Prayers for the Dying (Pam of Babylon Book Four) (24 page)

“Ah, what are you saying, my dear? I could always delay my return trip,” Jack said, smiling at her with his devilish look. They’d reached the subway entrance though, and she had a lot to do, too.

“No, you better get home,” she said. “I’ll see you Tuesday at work.”

He embraced her passionately in broad daylight, and with their arms around each other, they kissed like lovers. They released each other and Jack started down the staircase into the subway tunnel. Then he seemed to have a change of heart. He turned and started back up the stairs. “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?” Jack said, laughing.

Sandra felt guilty about teasing him. “No. Well, yes, but you have to go. I love you!” Sandra exclaimed.

“I love you, too,” Jack said. And he turned and went down the stairs, disappearing into the subway tunnel.

It was that exchange between Jack and Sandra that Marie had observed from the other side of Broadway. She’d followed them to the subway, and then turned and followed Sandra back home. Learning it later was unsettling. Sandra had to remember that Marie couldn’t hear what they were saying. She could only draw her conclusion from seeing them together, and she did see that kiss. It was a good one, and their last.

She reached the same subway entrance and ran down the steps. She could hear the train coming, headed to Fulton Street. Jack was dead. The apartment was there for a few more months, and hopefully by then, by the time her lease was up, she’d know for sure if she and Tom were going to make it. In the meantime, she’d try to take one day at a time. She had her “post-miscarriage” appointment with her ob/gyn doctor Monday. It would be the last time she would be formerly reminded of her loss. She’d told her sister, and everyone else of importance knew. Bernice was so nuts now that she didn’t bother telling her, it wouldn’t have made any difference. She didn’t appear to remember that Sandra had been pregnant in her lucid moments, either. The pregnancy hadn’t made as much difference to her as Sandra thought it would.

Baby Ellin. Sandra thought about her purposely, to remember what she looked like, to remember the hope she gave Sandra after Jack died. How could such a little life change so much around her?

A couple of years before, right out of college, an acquaintance got married and pregnant in quick succession. At a few months, she lost the baby. Sandra ran into her in Duane Reads and the girl looked like hell, pale skin, ratty hair, sweatpants and a T-shirt in public. She grabbed Sandra’s arm and dragged her to an empty aisle in the store.

“I lost the baby,” she said, and began to weep. Sandra was appalled; what did she expect her to do?

“Oh, I’m sorry,” was all she could squeeze out. And then, what she now knew was cruel: “You weren’t very far along, were you?” The young woman let go of Sandra’s arm and lowered her eyes. The pain should’ve been obvious, but it was not to stupid Sandra, who’d lived the charmed life. “I’ve got to go,” she’d said, and left the store.

Sandra now felt shamed, wishing she could call the girl and apologize. She’d say, “I am so sorry. I didn’t understand.” Even if the baby was a week old, and you wanted it, its loss would be difficult. She had to forgive herself for being callous; how was she to know?

The train rocked back and forth as it sped through the tunnel. She was looking forward to getting back to Tom’s apartment. She smiled when she thought of the gossip he might have to share. She hoped his sisters had something exciting to say. She couldn’t wait to tell him about Sylvia. They would have to make a trip to Bergen County, New Jersey, to see Sylvia and her family. Sandra could not see her in Brooklyn, no matter how hard she tried! Although Hell’s Kitchen, where they grew up, was a trendy neighborhood now, it was a no-man’s land when they were young. But it was Manhattan.
Face it, you’re a snob,
Sandra thought. And then she smiled.
So what? I might live in Brooklyn now, but I was born and raised in Manhattan.

A strange feeling flooded over her as she walked along Fourteenth Street to the Williamsburg train.
What are you doing, Sandra? You’re running away. You can’t run.
But she pushed it down, down, down. She couldn’t make any decisions yet. They weren’t hers to make.

Ashton spent the weekend at his computer, getting “caught up”; a misnomer in his industry if there ever was one. The jobs came along, you did them in real time, and when they were over you had exactly the same amount of time to tear them down and get to the next job. It was a revolving door of furniture, art, and rooms. He didn’t have to look for the work anymore; it came to him in droves. He was grateful to Jack for much of his success. Every meeting Jack attended, every job he did, Ashton’s cards were always passed out. Jack never carried his own business cards. When asked about it, he said, “Why? Everyone already knows me.” Without Jack’s referrals, he might still be scraping along.

Sunday morning, he took a break from work to read the paper. He saw Dale’s obituary; her viewing and funeral would be at a funeral home in the neighborhood on Tuesday. He entered it in his calendar with an alarm reminder. He wanted to pay his respects, but more than that, he wanted to see Ted again. There was a nice symmetry about meeting a man who was related to Dale. Jack would have approved.

Early Saturday morning, Lisa Smith’s plane landed on Oahu. She struggled getting her bag out of the overhead compartment, ignoring the offers of help from young men on each side of her. She wasn’t able to hear them because she had her ear plugs in with house music blasting away, muffling her inner dialogue. It was the only way she could survive the flight after treating her gentle mother like shit. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to get out her cell phone and call to apologize. Every time she came to the realization that she needed to do it quickly, something would hold her back. She had ten hours of flight time with a six-hour layover in LA to rationalize why she should be mad at her mother. Every reason she was able to come up with had a counter reason in her mother’s favor, but she still couldn’t make the call.

She dragged her carry-on behind her through the airport, marching with determination to the baggage claim area. Her mother was at fault. She allowed what should have been a perfectly lovely Thanksgiving Day to be destroyed. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. Pam had taken the protective cover off so the truth about their life could seep out. Lisa lived a dichotomy; she was a consummate spoiled brat who had a brain full of skeletons from her father’s closet. She grew up looking the other way. She had built a successful wall around the creepy shit she had seen. The wall needed to come down now, but she was afraid. How can you pretend your life was one way when it was just the opposite? And that was when reality hit her.
It must be inherited
, she thought. She’d accomplished exactly what she was accusing her mother of doing. Like an overfilled balloon poked with a pin, Lisa exploded in the middle of Honolulu International Airport. Pam would be called with an apology before the end of the day.

After her antibiotic treatment Friday morning, Marie went downhill steadily until she was confined to bed. Steve called her doctor, who said the drugs were powerful enough to knock a strong person down. Keep an eye on her and if she spiked a temperature, call him back. Steve tried to get her to eat, but she refused, only taking a little water when he threatened her with a trip to the ER. When she refused the suggestion of a bedpan, Steve carried her to the bathroom. Since he had to go back to work on Monday, there wasn’t going to be an argument about her going back uptown to Columbus Avenue. Sunday night he called Nelda and told her to expect a much worse Marie. Nelda had to take care of her because there was no one else.

.

33

S
andra had a doctor’s appointment in Manhattan late Monday morning. When Tom left, she kissed him good-bye and had the apartment to herself for a few hours. When she went to the refrigerator to get milk for her tea, she saw the multitude of plastic containers of food, leftovers from his mother’s house. It made her sick, actually. They’d been in there for three days. She hoped he wasn’t planning to force her to eat any of it.

His visit to Virginia’s house while Sandra was uptown at her old apartment was uneventful, the behavior of his sisters forgotten. No one had apologized to him for the way they treated Sandra, or if they had, he didn’t tell her. She imagined Sylvia treating Tom the way his sisters had treated her. She’d never speak to her again. Knowing she was nit-picking, Sandra reeled her thoughts in. She couldn’t expect Tom to behave the same way she would. It wasn’t realistic.

At ten she left the apartment and started to walk to the train. She tried to keep her head clear of thoughts of the baby; it would be enough that this visit would focus on the experience. Tom had offered to go with her, but she wanted to be alone. It wasn’t his baby so there was really no reason for him to be put through the appointment.

She arrived at the doctor’s office with time to spare. Sitting down in the waiting room, she picked up a magazine and as she was absently thumbing through it, she realized it was one she’d already read there. An old
Parents
magazine. She threw it back on the pile. Pregnant women sat around her reading old magazines, killing time. The receptionist came to the door and called her name. Sandra got up and followed her to an exam room, where she was told to take her clothes off and put on a paper gown. She did as she was told and got up on the table to wait. Her doctor came in with Sandra’s chart in her hand, refreshing her memory. She shook Sandra’s hand, which Sandra thought was a nice touch. They made small talk about Sandra’s general health while the doctor read a report in her chart.

“The baby did test positive for HIV,” she said. “We don’t know why, since you were compliant about taking your drugs.”

Sandra didn’t hear the last part. She was falling down a rabbit hole with the echo following her.
The baby tested positive for HIV
. “I have to advise against another pregnancy, Miss Benson. Of course, it is your decision to make. But your own blood values are much lower than they should be, too. The pregnancy was hard on your body.” She examined Sandra and said she was fine; she could have intercourse again since it was past six weeks.
Oops, didn’t remember that one,
Sandra thought. The doctor shook Sandra’s hand again and left the room. Like a robot, Sandra got dressed. She wadded up the paper gown and threw it on the table. She left the room, walking down the hall in a daze, not stopping at the receptionist window on her way out. She wouldn’t be returning to this office.