Читать книгу Blossom Street - Debbie Macomber - Страница 37

CAROL GIRARD

The critical first three weeks following embryo transfer had passed and so far so good. Carol was a full five weeks pregnant now and felt every aspect of this pregnancy in a way few women ever would.

After talking to her mother in Oregon for twenty minutes, she hung up the receiver and fixed herself a healthy lunch of cottage cheese and fresh fruit. Carol had never been fond of cottage cheese, and this was her way of announcing to the universe that she was willing to suffer for the sake of her baby. No sacrifice was too great. When her child was born, she wanted to know she’d done everything possible to give him or her a good start in life.

Smiling, Carol scooped cottage cheese onto a plate, then added sliced pineapple. She’d heard from one of the women in her online support group that a substance in pineapple was believed to improve the chances of an embryo attaching to the uterus.

The phone rang as the fork was halfway to her mouth. She lowered it and reached for the receiver.

It was Doug. Normally he was too busy to phone from work, but he’d made a habit of calling her at least once a day since the last IVF.

“I just spoke with Mom,” she told him.

“What’s new with her?”

“She and Dad want to buy us a crib.”

“Did you tell her we already have one?”

“I didn’t have the heart.” Three weeks after the procedure, Carol had gotten a Bon-Macy’s flyer advertising baby furniture. That night she’d dragged Doug to the department store and, giddy with excitement, they’d purchased everything they could possibly need for a nursery.

“So we’re going to have two cribs?”

“I could be having twins.”

Doug chuckled and it was the unrestrained laugh she’d fallen in love with all those years ago. He so rarely laughed like that anymore, and she knew beyond a doubt that her pregnancy explained his joy.

“Besides, I was thinking that if we can’t use the crib, maybe she could give it to Rick.” She hated to put an end to her husband’s fun-loving mood, but her brother would be presenting their parents with another grandchild a few weeks before Carol was due to deliver.

“Have you heard from him lately?” Doug asked.

“Not a word.”

“I take it he hasn’t mentioned anything to your parents?”

“Not that I can tell, but I don’t dare ask about it, either.”

“You’re right—it’s not your place.”

She sank back into her chair. “I hope Rick does the proper thing and marries this woman.”

Doug hesitated. “From what you told me, he’s already decided against that.”

“But there’s a baby involved.”

“I know that, but I also know Rick.”

Carol sighed. She wondered what her parents would say when they heard about the situation. Her mother was waiting impatiently for grandchildren. She’d be thrilled whether Rick was married to the woman or not, but she’d prefer it if Rick gave the child his name.

“I’m having cottage cheese for lunch,” she told Doug. He’d appreciate her sacrifice.

“I hope the baby likes it,” Doug teased.

“I hope so, too.”

They chatted for a few more minutes and then Carol went back to her sacrificial lunch.

She lost the baby later that afternoon.

Just when the dream had started to become a reality … Just when she’d given herself permission to believe … Just when she was so sure everything had gone according to plan.

At four in the afternoon the spotting started. The instant she saw the blood, she thought she’d faint. Severe cramping followed and there was no longer any doubt. She’d miscarried.

“No,” she whispered, clenching her fists at her sides. “Please no … please, oh please.” Her throat was thick with tears. She sat on the end of her bed and covered her eyes.

The routine should be standard by now. After phoning the doctor’s office, she collected her purse. She didn’t call Doug, couldn’t ruin the rest of his day. She’d give him the afternoon before she shattered his life with the news that there would be no baby for them.

When Dr. Ford examined her, he confirmed what she already knew. Her body had rejected the fetus. The baby was dead, expelled from her womb. Dr. Ford was sympathetic and concerned. After she’d dressed, he gently squeezed her arm.

“I’m sorry.”

Emotionless, Carol stared straight ahead.

“Would you like one of my staff to phone Doug for you?”

She shook her head.

“Is there anyone you’d like me to call?”

His words sounded slurred to Carol as her mind struggled to comprehend each one. She was drowning in a sea of pain. Functioning normally was impossible just then.

“I want my mother,” she whispered. Her body had rejected three pregnancies now, and there wouldn’t be another chance. This was the end for her and Doug. It was over.

“Can I have someone phone her?”

She looked up at him, wondering who he meant, and realized he was asking about her mother. Carol shook her head. “She lives in Oregon.”

Dr. Ford said a bit more, offered his condolences and after a few minutes left her. Carol slipped off the examination table, dressed and went out the door. She didn’t know where she was going, didn’t care. She started walking—a slow, shambling walk, without purpose—and before long found herself on the waterfront near the Seattle Aquarium. Tourists crowded the sidewalk and she felt like a boulder in a stream, disrupting the flow of traffic as men, women and children darted around her.

When she was finally too tired to move, she sat down on a bench. The tears came then. Hoarse, painful sobs from the depths of her soul. She’d failed again. Disappointed her husband, disappointed her parents and everyone who’d believed in her.

Her cell phone rang and why she should be so angry with it, Carol didn’t know. Without checking to see who might be calling her, she grabbed it from her purse and threw it into the street. She felt a sense of grim satisfaction as a city bus passed by and drove directly over it. All that was left was a flattened piece of plastic with wires protruding.

“Is everything all right, miss?” a young police officer stepped up to ask her.

“No,” she said, her face streaked with tears and her eyes dull with pain. “Nothing is right.” She understood then that someone must have seen her and thought she needed help. Unfortunately, there wasn’t anything the policeman or anyone else could do for her.

“Should I call someone?”

“No, thank you.”

“You’re sure?”

She stood, needing to escape. “I appreciate your concern, but you can’t help me. No one can.” If she didn’t leave now, she might end up in Emergency or even the Psych ward. Escape became key, so she started walking again. Walking and walking and walking.

It was dark when she discovered she was miles from home. Doug must be frantic by now but she couldn’t face him yet, couldn’t watch the look in his eyes when he learned there wasn’t a baby anymore.

An hour later, Carol took a taxi home.

When she walked in the door, Doug nearly flew across the room. “Where the hell were you?”

“I lost the baby.”

He didn’t seem to be listening. “Why didn’t you answer the phone?”

“Didn’t you hear me?” she sobbed, her shoulders shaking uncontrollably. “I lost the baby.”

“I know,” Doug whispered and wrapped her in his arms.

Carol was weeping again, unable to stop. The tears came from deep inside her, sobs that wrenched her soul. This was an agony that could be understood only by those who’d experienced such a loss. It felt as if her beating heart had been ripped from her chest, as if she would never again know joy or happiness or anything good. Her future stretched before her, bleak and without hope.

“I so badly wanted to have our child,” she sobbed into her husband’s arms.

Doug held her tightly in his embrace, his head against her shoulder. Then she realized he was weeping, too. They clung to each other, neither able to offer anything to the other. Empty, bereaved, in agony.

“I’m so sorry,” she choked out. “So sorry.”

“I know … I know.”

“I love you.”

He nodded.

“I tried so hard …” She couldn’t think of anything she might have done differently, any effort she hadn’t made.

“I’ll always love you,” Doug assured her.

Exhausted, Carol showered and went to bed and with Doug’s arms around her, she fell into a deep sleep.

At three, she woke with pain heavy upon her chest and remembered there was no longer a child growing in her womb. The tears came fresh, stinging her eyes.

Slipping out of bed, she walked into the nursery and stood in the middle of the darkened room. She curled her fingers around the end of the crib and bit her lower lip hard to hold back the sobs.

It was then that she noticed the wall. She squinted, certain she was seeing things. Flicking on the light switch, she looked again. Her knees went weak and she sagged to the floor as she stared at the place where her husband’s fist had gone through the wall.