The Astronaut's Wife (18 page)

Jillian stood in the bright
_.
white of the bathroom connected to her bedroom and looked at the bottle of pills. Very slowly she unscrewed the top and shook the contents into her hand. The two tablets were very thick and dusty. They would be difficult to force down her dry throat. She ran the water in the sink and filled a glass with it—she was about to put the pills in her mouth when she began to hear her own heart beating, getting louder and louder until she could hear nothing else. But then there came another sound
_{. . .}
a much faster thump. Two more heartbeats. The heart beats of the twin fetuses, pounding away so fast as if telegraphing a message to their mother, begging not to be killed.

She looked down at the pills in her palm and her hand trembled. The fast beating of the fetuses’ hearts seemed. to grown in volume and intensity. Jillian became even more fearful.
“Be quiet,” she begged. “Be quiet, please
_{. . .}
He’ll hear you. He’ll come in here.” She had no idea where Spencer was, but she had become convinced that there was some kind of psychic bond between the things in her belly and the man masquerading as her husband.
But the twin hearts only beat louder and faster, and added to the disconcerting noise was the whoosh and whine of the amniotic fluid that surrounded and protected them.
The pills were still in her hand and the glass of water was poised. Jillian was crying, fat tears rolling down her cheeks. “Please, I have to
_{. . .}
It’s okay, it’s okay
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it’ll be over soon
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please
_“
But it wouldn’t be. The moment she spoke those words a terrible pain ripped through her body—it seemed to scorch her belly—driving her to her knees. She clutched the pills so tightly in her fist that they might have been ground to powder.
From her knees Jillian gasped, “I’m sorry... I have to. It’ll be better this way. It will be, I promise.” She opened her hands and looked down at the pills.
“I can’t,” she cried. “Oh God, I can’t do it...” Behind her the bathroom door flew open and Spencer charged into the room.
“What were you going to do to them?” When Jillian turned and saw him, she screamed and forced herself to her feet.
“What are those pills? What were you going to do with them?”
“Oh God, you heard them,” Jillian cried, “didn’t you? They called out to you.
_“
Spencer forced calm into his voice and tried to take her in his arms. “Jillian
_{. . .“}
“Oh Jesus, you heard them,” she wailed. She backed away from him then ran from the bathroom and through the bedroom. Spencer chased after her.
“Jillian, it’s okay,” he shouted. “Really. It’s okay, Jillian, please stop.”
She was headed for the front door—no idea in her head where she might be going except that she knew she had to get away from him—but when she reached it Spencer stood there, barring her flight.
He put out his hands for her and moved slowly towards her. “Jilly, please,” he said soothingly. “It is going to be all right. You have to try and calm down. That’s all.”
But Jillian wasn’t buying it. She backed away from him, shaking her head, desperate to think of what she might do next.
“Jillian,” said Spencer. Then he reached for her as another spasm of that horrible pain ripped through her. She doubled over and fell hard, tumbling down the steps, hitting the bottom with sickening force. But she managed to stagger to her feet, a dazed and dreamy look on her face as she looked up the stairs at Spencer.
“Jillian, please
_{. . .“}
Then he got a very strange look on his face. And even in her dazed and painwracked state she noticed it.
“Spencer? What is it?”
Jillian followed the line of his gaze and saw that he was staring at the patch between her legs. The material of her clothing was sodden with blood and a long line of gore had trickled down her leg.
She said, “Spencer?” She saw him coming down the stairs toward her, but she saw him as if in stop-motion, each blink an exposure bringing him a little closer. Then everything went black. And
silent.
_.

Then everything was noise and bright lights. Jillian had no idea how much time had passed, but she knew she was in a hospital. She could tell by the sound and the smells and the speed of the rolling gurney. There were doctors and, nurses surrounding the moving bed, looking down
at
her, talking
about
her. But no one was talking
to
her.

“You must keep him away from me,” she managed to say. Those few words seem to exhaust her and she felt that terrible weakness of the helpless.
“She’s still hemorrhaging,” a nurse announced.
“Please,” Jillian gasped. “Please
_{. . .}
please
_{. . .“}
A doctor spoke, his tone matter-of-fact and dispassionate. “If she’s still hemorrhaging then she’s going to bleed out in a minute or two. Pure and simple.”
Jillian thought she heard herself saying “Please
_{. . .}
please
_{. . .“}
But she couldn’t be sure if she was saying the words or merely thinking them. She tried to raise her hand to her lips but she cquld not find them. She did not know if she had been sedated or if she was dying. She heard someone say, “Is there an OR free?”

Jillian was looking up as a surgical team prepared itself. There were lots of doctors and nurses in those scary green-colored scrubs. Bright lights were shone into her eyes. There seemed to be tons of equipment—monitors, lights, shiny tanks of oxygen and anesthetics. There was lots of noise and clatter.

All faces were obscured by surgical masks; all she could see were their eyes. And there was only one set of eyes she recognized in all of them. Spencer’ s.
_.
“Please
_{. . .“}
she said. But no one paid any attention to her, the woman they were about to save.

Jillian had no idea how much time had passed. She knew she was in a hospital, she was sure of that if nothing else, and as she faded from consciousness to unconsciousness she saw faces she knew—Nan, Shelley McLaren and Spencer, always Spencer, hovering over her bed, his eyes fixed on hers, watching her, evaluating her the way a farmer looks over his brood stock.
_.

A variety of doctors attended her—she didn’t know one of them—and they poked and prodded her, and thrust needles into her arms, then retired to corners to discuss her as if she was not there lying in her bed in her darkened room.

She heard them say things like, “Psychiatric
_{. . .}
evaluations
_{. . .}
her husband’s care
_{. . .“}
Jillian heard Spencer’s voice and felt him take her hand. “The twins are fine,” he said soothingly. “They are still inside you, safe and sound, right where they should be. We are never going to mention what you tried to do
_{. . .}
with those pills. It’s over now. It’s behind us. It didn’t happen, did it, Jilly?”
She wanted to tell him that there had been a reason for those pills. That she was doing the right thing
_{. . .}
But her voice
_{. . .}
it just would not work.
“Spencer . . .”
“I’m here,” he said. “Don’t try to talk. I love you so much, you know that? You scared me. If anything had happened, I could not have gone on without with you. We have to be together, Jillian, you, me, the babies
_{. . .}
we’re all one now. “
Jillian thrashed in the bed, but she could hardly move. She was tethered by a thicket of intravenoustubes. “No . . .“ she said?. “Spencer . . .
“Sssshhh,” said Spencer, as if talking to a child. “Don’t try to talk, Jillian. Don’t even try.”

The first thing she noticed was that she was enveloped in a cloud of Chanel Number Five, and then she felt some lips on her cheek. And then Shelley McLaren’s voice in her ear. “I am so sorry, sweetheart.”
Jillian knew exactly what she was talking about. For some reason, that lunch came back vividly, she remembered every detail, from the muscadet to the uneaten salads. . . . the waiter’s name had been Charlie, she recalled. And she had not forgotten that the luncheon had been arranged to arrange a pair of abortions.
“I couldn’t do it
_{. . .“}
Jillian told Shelley. “They are part of me. I can feel them in there. The blood
that runs through my heart runs through their hearts. I couldn’t do it . . .“
Shelley bent down and smiled at her. “If I had known
_{. . .}
if I had known about your past I would never have given you those pills to you . . . never . . .“ Shelley leaned down a bit more and kissed her cheek. “Let me open the shades in here, you need a little light in here, I think. Don’t you, darling?”
Shelley left the bed and pulled on the cords and the blinds opened and the room was flooded with light.
“They are mine,” said Jillian. “Not his. I want to keep them safe. I have to keep them safe.”
The sunlight was blinding and Jillian could only make out the vague edges of Shelley McLaren’s body. “Shelley,” Jillian asked, “who told you about my past?”
There was no answer.
Seconds later, the blinds swept back and the room fell into darkness again. Jillian raised her head again from the bed and saw Spencer at the window.
She could not be sure if Shelley McLaren had ever been there. She could still smell the Chanel Number Five. But she had no idea what that meant.

Jillian smiled when she heard Denise’s voice. “You gave us a real scare, Jillian,” she said. “How long have I been here?” Jillian’s voice was cracked and doped up.
“You have been unconscious for nearly two weeks,” Denise replied. She was staring at

Jillian’s
voluminous chart as she spoke. “Your bleeding was awful. You hemorrhaged quite severely. You lost a great deal of blood.”

Jillian tried to sit up. but Denise gently pushed her back down on the mattress. “You
have
to remain calm now, Jillian,” Denise said solemnly. “One of the miracles of pregnancy is that your body took care of the babies, even putting their welfare ahead of its own needs. All through this, they got plenty of blood and more than enough nutrition. But I am prescribing bed rest for the term of your pregnancy. Your husband has arranged for a home nurse when you get out. You'll be having complete, around the clock care.”

Deftly, Denise inserted a hypodermic needle into one of the shunts in Jillian’s IV tube and shot a dose of sedative into it.
“Rest is the most important thing now,” said Denise. “You have to believe me
_{. . .“}

Then there was Nan. She appeared . . . one morning? Evening? Jillian had no idea. But she was there, standing over her bed with tears in her eyes, looking at her as if Jillian was some kind of basket case. Nonetheless, Jillian was very glad to see her sister. She smiled though her cracked and dry lips and said her name.

“Oh, Jilly
_{. . .“}
Nan snatched one of her hands. “I didn’t want to fight you, Jilly. . . I didn’t want to.”
As Nan leaned down to hug her sister, Jillian whispered in her ear. “Something’s wrong, Nan.

Nan shook her head. “No, there’s nothing wrong. The doctors say you can go home any day now. Everything is going to be okay from now on.
_“
Jillian’s heart sank. Nan was another one who wouldn’t listen, or who was determined not to understand. Maybe she didn’t want to understand. “There’s something horrible, Nan. With Spencer. And with the twins, too.”
“No, Jilly,” said Nan. “It’s nothing but this place. It will all look different when you’re out of here.”
But Jillian would not be dissuaded. She was determined that somebody understand what had happened to her. “He did something to me,” Jillian said. “Something horrible. I should have told you about it before.”
“No, no,” said Nan, shaking her head. “You’re just all messed up because you’ve been in the hospital for so long. That’s what makes you feel like this
_{. .}
.I know you must hate it here. I know I would. We’re going to take you home soon. We’re all going to take care of you. We’ll take good care of you, Jilly-O.”
Jillian felt a familiar feeling fear. “All of you? Does that mean Spencer, too?”
Nan smiled. “Of course, Jilly.” “And you, too?”
“Yes, Jilly,” said Nan. “All of us.”
“And Shelley McLaren? What about Shelley?” Jillian watched as a look of sadness sweep
across
Nan’s face. Nan shrugged and opened her mouth to say something, but did not answer Jillian’s question.
But Jillian understood. “She’s dead, isn’t she?
Nan would not look at her sister. “Now why would you say a thing like that”
Jillian shook her head, unhappy that her sister would not tell her the truth. “Something is wrong.
_“
“Why would you say that?” Nan asked.
“Something is wrong
_{. . .}
something is wrong with Spencer. Something is wrong with the twins. Something is wrong with the whole thing.”
Nan seemed a little overeager in her questions. “Okay, what’s wrong? Tell me, Jilly. what? What?”
“He’s hiding, Nan
_{. . .}
he’s hiding inside.”
Jillian felt herself sinking slowly into unconsciousness. From far away she heard Nan’s voice. “What do you mean, Jilly, hiding inside? What does that mean...?”
But Jillian was gone
_{. . .}

When she awoke the next time it was raining hard, the raindrops rattling against the windows like handfuls of gravel. It was a sad, dispiriting sound. Standing at the window, watching the rain, was Spencer. Jillian felt her heart sink when she saw him, but she had to speak to him.

Spencer’s laugh was obviously forced. “Sherman Reese? I saw him, too. He’s crazy, Jillian. Obsessed. You can’t let thoughts like that in your head. You have to be strong, Jillian. For the babies. For us. And most of all, for yourself . . .“

Jillian was not going to be put off by his continual platitudes. It was always them, me, us, you
_{. . .}
“But Reese
_{. . . “}
Jillian said. “Reese said that. . .“
Spencer marched from the window and leaned down close to her. “Jillian
_{. . .}
If the doctors knew what you were thinking
_{. . .}
those kinds of dark thoughts. What do you think they would do? They know about your past
_{. . .}
They are concerned about you, about the babies, about your health, your well-being. If they thought you were going off the rails about Sherman Reese, tell me, Jillian
_{. . .}
do you think you would ever get out of this hospital?”
As if to belie his threat, Spencer kissed her softy and slowly.
She hated his touch.