Seventy-Two Hours (17 page)

“C’mon, Jen, the baby’s head is crowning.
You need to give me some good, strong pushes now to work this baby out,” Dr.
Steiner directed.

I wasn’t even in a position to push. I’d
sort of slouched to the side of the bed. “I’m tired.”

“I know you’re tired, babe, but you’ve done
such a good job so far and you have a little more to go,” Chris said softly
inches from my face. “You can do it. I’m here with you.” He squeezed my hand.

“I can’t do it anymore, Chris. I can’t. I’m
too tired.”

He accepted the cool washcloth again from his
mother. She was seated behind him. He began wiping my face gently with it.
His eyes searched my face. “I’ll help you sit up and we’ll do it together.”

The next contraction hit and I didn’t need
any help sitting up. As a matter of fact, I almost stood up in the stirrups.
Chris slid in behind me while I was forward. He put his legs on either side of
me and held me in position while rubbing my lower back. I had no choice but to
stay like that. It was a pretty slick move on his behalf.

I gave up dragging my feet. It wasn’t worth
it. I’d only managed to stretch the delivery time out. When the next
contraction hit, I took both of the handholds and pushed until my arms started
shaking and I needed a breath.

“That was great, Jen. Give me the same thing
on the next contraction,” the doctor encouraged.

And I did just that again and again until the
bright pink and squirming infant was placed on my chest. Chris cut the cord
and the nurse quickly wrapped him up and took him away. There were no longer any
doubts over his lung development. The baby screamed his head off.

The nurse returned with him swaddled tightly
in a receiving blanket. On his head was a jersey knit cap with the bottom
rolled up. He seemed to settle down for the first time since he’d been born when
I cradled his face under my chin and talked to him. The nurse smiled and made
the comment that he already knew who his mommy was.

Chris stroked our son’s plump cheek with the
tip of his index finger as he said, “Look at how perfect he is, Jen. He
doesn’t look like a preemie.”

“There’s nothing preemie about him,” the
nurse told us. “He weighs in at eight pounds seven ounces and measures twenty
inches long. He would have been huge given three more weeks.”

“Dear Lord,” I muttered at the prospect.

Chris gave me another peck on my forehead.
“Just think, the next one could be a ten pounder.”

“The next one?” I asked with wide eyes. “Now
may not be the best time to discuss that, Christopher. Not after getting
stitches somewhere I really don’t want to think about.”

“You’ll change your mind. We’ll try one more
time.”

I knew what he meant by his comment. He knew
I had wanted a girl this time around. Both of us did. We felt cheated from
the first time. But the idea of having another baby so close together wasn’t
immediately appealing to me. As it was, I’d have two in diapers at the same
time. Not easy. And I had my job to think about. I was the new teacher in my
former alma mater. I continually felt like I needed to prove myself.
Motherhood and career could prove to be a difficult juggling act and now
another ball had been thrown into the mix. Even though the baby was planned
this time, I hoped I could manage it all. The key was prioritizing and staying
organized. My mom helped when she could since Chris was always working late
through the week and often over the weekend.

No. For the time being, two was more than
enough. Chris would just have to accept it.

Present Day

“Jen.”

Crying oneself to sleep wasn’t a recommended
way to catch up on a lack of it no matter what the circumstances, I thought
while Chris gently shook me awake.

“What time is it?” I asked while keeping my
face tucked into the crook of my arm.

“Almost 12:30,” he answered softly. “I
didn’t know what to do. You probably didn’t sleep well last night so I knew
you were tired. On the other hand, I’m sure you want to leave sooner rather than
later.”

He was leaving out the more likely
possibility. He was
afraid
to disturb me. My earlier comment about
feeding him his balls must have stayed with him.

“Did you pack up everything already?”

“Uh, no. I was hoping to sit down with you
and talk about this most recent issue before we returned home. Carson mentioned
he may be home this evening and I’m sure neither of us want to air this
business in his vicinity.”

Most recent
issue. Holy Christ. Was he talking about adultery or our last
income tax return?

“Was I a good wife, Chris?” He didn’t answer
right away. “Chris, did you hear me?”

“I heard you,” he said on a sigh. “I can’t
believe you have to ask me that.”

I uncovered my face and rolled to my side to
find him kneeling beside the bed with his eyes intently on me. “No. Really.
I do. I have no problem telling you why I’m unhappy when you ask, so it would
be therapeutic to know what you think. That’s why I’m asking.”

He looked to his hand where it rested on his
bent knee. “You have been a wonderful wife. A wonderful mother.”

“Until April of this year or were there other
times I failed?” I asked and then added, “Of course, we can’t forget to mention
those three months after we lost the baby. I wasn’t a very good wife then
either.”

He took a seat on the floor using the dresser
for a back rest. “What happened when I was in college had nothing to do with
you. It just happened.”

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned from my
own behavior, it’s that it doesn’t
just
happen. You can claim drunken
weakness, but if you truly didn’t want it to happen, you could have stopped
it. But you didn’t. I wasn’t drunk with Steve and each time I knew it was
wrong, but it didn’t stop me.” I explained candidly.

“You’re purposely trying to provoke me.”

“Yes, I am. You’re right. I want you to be
honest with me,” I stated firmly. “At this juncture, don’t you think we owe it
to each other?”

Chris had his long legs stretched out in
front of him and they disappeared somewhere under my bed. His hands were laced
together and placed on his lap. And, apparently, were easier to look at than
it was to meet my eyes.

“When did it happen?”

He took a deep breath. “The weekend before
we went to New York.”

My heart seemed to skip in my chest as a dull
pain invaded it slowly. “I see.”

“I should have told you. I wanted to tell
you because it meant nothing and I was so ashamed with myself and the guilt was…
unbearable.”

“But you couldn’t because your
wonderful
wife
was battling depression and you were afraid of what she may do.”

“I decided it was in the best interest of our
marriage if I never told you.”

“Even afterwards?”

“I didn’t want to hurt you. Ever.”

“A lot of time has passed since those bad days.
You should have told me.”

He met my gaze. “You mean like the way you
came to me about him?”

I held his eyes and replied succinctly with,
“I planned on telling you this weekend. Only at home. It took that long to
build my courage up. The guilt was insufferable.”

“Do you know why I brought you here?”

“You were going for a Hail Mary pass. You
wanted to rekindle what was left of our relationship. It worked for you in New
York,” I said with a tight smile. “Only this time, it’s too late.”

He nodded. “That’s partly the reason. I
also brought you here to see the cottage. It’s for sale.”

“Why would that matter to us, Chris?”

“We’ve always had so much fun at the Palmer’s
with the boys. You love it here. I thought if we bought it, we could spend
more time away together, I’d have a chance to…” he trailed off and looked away
from my penetrating stare.

“Win me back?” I inserted for him. “I’m
afraid it’s too late.”

His mouth turned into an unpleasant snarl.
“We’re supposed to grow old together, Jen. The thought of you…with…anyone
else…you may as well eviscerate me. It would be less painful.”

“Don’t worry. You managed to give me a taste
of my own medicine last night. I guess that’s why they say the truth hurts.
The only thing is, you’ve carried that secret all this time and yet you still
treated me as the only one breaking our marriage vows.”

“It didn’t mean anything.”

“I’ve said the same thing.”

“It’s different and you know it.”

“No, it really isn’t.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Hypocritical man talk.”

“Do you know why it’s different?” he asked as
he got to his feet so quickly I almost missed the action.

I sat up. Ready to defend myself if need
be. “I’m curious.”

His finger was in my face. “Because I can
honestly say that the entire time she was getting me off, I was pretending it
was you. You were my fantasy woman that night. It’s always been you,” he said
with all the bluster in the beginning that quickly went to a softer tone by the
end. “I missed you so much. I couldn’t go from having you whenever I wanted
to not having you at all. When we lost the baby, I lost you. You shut
everyone out.”

“I’m sorry my depression made you cheat,” I
said facetiously.

“That’s not what I meant! Damn it! That’s
not what I said!” he yelled vehemently.

I swung my legs off the bed and stood up to
go toe to toe with him. That was when my sock-covered toes actually made
contact with his solid hiking boot and stars came into my line of vision. I
cursed wildly while hopping around on one foot.

Chris took hold of my shoulders to steady me.
“What are you doing?!?”

“I stubbed my motherfucking toe on your goddamn
bed last night. You know, when you scared the hell out of me with your noises
from the porch while you were getting shitfaced?” I yelled hotly.

Chris pushed me back to the bed and forced me
to take a seat. He gave me a quelling look when I began to argue. I held my
tongue.

“Give me your foot,” he ordered as he knelt
in front of me.

I hesitated, scowling at him long enough to
make him grab it and basically force it up on his own. He pulled my ankle sock
off and inspected my toes.

“I think it’s broken,” he stated with
conviction.

I tried pulling it away. “No. It’s just
sore.”

He touched the tip of my middle toe, wiggled
it a little causing me to almost launch myself off the bed as I cursed like a
sailor again. “Jen, it’s grotesquely bruised and swollen.”

“It’s a sprain. Now let go of my damn foot,”
I hissed.

But Chris wasn’t intimidated by my tone.
“Let me just move it again to make sure.”

I whipped my foot away. “That doesn’t prove
anything, you jackass! A sprain is going to hurt like a son-of-a-bitch, too.
Jesus!”

Chris took a deep breath steeling himself up
for his next move. He was up, reached for my waist, and took a hold of me. If
he thought I was
in the mood
, he was sorely mistaken. I told him so.
Despite my protests and flailing arms (some of the flailing making decent
contact with his body,) he lifted me up into a fireman’s hold and carried me
out of the room and down the stairs. It would have been impressive if I wasn’t
so pissed.

Once we arrived on the first floor, he
grabbed his keys without struggling with his load, and announced, “I’m taking
you to the emergency room.”

“Noooo! For God’s sake, Christopher! Put me
down!”

It was ridiculous really. I told him that.
I told him it was a complete waste of time, but he insisted with such intensity,
I simply settled into the passenger seat and kept my mouth closed until we arrived
at Schuyler Hospital. I refused to be carried in and made my way to the ER limping
along in my socks. The heat from the blacktop probably giving the bottoms of
my feet second degree burns with each blistering step.

My anger didn’t abate while I sat for nearly an
hour and half waiting to be seen. When the middle-aged, female physician
finally arrived, she greeted me with an introduction and an apology. Chris was
an unwanted spectator. I told him several times to stay in the waiting area.
He refused even though I told him I didn’t need him. Ever. His intrusion
between doctor and patient went even further when he took it upon himself to
answer the physician’s question about how it happened.

First, my husband laughed heartily capturing
the woman’s attention and then he offered, “Well, you see, Dr. Kingsley,” he
paused before clapping me on the back good naturedly, “She was so excited to
join me in the master bedroom last night, she rushed in and stubbed her toe. I
think it’s broken and needs medical attention, but my wife didn’t want to spend
time in the ER because it would detract away from our
special
weekend.”
He then stroked my arm while giving me a devilish wink. “Right, muffin?”