Spiral of Bliss 02 Allure (27 page)

“Oh. To visit my father?”

“N-no. I have a… an emergency.”

He looks stunned. “Oh. You’re… should I call 911?”

“No.” I try to push the key into the ignition again. “I just have to go now.”

“Shove over, Liv. I’ll drive.”

Since I can’t even start the goddamn car, I get out and go around to the passenger side. Archer climbs into the driver’s seat and backs out of the driveway. I’m suddenly glad he’s there, since I realize I have no idea how to get to the hospital. After fifteen minutes, he drives into the hospital parking lot and up to the front of the building.

“I’ll go park,” he says.

“You don’t have to stay. I don’t even know how long I’ll be.” I get out my cell phone. “Would you give me your number? I can call when I’m done.”

He recites his number. I program it into my phone, then hurry inside as he pulls away from the curb.

I follow the signs to the emergency room and tell the front desk receptionist why I’m here. She hands me a clipboard of forms and indicates where I should wait. I sit down, wishing I’d brought a sweater because I’m freezing cold. There are a couple of other people in the waiting area, though no one seems to be in serious distress.

I feel a little calmer being at the hospital. I fill out the forms and return them, then try to distract myself by leafing through an entertainment magazine.

A cramp tugs at the left side of my abdomen.

No. Just a pulled muscle.

The print and pictures swim before my eyes. My lower back aches. The nurse calls one of the other people in. I stare at a page of movie reviews. A recipe for chocolate-chip cookies. An article about a TV show actress. An ad for baby shampoo.

The cramp spreads tight across my belly.
No.

“Mrs. West?”

I look up. A nurse holding a clipboard gestures me forward.

“Come in,” she says. “We have a bit of a lull, so the doctor can see you in about ten minutes.”

When I stand up, I feel a gush of blood between my legs. I start to shake again.

Breathe. Breathe. One, two, three… exhale…

“You’re about ten weeks pregnant?” the nurse asks me as she guides me behind an examination curtain. “And you’re having some spotting?”

“It… I think it’s bleeding.”

“Any clots?”

“Not the last time I checked.”

She types all the information into her computer, asks more questions, takes my blood pressure and temperature. Then she tells me to strip from the waist down and cover myself with a paper sheet while I wait for the doctor.

The curtain snaps shut with a
whoosh
as she leaves. I can hardly make my shaking fingers work to unfasten my jeans and pull them off. A wave of dizziness hits me. The panty liner is soaked through. There’s blood on my inner thighs.

I grab a Kleenex and swipe. A stringy clot clings to the paper.

I know it then. Terror seizes my chest anew.

I’m having a miscarriage.

The doctor arrives. He’s a slender man with a neat moustache and an air of sympathy. He knows too, even before he examines me. I put my feet into the stirrups and stare at the ceiling, the fluorescent lights burning my eyes.

“I’m going to order a blood test, Mrs. West,” Dr. Paulson says as he inserts a speculum inside me and locks it open, “but I’m sorry to tell you that it does look as if you’ve lost the pregnancy. You have quite a bit of bleeding and tissue loss.”

I can’t speak. The doctor and nurse confer in low murmurs. There’s some poking and prodding before the speculum slides out of me.

“I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do to stop a miscarriage,” Dr. Paulson tells me as he puts the bloody speculum on a tray and sheds his gloves. “But you should know they’re quite common, and many women do go on to have successful pregnancies. Have you experienced a loss of pregnancy symptoms?”

“I… my nausea went away about a week ago. I still felt like I was pregnant, though.”

“Likely because of hormone levels, though that was probably when the actual loss occurred.” He moves up to prod my abdomen. “As I said, we’ll do a blood test. Any severe pain?”

“Just cramps and some lower back pain.” I struggle to sit up when he indicates he’s finished. “What… what happens now?”

“You’ll bleed for perhaps a week or two.” Dr. Paulson punches a few keys on the computer. “The cramping should stop within a couple of days. You can take ibuprofen for the pain. We’ll also give you a list of grief counselors, since the emotional component can be quite difficult. Your body should take care of things, but in the event that not all the tissue is expelled, a D and C might be necessary.”

God in heaven.
Yesterday I was taking our child to Wizard’s Park and the ice-cream parlor. Today I’m expelling tissue.

“You should schedule a follow-up within about a week,” Dr. Paulson continues. “Of course, call your primary physician sooner if the bleeding increases, you develop a fever, or if you notice an unusual discharge.”

He gives me a list of reminders, and he and the nurse do some more conferring. My cell phone rings inside my satchel.

Dean.

I let voicemail pick it up again.

“Do you have someone to drive you home?” the nurse asks me, after the doctor has expressed his condolences and left.

I nod, even though I told Archer to leave. The nurse hands me a folder of information about dealing with a miscarriage and points out the telephone numbers of grief counselors. She gives me a few extra maxi-pads before going to print a copy of the doctor’s report.

I get back into my stained underwear and jeans. A phlebotomist stops by to draw blood from my arm. The nurse brings me the report, which I put in my satchel. I gather my stuff and return to the reception area.

Archer is sitting in one of the chairs, waiting for me.

“W-what are you doing here?” I stammer.

He pushes to his feet, wary. “Well, I wasn’t just going to leave you alone.”

I press a hand to my cramping stomach. I’m too frozen to feel anything.

“You, uh…” Archer shifts, shoving his hands into the pockets of his sweatshirt. He glances past me to the doors leading to the exam rooms. “You’re okay now?”

I shake my head. I have nothing left, no strength to lie. “I need to go home.”

I need to be back in Mirror Lake, in our apartment on Avalon Street. I need my old, warm quilt and my padded bathrobe. I need my husband.

My tears spill over. I swipe at my face with my sleeve and try to stop the sobs inching up my throat. Archer takes some Kleenex from the nurse’s station and hands them to me.

“Come on,” he says. “I’ll drive you back to the house.”

We leave the hospital and walk out to the car. Shivers are still racking my body. I’m glad he’s driving.

“Can we stop at the drugstore?” I ask.

To my gratitude, Archer doesn’t ask why. He pulls into the parking lot of a Walgreen’s and waits in the car while I go in and buy a box of maxi-pads and some more ibuprofen. We’re both silent on the way back to the West house.

“Could you please not tell anyone about this?” I’m unable to look at him as I reach for the car door handle. “It’s a personal thing… I don’t want anyone to know.”

“Yeah, sure. If you’ll be okay.”

I’m not sure I will be, but I nod and escape into the house. I go upstairs to our room and lock the door. A wave of loneliness and grief overwhelms me. I collapse onto the bed, bury my face in the pillow, and cry.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Olivia

iv, where are you? Flights are canceled for the rest of the day and maybe tomorrow. I’m still at home. Love you.”

I press a button to erase the message. Early evening light slants between the curtains of the bedroom. The afternoon has passed in a slow, torpid haze of devastation.

A knock sounds on the door. I push my hair away from my face and school my features into a calm expression as I go to answer it. Joanna is standing in the corridor, a phone in her hand.

“Oh, you’re here, Liv.” Her gaze skims over me as she extends the phone. “Dean is on the phone. He said he couldn’t reach you on your cell.”

“Thanks. I… I’m sorry, I have a migraine.” I start to take the phone from her, then realize I’ll have to return it after speaking to Dean. “Um, could you please tell Dean I’ll call him right back on my cell?”

Joanna puts the phone to her ear as she heads back downstairs. I close the door, press the speed-dial button, and sit on the edge of the bed.

I can’t tell Dean over the phone. I can’t risk him panicking and trying to get back here in the middle of a blizzard. I take a few breaths as the phone rings.

“Liv?”

“Hi.”

“Where’ve you been? I left three messages.”

“Sorry. My phone was off, and I… I left it in the bedroom by mistake.”

“Oh. What’d you do today?”

My chest aches. “Um, just some shopping. Started another book. So no flights today or tomorrow?”

“Not sure about tomorrow yet. I might be able to catch an evening flight or a red-eye if they get the roads cleared. Problem is that the storm moved into Chicago, so that messed up all the connections.” He sighs. “Anyway, it might be Thursday at the latest. I miss the hell out of you.”

“I miss you too.”

He lowers his voice an octave. “Want to tell me how much?”

A laugh chokes my throat.
Oh, Dean.

“Actually, I… I have a little bit of a headache right now, and I’m kind of tired.”

“You didn’t overdo it, did you?”

“No, no. Just tired. I’m going to turn in early.” I struggle to put some lightness in my tone. “You’re on your own tonight, professor.”

“You’ll be in my dreams, beauty.”

I say goodbye and end the call before realizing I didn’t tell him I love him. I return a message from the hospital nurse. She tells me the blood test confirmed the miscarriage and that she’ll send the report to Dr. Nolan. Then I call Dr. Nolan to explain what happened and listen as she expresses her sympathies and gives me similar instructions to the ones I received in the emergency room.

I turn off the phone and go to take a shower. I close my eyes against the hot spray, not wanting to see the red swirls going down the drain. Then I pull on my nightgown, affix a maxi-pad to my underwear, and crawl into bed.

My sleep is broken, blistered with ugly thoughts, my abdomen twisting with cramps. I can’t stop the questions running like a speed train through my head.

What happened? What did I do wrong? Did I cause this? I wasn’t even sure I wanted a baby, so am I being punished now? Why? Why? Why?

Finally I manage to sleep a little toward dawn, then climb out of bed to take more ibuprofen and use the bathroom. As I’m sitting on the toilet, a huge clot slides out of me.

I grasp the edge of the bathroom counter, shivers erupting all over my skin. I wait a few minutes to calm down before risking a glance in the water.

My stomach seizes. Tears spill over. I fumble to flush the toilet, trying to make it quick, closing my eyes until the tank refills.

Breathe, Liv. That had to be the worst of it.

I fall back into bed and try to sleep through the pain. A few hours later, the cramps subside to the point where I can move. I force myself to dress and go downstairs, thinking Joanna must be wondering what happened to me.

Archer, however, is the only one in the kitchen. He’s making himself a sandwich. I realize it’s almost noon.

“She went shopping,” he says, when I ask about his mother. “Are you… uh, okay?”

I nod, simply because there is nothing else I can do.

“You want anything to eat?” Archer asks.

“Not really.”

“Should probably have something.” He puts a slice of bread in the toaster, then drops a teabag into a mug and heats it in the microwave.

I thank him as he puts a plate of toast and the tea in front of me. He takes a soda from the fridge and sits down with his sandwich.

“You… you haven’t asked me what happened,” I say, after managing to eat a small bite of toast.

He shrugs. “Figure it’s none of my business.”

We’re both silent. He eats the sandwich. I take a few sips of tea and try to eat more toast. Part of me wants to go back upstairs and cry again, but another part of me doesn’t want to be alone with my jagged thoughts.

“So, Dean says you were in LA,” I remark.

“Yeah. Did some work down there.”

“I lived in West Hollywood for a while when I was a kid.” I take another sip of tea. “My mother was trying to get some acting jobs.”

“I had a girlfriend who wanted to act. She never got anywhere.”

“Neither did my mother. She was in a cereal commercial when she was five, but she had a tough time after that.”

“She still there?” he asks.

“I don’t know where she is.” The words are already out before I realize I just told him the truth.

“You ever try to find out?” he asks.

“No. We had a tough relationship. I wouldn’t even know where to start looking for her.” I study him for a moment. “What kind of work were you doing?”

“Installing hardwood floors.” He takes a bite of his sandwich and speaks around the mouthful. “Not very fancy.”

“I work at a bookstore. A job doesn’t have to be fancy to be satisfying.”

He tilts his head in acknowledgment. We sit for a few minutes before I push away from the table and put my cup and plate in the sink. “Thanks for the tea and… and your help.”

I go back upstairs and crawl into bed. I stay there for the rest of the day as the cramps and heavy bleeding continue. I try to read, but mostly I just doze since in that twilight sleep I can’t think too much.

It’s evening when I hear Dean’s deep voice coming from the foyer.

My heart almost stops. I pick up my cell phone, which I haven’t turned on since the previous night. There are a few voicemails from him.

“They got the roads cleared, so I’m at the airport. Looks like I can catch a flight to Minneapolis, then Denver so I don’t have to go through Chicago. Should be in San Jose by late afternoon if there are no delays.”

Anxiety claws at me. I hurry to pull the tangled sheets and comforter back over the bed, straighten up the pillows and my discarded clothes. I go into the bathroom and splash water on my face, brush my hair and fasten it into a ponytail, put on some powder and lipstick. I throw a few tissues into the wastebasket to cover the wadded-up, bloody pads.

I leave the bathroom just as there’s a knock on the bedroom door.

The doorknob rattles and turns.

I grab hold of the bedpost and sink onto the edge of the bed.

The door opens, and he walks in—all rumpled from travel in wrinkled jeans and a rugby shirt, his face roughened with stubble, his thick hair disheveled. Lines of fatigue and stress mark his face, but his beautiful, gold-flecked eyes brighten at the sight of me.

“Ah, beauty, am I glad to see you.” He smiles and starts toward me, his arms outstretched, expecting me to run and leap right into them.

Halfway to the bed, he stops. I can’t breathe.

“Liv?”

I clutch the bedpost. My heart is beating too fast. The panic encroaches, a heavy, suffocating cloud squeezing the air from my lungs.

“Liv!”

Then he’s in front of me, gripping my shoulders, his eyes dark with concern. “You look… Liv, sweetie, breathe. You’re okay. Deep breath in, exhale on the count of five.”

I close my eyes so I won’t have to look at him. I battle back the panic and force my heartbeat to slow. His voice is steady, the reassuring tone a comfort to my aching soul.

Finally I open my eyes. He’s watching me, confused and suddenly wary.

“Liv, what’s wrong?”

“Dean, I… in the…” The tears come fast, swamping my chest, spilling in a flood. I press my hands to my eyes and try to stem the tide.

“What?” Alarmed, he digs his fingers into my shoulders. “What is it?”

I can’t look at him. Sobs tear at my throat.

“Liv!” He shakes me. “What the… oh, Jesus. What happened? Liv?”

He shakes me again, harder. I gulp in a breath and try to speak.

“Yesterday I was in the… in the bathroom. There was blood. On my underwear.”

All the color drains from his face. “No.”

I swipe at my eyes. “I didn’t… I mean, I felt fine, and I just went in to use the bathroom and… and…”

“How much?” He’s holding my shoulders so hard it hurts. “How much blood was there?”

“A f-few stains, at first. I called Dr. N-Nolan and she told me to wait and see if it… if it worsened, but I was scared so I went to the emergency room.”

He stares at me.

“I… I miscarried, Dean.” I force out the stark, bitter truth. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry.”

“You… oh, God.” He releases me and sinks onto his knees. “No.”

“I’m sorry.” I don’t know what else to say. I wipe my eyes with my sleeve. “It… the doctor said it might have happened a week ago, but is just now… expelling.”

“Expelling?”
His voice is strangled.

“There’s been… a lot of bleeding. The blood test confirmed it. I lost our baby.”

“No.” He bolts to his feet, his fists tightening.

“Dean—”

“Yesterday? This happened yesterday?”

“Early afternoon.”

“Why didn’t you
tell
me?” He paces to the other side of the room. “We talked last night, and you… you went there all alone, to the hospital, you didn’t have anyone… what the
fuck
, Liv?”

“What was I supposed to do?” I cry, wiping my eyes again. “You couldn’t have done anything except worry, and I couldn’t tell your mother or sister I was miscarrying when they didn’t even know I was pregnant!”

“You… you were all alone, when you…
goddammit
.” He slams his fist into the wall, smashing the plaster. A picture crashes to the floor. The glass shatters over the carpet.

“I wasn’t… Archer drove me to the hospital when…”

My voice dies when Dean pivots to stare at me.

“Archer?”

“He saw me when I was leaving to go to the hospital, and he… he knew something was wrong so he… Dean!”

He stalks out the door, his footsteps ringing on the stairs. My heart leaps. I hurry after him.

“Dean, it’s not…”

The front door slams open. Archer is outside, shooting hoops in the driveway. He stops at the sight of Dean striding toward him. Before I can reach them, Dean gives Archer a shove that sends his brother stumbling backward.

“What did you do?” Dean snaps. “What did you fucking say to her?”

“What the hell?” Archer backs away, his hands up in defense as his gaze flies from Dean to me.