Cracks in the Sidewalk (4 page)

I can still picture her creaking back and forth in that big rocking chair with a baby and a look of contentment settled on her face. Liz is a born mother, and she lives for her kids.

These days Jeffrey stays at the store hours after it’s closed, and when he gets home he’s like an angry bull. He snaps at anyone who crosses his path, especially Liz. I’ve tried talking to her about it, but she laughs it off. “You know JT,” she says. “He’s going through his usual pregnancy depression.”

I believe it’s more than that, but I won’t say anything to her. She’s got enough problems right now. All that weight she’s gained and the way she can’t remember to brush her own teeth, it worries me. It’s not at all like Liz. She’s one of the most together people you’ll ever meet. I know how much she wants this baby, so I’m hoping she can carry it to term—but I don’t know if that’s possible. 

Before they were married Jeffrey said they’d have nine kids, but the truth is he can barely deal with the two they have. He’s none too good with money, and now I think he’s worried about having another mouth to feed.

This financial dilemma is something he brought on himself. He bought that store from his Uncle Wally, who was a levelheaded man. When Wally Hawthorne had the store he sold clothes that the women in Westfield actually wanted
to buy. But JT said the town was crying for a more upscale shop, so he tore down walls and expanded Wally’s store until it was almost three times its original size. Then he brought in a bunch of fancy outfits no one wears. The construction wasn’t half-finished before JT started borrowing money from Charlie. Now every time we see him, he’s complaining about how he’s nearly bankrupt.

In my opinion, any man with a family like Elizabeth and those beautiful babies is rich beyond compare. It’s too bad Jeffrey can’t see that.

In the Months that Followed

W
ith Elizabeth in the hospital, JT grew more irritable than ever. Business was worse than last year. He moved a display of rhinestone necklaces to the front window, but the ladies of Westfield continued to stroll by. Two vendors stopped shipping merchandise and another said Jeffrey had until the end of the month, no longer.

The kids, missing their mother, grew whiny and difficult. Their toast was burnt, they couldn’t find their socks, they wanted chocolate in their milk—until he put it in, then they didn’t. Day after day the mailbox held nothing but bills, a number of the envelopes stamped “Final Notice!” And on top of everything else, he had to pay Maria Ramirez to watch the children while he was at the store. Every time he visited Elizabeth, which was happening less and less often, he filled her ears with a rundown of his problems.

“I don’t know how much longer I can take this,” he said.

“Mom is trying to help out,” Elizabeth explained.

“Yeah, well, it’s not enough. Your parents ought to be helping out financially. If your mother wasn’t so wrapped up in you, she’d be watching the kids full-time.”

“She’s just worried that—” Suddenly Elizabeth couldn’t remember what she wanted to say. That empty space had passed through her head again, a hole of nothingness with no doors or windows. She closed her eyes and slid into the pillow, her stomach a giant mound beneath the sheet.

“Great!” JT exclaimed, throwing his hands into the air. “I’m talking, and you decide to take a nap. I don’t know why I even bother to come here!” He stomped out of the room and didn’t return for five days.

Those empty spaces occupied Elizabeth’s thoughts more and more. She began forgetting the day of the week, whether she’d eaten lunch, and the names of the nurses. Then there were the headaches. The terrible, terrible headaches that made her wish the empty space would return. She began to wonder what was worse, pain or oblivion.

Doctor Sorenson came almost every day and studied Elizabeth’s chart with a worrisome scowl. “Not good,” she’d mumble, “not good.” Afterward she’d poke and prod Elizabeth’s swollen body and ask questions. “Are the headaches worse? Are you having any vision problems? Can you twist your head side to side?”

Claire began spending longer and longer days at the hospital. She could think of nothing but Elizabeth and when she wasn’t close enough to touch her, she worried about her. Determined not to pass along these fears, each day Claire came prancing into the sallow-colored room all sunshine and smiles.

“Oh my,” she’d say, sounding lighthearted, “don’t you look perky today!” It was a lie. Elizabeth’s weariness was as visible as the nose on her face.

This day was no different. Claire arrived at the hospital, set pictures of the children on the windowsill, then began plumping pillows, straightening the blanket, and watering the plants. Eventually she settled alongside the bed and drifted into a stream of conversation to color the empty spaces in her daughter’s mind.

“Imagine, it’s already Tuesday,” she said. “Why, this month of June is positively flying by.”

Elizabeth listened but remained expressionless until the conversation turned to talk of David and Kimberly. Then she smiled and clung to every word.

Jeffrey slowly stopped bringing David and Kimberly to the hospital, but on the third Sunday of June, they were both there for Father’s Day. Filled with laughter and sounds of happiness, the room became brighter, less yellow perhaps, and for that afternoon Elizabeth forgot the pain in her head. She even forgot about all the things she’d forgotten. Oblivious to the huge stomach between them, she hugged both children to her chest and covered them with kisses.

“Mommy,” David said, his arms stretched wide, “I miss you this much!”

Not to be outdone, Kimberly repeated the gesture crying out, “Me too, me too.”

For the one-hundredth time, she told them the story of Peter Pan and made them promise not to grow up until she got home from the hospital.

“We won’t,” they said. “Honest we won’t.”

Every visit with the children after that was hurried. The next time Jeffrey was barely through the door when he started saying he had things to do and had to get going.

“Please,” Elizabeth begged, “just another ten minutes.”

“Five,” he said, then stared at the clock, shifting his weight.

The next visit was a repeat.

“What do you want from me?” he growled when she asked him to stay longer. “You think I should babysit you
and
the kids, is that it?”

“If you’re busy, Mom will bring them,” Elizabeth argued. “She’ll pick them up on her way to the hospital. You won’t have to pay Maria for babysitting, and I’ll get to spend time with the kids.”

“Get off my case,” Jeffrey snapped. “I got problems enough trying to make a living.”

T
he baby was due in late September, but in early August Elizabeth developed a strange weakness on her left side. On Monday her arm felt so heavy she could barely lift it to reach for her book. Two days later she tried to stand, but her left leg trembled then buckled.

“It’s all this weight,” she told the aide helping her.

But several nurses had also written “an increase in forgetfulness” on her chart.

“This is not something we can ignore,” Doctor Sorenson warned. “I’m concerned this could be the onset of paralysis.”

Elizabeth gasped. “Paralysis? Why? That has nothing to do with—”

“It could.” Doctor Sorenson’s scowl deepened. “We need the CT scan as quickly as possible.” 

“But you said—”

Doctor Sorenson shook her head. “I know what I said, but we can’t afford to wait any longer. We’re out of time. You’ll have to have a cesarean.”  

Elizabeth’s eyes filled with water. “It’s too soon for Christian,” she said, cradling her stomach. 

With all the tests she’d known early on this baby was a boy, and she named him Christian. A name chosen because it signified strength and righteousness, both of which this baby would need. For almost three months now she’d talked to her son and called him by name. He was no longer a fetus or a baby, he was Christian, her third child, the one for whom she could give her life.

“Please don’t,” she pleaded. “Don’t ask me to do this.”

“I understand your concern,” Doctor Sorenson said, “but the most recent ultrasound indicates the baby is fully developed. Twenty-nine weeks is early but not early enough to be considered high-risk. The probability is you’ll deliver a healthy baby.”

A look of gravity spread across the doctor’s face. “You’ve got a serious neurological problem going on here, and we need a CT scan to know what’s causing it. We have to pinpoint the source and do it quickly.”

“Let’s just wait another two weeks, I’m okay—”

“Elizabeth,” Doctor Sorenson interrupted, “you are not okay. This situation is more serious than you seem to realize. They’ve measured over five gallons of fluid expulsion in the past twenty-four hours, you’re unable to use your left hand, and the memory lapses have become increasingly frequent. Those are
not
normal symptoms. Something is wrong, and I can’t find it without a CT scan.

“I don’t know how to make this any clearer—we are out of options. You can’t wait any longer!”

“But—”

“No buts. Waiting endangers your life and the baby’s. If something happens to you, there’s no guarantee we can save the baby. If we take him now, he’ll be a preemie but developed enough for survival.”

Elizabeth tearfully agreed, and the cesarean was scheduled for the following day. Christian, the third child of Elizabeth and Jeffrey, would be born on Thursday, August ninth. 

After the doctor left Elizabeth telephoned Jeffrey at the store. “Do you think you could come to the hospital tomorrow?”

“On a Thursday?” he groaned. “You know the store’s open late. Thursdays I’m always open late.”

“I know that, but—”

“I can’t, I’m working twelve hours.”

“Can’t you get someone to mind the place for one day?”

“Yeah, sure,” he said, annoyed, “and what am I supposed to pay them with, Cheerios? Forget it! Tomorrow’s a late night, and there’s no way I’m dragging my ass over to the hospital!”

“I thought you might want to be here for the birth of our son,” she said icily.

“He’s not due until September twenty-first,” JT answered, “or is that something else you’ve forgotten?”

“I know exactly when he was supposed to be born, but Doctor Sorenson said I have to have a cesarean tomorrow.”

“Oh.”

“Do you think you could trouble yourself to be here?”

“I’ll be there,” JT said in a milder voice. “Is the baby okay?”

“Yes. They’re taking him early because of me.”

“You?” His voice registered concern. “What’s wrong with you?”

For an instant he sounded like the old Jeffrey, like the man who slipped a two-karat diamond ring onto her finger and promised to cherish her forever. “Doctor Sorenson said she needs the CT scan right away. My symptoms are worse, and she wants to find out why.”

“Oh. Okay. I’ll be there.”

Elizabeth hung up the telephone, leaned back, and closed her eyes thinking about Jeffrey’s voice and that fleeting moment when he was still the man she married.

~ ~ ~

A
t eight o’clock the following morning, Claire and Charlie stood by Elizabeth’s bedside. The minutes ticked by as the nurses readied Elizabeth for the operating room.

“Is Jeffrey here yet?” Elizabeth asked.

“Not yet,” Claire answered.

“Would you call the house and ask if he’s left?”

Charlie dialed the number. It rang seven times before Maria Ramirez answered.

“Is JT there?” he asked.

“No here,” she said. “He gone long time.”

“He left already?”

“Si, si. Long time.”

Charlie replaced the receiver. “He’s on his way.”

They waited another fifteen minutes and still no word from Jeffrey.

“Call the store,” Elizabeth said anxiously, “and see if he stopped there.”

Charlie did. But a recording answered with the store hours.

“He’s probably on his way, maybe stuck in traffic,” Claire volunteered.

“That has to be it,” Elizabeth reasoned. “He promised to be here.”

The nurse pushed a gurney alongside the bed. “I’m gonna need you to slide over a bit,” she said as she eased Elizabeth onto it.

“Could you wait five minutes?” Elizabeth asked. “My husband’s already on his way.”

The nurse gave a sympathetic smile. “Sorry.  The operating room has a tight schedule, and you’re on for nine o’clock.”

Elizabeth gave a reluctant nod and settled onto the gurney. As she was wheeled from the room, she called back, “Tell Jeffrey I’m sorry.”

Her parents watched the gurney disappear into the elevator, then Charlie turned to Claire and asked, “What is
she
sorry for?”  

Claire shook her head in a remorseful way.

~ ~ ~

A
s Doctor Sorenson had predicted, Christian was born healthy. He weighed in at four pounds, five ounces, sizeable for a preemie.

The Sunday following the baby’s birth JT came to the hospital with both kids, and they burst into the room like exploding popcorn. Kimberly, an excited three-year-old, demanded to see her new baby “brudder,” and David tried to push ahead of her. They both ran to the bed and climbed in.