just want to help her, Jess…I just want to help her.” My tears irritate the flesh as they slip over my lips. I hastily brush them away.

“Hayden, we will get her through this. But it is going to take time. I’ve got Sammy’s car keys, I’m leaving now. Is there anything you need from the store?”

I briefly skim through my memory bank, but can’t think of anything in particular. Remembering the pamphlets, I hesitate, “Oh, um…” screwing my eyes shut, I take a profound breath, and mutter, “Could you pick her up some sanitary towels?”

“Of course I can. I will be there shortly.”

Concerned and terrified eyes stare back at me as Jessie stands waiting on the threshold. Her hair in pigtails, her pale pink, frilly blouse is tucked neatly inside her fitted indigo jeans. For some unfathomable reason, as soon as I set eyes on her, the apprehension and support which is reflected back at me, is like a green light for me to embrace my own repressed emotions.