Chapter 16
“You sure you’ll be all right?” I tugged anxiously at the sleeves of my suit and ran my hands over my hair.
I caught sight of Adam’s reflection in the mirror. He was rolling his eyes but stopped when I turned, though it was obvious I’d caught him. I put my hands on my hips.
“What’s that look for?”
“I’ll be fine.”
I crossed to his chair and did a swift check, tucking and smoothing, until he made a disgusted noise. “I’d feel better if Dennis—”
“Dennis had these plans for months, Sadie. Besides, I’m sure the person the agency sends will be fine. You’ll only gone a few hours.”
He was right, but even his calm, slightly annoyed tone didn’t make me feel better. “But—”
“Sadie,” Adam snapped, really annoyed now. “You leave me every day for longer than you’ll be gone today.”
“Yes. I know. You’re right.” I shrugged. “I can’t help it, okay? I worry.”
He sighed. “Yeah. I know you do. But I’ll be fine. Really. Shouldn’t you get going?”
I looked at the clock. “The guy from the agency’s not here yet.”
He was late. I’d scheduled him to arrive an hour before I needed to leave so I’d have plenty of time to instruct him and make sure everything was going to be fine. Having Dennis and Mrs. Lapp had spoiled me, and I was unquestionably nervous about leaving Adam with a stranger.
Despite being late, the attendant who showed up set my mind at ease. He was dressed professionally, gave my hand a firm shake and looked me in the eye as he introduced himself as Randy. He was young, maybe in his early 20’s, but he knew his way around the equipment with enough skill to make me feel much better about leaving Adam with him.
“Have a good time, Mrs. Danning,” Randy said.
“I know I told the agency I’d be home at five, but I think it’ll be closer to two. You have my number—”
“He’s got the goddamned number, Sadie!”
Randy and Adam exchanged the looks of men who understood how frustrating women can be. I knew when to shut up. I kissed Adam’s cheek and left. I only had to stop myself from going back inside three times before I managed to get to my car. I fought myself back from calling to check up on them for twenty whole minutes.
“If you call here again I’m going to hang up on you,” Adam warned. “Go. Have a nice time. I’ll see you when you get home.”
And then he did hang up on me, the bastard, before I could say another word.
* * *
“If there’s one thing I have to give my mother credit for,” Elle told me, “it’s that she makes things happen.”
Moments before she’d been surrounded by the satellites that circle every bride before she walks down the aisle, and it wasn’t difficult to see from the way she clutched the bouquet of wildflowers that she needed a few minutes to herself. I was proud of her, though, as she calmly told her mother and Marcy, the matron of honor, that she was going to take a few minutes to talk to me in private. Now we stood in a small back hallway overlooking the parking lot.
“My mother,” she said after another moment, “lives for this sort of thing. Honestly, if not for her we’d still be picking out invitations.”
This wasn’t the place for analysis, even if she’d still been my patient. Even so, the response came automatically. “How do you feel about that?”
Elle’s smile sometimes looks as though it’s not quite sure it has the right to be on her face. “I’m getting married.”
She wore a simple, tailored suit in cream and hadn’t yet put on the veil that would cover her face for the traditional Jewish ceremony, but there was no mistaking the fact she was a bride.
“You sure are.”
She laughed, sounding a bit shaky. “Thank you for being here.”
I squeezed her shoulder. “I told you I would be.”
She drew in a breath and let it out. “I think I need a drink.”
“You can do this,” I told her, and I meant it.
“Yes,” she said, straightening her shoulders and looking toward the entrance to the sanctuary, where her mother paced. “I know.”
The ceremony was brief but lovely. I felt a bit out of place among the friends and family gathered to share Elle and Dan’s joy, but I didn’t regret being there. There are few enough occasions in this life when we are allowed to feel as though we have truly made a difference in someone’s life, and joy is something that should always be celebrated.
“Wither thou goest, I will go. Where thou lodgest, I will lodge. Thy people shall be my people, and thy God, my God.”
I wasn’t the only one wiping tears when Elle Kavanagh said those words to Dan Stewart and became his wife. Her mother wept with less theatricality than I expected, and Dan’s eyes gleamed suspiciously bright, but Elle’s face had been transformed by a smile that sat on her mouth knowing it had every right to be there.
As much as I knew the invitation had been sincere, I felt it inappropriate to attend the reception. I paid my respects in the receiving line, instead. I did watch from my car, though, as Elle and her new husband posed for photographs on the synagogue steps. They looked happy together, and I was happy for her.
“Don’t hang up on me,” I said to Adam as soon as he answered the phone.
“How was the wedding?”
“Beautiful. How are you?”
“Also beautiful.”
I cradled the phone against my shoulder as I dug in my purse for my wallet. “Listen. About what you said earlier…”
“Yeah?” He sounded distracted, and I could too well imagine the look on his face.
“I thought I’d give Katie a call. See if she wants to grab a cup of coffee.”
“Sure, sure.” I imagined his impatient expression. It sounded like I’d interrupted him.
“What are you doing?”
“Working on something,” he said, voice clearing a bit as he managed to focus on me. “You’re going out with Katie? Good, good.”
Working on something meant writing. A sudden smile lifted my voice. “What are you working on?”
“Something,” he said stolidly, which meant it was definitely writing.
I didn’t push, but hearing that Adam was writing again made me feel like doing a cartwheel. Or maybe just jumping up and down. “So yeah, I thought I’d give Katie a call.”
“Have fun.”
“You’re okay?” I asked. “You’re sure?”
This time his hesitation sounded less like distraction. “Yeah. Fine.”
“How’s Randy?”
That was it, I’d pushed him too far.
“He’s fine! Damn it, Sadie, what part of ‘I’m working’ don’t you get?”
I couldn’t even be offended. “Sorry. Can you tell him I’ll be home at five, just like I’d originally said?”
“Yeah. See you.”
“I love you,” I said, but to the buzz of the dial tone. He’d hung up on me.
“Ass,” I said, but fondly, then dialed Katie’s number.
“You can’t even begin to imagine how much I needed this.” Katie toasted me with her latte. “I mean, I love my kids, but I’m going crazy being home all day with them. Evan’s great, but he just doesn’t get it, you know? You just never know how much you can possibly love someone until you’ve had to clean up their poop. Man, that’s love.”
Something must have shown in my face, because she looked stricken. “Oh, sweetie, I’m sorry. That was—”
“No. It was fine. You’re right.” I laughed, not wanting her to feel bad. “You’re absolutely right.”
Katie looked embarrassed. “I shouldn’t be complaining. I mean…my two rugmonkeys are nothing compared to what you have to deal with.”
I meant to wave off her comments, but she spoke again.
“You know, Sadie, if you want to talk about it—”
And I was undone.
I did want to talk about it. I told her how it felt to have to stick a piece of rubber tubing up your husband’s penis to allow him to pee, of how it felt to cut up his food and feed it to him, piece by tiny piece, and being terrified the entire time of what would happen if he choked on it. What it was like to lie awake listening for the sounds of the caregiver shifting him so I could be sure he wouldn’t lay too long in one position. Of the ache in my arms and legs and back from operating the lift that got him in and out of the chair. I told her about Joe and about Greg and how those stories had kept me going through long months without physical affection.
I told her how it felt to be proud of Adam for getting up every day when I would have given up long ago. How much I admired his strength, even when he faltered. How I wished I could do more for him. And I told her how much I loved him, even now, when everything was crumbling away.
I thought maybe it was too much, because when I finally ran out of breath, Katie got up from the table without a word. I thought she meant to leave me, and I wouldn’t have blamed her. I’d just unloaded four years of grief in half an hour.
She didn’t leave. She went to the counter and brought back two of the biggest chocolate cupcakes I’d ever seen. She put them in front of us and handed me a fork.
“The icing’s made of Godiva,” she said. “And if ever a woman needed an overdose of premium chocolate, it’s you.”
A good sister is one who won’t be embarrassed when you burst into tears in public. A better one will hand you tissues until you stop. The best is the one who will go get you another latte to go with the ginormous chocolate orgy she’s already laid in front of you.
“Why didn’t you tell me any of this before?” she demanded, stabbing her fork at me. “God, Sadie, you must have been going out of your mind.”
“It’s not that easy to talk about.” I licked icing that had come straight from heaven. “And you had Evan and Lily to deal with, and then you were pregnant again and having James…you didn’t need to listen to my grief.”
She made a face. “I’m pissed at you.”
“You are?” I paused with my fork halfway to my mouth.
“For thinking I wouldn’t have listened.”
“You’d have listened,” I told her, “but it wouldn’t have been fair of me to make you.”
She looked like she wanted to protest, but then nodded. “You’re right. I wouldn’t have been able to listen well enough. I’m sorry. I suck.”
Our sisterhood fit like a pair of faded jeans. I’d missed Katie.
“I didn’t want you to think I don’t love him,” I admitted. “And when he stopped wanting to go out it felt…”
“Disloyal.” She nodded, as though she understood.
“Yes. Disloyal.”
“Nobody would blame you for having a life.”
“That’s what Adam said, too.” I thought of the one support group meeting I’d attended. The wives had taken turns praising each other’s sacrifices and trying to outdo each other’s martyrdoms. Scowling, Katie stabbed her cupcake when I told her about it.
“It’s just like those holier-than-thou mothers in my play-group. God, you’d think I was committing a mortal sin by hiring a sitter for my kids so I can get my hair cut.”
“It’s not like I didn’t understand them,” I said. “I mean, from a professional point of view, I could see how focusing on the tiny details is the only way some people can deal with trauma. Understanding them only made it harder, though. Because I know I shouldn’t feel guilty for being angry sometimes, or bitter.”
“Knowing something is beans,” Katie declared. “Besides, I don’t have a problem with anyone who thinks devoting their entire life to the happiness and comfort of someone else, be it a husband or a child, is what makes them a good person. My problem is when they act like anyone who doesn’t spend hours scrapbooking every freaking detail of their kid’s first tooth is not only a bad person, but a shitty mother, too!”
We stared at each other for a moment, then burst into laughter.
“God, that felt good to say,” she told me.
“I’m sorry it’s been so long, Kates.”
“Me, too. Don’t let it happen again, or I’ll have to kick your ass. Or steal your cupcake.”
I made a show of guarding it. “I’d like to see you try.”
Chocolate, caffeine and girl-bonding left me languid with relaxation. I gobbled the feeling as greedily as I’d done the cupcake.
“Don’t tell the mommy police, but I’m thinking of going back to work. From home, at first, until the kids are older. A few mortgages here and there. I ran into Priscilla from the old bank a week ago, and she told me they’re looking for someone part-time.”
I blinked and found my coffee suddenly very interesting. “Oh, really?”
“Yep. Oh, and you’ll get a kick out of this. Remember how we used to mock those people who used those wedding invitations with the pictures of little kids on them? The ones that say ‘I’m marrying my best friend’ or something like that?”
I remembered.
“Well, Priscilla’s getting married and she showed me her invitations. And guess which ones she’s using.”
Chocolate lurched to my throat, but I couldn’t tell if it was from bitter satisfaction or morbid fascination. “Today, I marry my friend?”
Katie crowed, clapping her hands. “Right on, sister. Ugliest invitations I’d ever seen. Ever. I mean, c’mon, the woman’s in her thirties, for God’s sakes.”
“When’s she getting married?”
“In June, apparently. But she’s like the checklist queen, so…” Katie shrugged. “I think she’s got everything planned out to the millisecond. Her poor fiancé, I bet she’s got him jumping through hoops.”
“He probably doesn’t care.”
“Well,” said Katie, “A guy who agrees to use wedding invitations with little kids on them sure as hell can’t be very good in bed, I’ll tell you that.”
To this, I said nothing, and the conversation switched gears again. In my car, where once I’d sobbed against the steering wheel because of him, now I gave in to laughter that was no less hysterical. Every time I thought I was done, I’d picture those invitations again and burst again, until at last I was wrung dry.
At home, Adam was absorbed in his computer, which didn’t concern me. The fact that that I found Randy snoring downstairs in front of the television, however, did. I shook him awake and dismissed him with a brusqueness that seemed to offend him, but he was lucky I didn’t kick him in the ass on the way out the door.
“Don’t think I’m not going to call the agency tomorrow and complain, either.” I pounded Adam’s pillows in preparation for helping him into bed. “I didn’t even ask him to stay to help me do the transfer, that’s how angry I was.”
“Sadie-me-love,” Adam said quietly. “Did you have fun with Katie?”
I turned from my molestation of his bedding. “I did. Yes. A lot, actually. It felt really good.”
“Good.” He closed the open documents and then maneuvered his chair away from the computer. “I’m glad. Don’t let him ruin that.”
“Adam, he was supposed to be watching you, not dreaming!”
“I was fine,” he said. “I told him to leave me alone.”
“That doesn’t matter.” I took off my jacket and laid it over the back of the recliner, then unbuttoned my blouse. “Did he at least take care of you if you needed something?”
He didn’t answer me at first. When I looked up, he’d gone pale, his eyes squinted tight like he was in pain.
“Adam?”
He opened his eyes and gave me a smile I failed to believe. “Got a headache, that’s all. Eye strain, maybe.”
Alarmed, I started checking him over. His face was clammy, his forehead damp with sweat. When I put a hand inside the front of his shirt, his chest was dry and hot.
“Adam, talk to me.”
I opened his shirt and ran my hands over him, checking as best I could for signs of an irritation. I bent to run my hands up and down his legs, straightening them. I checked his feet at once for an ingrown toenail, anything that could be causing his body trauma.
“When’s the last time he cathed you?” I looked up and fear tried to steal my voice. I forced it aside. “Adam. Look at me.”
His head was drooping, eyelids fluttering. His body trembled slightly all over. He didn’t respond.
Fuck fear. Terror crashed over me and tried to pin me to the floor. I ran for the bathroom, where I wet a cloth with cold water and brought it back to place on the back of his neck. He was gasping a little.
Autonomic Dysreflexia. It happens as a result of distress, even something as simple as not emptying the bladder often enough. If not treated immediately, it can be fatal.
“How long have you had the headache?”
The headache’s caused by a spike in blood pressure. The body’s protection mechanisms are amazing.
And he might be having a stroke.
I put aside my terror as though I’d shoved away an annoying dog nipping at my shins. I knew how to take care of this. I could take care of it. I would. I would do this…
I did not think. I acted. I yanked open the drawer storing the catheter supplies, spilling out plastic packages all over the floor. My fingers skidded on the slick packets as I tried to open his pants with one hand and grab up the catheter in the other.
I had to stop and center my actions before I continued. It was only a second, but every second counted. I opened his pants. I tore open the sterile package, yanking out the coil of thin, flexible tubing, which promptly slipped from my fingers onto the floor. I couldn’t stop to untangle it. I grabbed another package, ripped it open and pulled out the catheter.
“Just a minute, Adam. Adam, stay with me, baby, please.”
I said his name, over and over, explaining every step. I took him in my hand, ready to insert the tube that would drain his bladder and stop his body’s stress reaction. No bowl to catch the urine, nothing but a towel slung over the arm of the chair.
No time to find a bowl, no time to care if I spilled or made a mess. Time to steady my fingers, but only then because they had to be steady in order to do what was needed.
“Stay with me,” I murmured, over and over while I worked. “Gonna take care of this, Adam, just stay with me. Damn you, don’t you dare pass out on me!”
I made a messy job of the catheter, bringing blood. The moment I slid it in, the tube filled with dark yellow urine, too much of it. It flooded over my hands. Wetness dropped on me from above, and I thought he must be crying.
It wasn’t sweat or tears but saliva, a long, silver string of it I slapped away as I got to my feet. I pushed his head back, looking into his eyes. I didn’t know what to do. Panic gnawed me.
“Don’t you leave me!” I shouted. “Damn you, Adam, not now! Don’t do this now!”
Adam blinked in slow motion, each open and close of his eyes taking too many seconds. I grabbed the phone and punched in 911. The voice on the other end asked me the state of my emergency, and I could not answer, struck dumb by panic.
“Please state the nature of your emergency.”
Adam opened his eyes. He saw me, I know he did. I want to think he smiled at me.
“I need an ambulance! My husband’s a quadriplegic and he’s—” I could not say it, but I didn’t have to.
“We’ll have someone there right away.”
And I’m sure they did, though I couldn’t tell you how long it took them. Hours or minutes, in the end, it didn’t matter.
Forever is how long it takes to search for the reason your husband is dying in front of your eyes and being unable to find it.