A Life More Complete (7 page)

“I can’t have this baby.” As the
words leave her lips I feel myself begin to cry with her. Both of us mourning
the loss of what might have been. I lie next to her in bed both of us sobbing,
hers tapering off as she drifts to sleep. I kiss her forehead before leaving
her alone.

Ben is still awake when I climb into
bed with him. I press myself against his back and curl my legs into his, a
perfect fit. I kiss his back and close my eyes. I know I won’t sleep.

“Is she okay?” he asks.

“She will be. She’s not going to have
the baby.”

“What other choice does she have?” He
pities her, too. I hear it in his voice.

“I know, but it’s still hard.”

“You’re good to her. She needs you
more than you realize. You’re all she’s got.” I feel that tingle that comes
right before you cry shudder through my body. Tears pool in my eyes as I press
harder against Ben. I know he’s right. I’ve never had a relationship with any
of my clients like I have with Trini. Sometimes I know too much, sometimes it
makes it hard to deal with her in a professional manner, but tonight I wouldn’t
want her to be anywhere else.

Morning arrives too soon and Ben
slips out quietly. He kisses me softly and pulls me into his embrace. He
whispers something into my ear, but I’m too dazed to focus. I don’t hear it.

I grab my BlackBerry from my
nightstand to email Ellie letting her know I won’t be in for the next few days.
I make a few quick phone calls and everything is arranged in a matter of
minutes. It’s amazing how easily the world falls to its knees when there are
large sums of money involved. I shower and then wake Trini. She looks awful. Her
eyes are swollen and red matching the puffiness of her lips. She showers and
changes into some of my clothes. Neither one of us speaks the entire ride to
the airport. It’s not until we arrive at LAX that she asks where we’re going.

I park the car and turn to Trini
sitting across from me. Her face is sullen. She looks nothing like her usual
smiley, giggly self. Although no one knows we’re leaving town the paparazzi
will be stationed all around the airport just waiting for a story. This is L.A.
after all. I hand Trini a pair of black Jackie O style sunglasses knowing that
a picture of her right now is worth millions and the number of stories that
could be spun from it are infinite.

“We’re going to Columbus, Wisconsin. We’re
flying into O’Hare, driving to a clinic in Madison and then to Columbus,” I
finally respond.

“Thank you.” Tears fall over her
cheeks once again. She puts her head back against the seat and slips on the
sunglasses. She mumbles under her breath before opening the car door. I grab
our bag from the trunk and head into the mess that waits at the doors.

Camera flashes blind both of us and
the sunglasses have never been more useful. We move past the crowd and head
through to security. It seems as if everyone in the greater Los Angeles area is
standing in the security lines. We hear the whispers and the cell phone cameras
come out. It’s what it’s always like to travel anywhere with Trini, yet this
time she’s not her courteous self. She doesn’t smile or wave. Right now I don’t
care about her public persona and knowing what she’s going through, neither
does she.

We sit in silence in the first class
lounge waiting for our flight. I don’t speak to her, hell I can’t even look at
her. I know one of us will cry if words are exchanged, so we just sit. We board
the plane. Trini falls asleep immediately and I find relief in her quiet
stillness. Four hours later, we land at O’Hare and leave in our unassuming
rental car.

I steal a moment to look at Trini. She’s
staring out the window, sunglasses still on and blank expression painted on her
face.

“You okay?”

“No,” she mutters.

“You don’t have to do this.” I don’t
know what else to say. I wish I could impart some wisdom on her that would end all
of this.

“Yes I do. What other choice do I
have?” Her voice is quiet. “Have a baby? End my career? Could you imagine the
mess that would be? I don’t even have a mother. How could I possibly know how
to be someone’s mom?” She is crying again as she pulls her knees up to her
chest.

I quickly go through the logistics
with her. I have scheduled an appointment with a doctor at a clinic in Madison.
It will cost Trini a ton, but at least I know her privacy is guaranteed. After
that we are heading to my best friend, Gia’s house so she can recover. Gia owns
a farm on about thirty acres in the middle of nowhere. It’s a gravel road to a
gravel road to a dirt road, miles from anyone. It’s exactly what she needs and
it also allows me to see Gia.

“There was no way we could have
pulled this off in L.A. and I figured this might be a nice break from the
chaos.”

“Yeah, I guess. Thanks for figuring
this out.” She is silent for a minute and then she turns to me pushing the
sunglasses onto her head. “Thank you. I mean that. No one would help me the way
you do. I know this is your job, but I really appreciate it.”

I shake my head and smile at her. “Trini,
this isn’t my job. Being your publicist stopped being my job when we became
friends.”

It has become hard to separate the
two and this latest problem has made it nearly impossible. She’s never said it,
but I know I’m her only friend. She’s surrounded by people day in and day out,
yet none of them truly care about her. They’re all part of the show that’s
become Trini’s life. Everyone playing a part, wanting to be close to the wealth
and fame she carries, but when the shit hits the fan they scatter like rats. It’s
sad and I know it, which is why I can’t turn my back on her.

We arrive at the doctor’s office. As I
pull around back, I see Trini take a deep breath and release it slowly. I take
her hand and she begins to cry again. There are no words that will ease her
pain or make her decision any easier.

“You ready?”

“Yeah. Krissy?” I turn to her still
holding her hand. “Will you stay with me? Don’t leave, please.”

“Of course. Whatever you need. I’m
here.” Chills fill my body as we exit the car and make our way toward the dark
office. We enter through the back door using a code the doctor gave me. A nurse
greets us warmly, while she leads us into a cold sterile room with a picture of
the beach hanging on the wall and an exam table in the center, as if the
picture makes the room feel less ominous. Her voice is hushed while she speaks.
She hands Trini a paper gown and leaves the room. Trini takes off her clothes. I
can’t help but notice her belly, slightly rounder than before; something you
would only notice if she weren’t wearing clothes. She wraps the gown around her
body and crosses her arms over her stomach. She climbs on the table and covers
herself with the blanket the nurse left.

Shorty after the doctor enters. He’s
an older man with white hair. He’s wearing scrubs and surgical mask. His voice
seems loud and booming in the quiet room. He shakes Trini’s hand, squeezing it
harder than necessary.

“Hello Katrina. I’m Dr. Horan. We are
going to go over a few things and then we will start your procedure.” He places
his hand on her knee and she flinches. “I know this is a difficult decision you
have made here, but I want you to know that you’re in good hands.” The nurse
enters with a clipboard and stands behind him. He begins with what I assume are
typical questions, date of last menstrual period, blood type, any surgeries,
any previous abortions or pregnancies. The nurse vigorously jotting down
everything Trini says. She can’t tell him when her last period was. I see her
cheeks flush and she looks like the little girl I met six years ago.

The doctor begins to describe the
process and I notice Trini’s hands begin to shake. She grips the blanket and
closes her eyes. The tears fall slowly and she quickly brings her hand to her
mouth stifling a sob that threatens. The description is becoming more detailed
and I can feel myself grow uncomfortable, but Trini cuts him off abruptly.

“No more. Just begin.” Her tone is severe.

“As you wish,” he says with no
inflection.

Her eyes, once again clamp shut and
the slightest of tears escape. I stand and reach for her hand. She turns away
from me and says, “No. Don’t. Please.” Each word followed by a small,
stuttering sob. I breathe in deeply and exhale. I press my lips to her
forehead. I keep my composure knowing that my ruin will be her demise.

In just under two hours we’re back in
the car and on the way to Gia’s house. Trini’s asleep in the passenger seat,
but she looks pained and stressed even at rest. I quickly call Gia to let her
know we’ll be arriving soon.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Gia.”

“Krissy! I can’t wait for you to get
here. The kids are so excited!”

“I know, me too.” I try to keep my
voiced hushed so I don’t wake Trini.

“So, to what do we owe this honor? I
didn’t think we’d see you until at least Christmas.”

“Oh come on,” I try to play casual. “It’s
strawberry season, how could I miss it?”

“Seriously? Don’t they have
strawberries in California?”

“Yes, but not like David grows them.”
I giggle and so does Gia.

“I know you’re up to something, but I
won’t ask. All that confidentiality and non-disclosure bullshit that goes with
your job. How’s Trini?”

“She’s good. You know the usual. Thought
she needed some time away and no one will follow us to bumble-fuck nowhere.”

“True,” she says laughing.

“We should be there in about a half
an hour.”

“The guesthouse is ready and the door’s
unlocked. We’ll see you soon.”

“Can’t wait,” I say. I love Gia more
than anything. We’ve been friends since we were eight and I miss the normalcy
of our friendship and the ease of being with someone who knows me better than
anyone.

We pull into Gia’s gravel driveway
and before I wake Trini I text Ben to let him know we’re here. I run my hand
over Trini’s shoulder to wake her. She rubs her eyes, but says nothing. She can
barely look at me. We both get out and head toward the small outbuilding behind
the garage. I open the door and as always Gia has outdone herself. There’s a
plate of homemade chocolate chip cookies on the counter of the small efficiency
kitchen. She’s stocked the fridge with water, pop and beer. The place is
spotless, something I’m not sure how she ever accomplishes with three kids. I
point Trini in the direction of the bedroom and I turn down the air
conditioning as we enter the room. She crawls onto the bed and under the overly
white and fluffy down comforter and closes her eyes. She still hasn’t spoken
since we left.

“Trini?” I wait for an answer, yet
receive nothing. “I’ve left the medicine the doctor prescribed on the
nightstand. You need to take the antibiotic and probably should take the pain
medicine, too.” I pause, but again, no response. “I’m going to go to the house
now. Are you okay?” Nothing. “Could you please answer, you’re starting to scare
me.”

“Okay,” she mumbles from under the
covers.

“I have my cell. Call if you need me.
Love you, Trini,” I say as I walk out of the bedroom and in the quietest of
voices I hear, “Love you, too.”

I enter Gia’s house through the
mudroom. The room is scattered with dirty Crocs, shovels, buckets and old raincoats.
Gia’s house is the one place I feel the most comfortable. It has a wonderful
homey feel. The house, built in 1906, has seen its fair share of families’ come
and go, but I firmly believe that Gia and David were the reason the house was
built. It radiates love, kindness, empathy and respect. Pictures of the kids
grace the walls and tables in every room adding to its feeling of warmth. It’s
picture perfect, made for TV movie adorable.

I can’t contain my excitement as I scramble
through the door to the house from the mudroom. As I open the door I’m attacked
by two of Gia’s kids. Nico is five and Gianna is two. They are clones of Gia;
dark hair and eyes, olive skin, tiny and skinny with full lips and perfect
noses. I was there for the birth of every one of Gia’s kids and each time I
prayed that one would look like David. And after Gianna was born she vowed this
was the last one. David was just out of luck, but when she called to say she
was pregnant again I knew this one would belong to him. She planned to name him
Gino, just like her grandfather. She stuck firm to her Italian heritage even
though David was born and raised in Ireland. Yet when baby number three was
born and he was the spitting image of David she couldn’t do it. David named him
Liam and not only did he look like him, he was David in every way. Easy going
and calm was the best way to describe the two of them.

I grab them both swinging them into
my arms, kissing and hugging them with force. Smiles are plastered across our
faces as they giggle and squeeze me with their little arms.

“Oh my God! I’ve missed you so much!”
I can’t stop hugging them. Everything about them is infectious and I don’t want
to let go. “Where’s Mommy?”

“Right here.” Gia appears in the
doorway to the kitchen with Liam on her hip. She never ages. At twenty-eight
years old she could still pass for eighteen. Her hair is in a ponytail and she
has cut-offs and a white tank on. She’s a tiny little thing standing at five
foot three, skinny and tanned and without a stitch of makeup. “It’s only been
six months since I last saw you and I still want to cry like it’s been 20 years.”