Branching Out (14 page)

C
HAPTER
20

S
helby didn't remember falling asleep. She didn't remember waking, either. Minutes dragged into hours as she passed in between nightmares and reality, and she didn't know which was harder to bear.

The room was dark and eerily still. A light fixture near the doorway gave off just enough illumination so that she could make out the pastel patterns on the walls. They were meant to soothe new mothers and their babies but only made her feel that she didn't belong there. Her baby was gone and she could hardly call herself a mother. Shelby had never felt so disconnected to her surroundings.

She was desperate for home.

Aside from the silent heart monitor beside her, and the IV drip that was connected by a lead and needle inserted into the top of her left hand, there wasn't much else in the room. No baby monitors, lactation pamphlets, or bouquets of congratulatory flowers. Her son's weight, height, and name were not written boldly on the whiteboard near the closet. Instead, its blank white space caught the faint light in the room and glowed in the shadows. There wasn't a bassinet by her bedside. It was just her and her dear husband.

She knew he was exhausted from the emotional trauma of the day before. He was asleep on the couch with his arm tucked beneath his head and a white hospital blanket lay draped over the length of his body, which was too long to fit comfortably on the compact piece of furniture. Shelby noticed he was wearing the same clothes from the day before and that his feet, in black socks, peeked out beneath the end of the blanket. Ryan's jacket was still thrown carelessly over a chair, where he had discarded it the evening before, and his shoes had been cast off next to the couch.

Shelby heard Ryan's breathing falter, perhaps from a dream. She whispered his name, but he didn't wake. The pained expression on his sleeping face broke her heart.

Shelby checked the overhead clock on the wall across from where she lay. Four o'clock. The evening nurse had finished her shift a short while ago, after administering pain medication through Shelby's IV and setting a cotton ball that had been dabbed in a lavender-scented oil beside her pillow. She had closed her eyes and breathed in the calming fragrance, imagining herself far away from this place. The nurse had replaced Shelby's top blanket with a warm one, set her hand compassionately upon Shelby's shoulder, and assured her that she and Ryan would be left alone to rest for the next several hours.

“Before you go, would you mind turning off this machine?” Shelby had asked with a weak voice, nodding toward the wires that were taped to her chest and which tethered her to a heart and blood pressure monitor. “I'm having a hard time sleeping with it, and really—considering everything—do I even need it?”

Shelby was surprised that the nurse took pity on her and agreed to turn off the machine. “Just while you're sleeping. We'll have to check your vitals again first thing in the morning,” the on call nurse had said with understanding. “Now try to get some rest. I'll be sure no one else comes into your room tonight, unless you need us.” The nurse offered a comforting smile and then left the room while closing the door quietly behind her.

As the medication made its way through her veins, Shelby felt its warming relief travel throughout her body. She gingerly pushed herself to a seated position, and even with the medication, she felt an electric bolt of pain shoot through her abdomen. She carefully pulled the blankets off and moved her legs over the edge of the bed. Biting her lip to bear the pain, she pushed off of the bed and felt a rip inside where a child had been growing and thriving just twenty-four hours ago.

One day. Her entire life had been altered in a single day.

 

The day before, when everyone thought she was sleeping, Shelby had overheard Dr. Logan speaking with Ryan in hushed tones behind the privacy curtain.

“I have spoken in great length with Dr. Allister, who delivered your son, and we've gone through the pathology results and post-delivery examination notes,” she overheard him tell Ryan. “Your wife was already in labor by the time she arrived at the hospital. She may have been unaware of the early contractions, which isn't unusual for a first-time mother. After her rapid delivery, her uterus did not contract as it should have. We needed to do a procedure to stop the bleeding and now she is being given a medication that will continue to help speed the healing process.”

“But she'll be all right, won't she?”

“I have to be honest with you, Mr. Chambers,” Dr. Logan said carefully. “Your wife lost a significant amount of blood. Ordinarily, she'd be able to go home after a stillborn delivery. But under the circumstances, we'd like to keep her under observation and examine her again in the morning. It will take some time for her body and uterus to heal.”

“What does that mean, exactly?” Ryan asked in a hushed voice.

“It's too early to tell. We're hopeful that with some rest and care she will recover fully. However, there is a slight chance, should her internal injuries not heal properly, that it will be difficult—or, worst-case scenario, impossible—for her to carry another pregnancy at all.”

Shelby couldn't understand Ryan's reply, as it was muffled, but just the tone of his voice filled her with despair. It didn't matter. Shelby didn't need to know his exact words, for the message was clear. Ryan was devastated. Her husband might never become a father, and for this only she was to blame.

She had spent so much of her pregnancy focused on her ability to be the kind of mother that her son deserved, that she had lost her focus on him. By worrying that she would be a parent like her own mother, she wound up being far worse. Just like her mother, Shelby had put her own needs before her family's. But Shelby's negligence far eclipsed that of her mother. Shelby's failure had resulted in her son's death, and for that she wouldn't expect Ryan to ever forgive her. Particularly when she knew she would never be able to forgive herself.

 

Standing beside her bed in a loose hospital gown and a flimsy robe, slightly hunched over from the pain, Shelby considered the narrow, clear tubing that tethered her to the intravenous drip. She gently removed the flesh-colored adhesive tape on the top of her left hand, exposing the blood-filled end of the IV tubing and the needle that was secured in her vein. At the prospect of what had to be done, she felt a wave of nausea roll through her stomach. Shelby knew what she wanted to do and knew she had to act quickly. Gritting her teeth and fighting back her tears, Shelby swiftly pulled the needle out of her vein and let it drop onto the bed. At the sight of blood rushing out of her hand, it only took her a moment of thought before she used her good hand to free the cotton tie from her robe and wrap it multiple times around her left hand to stop the bleeding.

Then, walking with great care with her hand pressed over her abdomen, she slowly made her way to the closet to retrieve the maternity dress she had been wearing when she arrived at the hospital with the taxi driver. She recalled how kind he had been to make sure she was safe with a nurse before he left, refusing payment for the ride. She grabbed a few more personal items and then entered the bathroom, closing the door quietly behind her. As soon as she turned on the light, she winced against the brightness. Once her eyes adjusted, she looked into the mirror and stared at the unrecognizable woman reflected back at her. Sallow skin surrounding tired eyes that were rimmed red from tears and shadowed with dark circles.
So that is what it looks like,
she thought bitterly to herself.
Failed motherhood.

She turned away from the mirror and sucked in her breath at the pain caused by taking off her hospital gown and replacing it with her maternity dress.

A single day,
her voice repeated in her mind as she splashed cold water on her face and smoothed out her hair before pulling it back in a binder she found in her purse. Her husband's heart broken. The light of a baby's life blown out in a breath. No one to fault but herself.
All in a single day.

She set her purse on the bathroom sink and took out what she didn't need—her cell phone, a hairbrush, travel-sized hand lotion, and a pair of sunglasses. She replaced them with the personal care items for post-delivery that her nurses had left for her on a shelf in the bathroom.

Shelby turned the bathroom light off before opening the door without a sound and then made her way painstakingly back to the closet, wincing from the pain. She pushed her bare feet into her winter boots and slipped on her coat. She noticed the shopping bag on the floor of the closet, which contained the gift she had purchased for Ryan. Regretting that Christmas wasn't going to be as she had imagined, she left the bag for Ryan to discover after she was gone.

Shelby returned to her bedside table, where she scribbled a note to Ryan on the back of a pamphlet on parental grief. When she was done she pocketed a small bottle of prescribed pain relievers. As she withdrew her hand from her coat pocket, her set of apartment keys caught on a button on her sleeve and fell to the ground with the tinny
clank
of metal on tile flooring.

She looked down to retrieve the keys but realized that they had slid somewhere in the darkness and, even if she saw them, it would have been too much effort and pain to bend down to pick them up.
I don't need them anyway,
she thought.

Before she left, Shelby took one last look at her beautiful husband. With tears in her eyes, and trembling lips, she mouthed, “I love you,” before making her way through the darkened room, past the privacy curtain, and then to the door.

Just as she reached for the door handle, she remembered the hospital identification bracelet that was still on her wrist. She pushed up her coat sleeve and pulled the bracelet off with her teeth, letting it drop to the floor. At the same time, she heard the sound of Ryan's phone vibrating from its place in his coat pocket. She froze and listened. The phone buzzed a few more times and then nothing. When she didn't hear him stir or the sound of his footsteps, Shelby let out her breath. Grateful that Ryan continued to lie sleeping, she snuck out into the dim maternity ward hallway with one last thing on her mind. She was wrong in thinking that she didn't have a parenting role model—she had her grandmother. And right now, Shelby needed her desperately.

C
HAPTER
21

W
hen Shelby burst out of the hospital's front doors, the bitterly cold wind felt like a deserved slap in the face. But it didn't deter her. She felt like a maimed animal, in pain and now set free, skittering into the darkness.

Beneath the circular glow of a streetlight, just beyond the well-lit entrance, Shelby saw a white taxicab sitting idle with its exhaust billowing into the winter air. She pressed her abdomen to stifle some of the pain she was feeling and made her way across the fresh snow that was accumulating on the sidewalk in front of the hospital.

When she knocked her gloved hand on the taxi's passenger door window, she startled the driver, who was clearly preoccupied with checking his phone. The electric window rolled down—along with a fluff of snow that had collected along the base of the window. It opened just enough for Shelby to lean toward the car and ask for a ride.

“Where you headed?” asked the driver, a heavyset man with dark eyes, ruddy complexion, and a black knit cap pulled down to his ears.

“Can we discuss it on the way? It's freezing out here and I'm in a hurry.”

“Hop in.”

The window rolled back up and Shelby opened the back passenger door and carefully eased herself into the backseat, gritting her teeth as a bolt of searing pain shot through her middle and ran up her back.

“Your timing was perfect,” the driver said as he pulled away from the curb. “I just dropped off someone for their shift. The guy's car didn't start, so he needed a lift. If it hadn't been for that fare, you woulda had to call for a pickup. The hospital doesn't let us park here.”

“My lucky day.” Shelby closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the seat.

“So, what's the address?”

“Hmm?”

“The address. Where do you need to go?”

“Bayfield.”

“Bayfield? Is that a street . . . an apartment building . . . ?”

She kept her eyes closed without answering. The pine tree–shaped air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror was ineffective in masking the scent of cheap coffee and stale cigarettes that permeated the cab.

“Never mind. I'll punch it in my GPS here, now that we're coming to a light.” She felt the vehicle slow down to a stop, the motion of which made her body ache. She winced against the pain, knowing she deserved it. “You okay back there?”

She heard the wipers move back and forth across the windshield. They were too slow to syncopate with the rhythm of her racing heart.
Just go,
she thought.
Drive.

“There's a Bayfield Court in Tinley Park,” he said as Shelby felt the car accelerate again. “That's a little over an hour from here. Is that where you live?”

“I just need to make it to Bayfield,” she said, hearing a slight slur in her voice. She felt light-headed, just for a moment.
The pain relievers must be hitting now.
She forced her eyes open.
Just stay awake long enough to get out of the city.

“Can you just drive north?” she asked.

“North? But the GPS says Bayfield Court is south of here.”

“Not Bayfield Court,” she said, trying to sound confident but failing to carry it off. “We're driving to Bayfield the town.”

“Bayfield?!” She saw his look of surprise reflected in the rearview mirror. “Jesus, lady—that's what? Five or six hours from here?”

The heater kicked in with a burst of warm air that streamed out of the vent and warmed the backseat. Shelby removed her gloves and laid them carefully across her lap. The bathrobe tie was still wrapped around her left hand. She was relieved to see that the bleeding had stopped and the blood hadn't soaked through the fabric. Reaching down, Shelby ran her fingers over the leather seat cushion before settling on a rough crack in the leather and feeling a tuft of foam just below the surface.

“I think it's more like seven,” she said casually. It wasn't a perfect plan, but it was her only plan. Seven hours and she would be home, where she would have the privacy and support she needed to sort through the shattered pieces of her imperfect life.

“Seven!” The car suddenly veered off of the main road and pulled into a deserted gas station. The driver stopped the cab and turned around in his seat to face her. “Sorry, lady, but there's no way I'm driving all the way to Lake Superior tonight. Now, I'm happy to take you to the bus station, or even the airport to get you up to Duluth. But Bayfield? That's off the grid for me.”

“I have money. I can pay you.”

“It's crazy. It would cost a fortune—not to mention, I'd have to spend the night there before driving all the way back to Chicago.”

She took hold of her purse, set it on her lap, and began rummaging through it until she pulled a platinum credit card out of her wallet. It was a card she rarely ever used, with a limit that she knew far exceeded anything she would ever buy, but Ryan had insisted on her having it.

She handed it through the divider between the front and backseats until the driver took it from her fingers. He looked down at the card and then back to her.

“Chambers?”

She nodded, noticing his permit mounted on the partition between them:

 

E
MANUEL
E
LVIN
P
RATT
—C
ITY OF
C
HICAGO
, I
LLINOIS
.

 

Shelby caught him staring at her, squinting in the faintly lit cab while trying to make out her face. “You're one of those newscasters, aren't you? Wait, no. That's not it,” he said, slightly tilting his head to the side. “I got it. You married that Chambers guy?”

She looked the cabbie in the eye. “Believe me, Emanuel. Whatever it costs to get me there, I can afford to make it worth your time.”

He studied her a moment longer. “Including lodging for the night?”

“Yes. Now, can we go? We'll make better time if we keep driving while it's still dark—before the morning traffic picks up.” She was fighting off sleep now, waiting for him to agree to her plan so she could rest during the drive north.
Seven hours and I'll be home.

The man settled back in his seat and shifted the car out of Park. “You can call me Manny,” he said as the taxicab pulled out of the gas station and began its long drive north.