The Truth (9 page)

The whole time I was sure I would wake up sweating and crying at any moment from this horrid nightmare. However, as they both stilled on the desk in front of them, sated from their rendezvous, the realization I wasn’t going to wake up from this finally settled in my brain. Panicking, I turned around and fled, leaving the door wide open behind me. I should have confronted them. I should have screamed at them both. But at that moment, I felt such extreme embarrassment, all I could do was run—so I did.

I took the stairs so fast I almost slid down them twice. I had to get as far away from this as fast as possible. Maybe if I runaway fast enough, it won’t be real. When I reached the bottom of the stairs, I took two quick steps before my nylons slid on the floor. I went airborne and then came down in a messy heap on the floor. I landed hard and loud right on my ass. Afraid they heard me—I scrambled into my shoes and flew out the door as fast as I could.

I got in the car, started it, and then I sped away from that house of horrors as fast as my car would take me.

One thing you
learn when you are part of an elite family is that appearances are everything. I threw myself back into work the next couple of days, focusing my extra hours on my research. I lived inside myself, trying to pretend nothing had changed. Everything had changed. There is a difference between suspecting your husband of cheating and seeing it with your own eyes. The fact it was with my best friend in the entire world, my only family, made it all the more painful.

I chose to show the world a fake smiling me. Being a doctor, I’ve learned to put on a front better than an average person can. Behind closed doors is when I would break. I didn’t eat for days and spent my lunch breaks at my desk silent with unwelcome tears staining my face. When I was alone, I could no longer keep them at bay. When I was alone, the sadness and anger took over my being.

It became a routine, when my office time ended, I would clean up my face and reapply my makeup before seeing my next patient. It was the same on the car ride to and from home. I made sure not to be there other than to sleep. Grant knew something was off with me, though I’m not sure he knew what or why I was so distant.

Being Grant, he was too proud and full of himself to apologize or grovel. He went on pretending like everything was perfect. We would sleep in the same bed without a word.

For over a month, we’ve had a dinner party planned to celebrate the birthday of Grant’s mother. There was no way I was going to cancel and let on there was trouble in paradise. Maybe this is what his mother had meant years ago when she said it was hard to be married to a Kennedy man.

“You will learn being married to a Kennedy man is not easy. Expect to put up with a lot, but know that no matter what, divorce is a disgrace and it isn’t an option,” her words from so long ago echoed clearly through my mind. She knew. Are all Kennedy men like this? They just do what they want and the wives put up with it?

Here I am doing the same thing. Tonight I will put on a show, act like things are wonderful while, in reality, I’m dying inside little by little. Eloise was right though—once you’re a Kennedy, it’s for life.

Being the perfectionist I am, I punch in the event coordinator’s number.

“Hi, Marta. I just want to make sure things are on point for tonight? I know we’ve been over everything many times. I just want to ensure there isn’t something I still need to do? Anything I’ve forgotten?”

“No, Mrs. Kennedy. We are all set for tonight. I’ll take care of everything. I will have it all set up before you even get home from work this evening. I will be there to let the catering company in to prep. I am actually on my way over there for any decorating and table setup right now.”

“Thank you, Marta. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“No worries. I have it all under control. I will see you when you get home.” I can hear her smile through the phone.

“Perfect, see you then.” I hit end and pocket my phone in my lab coat.

When I arrive home, everything is ready for tonight as promised. The house smells amazing and looks beautiful. Marta is a goddess.

I hustle upstairs, shower and get ready for the evening. For the first time in days, I don’t cry in the shower. I am in too much of a hurry to think. Standing in front of a full-length mirror in my walk-in closet, I run my hands down the black cocktail dress eyeing myself. Not too shabby and the color seems appropriate. This should be about as much fun as a funeral. I slide my feet into black heels and head downstairs for the party.

I walk into the kitchen and Marta is hard at work overseeing everything and making sure everything is ready and in place. “Everything looks great, as always, Marta.”

“You enjoy yourself—I will take care of everything. Guests should be arriving soon. You missed Mr. Kennedy. He just went up the back staircase to get ready.”

“Perfect.” I smile, but I feel anger and sadness simultaneously well up in me at the mention of him.

“Here, try one of these,” Marta shoves a crab appetizer at me and my stomach roils.

I take it from her and swallow hard. “Thanks, this smells delicious.” I pop it in my mouth and smile. “Wow, you have outdone yourself. I’m sure the menu will be exquisite as always.” I say and need to leave the room immediately. “I’m going to check on everything out there. Keep up the good work.” I high tail it out of the kitchen, and when I am through the door, I full on sprint to the powder room.

Slamming the door behind me, I make it just in time to purge the small amount of content in my stomach into the tiny porcelain toilet. It must be because the first thing I put in my system in days was a crab finger food. I need to start eating again. I use a mouth rinse and touch myself up before heading out to meet those arriving for the party.

“Sylvia, Charles, glad you could make it.” I greet friends of Grant’s parents cordially though I feel like being anything but.

I turn away from them when I feel a hand on my back. “Richard, always a pleasure.” I smile and kiss his father’s cheek. “Happy Birthday, Eloise. What are you? Thirty-nine today? Well, you don’t look a day over thirty.” I kiss her cheek. Always seeking her approval, which I’m pretty certain I’ll never receive.

“Yes, I do look fabulous, don’t I,” she jokes. Though everyone laughs, I’m pretty certain she is completely serious.

I’m relieved when I look over Eloise’s shoulder and see Sara.

“Sara, I’m so glad to see you.” I throw my arms around her neck. “It’s been too long.” I’m not lying this time. She has become my favorite person in this family. She’s the only real one, the only one not completely full of shit. Her presence at these events is comforting. 

“I know, but it’s a hazard of you being a highfalutin baby doctor. No time for little ‘ole me.”

“Lies, I always have time for you. We should make lunch plans soon. Not the kind where we say we will have lunch and we never actually do. The real kind. Where we set a date and then actually watch each other eat while we chat.”

“Stop hogging my bride,” the familiar deep voice sounds behind me. The next moment, Grant wraps an arm around my waist from behind and kisses me sweetly on the cheek.

I smile, but inside, I’m revolting at his touch.

“Get a room, you two. Will you ever stop being newlyweds?” Sara asks. If only she knew. The honeymoon is definitely over.

“Can you blame me? I married the most beautiful girl in the world.” He’s laying it on thick. Unfortunately, it’s all lost on me.

“Excuse me. I have to go check on the progress in the kitchen. Sara, have your people call my people,” I tease her before taking my leave to the kitchen.

The rest of the evening, I intentionally avoid Grant as much as possible. The party is going well. I might actually make it out of this night unscathed. Marta announces dinner is being served, and we all convene in the main dining room. I take a seat by Sara.

“Hey, where is Whitney?” Sara asks, and my heart falls right into my stomach.

“Sick, she has been in bed ill all week,” I lie. I didn’t invite her. We have a routine for events like this—a few days before, I beg her to come and save me. Not this time. The thought of seeing her makes me want to vomit, or break things or both.

Grant comes in just then and sits in the open seat to my left. Shit.

I keep to myself most of dinner, concentrating on keeping the food I’m picking at down. I slug back a couple glasses of wine to calm my nerves and it helps induce an appetite, too. Halfway through, I start devouring the amazing prime rib on my plate.

I’m really into my meal when I hear the clang of a butter knife on a water glass next to me. “Please, continue to enjoy your meals,” Grant starts. “I just wanted to extend a thank you to everyone for coming to celebrate my mother’s birthday. Happy Birthday Mom. I love you.”

“Thank you, honey.” She raises a glass to him with a smile from ear to ear.

“On a side note, I want to thank my beautiful wife for arranging the evening. She always takes care of the planning for these sorts of things, and I’m not sure what I would do without her.” I just about choke on the bite of meat in my mouth. I take a sip of wine to recover and force a smile. What is he doing? “I love you, Alyssa,” he says touching my cheek.

He is either an amazing actor or this is his way to make amends, amends I’m not sure can be made.

“Eat, drink, and be merry, everyone. Enjoy the rest of the evening. Thank you all for coming.” He has a seat and reaches over to take my hand in his. I allow it, but I’m not sure why.

* * *

When the last guest leaves, I breathe a sigh of relief. I made it through the evening without cracking. Unsure where Grant is, I head up to our room and get ready for bed. I climb in and snuggle into the covers. Reaching over, I turn the lamp off. In the dark is when the enormity of everything hits me all over again. For yet another night, tears soak my pillow.

I feel the bed next to me dip a short while later as Grant climbs in. He slides under the covers inches away. We are so close together, yet feel so very far apart at the same time. I lay there at war with my own thoughts and emotions.

There is part of me that wants to murder him, scream, and cry, burn his things, and kick him out. Strangely, there is still part of me that just wants the comfort of his touch. I feel this revulsion at the idea of him touching me, and yet still, somehow, there is a longing for him to wrap me in his arms and comfort me. It feels like if he does touch me, comfort me, then he still loves me, wants me. If he doesn’t, it’s like rejection. I know it sounds absurd—completely insane.

That’s the catch when someone who has been your entire world betrays you. I want to hate him. I want to hurt him and yet—I love him.

A few mornings
later, I open my eyes and immediately hurl myself out of bed toward the bathroom as fast as my legs can move. Starting when I’m still a foot away, I heave into the toilet—it’s as if this is part of some sort of exorcism. Only bile comes up as I have barely eaten, but my body still heaves brutally. I crumple to my knees, breathing heavily. Once I’m done, I rest my head on the toilet seat. I’ve broken out into a sweat and the cold porcelain feels refreshing on my face.

A few minutes and a face rinse later, I feel completely fine—and then it sinks in. I’ve tried to ignore it in lieu of recent events. I’ve pretended I am not exhausted all the time or the smell of barbecue sauce doesn’t make me want to vomit. But now, with this little show, there is no denying it.

I pee on a stick and wait for the lines I’ve waited for so many times before. I watch as the urine passes over the viewing window. Immediately, the tester window shows a line. I wait, frozen in place to see what the other window will do. At first, it does nothing and I sigh. Then, just the faintest shadow of a line shows up. The longer I watch, the darker it gets. It’s official. I am pregnant. Well, you finally got what you wanted, you stupid cow. You’re going to have a baby. Congratu-fucking-lations!

I’m not sure what I’m going to do with my own life, let alone the tiny life growing inside of me. My marriage is a hot mess and that’s being generous.

* * *

I try to
push the apprehension about being pregnant to the back of my mind. I fail miserably. For days, the knowledge torments my psyche. I don’t dare tell anyone yet. I have moments where I will look down and touch my stomach and smile. I even talked to the little bean once. But the darkness always overshadows the happy. Will I raise this baby alone? If I try to divorce Grant and take the baby, he would surely never let that happen. I would rather stay with him than let him use his money to take my baby away. How can I stay with someone who has hurt me so much? The questions and doubts keep running me in a circle. I have no answers. I have no idea what to do. I often wish I could see my situation from the outside—it’s always clearer when you’re on the outside looking in.

As always, I just keep plugging along. I see my clients during the day. The research project I’ve taken on keeps me busy, so I am able to make myself scarce at home. I go home only to shower and sleep. I keep going, keep swimming, trying to keep my head above water.

“What was the outcome for your B1 group? “I inquire from Rachel, who has collaborated with me on the project. We’ve been working a lot of late nights this week, after hours to line up our research studies.  

“I don’t—”

One minute, I’m standing at my desk looking at the data and the next I’m on the floor. It happened in slow motion. I was going to tell Rachel I wasn’t feeling well, but before I could get the words out of my mouth, the world turned off like a television screen.

“Alyssa? Alyssa, honey—are you okay?” I hear Rachel’s calm voice as I open my eyes. She is kneeling next to me holding my wrist.

“I think I'm okay. I barely ate today. I probably just have low blood sugar,” I say, unconvincingly.

Rachel is silent while she finishes taking my pulse. “You’re pregnant, Alyssa. You need to eat. I shouldn’t have to tell you this. You’re a doctor, for crying out loud.”

“But, how did you—?”

“Oh, you think you could keep that from me?” She eyes me over the reading glasses resting on the tip of her nose. “How long have I been doing this?”

I give her a guilty shrug in answer. I should have known she would figure it out.

“Oh, no, shit!”

“Huh?”

“Alyssa, you’re bleeding.” And just like that, all the questions torturing me all week were answered—and at the same time, they seemed so unimportant all of a sudden.

“No, no, I can’t be.”

“Let’s get you into a room. Don’t freak out, okay? Let me see what’s going on first before you draw any conclusions. I know what you’re thinking, but we don’t know.” Rachel helps me up and into an exam room.

I lay back trying to relax, but it’s impossible. I want this baby. I’m not a religious person, but in that moment, I pray. I know fresh blood is a dangerous sign, and it doesn’t look good—so I pray. I beg silently for my baby to be okay. Please, please, please, don’t take this baby. I’ve wanted this baby for so long. It’s awful timing, but I don’t care. I want this baby. I’m sorry I didn’t see it before. I’m sorry I wasn’t thankful. Just please don’t take this baby.

As soon as the ultrasound pings to life, I know my worst fears are about to be confirmed. Rachel has her doctor mask firmly in place, but I can read the screen, maybe even better than she can, and I know. There will be no baby coming home in my arms. My belly isn’t going to grow, and I won’t get to rock an angel late into the night. Not this time. Maybe not ever.

“Lys, I’m so sorry.” She can read on my face I’ve already figured it out.

A whole new set of torturous questions ravages my brain. 

“I should have done blood work and an ultrasound sooner. I just wasn’t ready to admit it was real. I could have possibly prevented this. It could be as simple as low progesterone. I could have fixed this if I’d done something sooner.” One huge sob escapes from somewhere deep in my chest.

“You don’t know that. We don’t know anything yet. Don’t do this to yourself. Alyssa, look at me,” she commands. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You know as well as I do, sometimes it just doesn’t work. It is common. I know it doesn’t make it any easier, but you can’t put the blame on yourself. I won’t let you.”

Then, Rachel does something very
undoctor
like. She wraps her arms around me like a blanket and she holds me as I cry. I cry for myself. I cry for my marriage. I cry for my baby that isn’t to be. All I seem to do lately is cry.

When it rains, it pours. All you can do is hope you’re lucky enough to have someone in your life willing to hold an umbrella over your head so you don’t drown.

* * *

I hunker down
in a room at the hospital that night so Rachel can keep an eye on me. Having her take care of me is comforting. She is a calm presence, and I could use more calmness in my life. She is also a good friend without asking the hard questions I don’t want to answer about my marriage. I think she can see it in my face. When you work with people, you learn how to read their thoughts in their expressions and body language—especially, in our profession. I think she knows it’s not good without having to ask. Either way, I’m just glad I don’t have to explain myself to her.

I’m lying in bed when I hear a small knock at the door. For the briefest moment, I panic somehow thinking it’s Grant. He is the last person I want to see right now. I’m relieved when Rachel walks through the door with a mischievous smile on her face.

“Okay, so this is about the least doctor thing I could do right now, you know, besides the hugging, but—” Rachel pulls back the flap of her jacket to reveal a bottle of wine. She places it on the table and then pulls out two Styrofoam cups from the other side of her coat.

“I don’t even want to know where you are keeping the corkscrew.”

She winks at me and then pulls it out of her pocket. “I have the room blocked off so staff knows it’s off limits. I told Donna what’s going on. I’m sorry, but I needed her help with a few things. Besides, we both know she’s the most tight-lipped person in the entire hospital. Now, I know the last thing I should probably do right now is get you drunk, but I was thinking—what I would want if I were you? Naturally, I’d want to drink a bottle of wine in peace. So here I am!” She smiles proudly. “I had Donna reschedule all your appointments for tomorrow. Told her to apologize and tell people you had a family emergency. You can hold up here as long as you need.”

“Rachel?”

“Hmm?” She’s already fast at work uncorking the wine.

“Thank you...for everything. I really appreciate it.”

“No sweat! I’ve been worried about you. I know you come in and you do your job as well as ever. But I can tell the difference in you lately. Even if no one else can see through your doctor mask—I can. If you want to talk about it, I’m all ears. If you don’t want to talk, I’m okay with that, too. If you need to bury a body, I got a shovel—a big one.” She gives me a sardonic grin.

I laugh inwardly—if she only knew. There are a few bodies I’d like to bury right about now. We drink the entire bottle of wine and play Uno. It’s silly, but it’s a nice distraction if only for a little while. She tucks me in before leaving for the night. “Hey, Rachel?” I mumble.

“Yeah?” she giggles. 

“You’re a good umbrella.”

“Um, thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Night, night.” We might have overdone the wine a little.

* * *

The next morning,
I wake up and the reality of my world comes crashing down on my shoulders. Rachel brings me breakfast. I thank her, but I can’t stomach the thought of food. Thankfully, she brought me some sweats and sneakers, too. Thank God she moved things around so I can have the day off.

I lay there for a long time thinking. Strangely, this whole ordeal makes me think about my mom and my childhood. I wonder if mother had wished for a miscarriage when she was pregnant with me. She treated me like a thorn in her side from the moment I was born. The thought that maybe she wished I hadn’t been born sits in my stomach like lead.

Later in life, when I was in high school, my mom started to lose her sanity. Looking back now, I’m not positive she ever had a full deck of cards to begin with. I wish I missed her. I have often wished I had more good memories of her to look on fondly. I have only one.

When I was about ten years old, I was getting ready for bed and Mom came in my room. She sat down on my bed and patted it for me to have a seat next to her. Taking the brush from my hand, she proceeded to brush out my long blonde locks.

“You have such lovely hair, Alyssa,” she said gently. She reeked. I wouldn’t know until later, it was the smell of booze.

Her compliment, a small ounce of affection, meant the world to me. It’s inane really, how a few casual words from a mother can make you feel special. They were the kindest words my mother ever spoke to me. I think it’s why I have kept my hair long all these years.

When I finally feel up to it, I change into the clothes Rachel brought me. Grant should be at work so I can lounge at home in peace without arousing suspicion. I don’t want to discuss anything right now. I’m not sure if I’m even going to tell him. What’s the point?

On the drive home, I am stopped at a red light when I see a woman on the sidewalk. She is pushing a stroller and cooing at the infant inside of it. I’m not sure how long I sit staring, but I’m quickly brought back to life when a roaring ambulance siren flies past me. I cry the rest of the way home.