Homefires (53 page)

Anne rushed to snatch up the phone and call. I went to check on Toby, who romped with Lynette outside while Heather hung out with Dale. Cole had gone to get Leigh, his current and according to Anne,
serious
girlfriend, to join us for lunch.

I chatted a minute with the teens, folded into white front porch rockers.

On my lazy return, Anne nearly slammed into me, grabbed my arms and squeezed. “The nurse said Teresa left a note saying we could pick up Chuck any time we wanted to.”

We gazed at each other through tears.

“Only prayer could have changed Teresa’s heart on this,” I whispered.

“For now.” Anne’s face sobered for a long moment, then brightened up. “But we’ve got
today
.”

“Yes’m,” I nodded, tilted my head and smiled, linking hands with hers. “That, we do.”

“Teresa didn’t want to come?” Anne asked Chuck as, complying with his wishes, she disconnected him from his portable oxygen-tank.

“Said she had plans.”

“What about Poogie?” I asked, disappointed. I’d so wanted to see my niece.

Chuck languidly shrugged his shoulders. “She’s with her other grandma. Busy.” Pain, beyond physical, marred his handsome features as – with Dad’s solicitous assistance – he moved slowly, laboriously, to the table and took a reserved place of honor at its head.

I fought down a niggling feeling of nausea as I seated myself. Nervous stomach, no doubt. It settled as I began to eat and soon, we all laughed and bantered as though back in carefree teen years.

Chuck ate two helpings of Anne’s macaroni-cheese pie and two pieces of fried chicken. “Lordy, this is good.” Eyelids half-mast, he grinned a dopey grin as his scrawny hand rubbed his swollen, distended stomach.

Afterward, Trish sang Chuck’s favorite,
Amazing Grace
, and on the second verse, became so choked she fell silent for a full minute. Anne rose abruptly and fled the room, but not before I saw tears spiraling down her cheeks.

I swiped mine away and was relieved that Chuck, laid back in the La-Z-Boy, had his eyes closed, enjoying, soaking up the love and fun time with his family. Trish resumed her song and finished it, eyes glimmering with unshed tears.

All too soon, the day was used up. Chuck hugged us all ‘bye’ as Daddy prepared to take him back to Pinehurst Convalescent Home. We, too, piled into the VW for the long drive that would put us home near midnight, pulling out of the drive just before Daddy’s white Toyota. I craned to see my brother’s face, pressed to the car window watching me leave. I smiled and waved.

His wan face brightened and I saw the pale hand lift.

My brother. Myself.

My nervous stomach continued to plague me. One morning, I vomited.

It
can’t
be, I thought, wiping my face with wet washcloth, peering at my white face in the bathroom mirror. Terror seized me. I can’t be.

I spun away from my reflection and fled the idea.

A week later, I could no longer escape. Terror clutched at my gut.

“Kirk, I’m pregnant,” I blurted out as I washed dishes at the sink.

Kirk’s reaction baffled me. “It’s not – right,” he muttered, taking my arm to turn me, gazing at me with tortured eyes. “It’s not fair. Not now. Not when – ”

“What?” I asked stupidly, hurting that Kirk rejected our creation. Procreation, our children, had always been sacred. My world shifted and tilted. My fingernails bled as I clutched at meaning.

The flailing thing inside me grew more pronounced.

“You had such a difficult time with Dawn, Neecy,” Kirk reminded me softly, his hand running gently through my hair and cupping the back of my neck.

“I know,” I whispered, fear spiraling through me like crazy bursting balloons shooting in all directions. Ice water filled my belly and my head spun. I closed my eyes and felt Kirk’s lips brush mine, then his forehead sweetly mesh with mine as our breath mingled.

“Neecy,” his face lifted only a fraction, so that his eyes locked with mine, “I can’t –
can’t
let you risk your life again.”

I gazed at him, stunned. “Kirk – you don’t want me to...to have an abortion, do you?’

His eyes clouded with such agony, my breath caught. “I can’t let you go through that again.” His head rolled back and he groaned, “I feel like such a
heel,
letting this happen.”

“But Kirk – ” My eyes filled with tears of confusion. And gut-wrenching fear. “I can’t do that. I couldn’t live with myself – ”

His mouth went grim and his fingers closed around my arms like vises. “You might not live at all if you do.”

His quiet words exploded through me like glacial anacondas, slithering, choking, squeezing...plowing a path of panic. Its blast toppled me from my flimsy highwire, plunging me into instant, numb capitulation.

His hands rubbed my arms desperately. “Don’t you see, Neecy,” his moist, tormented eyes pleaded with me to understand, “
I can’t lose you.”

I was somewhere else. Not in me. I cannot explain how I became misplaced. How I became someone else reflected in Kirk’s eyes. In the coming week, I moved in a petrified trance. Kirk gathered Heather for family counsel. She surprised me by agreeing that she, too, was concerned about my going through another childbirth.

“Too, Mama, I wouldn’t be here to help you. I’ll be away at school next year.”

I wilted away a bit more.

Heather put her arms around me. “The main thing is – Mama...I don’t want anything to happen to you. We need you more than ever.”

I seemed to have ice water for blood. Panic attacks seized me between bouts of nausea.

Kirk arranged for me to see Dr. Temple, a Christian doctor. We went together for counsel. “Do you want to have this procedure?” my physician friend asked, having heard Kirk out.

I looked at him through a haze. “I – I can’t go through this again,” I spoke past dead lips.

Dr. Temple took my hand. “I understand Kirk’s fears. But it’s you I’m concerned about, Janeece. Because you’re the one who will live with this decision in years to come.”

I looked dully at him. I tried to make sense of the terror in me. Of my numbed heart. Of my non-functioning brain and code of ethics. Where
was I?

“I can’t face childbirth again, Dr. Temple.” I slowly shook my head, felt panic rise until I could barely breathe.
I can’t...I can’t...I can’t.

“There, there,” he soothed. “I’ll make the arrangements for you.”

“Please – ” I looked away. Shut my eyes tightly. “Make it as quickly as possible.” I couldn’t bear to know the little heart already beat inside me. Dear
God!
Why am I in this position? No matter what decision I made, I faced agony. Possible death. Somehow, I
knew.

I turned to look at Kirk. He was so certain. He wouldn’t lead me astray.

Kirk loved me.

“Make the arrangements, Dr. Temple,” I whispered, tears in my eyes.

I rushed from the room.

We told no one, save those close. Only once did I allow Cal to hold and comfort me. Gene and Trish drove down that terrible week just to be with us. Lend support.

“I’m behind you, Sis.” Trish, dear Trish, always
there.

“I understand,” Gene took my hand, then Kirk’s. “God understands.”

After that, I refused to discuss it. My body moved lethargically while my mind, a bizarre, mid-film video, repeatedly played that moment during Dawn’s delivery when death’s jaws locked about me, crushing the breath and life from me. Cocooned in sorrow’s opium, I’d survived, content to remain with or vacate earth.

Things had changed. No opium coated my raw nerves.
‘Things will only get worse with each pregancy, Janeece,”
came Dr. Jennings’ warnings to haunt me, “
you need to have your fallopian tubes tied before you leave the hospital.”

Now, anxiety curled and frayed my entrails. My emotions either sliced out the top of terror or checked out completely. Nighttime found me perched like an old crow on a gnarled, rotten limb, rocking and teetering toward an endless, bottomless pit. I dared not move lest I topple off.

My children
need me
.
My children need me.
The desperate litany held me there, safe.

No. Not safe.
Will I,
I wondered,
ever again feel safe?

Kirk daily, hourly checked on me, encouraged me that it was the right thing.

I loved him. Trusted him with my life. If Kirk said it was the right thing. It was.

“I can’t go any farther than here,” Kirk held me in his arms outside the clinic door. He stepped back, hands grasping my arms. “I wish I could do this for you, honey,” he whispered, tears in his eyes. His features were ravaged, as though carved by Da Vinci.

I took a deep breath and let it out on a long, sad sigh. “That’s life.”