The Healing Quilt (20 page)

“The doctor will see you now.” The friendly woman behind the desk smiled as she motioned them toward the door. “Go right on in.”

Garth rose and handed her the clipboard with the form he'd been filling out. “Thank you.” He took Beth's hand and led her to the door.

She wanted to pull back, say she'd wait for him out there, run from the room, anything but go toward that huge, dark, heavy door.

It opened just as Garth put his hand on the knob, and a man stood in the entry.

“Garth, good to see you. This must be your lovely wife, Beth.” The man shook Garth's hand and extended his to Beth. “I've heard such good things about you. I'm James Kaplan.”

“Good to meet you.” She forced the words past trembling lips.

“Please, sit down.” He motioned to three chairs set somewhat in a circle. “Take your pick.”

While the two men exchanged further small talk, Beth took the burgundy leather wing-back chair that looked safe enough to hide in. She glanced around the room. Books filled some shelves, teddy bears, trucks and dolls occupied others, and a ten-gallon aquarium with several bright orange swordtails sat on a table in one corner. The room was decorated in earth tones set off by an abstract painting ranging from darkest midnight to the palest sky blue, and by a cobalt blue bottle on the windowsill. The windows revealed a bird feeder hanging from the eaves and overlooked a small garden. A concrete bird bath sat amid the spiky leaves and golden trumpets of daylilies. Altogether a placid spot.

Dr. Kaplan himself would be lost in a crowd of medium: medium height, medium brown hair, medium face with no distinguishing features except the warmth of his eyes. They flashed with life and beckoned confidences. His voice was deep of timbre yet gentle, like the kiss of a mother healing an owie.

Beth wrapped herself in her arms and tried to disappear into the leather comforting her skin. How well did he and Garth know each other, and how often had they discussed his poor little wife who couldn't get over the death of her child? She stared out at a goldfinch flashing his bright feathers as he dipped and fluttered in the bath. A tiny rainbow played hide-and-seek with the droplets he threw so vigorously about. A silence and the feeling she'd been asked a question brought her abruptly back to the room.

She looked to Garth, who was staring at his shoe tops, hands clasped, elbows on his knees. No, not he. Then to the doctor, whose gaze rested quietly on hers. “I… I'm sorry. Did you ask me something?” She swallowed. “I was…was just watching your birds out there.” Her voice trailed off.

“They are a pleasure, are they not?” The doctor turned to smile at their entertainment. He straightened again and nodded toward her. “I just asked if you would like to tell me about yourself, help me to know a bit more about you.”

Beth glanced at Garth. Same position, same closed-off look, as if he'd drawn away from her, left her stranded to— She could feel her heart rate pick up, her breath come more quickly.

“I… I…” She shrugged, not an easy task due to the grip of her elbows by her hands. “What do you want to know?”

“Oh, perhaps something ypu like to do.”

“I love to sew, to quilt, to keep a good home for Garth.” She paused, hoping he would ask her something else. Her mind screamed around a track like stock cars in a dead heat. She waited, but this time she couldn't pull the silence in around herself and hide in the chair.

“Tell me something you don't like.”

He caught her by surprise. “Why…” She thought to the evening with Mrs. Spooner. “I don't like gardening, squishy things.”
I dorit like feeling the way I do, I dorit like being here, I dont like
—
no that's not strong enough
—/
hate who Fve become.

Had she thought loud enough for him to hear?

“Can you tell me when this sadness began?”

Did I say that or did he surmise that?

He reached across the space, a tissue in hand, making her realize that tears were sliding down her face.

“After the baby died.”

“That must have been terrible for you.”

All she could do was nod and blow her nose.

“And that was how long ago?”

Two lifetimes. She glanced at Garth, who nodded for her to continue. “About seven months.”

“And has there been another pregnancy?”

She shook her head. “No.” One of the smallest words in the English language and the most deadly. A killer of dreams and a slayer of hope.

“And you blame yourself?”

“Wouldn't you?” The words lashed out before she could cut them off.

“Most likely. We all have a tendency to do that. Its part of the grief cycle, but we can go beyond that when we are ready.”

Maybe you do, but…

“Have you ever taken any mood elevators, a simple drug that is nonaddictive but can help you deal with things more realistically?”

She sent Garth an I-told-you-so look. “No, and I don't want to start that now or any time.”

“What is it about medications that bothers you?”

Beth stood and started for the door, catching both men by surprise.

“Beth, wait.” Garth started after her.

“It was just a suggestion, not an order.” Dr. Kaplan stood too. “Please, sit back down. Let me finish.”

His voice plucked at her heart like gentle fingers plucking a melody from finely strung guitar strings.

She returned to her seat, perched on the edge, ready to flee. Her heart pounded and she clenched her fingers in her lap, the thumb on top, kneading the other.

“Are you eating?”

She shrugged. “All right.”

“No, she isn't.” Garth caught the explosive tone in his voice and replaced it with concern. “She's lost so much weight her clothes hang on her.”

“I see. And sleeping, how is that?”

“I have a lot of nightmares and then I'm tired all day. So tired.”

“Are you getting any exercise?”

She shook her head, knowing now that if she weren't honest, Garth would tell on her. “I used to walk.”
I have a baby stroller so that we, or rather Garth, can even run with it. To get our baby out in the fresh air.
Garth must have put it up in the garage, or perhaps he'd gotten rid of it like she'd asked.

“I suggest you take up walking again. You know we have a good community center here. A group of women walk the track every day. Someone new is always welcome.”

“Urn.” An almost nod. Now if that wasn't a noncommittal response…

“Do you like to read?”

“Yes.”

“I have a book here for parents who've lost a child. Perhaps reading it would be helpful for you, and then when we meet next week.

“Next week?” She stared at Garth. “You said…” She sank back.
Just agree, that doesn't mean you have to show up.
After all, who knows what can happen in a week? “I'll see.”

“We'll be here.” Garth stood and held out his right hand. “Thank you, Doctor. I appreciate your fitting us in on such short notice.”

Beth kept her hand by her side and nodded, until he held out the book and she had to reach for it. “Thank you.”

God, sometimes I wish I were a drinking woman.
She followed Garth into the elevator and stared up at the numbers as they ground down the four floors to the street.

The calendar never lies.

“We can't get in to Virginia Mason Hospital until the middle of August,” said Kit into the mouthpiece.

“That will be fine, dear.” Teza sounded vague.

“No, that will not be fine, but unless there is a cancellation, we're stuck with it.” Kit leaned back in her chair, staring at the calendar on the wall above her desk.
Four weeks, almost five. Here, Fve been on the phone for an hour. Why do I feel such a sense of urgency and Teza doesnt at all? This makes no sense. After all it's her body, not mine.

“Remember we're meeting Elaine at Myrna's at 2:00.”

“Good. She has a new shipment in, some lovely shaded patterns that will go well with the prints.”

When they hung up, Kit stared at the calendar again. Ryan would be home in about a month. Maybe Mark would come home then, at least for a few days. They could go to the Sound for Labor Day weekend. Well, not if Mark couldn't handle the memories. That place was rife with them. Kit stared at the family picture she had tacked to the corkboard on the wall of the built-in desk. Mark with his three teenagers, all in their swimsuits, the sun so bright on the water it sparkled in the picture. What a day that had been. She put her feet up on the desk and crossed her ankles. They'd had endless fun water-skiing back when they still had the boat. Mark had coached each of the children as they learned to ski. How Amber had loved water-skiing or anything connected with the water for that matter.

She could hear them laughing.

“Dad, you can't do it. You're too old to learn on a banana ski.” Jennifer played spotter sitting in the back of the sixteen-foot runabout.

“Too old!” Mark and Kit yelped at the same time, he on the dock, Kit driving the boat.

“Too old, too old.” Ryan and Amber chanted from their seats on the dock.

“Give it up, Dad.” Jennifer could hardly talk for laughing.

“Just because I've tried three times and your mother nearly drowned me, I shall never give up.”

“You could take a break and give one of us a chance,” Ryan, always a mediator, suggested.

“Don't mention the
b
word while I'm preparing to attempt this feat.” He raised his voice. “Hit it.”

Kit gunned the engine. The boat groaned and took off, and Mark absorbed the shock to his arms. To everyone's surprise, he held his balance and was skiing.

“Dad's up,” Jennifer yelled, taking her job as spotter seriously.

“For how long?”

“He's signaling faster.”

“Is he nuts?” Kit looked back in time to see her husband cutting over the wake on the port side of the boat.

“He's got it, Mom.” Jennifer yelled above the roar of the engine. “Go, Dad, go!”

Looking in the rearview mirror, Kit could see her eldest daughter waving her arms and screaming her delight. Hair in a ponytail, her trim figure was shown to advantage by the black tank suit worn to gray on the rear. Kit looked over both shoulders before beginning the curve that would bring them back to the dock. “Signal your father to let go when we go by so one of you kids can take a turn.” She, too, had to shout to be heard above the sixty-five horsepower motor, water curling along the sides of the boat, the slap of the bow when they hit a wake. The wind tangled her hair, the sun burned her nose, even through the sunscreen she'd applied but most likely sweat off. Much to her surprise, she'd become the ski driver, thinking in the beginning that she'd be the perennial spotter. But she loved the power in the throttle, the blue of the water, and the joy of seeing her family have such fun learning and then perfecting their water-skiing.

Kit eased back on the gas as she passed the floating dock, then cut way back and circled around to idle just off the end. Mark had skied right into the shore and stepped off without getting dunked.

“Show off.”

“Took me a bit but I made it. Who's next?”

“Let Ryan go first, he's the baby.” Amber poked her little brother.

“I should go first. I'm the oldest.” Jennifer reached for a ski vest.

“You can go. I don't mind waiting.” Ryan took the ski from his father and carried it out to the end of the short pontoon dock. “You want to go from here or start in the water?”

“From the dock.” Jennifer threw a rope to the dock, and Amber pulled them close enough for Jennifer to climb out.

Mark gave her the instruction, and typically, Jennifer started to argue with him until he threw up his hands and stepped back.

“Do what you want, then.”

She made it up on the first try.

Leave it to Jennifer
, Kit thought as she followed Amber's instructions to speed up. Towing Jennifer was far easier than Mark, just because she was lighter. But when she took one hand off the bar to wave at some guys in another boat, down she went.

Kit cut the motor and slowly circled back until the tow rope came within Jennifer's reach.

“She's not ready yet, Mom.” Amber flapped her hand at her mother.

“I know. See, Jennifer, guys'll get you in trouble.” She didn't need to look to know that Jennifer wore a scowl on a face made red by something other than the sun.

Okay, hit it.”

Three failed tries later, Jennifer signaled them to pick her up. “I'll take two skis any day. That stupid thing just won't go straight coming up out of the water. The dock was a cinch.”

She grabbed a beach towel and wrapped it around her. “That water's awful cold yet.”

“I can tell. Your lips are blue.”

By the end of the day, they'd had their fill of skiing, eaten all the fried chicken, potato salad, and Wacky cake, drank two gallons of pink lemonade, bought two six packs of soda, and finished those off too.

Kit pulled her thoughts back, only to realize she had tears meandering down her cheeks. Even the good memories brought on the tears.

“No wonder Mark doesn't want to be here. Maybe he's just tired of my tears.”
Or maybe he needs to cry too
—
and can't.
The small voice sounded wise beyond anything Kit could come up with.