Cracks in the Sidewalk (2 page)

For someone with such an appetite for material possessions, it’s hard to believe he could squander money the way he did. That’s partly to blame for what happened. Money—or, I should say, his lack of it.

When Elizabeth married Jeffrey T. Caruthers, who by then answered only to JT, I trusted they’d live happily ever after. She was head-over-heels in love with him, and he seemed just as crazy about her. I’ve never seen anyone act more devoted than that boy. He was always wrapping his arm around Elizabeth’s shoulder or twining his fingers through hers. And he’d tell anyone who’d listen how beautiful and smart she was. A man like that is simply not the sort you would have cause to doubt.  

Charlie felt otherwise. He had misgivings about a lad who seldom looked a person square in the eye and labeled himself with initials.

“You can’t do a thing about it,” I told him. “Elizabeth loves that boy as much as he loves her.”

Of course he grumbled and groused a bit, but I figured it had to do with him losing a daughter rather than Jeffrey’s shortcomings. After Charlie learned to live with their relationship, he treated JT like a son.  

Two nights before the wedding at their rehearsal dinner, Elizabeth beamed and announced, “JT and I are planning to have nine kids, right, JT?”

When he gave a nod of agreement, my heart almost exploded with happiness. Grandchildren!

“See, you were wrong about the boy,” I whispered to Charlie. Suddenly I was on the verge of having the big family I’d always wanted.

I assumed they would start right away, but week after week went by with no further mention of babies. Then eighteen months after the wedding, on an ordinary Tuesday evening when they’d come for a meatloaf dinner, I noticed something different about Liz. She bubbled like a glass of champagne. After dinner she gave us the news that they were expecting their first child.

“Isn’t it wonderful, Mom?” she said, rubbing little circles on her still-flat tummy.

I had dozens of questions. Was she feeling okay? Any morning sickness? When was the baby due? Were they hoping for a boy or girl?

“Boy or girl?” she said. “I’m hoping for twins!”

I expected a chuckle from Jeffrey, but he was busy watching an NBC newscaster tell about how some stock had gone up thirty-nine points in a single day.

“I knew I should have bought that,” he grumbled. “See, Liz, I told you we ought to be putting our money where there’s
growth
potential!”

“There’s plenty of growth potential right here,” she answered, still rubbing her tummy with those little circles. 

After that Elizabeth and I went to the kitchen for some girl talk. “I’ve started knitting a sweater for the baby,” she confided. “It’s white with yellow edging. That way it’ll be okay for a boy or girl, although I’m certain this baby’s a boy.” 

It’s been twenty-seven years, but I remember that evening as if it took place yesterday. We talked for hours about little things, such as how she’d decorate the nursery and what clothes a newborn baby might need. She was in the middle of writing a list when she stopped and looked up.

“You know, Mom,” she said. “I’ve never wanted anything as much as I want this baby. I’ve got seven whole months to wait, but I’m already in love with him.” She gave a sheepish grin. “I know you’re going to think this is silly but I can even picture his face, along with the faces of all the brothers and sisters he’s going to have.”

I told her about my imaginary family and how I could picture each and every one of them right down to the freckles on their noses. After she’d laughed at how much alike we were, Elizabeth said, “I hope and pray I’ll be a good mom—like you.”

 It’s funny how hearing your child say something like that can cause a lump to rise in your throat. Elizabeth reached over and wiped a tear from my eye, and then we just sat there grinning at each other. In that moment I felt like my cup was full to overflowing, and it’s stayed in my heart all these years.

David was born six months later. Two years after that Elizabeth gave birth to Kimberly, a beautiful little girl. I loved both of those babies as if they were my own and could barely wait to babysit.

“If you’ve got errands to do,” I’d say, “I’ll be happy to take the children.”

“I know, Mom,” Elizabeth would laugh. “Trust me, I know.”

Back then when life seemed to be about as good as it could possibly get, I never imagined the sadness that would take over our lives.

Neither did Elizabeth.

1984

When Winter Wanes

I
n the early spring before the trees had begun to bud and snow flurries still came and went, Elizabeth Caruthers felt the movement of the baby she carried.

“It’s probably gas,” her mother said. “Two-and-a-half months is too soon, unless you’ve got the date wrong.”

Elizabeth flipped through the pages of the calendar alongside the refrigerator. A calendar filled with reminders of birthdays, dinner parties, pediatrician appointments, and asterisks noting all the prior months when she’d been disappointed to find she was not yet pregnant.

She had never needed the calendar before, but in the last month Elizabeth had grown tired and forgetful. She attributed it to the headaches, a malady she hadn’t suffered with David or Kimberly. Carrying them, she’d been in the best of health.  

She scrunched the right side of her face into a half-frown. “I suppose it’s possible I’ve gotten the dates mixed up,” she murmured. “Maybe figured wrong.” She turned to the sink, filled a tumbler with water, and chugged it.

“I’m obviously forgetting something,” she mumbled, then refilled the glass and drank again.

Claire McDermott knew her daughter, and she sensed this pregnancy was different. Elizabeth was barely ten weeks, but she looked like a woman six or seven months along. And there was the faraway look in her eyes. The weariness that kept her in bed most mornings. The unenthusiastic shrug she gave in response to things that were previously cause for delight. The day before when Claire said, “Oh my gosh, look at how fast David put that puzzle together!” Elizabeth simply nodded.

Then in early March things changed even more. Elizabeth no longer noticed David’s achievements or the way Kimberly fastened a crooked diaper on her baby doll. When Claire pointed them out, Elizabeth simply gave a weary sigh and mumbled, “Unh-huh.”

Jeffrey also noticed the change. He began to pick at her for everything imaginable.

“Look at you,” he’d say. “You’re fatter than Aunt Sophie!” He found fault with Elizabeth’s appearance, criticized her weight gain, claimed she did nothing to control the children, and insisted the house looked worse than a pigsty.

At times Elizabeth had to bite her tongue to keep from pointing out the true cause of his irritability—Caruthers Couture. A disastrous retail venture that failed to catch on. At one time Jeffrey had been the ideal husband, a man who adored his wife and covered her with compliments as lavishly as ladling hot fudge over ice cream. Now his words were resentful, harsh, and, at times, even cruel. They tore through Elizabeth and left her hiding inside herself.

When that happened, she’d try to remember better times. Times when he’d promised eternal love and placed the world at her feet. But how could she remember those things when she sometimes couldn’t remember why she’d opened the refrigerator door? Last Tuesday, a morning when Jeffrey had been at his absolute worst, Elizabeth poured a puddle of coffee on the breakfast table because she’d forgotten the cup. On days like that she leaned on her mother. 

The distance from one house to the other was less than two miles. Claire jumped from her bed as soon as the sun cleared the horizon, ran a brush through her hair, and drove the short distance. She had to be there in time to dress and feed David and Kimberly. Well, she didn’t actually have to, she wanted to. Claire knew a woman had her grandchildren for only so many years. Then they grew too old and reached the age where a display of affection generated an indignant, “Geez, Grandma!” 

“Good morning,” Claire called out as she sailed through the kitchen door.

“What’s good about it?” JT grumbled.

Most mornings he ignored Claire, which she preferred if he happened to be in one of his moods. She filled the pot and set the coffee to brew. “Have you had breakfast?”

“No time,” he answered flatly, then tore through the house looking for an inventory report.

“Is this it?” Claire fished a stack of papers from beneath David’s coloring book.

JT snatched the papers from her and stuffed them into his briefcase.

~ ~ ~

C
aruthers Couture was in the downtown area of Westfield, a place where most merchants had thriving businesses. When Jeffrey cleaned out their savings account to purchase an expensive line of evening wear and designer clothing, he swore his store would make millions. It didn’t. In fact, for two years it ran a deficit month after month.

“Is it my fault,” he complained, “that the women of this town have no eye for fashion?”

Determined that his strategy would pay off, he sat behind the counter day after day and watched as the ladies of Westfield marched past his store in their wool slacks and parkas. After several months, he began chewing his fingernails down to the nub. In early March he told Charlie he’d been eyeing a high-end line of costume jewelry.

“I need something like that to bring new customers into the store,” he said. “Thing is, I’m gonna have to borrow at least ten thousand to finance it.” 

“Another ten thousand?” Charlie grunted. “In addition to the twenty-five thousand you already got?”

“It takes money to make money,” JT snapped.

“I don’t know,” Charlie said, shaking his head dubiously. “I’m gonna have to think it over.” In the past two years, he’d given his son-in-law four sizeable loans, none of which Jeffrey had repaid. This, it seemed, was throwing good money after bad.

That evening Jeffrey brought Elizabeth a bouquet of pink roses and offered an apology for his sour disposition.

“Once your dad gives me this loan,” he said, “I can get Caruthers Couture back on track, and things will be better for us. I promise.”

They made love that night and then while they lay side by side in the dark, he suggested she ask Claire to talk to Charlie.   

“Ask Mom?” Elizabeth said. “Why?”

“Because I need the money. Your dad will give me the loan if she tells him to.”

~ ~ ~

T
he next morning when Claire arrived, the coffee was brewing and both children were already dressed. Elizabeth looked better than she had in days and smiled happily as JT breezed by with a quick kiss. “Don’t forget,” he whispered, then left.

Claire lifted an eyebrow. “What’s up?”

Elizabeth poured some coffee and sat down at the table. “JT’s planning to make some changes at the store,” she said. “Changes to help the business.”

“Like what?”

“He’s gonna specialize in jewelry and more elegant evening wear. He thinks that stuff will attract customers with money to spend, and it’s got a better profit margin.”

Elizabeth spoke for a while longer, and then explained how JT needed additional financing.

“Mom, please tell Daddy he ought to help out,” she said. “JT really needs the money, and he promised to pay Daddy back as soon as this new line gets going.”    

Claire didn’t for one minute buy into the idea that the trouser-wearing ladies of Westfield would suddenly switch to party dresses, but despite these doubts she did insist Charlie give JT the money.

“Good or bad businessman,” she argued, “it doesn’t matter. He’s our daughter’s husband!”

So JT got the loan he wanted, and he filled an entire display case with evening bags, thinly-plated gold bangles, and sparkling rhinestones. When the new merchandise did nothing to improve business and sat there gathering dust, his moods grew blacker. In April he stopped talking about how the store would make millions and before long began saying it generally took years for a business to turn around. He finally settled into eating dinner alone, watching television, and trotting off to bed without a word to anyone. 

Elizabeth, trying to cope with her explosive weight gain and burning thirst, paid little attention as she downed glass after glass of water. She felt ready to burst out of her skin. By mid-April she appeared to be on the verge of delivery.

Her forgetfulness seemed to get worse. In the second week of April, Elizabeth discovered three whole days missing from her memory. She woke on Thursday, believing it was Sunday, and insisted she had no recollection of having gone to the library on Tuesday or the dentist on Wednesday.

“Surely you remember, dear,” Claire prompted. “Tuesday I made that delicious macaroni casserole for lunch, and Wednesday David skinned his knee on the front walkway. You remember that, don’t you?”

“David skinned his knee? On our walkway? Where was I?”

“Sitting on the porch in the rocking chair. You put the Band-Aid on David’s knee after I cleaned it, remember?”

Elizabeth’s blue eyes filled with tears. “I’m afraid not,” she said. “It must be because I’ve had this terrible headache.”

~ ~ ~

T
wo weeks later Elizabeth went for her second prenatal check.

“Good grief,” Doctor Watkins gasped. “You’ve gained forty pounds! That’s way too much.” He glanced at the scale a second time. “What have you been eating?”

“Some ice cream,” she said. “Very little of anything else. With my stomach so bloated, the thought of sitting down to a meal nauseates me. I’m not the least bit hungry, but I’m thirsty all the time. I can drink a gallon of water and still be thirsty.”

“Water? You’re gaining weight on water?” Doctor Watkins asked incredulously. “No salty foods? Pretzels, maybe? Potato chips? Peanuts?”

Elizabeth shook her head.

Doctor Watkins grimaced. “These headaches you’re having, did you experience that with either of your previous pregnancies?”

“Not at all,” Elizabeth answered.

“What about the lack of energy? Thirst? Forgetfulness?”

She shook her head.