Family Interrupted (17 page)

“No, it—”

“Yes! Not only for us but even for the Levines and their two kids. Can’t you understand? The woman’s seeing a shrink and a rabbi; she’s taking medication.” His gaze met mine. “But maybe she’s not the only one who needs a psychologist.”

I jumped backward as though he’d struck me. “Dr. Freud, I presume?” Pausing only for a second, I asked, “How the hell do you know all this, and for how long have you known it?”

Jack emitted a huge sigh, but his eyes continued to look into mine. “Her husband called me about six months ago, about the time of the memorial service, and almost cried on my shoulder.”

“Six...months...ago? And you didn’t say a word about it? How could you not tell me?”

“Easy. You slept on the couch that night—too angry about a lousy haircut and too busy sending out your own message to hear anyone else’s. And despite your working again, not much has changed inside you. You’re still deaf to everything but your own ideas.”

I ignored the personal comment. “What else did the husband say? Was he looking for sympathy? Calling you took a barrel full of nerve.”

Jack blinked. His shoulders slumped, and he turned away, collapsing into a chair. “The man was looking for a spark of hope,” he murmured, “and wondered how you were coping.”

“Hope? Then he’s either stupid or naïve. Doesn’t he know that hope died with Kayla? No joy in Mudville anymore...You’d better have told him the truth.”

“Oh, yeah. I apologized for disappointing him. No encouragement to be found at the Barnes’s house.”

He expected too much. “That woman...Sh-she still has it all. She still has her two children...her precious children...

“But do they have her?” he asked softly. “We weren’t the only ones devastated by the accident. Marc Levine was desperate when he called, at his wits’ end.”

I shrugged. “That’s tough but not my problem.”

“Nothing’s your problem anymore. You walk away from everyone who wants to help. Your family, your friends, and even me.”

“That’s not true. I helped Anne. I have lunch with Judy and Mom. And as for you?” This was tricky. “You’re a good man, Jack, and I love you, but we’re bumping heads all the time. Or maybe hearts. We’re not...not in agreement about anything. Maybe we need some space.” Maybe I’d sleep on the sofa again.

JACK

I watched Claire leave my office, knowing my marriage had gone from a roller-coaster ride of hope and despair to a steep downhill spiral. I didn’t know how much longer Claire and I could go on this way. Maybe we needed a break.

Kayla
. My sweet, wisecracking, little girl. I could sense her presence as if she were cuddled against me, like a solid memory. She was with me every day and night whatever I was doing. When I mowed the lawn, I brought her up to date on what was happening. Then I told her how much we loved her and always would. No one could take her place. No one. Not ever.

I fumbled in my desk drawer for my antacids then reached for my cell with Marc Levine’s phone number. I’d hoped never to call him unless I could provide good news. But I wasn’t sure what Claire would do next. She wasn’t herself, and I didn’t know if I’d ever again recognize the girl I married.

I connected to Levine’s number, and he picked up on the first ring.

“Mr. Levine, this is Jack Barnes.” My voice was low, hoarse.

“Hello! I’m glad to hear from you...I think.”

“Well, forewarned is forearmed, so I’m doing what I can for you.”

“That doesn’t sound good, but I’m listening.”

“Claire recognized Sarah in Macy’s today, and only my sister-in-law prevented a confrontation. I’m afraid Claire won’t let this rest. Maybe your wife should transfer to another store or something.”

Silence reigned at the other end of the phone. Then he spoke softly. “It’s so ironic.... She used her maiden name for this job search to avoid being recognized, at least on paper. The newspaper accounts scared her. She thought she was under a microscope. But I guess you can’t hide forever. The real problem is that if she goes backward one more time, I don’t know what we’ll do. Maybe my in-laws are right. Maybe we should move in with them. At least they’d provide more security for the kids.”

Was he looking for affirmation? Or just thinking out loud, struggling to make decisions? “Grandparents could be a great idea.”

“You know why Sarah was on your street that day, Mr. Barnes? She was checking out a house for sale a few blocks over. We thought it was time for a new place, larger than this condo, and with my oldest starting school and everything... And now we’ll probably share with my in-laws.” I heard him sigh then say, “But...if it will help Sarah, we’ll do it.”

I felt myself step back. Housing was my business but not with the Levines. Some boundaries couldn’t be crossed.

CLAIRE

As weeks passed, I got to know my regulars at the hospital. The chronics: Megan Sullivan, Aisha Brown, and Colin McCarthy with their cystic fibrosis treatments. Neil Schulman with his kidney dialysis and a half dozen other children with a variety of conditions from gastro-intestinal to neurological.

I also saw the staff in action, not only the nurses but the allied health professionals: respiratory therapists clapping chests to loosen phlegm, physical therapists with their exercises to strengthen muscles and balance, and occupational therapists with their games and tasks to reinforce patients’ skills.

I started to feel like part of the team when they took an interest in the kids’ art projects and started chatting with me about particular patients. Their questions and comments, however, also made me nervous. The staff was always searching for clues about their patients and thought I could share some new insights. It seemed my devotion to the volunteer schedule had caught their notice. The youngsters had come through with a variety of projects, giving the staff new areas to explore.

“My goal is for the kids to have fun,” I said one afternoon as I was packing up. “That’s why I bring a lot of different media to work with. I can’t read their minds, and I’m not here to give them therapy.” I wasn’t qualified, had never considered the medical field, and wanted no responsibility for guaranteeing results. Or improvements. Or whatever they were looking for.

Rose Taylor, the head nurse, patted me on the shoulder. “You’re the whipped cream on the cake. Just keep doing what you’re doing. We’ve had other volunteers before you, but we’ve never seen the pride or, frankly, the hidden talent that’s coming through. Look at Neil’s cartoons! Who knew? He’s only ten years old.”

“Neil?” I chuckled. “You can’t measure all the kids by Neil. He’s the exception. He’s got real talent. Reminds me of my son.” Which was probably the reason I liked him so much.

Rose smiled. “Well, he’s never shown off his talent before. It’s made Dr. Henderson very happy too.”

“His nephrologist?”

“His shrink. According to Henderson, Neil’s cartoons show he’s feeling good about himself. That’s half the battle, maybe more, when you’re dealing with life-threatening illnesses.”

That’s the part I didn’t want to consider. The complex medical issues. I planned the art, brought materials, and worked with the kids in groups or individually, but I tried never to think about their futures. Although these kids did have a fighting chance, something would go wrong someday. Hopefully, a far-off someday. I couldn’t help Kayla when she most needed me, so maybe I could help these children have fun whenever they could. And I reminded myself that medical miracles were being made all the time.

“Art should be for healing,” I said, surprising myself. “I know that psychologists use play therapy—dolls, puppets, drawing—when kids won’t talk, but that’s when they’re trying to discover the problems. I’d argue that art could be used at the other end, the healing end, to gain confidence and...and open up the world once more.” Maddy Conroy was proof.

A slow smile grew across Rose’s face. She patted my shoulder. “And I’d argue that the kids have found a gem in you. Not only with art but with everything you do with them—games, stories, and essays too.”

Maddy again. “I can’t take credit for that. Combining drawing and writing worked with a young friend of mine. She went through two terrible experiences, but now she’s doing well. Really well.”

“That’s wonderful,” said Rose. “Thanks for being here.”

If Rose was happy with me, Jack was furious. I was late for an appointment with new buyers. My mother had gone home, and the couple almost walked out. My apologies spilled over, and once the buyers were involved in their selection, their frustration vanished. But it was a close call.

Jack stomped into the design center as soon as the couple had left.

“You have no slack time now, Claire. How can I make you understand? We’re going full bore with remodeling jobs, new homes, and more décor selections than ever. How can you be late? Every sale counts.”

“I’m sorry. I got caught up with the staff.”

“The staff?” He glanced toward my door, his forehead wrinkled with confusion.

“At the hospital,” I explained.

“Geez, Claire. Haven’t you had enough? Take a break. I need your full attention on the business. Last week you fell asleep at your desk before an appointment. Mary had to run back here to check on you.”

Right. I’d worked late the night before in my studio. I supposed Jack wasn’t wrong from his point of view. But his viewpoint wasn’t mine.

“This isn’t working,” I said.

A moment of silence preceded his, “Be more specific.”

“Hire someone else. My heart’s not in customer service and high-toned decorating. That’s for sure.” Not when I could be in my studio with Kayla, at the hospital with the kids, or at Macy’s, just watching
her
. Surreptitiously, of course.

“Tough. I’m putting in fourteen-hour days,” said Jack. “My heart’s not in all the extras we’re doing either, but it’s our job to save the company. And we will. In fact, we’re beginning to.” He rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes closed. I couldn’t tell whether he was merely easing a headache or wanted to shut me out.

“When our cash flow improves,” Jack continued, “do whatever the hell you want. Do you think I like having you around these days? Your attitude weighs me down.”

He’d surprised me. “How can it? We don’t see much of each other while we’re here.”

“But you’re my wife, Claire, as well as an officer of this company, and in this critical time, you haven’t come through for us.” He paused, stared at me, “You haven’t come through for me.” His voice cracked. “Why shouldn’t I feel let down?”

Silence echoed in the room. It slammed against my ears and my heart. “I’m sorry, Jack. I just can’t help the way I’m feeling either.”

But he wasn’t listening anymore, at least not to me. Just to himself. “First Kayla, then Ian, and now you. Everyone’s disappearing.” He walked toward the door, leaving me with my mouth agape and my stomach twisted in knots.

When he reached the threshold, he turned his head. “I’m calling the support group I mentioned. Want to go? Maybe we can figure stuff out.”

Group talk was not on my itinerary, but Jack...? Jack needed help.

“I’ll get back to you on that. But you should make the appointment.”

His condescending smile was coupled with a mock salute. He knew as well as I did that he’d be attending that group alone.

IAN

August, Year Two

A girl. Small but perfect. That’s what the nurse said as I stared at the baby for the first time through the nursery window. Beautiful too. But I couldn’t get past small. Five pounds, six ounces was supposedly normal. I glanced at my hands. Good for palming a basketball or swinging a hammer, but a baby?

I was covered in sweat; a vise gripped my stomach, and a million doubts raced through me quicker than sperm racing toward an egg. I’d been so sure about this decision, but maybe Colleen and I had made a mistake. No, no, not Colleen. Me.
I’d
made the decision.
I’d
talked her into keeping the baby. Because I couldn’t handle another death, another girl or boy gone to nowhere, not even one as tiny as a seed. I kept staring at...my daughter? She was here. Real. And as the reality set in, I began to smile. Grin, really. A silly, goofy grin remained on my face as a wave of pride suffused my body all the way to my fingertips. My doubts receded like the ocean at low tide.

“Hey, little girl,” I whispered. “Your daddy’s here. And he’ll take care of you and love you, and you’re going to be just fine.” Irresponsible, Mom? I think not. No regrets about this.

“Hey, new daddy.” A friendly nurse winked at me as she headed toward the secured door and pushed a series of buttons. “How’d you like to see her fingers and toes?” she asked. “She’ll need a diaper change, so just give me a minute to get inside.”

I watched her unwrap the blanket, and my little papoose became a squalling infant waving skinny arms and stick-like legs, her complexion changing from pink to rosy red. I heard her lung power through the glass.

You go, girl!
She sure sounded healthy. Maybe the nurse was right, and all babies started out this small. I glanced at the other cribs. Yup. Those kids seemed the size of a football too. So, okay. I was ready to handle this. I earned a steady paycheck and could provide a home—if I could hold my make-believe family together. My mouth tightened. A family sounded like a dad’s job. But even my dad hadn’t managed to get us back to normal again.

After the nurse wrapped up the baby, I went to Colleen’s room, a semi-private, covered by insurance for a one-night stay. I walked to her bed and watched her doze, her long hair like a crimson cape around her. Restless, she kicked the sheets and moaned. I reached for her hand.

“Still hurting?”

“Hi, Bonehead. Men have no idea,” she whispered. “Even I had no idea.”

“You’ll feel better tomorrow.”

“Couldn’t feel worse. I shouldn’t have gone through with it.”

“Don’t say that. She’s beautiful, Colleen. Just like her mother.”