Die Before I Wake (27 page)

“So,” Mel said after several miles of trees and asphalt highway and utter silence. “How far along are you?”

I turned my head, seeming to see her as though from a great distance. “How did you know?”

“I’ve been there a couple of times myself. I figured it out the other night at the restaurant when I saw you on your knees in the toilet stall. With my first pregnancy, just the smell of tomato sauce was enough to send me into a violent fit of vomiting.”

“Please don’t tell anyone. I don’t want Tom to know. Not yet.” Not until I decided what to do.

Dryly, she said, “Tom and I don’t exactly run in the same circles. But don’t worry. I won’t tell. You need a little time to sit back, take a deep breath, and get your head together.”

Yes. That was exactly what I needed. I sat in a daze, pondering my options, as the fall foliage flew past my window. Was my marriage worth saving?

Did I want to leave Tom? Could I possibly stay with him, knowing how conflicted my feelings were about our marriage? Was it even safe to stay? There was one conclusion I didn’t need any time at all to reach. My safety, and that of my unborn child, were of paramount concern. More important than my marriage, more important than disappointing the girls, the one thing that really mattered was that I give birth to a healthy child.

Mel and I were apparently on the same wave-length. “This isn’t a bad thing,” she said. “Try to remember that. No matter how much of a mess your life is right now, this is a baby. A beautiful, precious new life. A joyous occasion. You and that baby will get through this together. With or without Tom.” She was right, and I was thankful for the reminder.

It was just past noon when she dropped me off at the house. I’d finally convinced Claudia that her personal Meals on Wheels program was no longer necessary. Grateful to be alone, I choked down a bologna sandwich, then I went upstairs and took a long, hot shower. I shampooed my hair, luxuriating in the thick strawberry-scented lather. I’d had a rough couple of weeks, and I deserved to be pampered.

Dressing had become a little easier. Without too much effort, I slipped into jeans and a T-shirt. I had a phone call to make. Then I intended to drive into town and fill my prescription.

I sat on the edge of the bed, debating, for a good ten minutes before I finally picked up the phone and dialed. It wasn’t as though I’d made a decision to leave Tom. I was simply testing the waters, mapping out my escape routes, just in case I needed to use them. It felt wrong, going behind Tom’s back like this. If he knew what I was about to do, he’d be hurt.

Angry. But I had to protect myself and my baby. I was swimming in shark-infested waters, and I needed to know exactly where I stood if things got so bad I had to make the decision to get out of the water. I didn’t want to believe it would come to that, but I had to explore my options, just in case.

I checked the time. It was twelve-thirty. Three hours earlier out on the Coast. Nine-thirty wasn’t too early to call. Louis wasn’t the kind to lallygag in bed all day. He’d probably been up for hours already, sitting on his balcony with his feet up, reading
Variety
or the racing program, and drinking coffee so black and thick you could easily mistake it for used motor oil.

Louis Coffey’s age falls somewhere on a con-tinuum between sixty and dead. In his younger days, he was a semipro prize fighter, and he has the scars to prove it. After he retired from fighting, he took work as a film extra whenever he could get it. He line danced in
Saturday Night Fever,
played golf in
Caddyshack,
and was vaporized in
Men in Black.

But that kind of work was irregular, so to supple-ment his paltry income, he bought up a block of crumbling apartment buildings in West Hollywood, one of which I’d called home for the past quarter of a century, and he became a slumlord. Although renting uninspired post-World-War-II-era apart-ments to people just this side of indigence hasn’t exactly provided him with an income to rival Donald Trump’s, it pays the bills.

He answered on the first ring. “Louis,” I said, trying to inject a modicum of enthusiasm into my voice. “It’s Julie. Julie Hanrahan. Well, Julie Larkin now.”

In his gravelly Burgess Meredith voice, Louis said, “Hey, kid. How goes the battle?”

“Not so well, I’m afraid. I have a question for you.”

“I hope you’re not looking for a security deposit.

When you and your dad moved in here, all those years ago, he was pretty much down and out. Hell, let’s face it. He didn’t have a pot to piss in. All he had was a few pieces of ugly furniture, and you. Most pathetic little kid I ever saw, all scrawny legs and big brown eyes and scabby knees. I couldn’t say no to him. So I let him move in without a deposit. On account of you.”

I assured him that I wasn’t looking for a security deposit. “This is something else,” I said, and took a breath. “Have you rented out my apartment yet?” There was an instant of silence at the other end of the phone before he said, “What’s the matter, kid?

Trouble in paradise already?”

“It’s nothing, really. I’m just looking into my options.”

“The apartment’s rented. I rented it a couple days after you left. Nice lady, works at an insurance company downtown. Hell, I figured you got married, maybe this time it was for keeps. Last guy you married was a loser. I was hoping that this time, you’d do a better job of picking. Listen, I got a little advice for you. Date the guys, sleep with ’em and get your kicks, but don’t get married. It never seems to work out.”

“It’s not that big a deal,” I said, “really.” He sighed. “Look, if you need to come home, I’ll find a place for you, even if I have to put you up on my own couch until I can find an excuse to evict somebody. That kid in 3B’s been dealing drugs. I know it. I can catch him at it, I can toss him out on his ass without the ACLU getting on my case.” Tears stung my eyelids. “Are you sure, Louis?

You’d really do that for me?”

“As sure as I am that Sonja Henie won’t be traveling with the Ice Capades anytime soon. Don’t be spreading this around, because you’ll ruin my reputation as a hard-ass, but all those years I spent losing money to your dad playing blackjack, I was also watching you grow up. I have an avuncular interest in you. And if that son-of-a-bitch you married is hitting you—”

“He’s not! It’s nothing like that.”

“It better not be, or he’ll be answering to me.” God bless Louis Coffey. “Thank you,” I said. “I’m sure Tom and I will work things out and I won’t need to take advantage of your hospitality. It’s just that—

we didn’t know each other very well before we got married, and now—”

“I should think not. What was it, five days? You kids nowadays are always in a hurry. Never want to take the time a sensible person knows you gotta have before you make that kind of decision.” He was right, of course, but I didn’t want to hear it. I’d already chided myself a dozen times for not waiting until Tom and I knew each other better.

“Listen, Louis,” I said, “I have to run, but I really appreciate—”

“You need anything,” he said, “and I mean
anything,
you call me. Understand?”

“I understand.”

I’d barely hung up the phone when it rang again.

“I saw you with Melanie Ambrose,” Claudia said. “I didn’t realize you were friends.”

“Just friendly acquaintances,” I said. “I ran into her in the powder room at Pizza Heaven and we got to talking, and the next thing I knew, we’d made plans to go shopping together. In Portland. At the mall.” I hoped to God she’d drop the subject. I was a terrible liar, and if she asked me anything specific, I’d have to spin the lie even deeper. It wouldn’t take her long to figure out I’d never been to the Maine Mall in my life.

“Wonderful!” she said. “If you’re feeling well enough to go shopping, then you should be well enough for what I have in mind. Sunday, I’m taking Dylan to the county fair. We were hoping you and the girls would like to come along.” My life was in such turmoil that for an instant, I had trouble processing the fact that the normal world was still revolving out there. It was early fall, county fair season. I knew this because just last night, the girls had pestered Tom to take them this weekend.

They’d seen the ads on TV and just had to go. Their father, of course, was working all weekend, and the girls had been crushed. I couldn’t think of much that interested me less than going to a county agricultu-ral fair. I’d never attended one, and it wasn’t high on my list of Things To Do Before I Die. Cotton candy, terrifying carnival rides, and barnyard animals. But I knew the girls would be thrilled. And Tom wouldn’t miss us. If they gave out awards for Most Absent Spouse, my husband would win the blue ribbon.

Besides, even considering the barnyard animals, going to the fair would still beat spending the day at home with my mother-in-law. “Yes,” I said. “We’d love to come with you.”

The next couple of days, my absent spouse was even more absent than usual. I wasn’t sure what was distracting him, but I considered it a blessing. I wasn’t ready to tell him about the pregnancy, not while I was still so uncertain about where our marriage was headed. And Tom wasn’t a fool. Every day of his life, he dealt with pregnant ladies. Sooner or later, he was bound to figure it out. After all, Melanie had, and she barely knew me. But for now, at least, I had a reprieve. Sunday morning, he kissed me goodbye, warned the girls to behave or else, and flew out the door, still tying his necktie as he went.

We left around nine. The fair was located in Oxton, a forty-minute drive from Newmarket, one of those classic Maine “you-can’t-get-there-from-here” places. In the backseat, the three kids chatted excitedly. The foliage was nearing peak, and as we drove the back roads of southwestern Maine, we saw vista after vista of stunning color. The roads were bumpy, and twisted every which way, but the antinausea pills Dr. Kapowicz had given me were helping. I still wasn’t quite ready to chow down on three-alarm chili, but I felt relatively safe being away from the bathroom for more than twenty minutes.

We parked in a field a half mile from the fair-grounds. “Stay together,” Claudia told the kids. “If we lose you in this crowd, you’ll be thirty-five before we ever see you again.”

I’d finally gotten the air cast off my ankle. My balance was a little off, but I was healing nicely, and so thrilled to be rid of the annoying thing that I didn’t even care about the fact that I’d be walking for what looked to be the next two days. It didn’t seem likely that we’d be able to cover the entire fair, not with three small kids. Taylor might make it, but I suspected Dylan and Sadie would tire after a couple of hours. Since I expected to tire long before that, I figured we should probably hit the don’t-miss highlights early. God forbid we should leave before Sadie got her pony ride.

We started with the livestock, every kid’s favorite thing. We quacked with the ducks and geese and crowed with the roosters; we petted sheep, fed grain pellets to the goats, and made tentative forays into the world of dairy cattle. Until now, the closest I’d come to a cow was medium rare, laid out on a dinner plate with salt and pepper and a smattering of A.1 Sauce, so needless to say, I kept my distance. The smells weren’t pleasant, and I’d never realized just how large a cow is up close and personal. Although the farmer assured me that his prize-winning Holstein wasn’t about to trample my seven-year-old stepdaughter, my heart continued to beat a little harder than usual until she was safely away from those lethal-looking hooves.

After we’d seen our fill of live creatures, Claudia and I pointed the kids in the direction of the exhibition hall, eager to see the hand-sewn quilts, the jams and jellies, the needlework and the paintings and the thousand and one other homemade crafts on display.

The kids were bored and whiny until we reached the tableau of dead animals proudly displayed by some amateur taxidermist. Here, they stood enthralled with the sharp teeth and glassy eyes of one wild creature after another. “Look,” Dylan said, “it’s a fox! Are those real animals?”

“They used to be,” his mother told him.

“Cool. These are even better than the chickens!” Sadie slipped her hand in mine. Softly, she said,

“Are those animals dead?”

Claudia and I exchanged glances. “Hey,” I said,

“is anyone hungry? Because I think I saw a cotton candy stand not far away.”

“What’s cotton candy?” Sadie asked.

“It’s like eating pretty pink clouds. Sweet ones.

You’ll love it. Trust me.”

“Daddy doesn’t like us to have sugar,” Taylor reminded me.

“This is a special occasion. Daddy won’t mind.

Honest.”

She looked skeptical, but at the same time intrigued. We dragged a loudly protesting Dylan away from the wild, dead creatures, and made a pit stop in the restroom to scrub the
eau des animaux
off our hands. Then we hit the midway, along with about three thousand other people, most of them under the age of twelve. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many kids in one place, hopped up to a manic state on sugar and the incessant barking of the carnies:

“Three tries for five bucks! A winner every time!” It was a good thing I’d brought my life savings, for everything in this place was vastly overpriced, from dollar-fifty ride tickets (and some rides took four tickets!) to four-dollar lemonade and lobster rolls so expensive you had to take out a second mortgage to afford them. We found a cotton candy vendor and bought one blue and one pink wand of the delicious confection, which the kids immediately tore into.

Even Dylan, whose loud protests had been ongoing ever since we left the exhibition hall, finally forgot the poor butchered fox when presented with this sweet, gooey alternative.

By the time we were done, everybody was sticky, and I suspected the blue stains on Sadie’s Dora the Explorer T-shirt were permanent, but I didn’t care.

The smile on her face was worth it. Dora was everywhere; I could always buy her another shirt. That is, if I was still around to buy it for her. The thought stole a little of the sunshine from my day, but I forced it aside, determined to enjoy myself with the girls.