Adrift in the Sound (18 page)

TWENTY

A FEW WEEKS LATER
, Marian lugged her suitcase up Sandy’s front steps, hoisted her black medical bag onto her hip, turned the door knob, let herself in, hollered: “Hello? Lizette? Sandy, I’m here!”

Lizette’s voice tumbled down the stairs, “We’re up here. Sandy’s having contractions again. Hurry up!”

Marian’s heart flipped as she charged up the stairs. Maybe she’d stayed too long at the ranch, missed something when she’d checked on them by phone or skipped over an important detail in the lab reports from Sandy’s checks at the women’s clinic. In the doorway, she paused and surveyed the situation. Propped up on red and pink pillows, Sandy beamed at her, belly round and high.
Baby hasn’t dropped yet
, Marian thought.
Color’s good. She’s healthy, thank God. But, this could take a while.

“Put your stuff in the baby’s room,” Sandy said, waving toward the hall. “We put a single bed in there and a crib. Liz fixed it up. She’s using the bigger room as a studio. All her art shit’s in there. The paint smells makes me want to erp. I have to remind her constantly to close the damn door.”

Marian saw the women glare at each other and figured she’d arrived just in time to avoid a cat fight. She peeked into Lizette’s room and saw an easel by the window, smiled at the thought of Lizette working there, and put her things in the newly arranged nursery. Lizette followed, closed the door, leaned her long body against the jamb.

“What do you think?” Lizette said.

“About what?” Marian sat on the bed, her black bag primly on her knees.

“Sandy!”

“I just got here. I think it’s going to be a while and I’m going to need your help when it’s time. She’s not having labor contractions. Her body’s just getting ready.” Lizette looked at her skeptically. “Trust me. It’s going to be a while.”

For days after that, Marian sat in the nursery on the side of the slumping single bed while Sandy napped across the hall and Lizette hummed and chirped as she painted in her makeshift studio. Marian stared at the little white crib, unfolded and refolded the pink and blue baby blankets, stacked them neatly on the small white dresser. She studied the rosemaling—pink rose buds, white daisies and blue periwinkle set in fine swirling black lines, a Scandinavian folk art she knew Lizette had painted on the drawer fronts.

She lay on the bed and stared at the water stains on the ceiling, smelled the mold in the walls, yielded her body to the rot. She rubbed her abdomen knowing no baby would ever grow there. The doctors had confirmed that the gonorrhea had eaten away at her insides just like they said, damaging her fallopian tubes. The new round of antibiotics had made her sick and she’d stayed in bed for days, Abaya bringing her soup, while Lizette attended to Sandy in Seattle. She’d needed Lizette with her then, but couldn’t abandon Sandy, couldn’t call Lizette back.

She sat up now, pulled on her shoes, and went into Sandy’s room, listened through her stethoscope for the flutter of the baby’s heart. She moved the instrument slowly over Sandy’s swollen belly until she caught the dual-toned whooshing, the beat synchronizing with her own pulse, her heart rate accelerating to keep up. This throbbing kept her going, this promise of new life, vulnerable in its dependence.

The date of conception couldn’t be right, Marian knew that. Already this pregnancy was well beyond ten months, using Sandy’s reckoning. The father couldn’t be Big Al, either, no matter what she said. She pictured Albert Munoz, Hell’s Angel wanna-be, playing pool at the tavern, skanky and mean, and was glad he was in jail. She watched suspiciously when Rocket came over and sniffed around Sandy like an old hound searching for a comfortable spot to curl up. She saw how he watched Sandy, stepped in to comfort her, how they shared whispered intimacies, and she saw how Lizette’s face froze in a blank mask when the two of them were together, how she quickly disappeared.

“The heartbeat’s strong,” Marian said. To ease Sandy’s frustration, she and Lizette fixed an early dinner, took Sandy for a walk. Lizette swiped spring flowers from neighbors’ yards, gave them to Sandy to put in her hair. Lizette bent to pet a cat that came out from behind a hedge. They stopped to talk with a woman pushing a baby stroller. Lizette got down on her haunches, leaned in and adjusted the infant’s knitted cap. Lizette held the baby’s tiny hands, marveled at the petal points of its tissue-thin fingernails.

Then it was morning again and nothing—no miracles, no pains, no progress. In the afternoon there was a sign. Marian called it a “bloody show,” a swipe of pink mucus when Sandy peed. “Finally,” Marian said as she took the tissue to the toilet, the sound of the flush filling the house like the thunder. Huddled around the bowl, they watched the wad swirl and disappear.

The women went back to decoupaging magazine pictures on pieces of gray barn wood in the kitchen. Lizette sketched as the others worked. Marian looked over her shoulder to find the page filled with drawings of round, plump figures, torsos, thighs with bellies resting on them. Sandy got up and washed the dishes, swept the floor, wrapped a towel around the broom handle and went after cobwebs in the downstairs hall. She watered the plants, put fava beans on to soak.

Rocket came over after work and flipped on the TV in the living room and lounged on the sofa watching, “M*A*S*H”. He periodically flew into the kitchen shouting “Incoming! Incoming!” and hit the refrigerator for a beer. It rained. The Dogs stopped by to sniff around. Lizette went for a walk around the block, studied the brambles and weathered cement foundations that reminded her of pictures she’d seen of the ruins at Pompeii. She tamped her anger down, walked back to the house and went up to her studio. That night Lizette slept on the couch in the living room, half listening to the women bumping around upstairs. Sometime in the dark the sound of running water woke her. Marian was at the kitchen sink, filling a big pot.

“Her water broke,” Marian said, putting the pot on the stove and turning on the burner.

Lizette sat at the table, said nothing in her half sleep. She’d been to see Finch and got a prescription refill. The medication was piling up. Marian monitored how often she took her pills, pestered her everyday. Lizette craned her neck, closed her mouth to keep her tongue from thrusting, her body itched everywhere. Flushing, tingling.
Sometimes crazy feels better
, she thought, stretching her arms overhead to loosen her stiff back.

“It doesn’t mean the baby will be born today,” Marian said. “I’ve seen women go for days after their water broke. I want to give her a sponge bath. Go up and look. See how she’s doing. Talk to her.”

Lizette ignored her and went back to the couch, found sleep. In her dream, her own belly was big and she was crying, afraid. Her mother was standing there, dripping wet, laughing, telling her to swim. Lizette backstroked underwater, her body tight at first, then stretching out, feeling the pull of the current.

The sound of card shuffling woke her. Sunlight streamed through the windows, glanced off the crystals hung from the window frames in the dining room, casting rainbows everywhere. “My water broke,” Sandy said as she watched Lizette cross to the kitchen sink for a glass of water.

“I know,” Lizette said. “Marian told me.”

“I made green Jell-O, did the dishes—again,” Sandy said. “Right now I’m losing at solitaire. Story of my life.”

“What day is it?”

“How the hell should I know?” Sandy shot a hot look at Lizette, who leaned against the sink, staring blankly. “Tuesday, maybe. You gotta date? I’m talking about the birth of my kid and you want to check your appointment book?”

Lizette poured hot water into a mug and swirled a silver tea ball, lifting the cup to smell the chamomile. “I can’t remember when I have the next appointment with Dr. Finch. I don’t want to miss it. That’s all.”

“Ask Marian. She always remembers that shit, writes it down. She made me some birth tea,” Sandy went on, refocusing on herself. “She put in red raspberry leaves, blue cohosh, valerian and lobelia. I’ve already had three or four cups. Supposed to make you sleepy. Not me. I need tequila.” She cackled like the comment was funny. The bells hanging on the front door handle jangled and Rocket barged in.

“Say mammas,” he greeted them as he came into the kitchen. Lizette frowned and watched him take his jacket off and drape it over the back of the chair, stroke Sandy’s hair. She stood up, clutched her stomach and gave out a gagging noise. Water splattered onto the floor. Rocket grabbed Sandy, made her sit down.

“Where’s Marian,” he said, looking scared.

He went to the bottom of the stairs and bellowed for Marian. Sandy doubled over in the chair, sat up, went rigid, stretched out her legs and watched her belly rise up under her nightgown. More water hit the floor. Marian appeared in the doorway, went to Sandy and took her hand, gently stroked her arm,

“Breathe,” Marian said, blowing into her face to focus her attention. “We need to get you upstairs, sweetheart. Rocket, get her other side.”

Marian called down, “Lizette! Bring up a pitcher of ice water.” The phone rang and Rocket rushed down the stairs to answer. Lizette heard Marian upstairs saying, “Pant, pant. Don’t push!” as she came up with the ice water. Sandy rolled side-to-side on the bed. Marian stroked her legs and tried to get her into a comfortable position.

“Set that down,” Marian gestured toward the dresser. “Put a pillow behind her back. Where’s Rocket? She wants to get to the bathroom. I need his help.”

Rocket bounded up the stairs. “Need something?” he asked from the doorway, holding back, afraid to enter. His eyes seemed bigger, stretched by what he was taking in.

“Help me get her up,” Marian said. “She has to go to the john. It’s not a good idea, but getting her some bladder relief might help things along. Then you’ll have to help me get her settled again.” Rocket rushed over and started tugging on Sandy’s arm.

“Who called?” Sandy said.

“Cadillac Carl, said you two had plans.” He sounded annoyed, yanked Sandy up.

“Take it easy, Rocket,” Marian said in a soothing tone. “Ease her forward. She’s not a tug boat.”

“I feel like one,” Sandy said and giggled. “Did you tell Carl what’s happening?”

The front door slammed. Sandy bent over and puffed loudly. Rocket held her around the middle. Lizette flattened against the wall by the dresser, trying to melt into the lath and plaster.

“No. Stop!” Sandy pushed Rocket away. “No. I don’t want to pee. Get me back on the bed!”

“Hey, Rocket?” Someone yelled from below. “You up there?”

Rocket hollered back a big “Yo! Something’s happening up here. I’m not sure what.”

“OK, man,” the voice answered back. “You just missed the opening pitch. Giant’s game. Hurry it up.” The man’s voice lowered, took on a play-by-play tone. “Swing and a miss. Strike! Come on, man. You’re missin’ it. What the hell you doin’ up there?”

Leaving Sandy and Marian at the side of the bed, Rocket thundered down the stairs, slipped on the water Lizette had dribbled on the risers, caught the handrail in time to stop his fall, muttered. The crowd roared from the TV as he dropped onto the sofa. The men laughed and cussed, made room for him. The front door tinkled again, then again, feet tromped from the living room to the refrigerator in the kitchen, beer bottles popped. Then “
There’s something about an Aqua Velva man
” jingled from the TV.

“Lizette, get over here,” Marian said. Sandy sat naked in the middle of the bed. “Help me get her back against the headboard.”

Lizette moved in behind Sandy on the bed, lifted under her armpits, Marian scooching her hips from the other side, spreading a sterile cloth across the bed and under Sandy’s bottom.

“What’re you doing?” Sandy said. “I can sit up by myself.” Lizette let go. A contraction hit and Sandy’s belly got hard, she fell sideways onto the pillows, moaned loudly. Marian kept reminding her not to push.

Lizette saw pinpoints of light in the periphery of her vision, felt dizzy. She got off the bed and looked at Sandy. She saw a yellowish egg and a messy nest balancing on slender branches and felt herself fall, landing on her knees beside the bed, cradling her head in her arms. Marian swabbed Sandy’s thighs with orange antiseptic, put on surgical gloves.

“Get Rocket up here,” Marian said.

Lizette stretched up from the floor and glided to the top of the stairs and started down. Rocket met her halfway up. They paused and mingled on the steps as Lizette changed direction and followed behind him.