This Much Is True (40 page)

I nod slowly as this sick feeling overcomes me. “I rescued her from a car accident when she was seventeen. That was the first time I met her. She didn’t tell me.” I swallow hard, chasing back all these various emotions—anger, joy, and this insurmountable despair that nearly crushes me. I try to damp it all down because the doctor is watching me even more closely now.

“It looks like you have some things to work out.” He glances back in Tally’s direction one more time. “She’ll eventually be fine, but I wouldn’t upset her with anything else right now. The surgery is paramount. It’s a two to a four-hour procedure. Depending upon how it goes, she’ll be sore for at least six weeks, somewhat immobile, and she won’t be able to lift anything of considerable weight for a long while. You’ll do the vacuuming, for example.” He gets this grim smile. “She’ll wake up with a terrible headache and have a lot of physical pain and mental anguish to deal with, but eventually she’ll be fine, providing this surgery goes well. I’m sorry. It’s terrible that this happened to her.”

“Yes.” I’m reeling from all he’s said and doing a private battle with anger and remorse and guilt.
Tally had a child. Was it mine? Why didn’t she tell me?

“I’m sorry,” he says again.

“Yes.”

I watch them judiciously move Tally onto a gurney and swiftly wheel her away. I stand in the empty room for a long time after she’s gone and question if I’ve done the right thing, as if I even know what that is anymore. She’ll probably hate me for signing the surgical form, authorizing a surgery that may take away her ability to have children.
More
children. But if it saves her life? Then that’s the most important thing, right?

The anger at her over everything she’d said to me our last time together in San Francisco and at the hospital has fueled me to hate her all these months. But now? That’s all gone.
I feel empty. Bereft. Undone.
I struggle to put it all into context now. It’s no different than if she had an abortion. Right? Except somewhere out there in the world is a child. Ours? Hers?
Possibly mine?
I can’t get past this. And, the anguish over knowing inevitably follows. It carries me through the next several hours while I wait for
my wife’s
return from surgery.

In one part of my mind, I stay with the mantra that I can’t leave her; while in the other, I console myself with the thought that Nika’s pregnant and Nika’s baby can replace the one Tally so easily gave up. Yet, later on, it comes to me that it may not work like that.
A child. Tally had a child. She gave it up. It may be mine.
Somewhere out in the world is a child who may be mine that she gave up. And she never told me.

* * * *

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Linc ~ Lies. There are so many.

D
r. Michael Markov returns and reports the outcome of Tally’s surgery. His I’m-sorry-she-may-not-be-able-to-have-more-children speech barely registers. I breathe a sigh of relief that she pulled through the surgery, and that they’ve stopped the bleeding and now all we can do is wait.

I continue to swim with all the lies—the ones I’ve told to save Tally’s life, and the ones Tally’s told me for reasons unknown.

The lies. The lies. They just get bigger and seem to take us both farther from the truth.

The next day I pitch an almost perfect game at Moscow’s fine baseball park and finish in seven innings. With Torres relieving me in the eighth, I race back to Tally’s bedside before she even realizes I’ve been gone.

They’ve kept her sedated for the past few days to allow her body to heal and minimize the swelling on her brain with the concussion. The bruises to her face and legs turn an ugly purple with the outer edges turning this gruesome gangrene green in color. The deep lacerations on her stomach and the front of her legs are all bandaged up. She’s being treated with a heavy dose of antibiotics to fight infection. She’s an absolute wreck, but I’ve never seen her look more beautiful.

Right after the game, I convinced Nika to go see her family again. She gave me one of her suspicious pouty faces even as I shoved her back into a waiting taxi and told her to go spend time with her parents. I told her we were leaving within a week, and we have plenty of time.

Lies. There are so many.

Dr. Michael Markov makes his late rounds and stops in to check on Tally one last time. He gives me this curious look, once again. Other than the game and a shower, I’ve been at Tally’s side, waiting for her to wake up. The Moscow Police and I wait for her to wake up.

“She may exhibit some confusion for a few days,” Markov says quietly. “We’ve been watching her closely, just to make sure she doesn’t have a brain bleed of any sort. So far, so good. I’ve ordered the nursing staff to back her off the heavy narcotics, and she’ll be waking up in the next few hours or so. She’ll be tired. She’ll need to be on bed rest for the rest of the week. I’d like to keep her a few more days for observation. But with you here, after that, I don’t see why she can’t recuperate at home. Then again, she needs to be woken up every few hours to ensure it’s nothing more serious. Concussions can be tricky. With a brain injury, it can be nothing, or it can be everything. Do you understand?”

“Yes, I’ll watch over her. I’m here. We’re staying at The Savoy.” I tell this lie as easily as all the others, while Markov slowly nods. My mind also secretly races as to what I just committed to. How can I keep Nika happy and in the dark about all of this and keep a vigilant watch over Tally Landon all at the same time?

“I know. How are you holding up?” Markov asks.

“Good. I’ve got this. She means everything to me,” I say. “She’s my wife. I’ll take care of her.”

“She’ll eventually be fine with the right support system around her.” Dr. Markov flips the chart closed and stows the file in the slot by the door for the next shift. “We just have to wait and see. She’s strong and determined; and she has you.” He sighs deep and seems to hesitate. “The police want a statement from her to corroborate what you’ve told them.” He pauses and looks more concerned. “The guy died about an hour ago.”

“Oh,” I manage to say. “That complicates things, doesn’t it?”

I’m too caught up in the lies and too saddened by the blatant unspoken truth that I’m not sorry the guy died. I’m sure my conflicted thoughts show on my face.

Dr. Markov watches me closely again now.
“Look, Mr. Presley, this isn’t America. They need her statement to clear you. According to the taxi driver, you were the last one in the alley. It’s in the papers.” He stops for a full minute. “I told them that she’d be well enough to give a statement tomorrow morning. We need to ensure that she does. Technically, you shouldn’t even be in the same room with her, but she’s your wife, and you’re her husband.” He gets this steely look and looks at me intently. “She needs to give her statement tomorrow morning, first thing.”

“Okay. Tomorrow.” I shake his hand. “Thank you. Thank you for doing everything for Tally. I appreciate it.”

He reaches into his pocket and hands me a card. “I’ve got tomorrow off. I’m sure everything will work out fine. Just make sure Tally talks to the detective. Like I said, this isn’t America. Just call me if you have any questions. Day or night.”

I’m confused by his concern. “Dr. Markov? Why are you here? I mean why did you come back to Moscow? It’s way different than San Fran.”

“Yeah. Well, my father remembers a far different Moscow then this one. I had all these grand illusions and wanted to return with him, so we’d both be able to see them. The changes. The progress. The freedoms.” His smile disappears. “But some things never change.” He shakes his head. “I don’t know why I stay. He died six months after we got here. I guess I stay to make a difference? Even so, I’m just a pebble causing a brief splash and eventually engulfed by a riptide most of the time I’m afraid.” He sighs and heads for the door. “Just make sure she gives her statement. Okay, Linc?”

Dr. Michael Markov leaves. I vaguely hear the click of the hospital door when it shuts closed.
Finality.
I close my eyes and try to breathe and assess what to do next.
How many more lies will I have to tell to make this all work out? For me? For Tally? For both of us?

* * *

For a few hours, I watch over Tally like I’ve won first prize and must carefully guard my golden human statue. She’s weak and worn out when she finally comes around. She vaguely notes my presence, still seems heavily sedated but appears grateful for my company, although she doesn’t say much more than
thank you
a few times before she’s out again. I position a chair by her hospital bed and set my iPhone with various alarm times, so I can remain vigilant and wake her up every few hours as Dr. Markov recommended. She’s groggy and out of sorts, but looks adorable even with the long ugly bruise down one side of her face. She’s still too weak to take a shower and although the nurses did their best to clean the blood out of her hair, it’s still somewhat matted with it. She won’t be happy when she sees that.

She’s more golden-blond than a brunette now. “I hate the highlights.” I tell her while she sleeps. “I hate the lies, Tally,” I say to her, at one point, during the middle of the night. “I hate the lies. I hate how you lie about
everything
.”

I’m startled out of my serialized rant when she eventually whispers back, “I know.
I know,
Elvi
s
. I’m sorry.”

“Why do you have to make everything so fucking complicated?” I ask.

She laughs softly. I see her hand move across her face in the dark. She fingers her lips as if assessing the damage.

“Does it hurt? Dr. Markov said you could have an extra painkiller at night if you need it. Do you need it?”

“Noooooooo.”

“Let me re-phrase; do you
want
it?” I hold my breath and await her answer. There’s so much I want to say, so much I need to say but there are too many questions I want answers to that I can’t even begin to ask. I sigh in genuine frustration.

“You’ve got something to say, Elvis, then go ahead and
say
it.” Her voice is hard, laced with contempt. I flinch upon hearing it.

“I should have said something. I shouldn’t have let you go like that. I’m a jerk.”

“True. True. True,” she says softly.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you
what
?” Now she’s guarded.

I debate upon upsetting her further but plunge onward because I need to know. “Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant? That you had a child, Tally. We could have—”

“What?” she asks. “I was almost nineteen, but I couldn’t do it all— raise a kid, go with a job that barely paid at the time; and I couldn’t give up ballet. I made a choice.”

“Nineteen? Why did you have it at all?” I’m trying to do the math but it’s not coming together for me. If she was nineteen; it certainly wasn’t me that fathered her child.
Am I wrong about this?

“I went for an abortion. I never even told Marla about it, but I freaked out when I got there. After losing Holly…I just couldn’t go through with it. And so, I didn’t.” She turns her head toward me in the semi-dark and looks over at me. She seems to be assessing and weighing her next words carefully. “Besides, it wasn’t your problem.” Her voice is strong and never wavers as she says this.

I take in air in an attempt to make sense of her response.
The baby wasn’t mine.

“Not my problem,” I say, parroting her words.

“Right.” I can see her smiling in the dark—the wicked one I remember from the first night we met when she first called me Elvis.

“I wouldn’t have cared. I would have—”

“What?” She mocks. “Held my hand? Told me everything was going to be okay? Thrown over your career to help a girl out? Come on, Linc. This is the real world. Bad things happen. We do bad things. Some of us lie so much better than others.” She laughs low. “Trust me. I’m telling you…the truth.”

She stops and takes an unsteady breath. “It wasn’t
your
problem.”

Jealousy comes out of nowhere. I practically gag at her words. “Damn you, Tally. Why do you have to fuck every guy who comes along?”

“I like fucking every guy who comes along. That’s who I am.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“You don’t have to.” She sighs and moans a little as she adjusts her broken body beneath the sheets. “I gave her away. I don’t even think about her. She’s with a nice family, and life goes on.”

“You don’t even think about
her
.”

“Noooooooooo.” She draws the word out as if to ensure I know she means it. “I couldn’t afford to keep her, and I wasn’t the mothering type.”

“That’s not true. You’d make a great mother.”

“You’re not hearing me. I don’t want to be a mother. I certainly don’t want to be tied down. I have a life…
ballet
. There’s not room for anything or anyone else…for long. Rob understands.” She tacks on the last part like it’s an afterthought.

Her mentioning Rob sets me off. “You can’t go anywhere for another week. You can’t lift anything for at least six more. You may not be able have any more kids. They’re not sure. There may be too much scarring. I’m sorry.” I don’t know what compels me to tell her all of this, but I know somewhere down the line she needs to be told. Plus, there’s this cruel part of me that wants to get back at her for all she’s just admitted to me—mainly, that the kid wasn’t even mine, and she’s still with Rob.

“It’s okay. I didn’t want kids anyway. Neither does Rob. See? It all works out.” Her voice doesn’t even tremble. It’s steady and true.

“It doesn’t have to be this way.” There’s obvious desperation in my tone. I cringe upon hearing it, and I’m glad for the darkness between us. “Tally, I—”

“You moved on.” Her voice is soft. “So have I. Everything is the way it’s supposed to be,” she whispers the last part as if she’s grown tired of the conversation. I don’t find any consolation in the way she’s just said it. “Now about those painkillers, I’ll take some of those now.”

I don’t know what else to say. I’m caught up the obligations of my present life and the persistent thought that keeps invading my psyche that she’s still with Rob—this other guy that isn’t me.
And what right do I have to her, since I’m with Nika? Getting married and having a baby with Nika?
I shouldn’t even be here in this hospital room, alone with her.

Right now? This very second, Nika thinks I’m asleep in our hotel room three blocks away from here.
But here I am. With Tally Landon. Alone with Tally Landon. Fucked up all over again about Tally Landon.
When will I ever learn?

I push back the chair and make my way to the restroom for the painkillers. I drop them in her outstretched hand and give her a glass of water to take them with.

“Elvis?” She keeps her face averted away from me, and I hear her as she takes an unsteady breath in the dark. “I can’t remember anything. Did he…?”

“No. They said no.” I swallow hard on the lie. But how do I explain semi-detectable but inconclusive?

No.
That last word feels like a sword has been swiftly drawn out from my heart. And for some bizarre reason, I can’t tell her he’s dead, not yet. I’m not sure how she’ll react when she finds that out. I’ll let the police be the one to tell her that tomorrow, later today.
I can’t even think straight.

“Do you hate me?” she asks.

“No. I could never hate you, Tally. I…I…Tally…” I can’t even finish the sentence. Nika’s upturned face flashes through my mind.
What the hell am I doing? What can I promise her? She’s moved on. Why can’t I?

She doesn’t say anything for a long time. There is just this unsteady breathing taking place between us. We both suffer under the heavy weight of all the lies, of the stark reality before us, of the inevitable loss of each other in all of this. Eventually, she turns over on her side away from me. I hear her moan softly.

“My foot?”

“There are multiple broken bones in your foot. They had to cast it,” I say dully.

This is the news that causes her to cry.
We’re not so different. She and I. She with her ballet. Me with a baseball.
I automatically flex my pitching arm. I can’t imagine losing my livelihood—the one thing I’m good at.

“I don’t want to be awake.” Her voice catches. I grope my way across the bed sheets for her hand as if by holding on to her; I can somehow keep her here. “Sasha’s probably going crazy. Where’s my cell phone?” she asks after a few minutes.

“I don’t know who Sasha is, but you can call her tomorrow. It’s the middle of the night. Your cell phone’s over by the desk. You can get it later.”

“She’s my boss. We have to let her know what’s happened.” She chokes on the last word, and I squeeze her hand.

I listen for her breathing, and it gets steadier as time passes.

There’s so much more to say but neither one of us is willing to say it.

“Tomorrow. Okay, tomorrow, we’ll call her. It’s going to be okay, Tally.”

“You think so?” she whispers.

I smile in the dark at her, and she turns over and attempts to smile back. I squeeze her hand, and she squeezes back.
“I do.”