Say Forever (22 page)

"Maybe she's right." Karri nods, flashing a weak smile. "Thanks."

I try to return Karri's smile, but the wave of nausea that overcomes me, nearly sends me tumbling onto the floor. I turn to find someplace to vomit, but I only make it a few steps before this morning sickness spirals out of control. A cyclone of dizziness spins inside my head, and it feels as if my whole world tilts and falls over.

"Christina, are you okay?" Karri echos behind me.

"I need to go to the bathroom," I mumble, but my voice sounds hollow, distant, as if someone else is talking for me and I'm miles away. I clutch my stomach as a sharp stabbing pierces my insides. I fall to the floor with a thud and pain lances up my shoulder.

"Christina! Hold on!"

I'm barely aware of Karri screaming, and then the soothing sound of Violet's voice before I succumb to darkness.

Chapter Eighteen

Andrés

I check the calendar on my computer, though I'm not sure why I care what day it is. I rarely get a day off, anymore. Tomorrow will be the last day in January. We were supposed to get married this weekend. Christina hasn't mentioned setting a new wedding date, and now I wonder if she ever will. Despair hangs over her like a dark cloud. I swear It stifles me every time I walk through our apartment door. She says I've forgotten about her. She says I'm staying late at work because I don't want to be with her after we lost our child. No matter how many times I tell her Tio has added to my workload, she doesn't believe me. She just retreats into this dark place inside her soul, and each day I feel her slipping further and further away from me.

This new business she's working on with her mom isn't keeping her busy enough. I've offered Christina her old job back, but I get the feeling she'd rather sit home and drown in her depression. Most days I find her in her studio, painting stark landscapes and images I don't get, like a chair alone in a hallway, or a rainbow buried beneath thunderclouds. I keep telling her she needs to see a therapist, but she refuses. I guess I should be relieved she still talks to Grace and her mom. I just don't understand why she's shutting me out. What did I do? I have told her too many times to count that I don't blame her for losing the baby. The doctor says these things happen, that nobody was to blame.

Words that fall on deaf ears, because Christina definitely blames herself. I don't know how to convince her I love her beyond life. Add that to the fact that I'm still getting these damn dreams about every other night, and you could say my life sucks right now. The dreams are consistent. I'm back in the Humvee crying for help, but no one hears me. I lie there and cry and cry and nobody comes to my rescue. This time my Army buddies aren't with me. It's just me, broken, scared, and alone. Kind of like how I've been feeling since we lost the baby.

I sit at my desk, staring at the monitor, stressing over all the parts on back order, all the responsibilities I have to fulfill before I can leave, and it's already five-thirty. I know I won't get out of here for another few hours, which means Christina will think I'm avoiding her again.

I feel so helpless, and I just don't see a way out. I fire off an email to my subordinate, asking him one more time to try to find another supplier, so we can get those parts in on time. Then I see the message from my Uncle Arturo. It's been a while since I've heard from him. Most of my family, even Tia, has kept a respectful distance since Christina lost the baby. I don't know if I should read his message. I really don't have time right now, but curiosity wins out, and I open it.

Hey, sobrino. Just wanted to let you know the catering business is going well. I've got several weddings and quinceañeras booked, but I could use some help. My offer still stands. Also, I'm sorry about your baby, mijo. I hope you and your pretty señorita are doing well. You are a good boy and deserve to be happy.

I lean back in my chair and stare at his message for a long while,
even though I know I need to get back to work. The line that gets me is he thinks I deserve to be happy. The thing is, I can't recall what happiness feels like anymore. I close my eyes and try to remember, try to recapture that feeling. The memories are there, but distant, as if they happened a lifetime ago: images of when Christina and I first met, and me holding her while she stumbles over my feet, of the time the A/C went out in my old apartment, and we cooled off in my pool and then made love in the moonlight, us chasing her brothers around the yard, laughing and pulling celery out of their pants, and all the many, many times, we'd take baths together and then make love well into the night.

Christina and I have shared some wonderful times, but we haven't even been together a year. I know there are more memories we need to create, if only we can find a way to be happy again. I ignore at least a dozen unanswered emails and open up that travel site I've been hearing about on TV. I know I need to do something about us now, before it's too late. I grab my cellphone and scroll for Grace's number as I formulate a plan in my head.

***

Christina

The only happy memories I have of my father were the times he used to take me fishing. He usually let me bring my sketchbook, and I'd draw pictures of fish jumping through the water. I even drew one from memory once of him hauling in his catch. My dad said it was my best work of art and he'd hung it in his office.

The dried salt from the water felt rough on my skin after we'd come in from a long day of fishing, and the dock smelled of pungent fish blood as seagulls swooped down and devoured discarded entrails. I'd usually turn my head when my dad filleted each fish. Even though they were long dead, I still felt sorry for them. The meat was raw and grey as blood ran down the cutting board and onto the concrete beneath.

When I think of those fish now, I think of my heart. Raw and bleeding. Despite all the hardships I've dealt with in my life, nothing has even come close to the pain I feel from the loss of our child. Nothing.

And I don't know how I can recover from it.

The guilt that overwhelms me is so powerful it's crippling. I hardly have the energy to build my new wedding design business. I don't have the desire to do anything anymore except paint pictures that convey my feelings of darkness and despair. Otherwise, I spend way too much time in bed, thinking maybe the miscarriage was God's way of punishing me for resenting an innocent child. All the while, thoughts about what I should have done differently run through my head. I should have insisted my OB see me right away, rather than be satisfied with a two week wait time. I shouldn't have eaten all those brownies and pancakes and other sugary foods.

But I guess none of those regrets matter now that the baby is lost. Inconsiderate people try to console me, telling me I was only four weeks pregnant, and these things happen. Andrés and I can try again, they say, but after that miscarriage, I don't know if I want to risk the heartache of losing another child. Besides, don't they understand I need time to mourn? Four weeks or not, that was still my baby. I didn't even know if it was a boy or a girl. I never even got to see my little peanut on an ultrasound, and now our child is gone forever.

Andrés's depression makes mine even worse. At first I thought he was mourning the miscarriage, too, but after talking to Arturo on the phone yesterday I'm not so sure. I knew Andrés hated his job, but now that I know about Arturo's offer, it all makes sense. Now I understand why he was so melancholy when I bought him professional cookware for Christmas, and why the only time he seems happy anymore is when he's in the kitchen. I wish Andrés would open up and tell me if he's truly unhappy at his job, but I'm such a mess of emotions right now, I don't know how to help him when I can't even fix myself. If only I could find some way to bring us both out of this funk. My misery feeds off his, and we're dragging each other into an endless pit of depression.

I jump at a knock on the front door. Even though I'm in bed, the loud banging resonates through the apartment. Only one person I know knocks like that: Grace. I throw off my covers and grab my sweatpants off the floor. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror as I slip them on. I run a hand down my ribs, which are showing through my tank top. Andrés keeps telling me I need to eat, but I don't have the appetite.

The banging grows more insistent.

"Coming!" I close my eyes and groan. The sound of my booming voice does little to ease my migraine. It feels like Grace's knocking is echoing inside my head.

My legs are deadweights as I trudge to the front door.

Grace scowls at me, an impatient look in her eyes. "Hey, what are you doing in your pajamas?"

I rub my hand through my hair, pulling straggly strands out of my eyes. "I didn't have to work today."

"You look like shit." She leans forward and inhales, then makes a face. "Have you showered?" She fans her nose as her scowl deepens, reminding me of my reaction whenever I drive past a dead skunk on the highway.

I shrug as my irritation grows. "Not yet."

Her jaw drops. "Not yet? Christina, it's six o'clock." Her voice rises with a sense of urgency. "Andrés will be home soon."

"I doubt it." Ever since I lost the baby he's been working later and later. There are times when I'm already in bed when he gets home. Not that it matters, since he never comes to our bed anymore, anyway.

Grace pushes past me and stomps toward my bedroom. I slam the door and follow her.

"What are you doing?"

She's already in my closet, dragging out an empty suitcase from the back. She shoots me a pointed look before hoisting it on my bed. "Packing."

"For what?"

"Andrés finally cashed in those Vegas tickets I got you. Now go get in the shower while I pack." My arms and legs ice over, and I gape at her for a long moment, my feet rooted to the floor.

"Why are you just standing there?" she snaps as she grabs a handful of panties from a drawer and throws them into the bag. "Your plane leaves in two hours!"

"Vegas? We're going to Vegas?"

"That's what I said. Do I need to throw you in the shower myself?" She points a finger at the bathroom door. "Go!"

Chapter Nineteen

Andrés

Though it's midnight Vegas time by the time we reach our hotel, it's 2 a.m. in San Antonio, and Christina is dragging her feet when we walk through the door. If this had been our honeymoon, like it should have been, I would have carried her across the threshold, but I settle for carrying all of the luggage instead. I'm not sure why Christina needed such a huge suitcase for a four day getaway.

My cellphone buzzes against my hip, but I ignore it. Tio wasn't happy when I told him I was taking Friday through Monday off. I feel bad for leaving him, but I don't have a choice. Christina needs me more than he does.

Christina eyes the two queen beds like they've got bedbugs or herpes. Heat creeps into the back of my neck when she shoots me a sour look before trudging toward the bathroom. It's been over a month since I refused to share a bed with her, and she's still giving me a guilt trip about it.

I don't bother unpacking my things. We'll only be in this hotel for one night, then tomorrow we're going to do something a little different. I'm taking her to a mountain resort a little over an hour's drive outside Vegas. I checked the weather report and it snowed there a few days ago. Christina once told me she's never seen snow, so I hope she likes it. I don't know what else to do to make her happy, and I'm at my wits end trying to make this relationship work.

Christina is already sleeping by the time I get out of the shower. I kiss her on the forehead, telling her I love her, even though I know she can't hear me, then I climb into my bed and stare up at the ceiling. I lie there for several moments, trying to piece together how our relationship went so wrong, and what I can do to fix it. We haven't had sex in over a month, not since before she lost the baby. I climbed into bed with her last week, nibbling on her ear and whispering words of love in Spanish. She started crying and pushed me off of her. I felt like a total pendejo after that and haven't tried since. I close my eyes and pray that the nightmares don't come tonight, and if they do, that I don't wake her.

***

Christina

"Snow. I'm touching snow." I stare down in awe at the white crystals as I rub them between my gloved hands. I look up at Andrés. His cheeks and nose are a healthy pink, and his chestnut eyes sparkle like quartz jewels. I take another deep breath of crisp mountain air. Everything feels so alive here, even me, which is odd, because it was only yesterday when just the thought of getting out of bed was overwhelming. "It feels so different than I imagined."

He lifts my hand to his lips and blows the crystals back onto the ground. "That's the hard stuff." He nods behind us. "We need to wander off the road and find fresh snow."

I stare at the white slope, crowded with so many tall trees, I fear we may get lost and never find our way out if we venture too far. But I take his hand and follow his lead, slipping a few times, despite the fact that Andrés bought me the best snow boots money could buy when we were down in the valley. It's a chore just putting one foot in front of the other. These heavy pants I'm wearing make me feel like I'm wrapped in cellophane. But the weirdest thing is the way the ground crunches beneath my feet. I can't help but giggle with each step as he leads me off the path and toward deeper snow.

Hearing me, Andrés turns with a questioning look.

I nod toward the ground. "It crunches when I walk on it. It's like frozen corn flakes."

Andrés's jaw drops and he looks at me as if I've grown a second head.

"What?" I ask.

He reaches up and cups my chin, which is already numb from the cold. Then Andrés does something I haven't seen him do in a long time: he smiles. "I love you, that's what."

My throat tightens with emotion, and it takes all of my willpower to keep from turning into a blithering heap of sobs. He's told me he loves me a thousand times. Why do I feel like crying when he says it now?