Impulses (82 page)

Crossing my right arm across my chest, I strive to massage the weight off my left shoulder. In the depths of despair, I shake my head, my lips tremble, and my sight plunges into a sea of tears, as I surrender and release an ocean full of mournful sobs.

“Come here,” she whispers, stepping through the doorway with her arms open.

With her arms encircling my neck, I reciprocate her embrace, locking my hands around her waist, as I lower my head to rest on her shoulder. My muffled wails flowing unrestricted into the crook of Jessie’s neck.

“Let it out, Hayden. It’s okay. Just let it out.”

Three days…and I feel as useless as ever. If it hadn’t been for Jessie insisting on moving in for these disquieting, angst-ridden days, I don’t think I would I would have fared as well as I have.

Samantha has stationed herself into a ball, curled up in the bed ever since we came home Sunday afternoon. She won’t eat and will only have little sips of water, along with her pain relief and sleeping pills. I try to be there for her, I try to reach out and hold her hand, stroke her hairline, yet she recites the words that are as heart shattering as the first time she uttered them in supplication,
‘please, don’t touch me’.
Inside I am crying out for a cuddle from my partner, as an acknowledgment that we are both there for one another––that we are both going through this together. Being there is breaking my heart, and I can’t defer to any help that I want to give to her.

Feeling as though I am prompting things to worsen, I decide to go to work. But before I leave, I write a quick note and rest it on my pillow:

Samantha, when I reach out to touch you, please do not feel that it is a form of sexual contact that I am seeking, for that couldn’t possibly be more further from the truth. I want to hold you and bring you comfort.

I am being as strong as I can be for you.

Please, I need to help you…let me help you.

I love you.

“Hayden? What are you doing here?”

Passing Victor’s office, I precede straight down the corridor to my own. “Well, I own this firm and I found it necessary for me to come in. But thank you for the warm welcome, Victor,” I hiss with unveiled disdain.

“I didn’t intend for it to sound that way, son.” He follows behind me as I step into my office, closing the door behind him.

Rounding the desk, I stand in front of my chair and set my briefcase on the surface of the bureau. I unclip the locks and ruffle a few papers. “Yes, well. It seems that I am no longer needed anywhere these days.” I close my case.

“What I was implying, Hayden,”––he grasps the opposite edge of my desk, his paper-thin flesh on the backs of his hands causing each blue vein to protrude through his skeletal hand––“is that you should be on bereavement leave. You can’t come in after a few days. You need longer than that, son. You know that.” Resting into his arms, his glasses slip down the bridge of his nose.

I mirror his stance.

“Victor, being at home isn’t helping. I can’t help, Samantha. There is nothing I can do. I am being strong for her, but I cannot physically do anything. It is out of my control.”

“You’re in denial, son. You are being so strong
for
Samantha, that you aren’t able to mourn. And a part of you is blocking it out and refusing to believe it.”

Sighing heavily, I turn my back to the old man and face out the window.

“I am not pushing you, Hayden. But you and Samantha will need to deal with this
together
. And when you do, it will hit you like a freight train. You thought losing your father was painful? I am not going to sugar-coat it, Hayden, you are a grown man. Grieving for your child is the worst thing anyone has to do. And when that time comes, you will need to have time off. You will need to rebuild your relationship. And the firm will remain growing from strength-to-strength with Alexander, Chloe and I, during your absence. That is all I am saying.”

I gaze down at the thick cream carpet beneath my feet, my hands buried in my pockets.

“Thank you, Victor. I appreciate that,” I hum distantly.

“Your more than welcome, son.” Then I sense that familiar feeling of being alone once again and the small click of the door being closed behind him is my indication to finally breathe.

The morning passes tediously slow. Every minute seeming like an hour, every hour seems like a day. But after what felt like an eternity, lunch time finally arrives.

I shuffle my papers into a neat pile and push myself up from the warmth of my seat. Shrugging on my pale-gray suit jacket as I skirt my desk, I’m startled by the shrill noise of my office phone ringing.

Backtracking to the desk, I answer.

“Hayden Wentworth.”

“Hayden?”

“Hi, Mom,” I reply deflated.

“I rang the house and Jessie answered. What on earth are you doing at work?”

I drone on about my sense of powerlessness surrounding everything of the last three to four days. I am really getting irritated having to repeat myself over and over again. Why can’t people just leave me be?

“Listen, I will come up tomorrow. Let Jessie have a day for herself. I’ll watch over Samantha while you’re at work. You never know, it might help having a mother-figure to talk to.” I have to concur, it might help. I hope it will.

“Okay. Thank you, Mom.”

“I will be at the apartment for 11:00 a.m. If you need me before then, Hayden, you know where I am.”

“I know,”––I tap my fingers rhythmically on each of the silver studs that secure the leather padding on my desk––“all I need at the moment, Mom, is, Samantha.”

“Hayden, as a pregnant woman, when you visit the hospital, you expect to leave it with the baby still moving around in your belly, or nestled safely in your arms. Samantha went in as a mother-to-be, and left without a baby. You have to understand that what she is feeling, how she is acting, is completely normal under these circumstances.”

“I just…I want to––”

“I know you want to help her, Hayden. But if this is the way that is helping her, then you must let her continue. You can’t force someone to grieve differently. We all have our own ways; you of all people should respect that. I will see you tomorrow, my son. I love you.”

“Bye, Mom.”

I take a detour as I drive back home. It only lengthens the journey by an additional ten minutes, but its ten more minutes that creates a world of hope in my mind; a chance to imagine Samantha walking towards me as I enter the apartment and fall into my arms. When I hold her, she’s holding me, and we make a vow to get through this together, that we will talk to each other, express our feelings and not allow the chasm between us to grow, but to bring us closer, as we strive to strengthen the weakened foundation that is crumbling beneath us every day.

I park in my spot in the parking lot, and turn off the ignition and recover my briefcase in the foothold of the passenger side. Hoping that today is the day in which she has found the ability to take small steps and at least eaten something, I open my door and unfold my body from the car.

The room is empty, the light muted to only a soft golden glow from the table lamp beside the couch, as an eerie silence consumes the apartment. I stand my case next to the table, and loosen my black tie as I meander down the hallway.

I crane my head around the archway of the kitchen, only the strip lights shine from under the wall units, illuminating the black and silver countertops beneath them. The bedroom door at the end is ajar. I stroll towards it as nervous anticipation moulds and tighten into a gut-wrenching sphere in my stomach. I gingerly push the door open and step inside.

Jessie is propped against the headboard on my side of the bed, while Samantha remains curled up like a sleeping cat. The bedside lamp emits golden glow that covers everything at the top end of the room. Jessie’s fingers work through Samantha’s disheveled, auburn mane, taking long, gradual strokes.

She turns to face me.

“Hey,” she whispers. I pull my tie through my collar and rest my back against the tall, dark-wooden dresser.

“Hi. How has she been?” I cross my arms over my chest.

“Same. She’s cried, she’s slept, and she took some pain relief. But other than that,” she shakes her head, and glances back at Sam. “I think it might help if she had someone she could talk to who has been where she is now.”

I nod and breathe heavily. “I’ll look into some groups or something. Surely there must be some helpline even. The woman gave us some pamphlets at the hospital, and all they said is, ‘just be there for her’.”

“Sometimes that’s all we can do. Sometimes having a shoulder to cry on, or someone to vent out to, or just knowing that people around you respect you enough to allow you to be quiet, is all the help that you need. Stepping stones, Hayden, it’s what we all need.”

“Thank you, Jess.” She peeks up at me with a perplexed expression and shrugs her shoulders. “For being here, for her,” I concluded, showing appreciation.

Slipping herself off the bed, she stalks towards me and sets her tiny hand onto my shoulder. She cocks her head.

“Hayden, I am here for the both of you. You are both in the center of this, and until you can come together and be the life raft that you need to be for each other, then I’m the life raft,” she offers a sad smile. “I will help in any way I can to guide you two back to one another.”

“Thank you. Listen, my mom said that she will come over tomorrow and stand vigil. You should have the day for yourself.”

“Hayden,” she snorts, “my shoulders are broad for a reason. I have had the weight of mount Olympus bared upon them over the years since Sammy came into my life. I hold no malice and no burden for being here for however long is necessary.”

“I know and words can’t express my gratitude for that. My mom wants to see her. She wants to try and help.”

“I respect that.” She peeks over her shoulder as Samantha grumbles in her sleep. “It’s hard to believe that this time last year there was only me that cared for her well-being. Now, she’s surrounded by people that love her, people that want to help her.”

“And who would travel to the end of the world and back for her.”

She turns around to face me, holding me with her ivy green eyes. My breath hitches as she raises her hand, and with a tender touch, cradles the side of my face.

“I think you would both travel to the end of the world and back, if it was for each other. You have done. When obstacles are put in your way, somehow you both manage to overcome them, and you grow stronger as a couple. That, Hayden, is true love. And I am glad she has found it with you.”

I glance down at my folded forearms and display a shy smile.

Letting her hand fall from my face, she rubs my upper arm. “Coffee?” she asks.

“I think coffee is the soberest option.”

Thankfully Thursday passes easier and quicker. I’m uncertain as to whether it is because I know that my mother is with Samantha, or because I am hopeful that my mother has divulged her wise words and helped reach a part of Samantha I can’t seem to penetrate.

At 6:00 p.m. exactly, the elevator doors swiftly glide open on the thirty-eighth floor.

I stand at the apartment door, overhearing music echoing around inside. That means Samantha has gotten out of bed. She must have done something at some point in the day. The mere observation fills me with expectation. I open the door to be hailed by Marvin Gaye serenading about when a man loves a woman.

“Sam?” I call through the apartment. “Samantha?”

I wander through the apartment, down to the bedroom.

“Sam,” I call again, as I view the unoccupied bed. Butterflies try to escape my stomach through my mouth, my body trembles as a sudden panic lances through me.

“Sam?” I push the en-suite bathroom door open further, my blood turning to ice as it paths through my veins. My heart contained in a block of ice, smashes into a hundred shards as it free falls to my stomach, at the sight of Samantha sitting on the cold floor, her back propped up against the glass cubicle of the shower. She’s hugging her knees while grasping a dusty-pink baby’s vest, and a jumble of white, round tablets lay scattered against the tiling.

TWENTY-THREE

----------------------------------

SAMANTHA

I sigh greatly at the sincerity of Hayden’s written words as I reread the note that he left me yesterday morning. I glide my thumb over his italic script.

I will be as strong as you need me to be.

If only he knew.

The sun chars through the window, creating a thick beam that engulfs the halfway point of the room. I stare into the bright light, and watch as miniscule pieces of lint swirl and dance their way weightlessly through the air to their descent.

Jessie walks into the bedroom. “Hey, sweetie, I brought you some water and your pills.” She hands me a glass tumbler and I take a warranted sip. Its icy cold and relieves my throat of the disgusting, bitter taste of the last few days.

Days…it seems more like decades.

“Do you want your pills, sweetie?” She holds the tiny cylinder bottle and shakes it steadily. The contents rattle and tap against the plastic walls surrounding them.

Inattentive, I shake my head. I’ve had enough of popping pills. I need something for the emotional pain, or something to knock me out until I no longer feel the void in my chest and my womb. I want something strong enough to take me away from all of this.

I just want…I just want…

“I’ll leave them here just in case you need them later, okay.” She places them down onto the bedside table.

I lean over, positioning my water next to them.

“Sammy,” she utters with solemn caution, the bed dipping under her weight as she sits next to me, her left leg bent under her right. She runs her fingertips through my hair offering comfort. “You know Hayden’s Mom is coming to visit you today.” Her perceptive voice cocoons me with her understanding, like she is talking to a scared and nervous child that has just been orphaned.

I faintly nod my head.