Breathe (11 page)

Chapter Thirteen

BETHANY

I hated hospitals.  They always reminded me of my mother’s numerous visits to the emergency room.  Since we lived in a one story house, it was quite ironic that she had “tripped on her way down the stairs at home” so many times.  When you have to constantly invent reasons for your injuries, you really come to believe your own lies.  She would even joke about how accident prone she was.  I tried not to judge her too harshly; maybe it was the only way she could cope. 

Normally, I would have knocked people over in my rush to leave this place, but my feet seemed to be glued to the floor.  My brain was telling my rebellious legs to move, but they refused to obey.  They might as well have been encased in concrete.  I was still standing at the door of my hospital room when the doctor handed me my discharge papers and gave me some last minute instructions.  Hopefully they weren’t important because I didn’t hear a word.  He was relieved to hand me over to the nurse.  She was a short, middle aged woman with long blonde hair, a plump figure, and a kind face.  I knew I was keeping her from other patients, but she stubbornly continued to stay by my side murmuring comforting words while patting my back consolingly. 

I was concentrating on getting my stubborn feet to move.  I stared wistfully at the double doors that refused to magically open and whisk me out of this nightmare.  After what felt like hours, the doors swept open, and I watched in disbelief as an averaged sized young man walked confidently through them. His chocolate colored hair was clipped short in the back with longer bangs falling in his eyes.  His eyes were so dark they were almost the same color as his pupils.  He had on dark indigo Levis and a snug fitting gray t-shirt showcasing some serious biceps.  He had a dozen roses in one hand and silver balloons proclaiming “It’s a Boy!” in the other.  The man smiled uncertainly at me and started heading my way. 

“Congratulations, Beth.  How are you feeling?” 

That was it.  The precarious cliff I was standing on crumbled beneath me.  I reached my breaking point, something inside me just snapped.  His smiled faded as my knees collapsed.  I slid to the ground and started sobbing like a child. 

Over my bawling, the nurse explained to Logan that I had given my baby up for adoption.  The new parents I had carefully chosen for him had taken him home hours earlier.  Wordlessly, Logan shoved the flowers and balloons in the nurse’s hands and scooped me up off the floor.  My sobs continued to jolt my body as I was lifted into a pair of strong arms and swiftly carried out of the hospital.

When we made it to the parking lot, the chilly October morning air felt as icy as my heart. Logan continued to walk briskly to his car, still carrying me effortlessly.  We got to his black Mustang and he opened the driver’s side door.  Somehow he managed to get in, close the door, and start the car with me still in his arms. He cranked the heat on high.   His shirt was already soaked with tears when he began rocking me slowly.  Occasionally, he would stop for a minute to kiss my forehead or temple, but he never said a word.  He just held me tightly against his chest and continued rocking me until my sobs quieted.  Logan leaned in, kissed both of my swollen eyes then tilted his forehead into mine.  The gesture was so achingly sweet it made me shudder.  

After what felt like an eternity, he turned to put me in the passenger seat.  His hand brushed my cheek as he reached past my shoulder to grab my seatbelt so he could buckle me in.  My emotions were so raw, I couldn’t move.   My arms felt so empty they actually ached. Logan glanced over at me with a pained expression, sighed and pulled out of the parking lot.  I did not care where we were going. I just knew it was away from the hospital and for now, that was enough. 

He was still silent when we pulled up to the old motel on Main Street.  He got out of the car, walked over to the passenger side, and opened the door.  He scooped me up again like I weighed nothing and made his way into the hotel.  When we got to the door, Logan shifted my weight to his left arm and fished inside his pocket for his room key.  He slid the card into the slot and opened the door with one hand.  Once we were inside he kicked the door closed with his foot.  I was placed softly on the bed before he moved to take my worn tennis shoes from my feet. He pulled down the covers and tucked me into bed.  He kissed my forehead as he turned off the lamp. 

In the darkness he finally spoke to me.

“I am so sorry, baby.  Giving up a child so he can have a better life is one of the most unselfish things I can imagine anyone doing.”

I could not speak as the tears continued to course silently down my cheeks. 

“Are you in pain?  Do you need anything?  Do you need me to fill any prescriptions for you?”  

I managed to croak a “No” past my lips. 

I was still bleeding heavily from the delivery, but thankfully the nurse had my bag in her hand when we were in the hallway. 

“I packed a few necessities in there as well, “she discreetly mumbled as she put the bag on Logan’s shoulder before he could walk past her. 

My body was so physically and emotionally exhausted, I couldn’t move.  I was so weary.  That is why I didn’t protest when I felt the bed sink slightly beside me.  Logan carefully scooted closer to me and reached out for my hand. I held onto it for dear life.  The pain welled up again, and I couldn’t stop the anguish from pouring past my lips.  My tormented sobs continued into the night.

When I woke up a few hours later, I was wrapped in Logan’s arms.  For the first time in months I felt safe.  His touch always soothed some of the ache in my heart.  As soon as the thought crossed my mind, I began to carefully untangle myself from him.  I was ashamed of myself for being so weak.  Looking for safety or security from someone else was a mistake.  I knew better.  I learned that lesson as a child and Logan gave me a refresher course a little over a year ago.  I viciously reminded myself of that fact as I moved out of the bed.

I fumbled my way toward the bathroom in the darkness.  The light blinded me when I finally managed to find the light switch.  The worn face in the mirror that greeted me was almost unrecognizable; dark circles ringed bloodshot eyes in a pale, blotchy face.  My light green eyes were my favorite feature, but they looked dull and haunted.  My unruly hair had escaped its ponytail and became a wiry mess pushing its way out in a million different directions.  I looked as if I had aged twenty years in the last forty-eight hours. 

My gaze drifted down to take in the rest of my body.   Ugh, my chest was still two sizes bigger than normal.  My pink t-shirt was two sizes too big and baggy sweat pants did little to enhance my appearance.  T-shirts and sweatpants were pretty much my standard wardrobe over the last few months.  They hung loosely on me now.  I raised my shirt up to take a look at my belly.  Childbirth takes its toll on a body.  I was disappointed to find I still looked like I was about four months pregnant.  I could see my feet again, so I decided not to be too ungrateful. I looked down at my stomach again. 

The baby was out.  I felt so empty, so alone.  There was little I liked about pregnancy, but I cherished putting my hand on my belly and knowing another human being was with me all the time.  For those nine months, I felt complete for the first time in my life.  As time went on and I began to feel him move, I knew it was time to face reality.  This child was not going to stay inside me forever.   I was five months pregnant and had zero prenatal care.  I never even took a pregnancy test.  Not having a period and throwing up for two months clued me into my condition long before anyone in my house bothered to notice my expanding waistline. 

Now that I was on my own, I barely had enough money for rent.  I relied on the diner for most of my meals.  I had no phone or even furniture in my apartment.  I slept on an air mattress on the floor.  I did not know where to go, where to turn for help.  Fortunately, my boss at the dinner was much more understanding about my pregnancy than my step-father.  When she noticed my burgeoning belly, she asked me to meet her in the office after my shift one night. 

Colleen was always good to me.  She was a few years younger than my mother.  She always had a smile on her face and a twinkle in her eye.  At first, I thought she had to be faking it, but as time when on I realized Colleen’s zest for life was genuine.  Her hair was dyed a vibrant red with a pixie cut framing her narrow face.  She ate enough for two grown men, yet stayed stick thin.  Once I closed the door to her office, Colleen got right to the point. 

“Tell me if this is none of my business, but are you pregnant?” 

My heart plummeted; I was hoping to be a few more months along before I had to confront my boss regarding my pregnancy.  I could not afford to lose my job right now, especially after getting kicked to the curb by my parents.  It was impossible to lie at this point so I answered her honestly. 

“Yes.  I think I am four months along, but I promise it won’t affect my job.  You won’t notice any difference other than my stomach getting bigger.  I am on my own now and I NEED this job!” 

Colleen gave me a hard look. 

“You THINK you are four months along?  When is your due date?” 

I looked at a spot on the wall beside her head. 

“I am not sure.  I can’t afford to go to a doctor.” 

She gave me a horrified look. 

“It isn’t safe for you or the baby not to be getting regular checkups.  We need to get you to see a doctor.  Why don’t you stop by after closing tomorrow?  I’ll see what we can do about getting you some prenatal care.” 

Usually, I would have politely refused her charity but this wasn’t just me anymore.  This kid deserved the best I could give it, no matter how meager that may be. 

“Thanks,” I said sincerely.  

She gave me a reassuring smile. 

“Waitressing isn’t any easy job, Bethany.  Being on your feet for eight hours at a time will be harder the further along you get.  I’ll see what I can do about keeping your hours steady but scheduling you shorter shifts. ” 

I was truly thankful for her help.  Colleen gave me the numbers of several pregnancy crisis centers.  The closest one to my apartment was a Christian pregnancy center where they urged women not to abort their babies.  In return they offered free vitamins and prenatal checkups.  If I wanted to keep my baby they offered free baby clothes, diapers, baby gear and subsidized daycare.  I knew I was not able to be a mother to this tiny life.  I wanted my baby to have two stable parents.  I may not be able to keep him, but I was determined to give him the best chance in life that I could. 

The pregnancy center had several books in their office with pages and pages of couples that wanted to adopt.  I used to spend hours at their office pouring over the books, websites, and Facebook pages of couples that wanted to adopt.  I was determined to find the best parents possible for my baby.  Out of hundreds of candidates, I chose a couple from Georgia.  They were childhood sweethearts who graduated from Georgia State.  They were both teachers, had no children, and had been married for fourteen years.  They seemed genuinely in love and desperately wanted a child.

James and Lauren Kline came to meet me when I was about eight months along, and I knew immediately that they were the parents I wanted for my child.  They showed me pictures of their house in the piney woods of east Texas.  They already had a playhouse and a swing set in their huge backyard.  I could picture my child sliding down the yellow slide into James’ waiting arms.  After seeing how gentle and sweet he was with his wife, I was confident that he would be the same way with my baby.  I knew my baby would be wanted and cherished.

The Klines offered to let me visit the baby a few times a year or to send pictures occasionally, but I was ready just to hand the kid over and let him get on with his life.  I didn’t think the reminders would be helpful to me or the baby.  I did provide them with my medical records, a quick note telling my child how much he was wanted and how I struggled to find the right home for him, and a recent picture in case he was ever curious about what I looked like.  If he ever felt the need to meet me when he was older, I would be open to that.  They said they understood but asked me to keep their cell numbers in case I ever changed my mind.  They were great people, just the type of people I wished I had growing up.  I did the best I could. 

A few minutes after I delivered the baby, I heard a loud pounding at my apartment door. 

“Paramedics!”  They yelled.   I was confused for a minute because I knew I hadn’t called them, primarily because I couldn’t afford a phone. 

“I don’t think I can make it do the door.”  I yelled. 

I wasn’t sure they heard me until about fifteen minutes later when I heard the door splinter, followed by footsteps. 

“Hello?  Hello?” 

It didn’t’ take them long to find us.  My apartment consisted of two rooms, a small room that had a kitchenette along one wall, my air mattress on the opposite wall, and the bathroom.  The paramedic took in the situation immediately and got to work.  Soon, we were loaded up and on our way to the hospital.  After I was examined, I was admitted to the hospital overnight for observation.  They whisked the baby off to the nursery to get him checked out. 

A doctor stopped by the room early the next morning.  “I am Dr. Samuels.  It’s nice to meet you…” he shuffled papers on his clipboard. 

I decided to have mercy on him. 

“Bethany” I supplied.