Finding Bliss (21 page)

“Please continue,” I said.

“Then he stormed out of the room, screaming obscenities at me, and I followed him to the kitchen where he grabbed a knife from the butcher block and shoved it in the drywall next to the stove. His face was beet red, and I actually believed he might hurt me or the kids that night.”

Although I continued questioning her for another hour, I was confident that we’d established our case. After an additional thirty minutes of cross-examination, the judge called for a short recess.

I walked back to the table and sat down with Robert and Melinda. She was red-eyed and weepy, and had lost fifteen pounds from her already slim frame since we’d started the divorce proceedings. I squeezed her hand, and we sat in silence while the judge put her reading glasses on, gathered a small stack of documents, and disappeared into her chambers. The only sounds came from someone coughing a few rows behind us. Half an hour later, Blake’s attorney and I rose as the judge walked back in to give her ruling.

“The court finds that Melinda Anderson testified credibly regarding the negative effects of her and her husband jointly occupying the marital residence during the pendency of this litigation. I agree with Dr. Whalen’s conclusion that the bird-nesting arrangement has caused unnecessary stress and tension for everyone, and that Mrs. Anderson’s well-being and safety may be in jeopardy.” The judge removed her glasses and looked at Blake before continuing. “Further, given the testimony of both parents and the court-appointed evaluator, I’m ordering Mr. Anderson to complete a twelve-week parenting workshop. Effective immediately,” she said and let her comment hang there for a moment.

Afterward, Melinda gave Robert and me a hug. “I can’t thank you enough, both of you. My kids will finally be able to have some peace,” she said.

“I’m happy that it worked out. You’re free to have the locks changed at your earliest convenience,” I told her, and she nodded. “Robert and I have to get back to the office, but we’ll check in with you soon about the next steps.”

Robert and I shared a cab back to the office. “It was nice to see her get some relief,” he said to me.

“It is.”

“With Madison pregnant, it really puts things into perspective. I’ve sat through countless numbers of these things, but with my
own kid on the way, it’s all the more unbelievable to see people using their children as pawns like that. God forbid Madison and I ever get divorced, but you have my permission to kick my ass if I ever do anything remotely unforgivable.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll do more than kick your ass,” I assured him. “How is she doing?”

“Great, really good,” he said. “And how about you? Am I allowed to ask about the IVF stuff?”

I smiled. “You are allowed. I’m getting knocked up in three days, actually.”

“That’s awesome, Chloe. I know it’s going to work.”

“You do?” I laughed. “Thank God, someone does; can you tell my eggs that?”

“I’d be happy to,” he said as we paid the cab driver and entered our office building.

T
hree days later, Tyler and I were back at the clinic. Me on my back with a catheter, and Tyler perched next to a monitor as Dr. Wilder injected two fertilized eggs back inside of me.

“Consider yourself pregnant,” he said.

I shot him a look of surprise. “Really?”

“Well, what I mean is that you should act like you’re pregnant. No alcohol, get moderate exercise, take your vitamins—things like that.”

As if I knew what it was like to be pregnant. Wasn’t that why I was there, legs splayed for him? I rolled my eyes and laid my head back down on the white paper.

“We’ll have you come back in one to two weeks to do a blood test. Until then, I would stay away from the in-home pregnancy tests as they tend to be very misleading with both positive and negative results.”

“Okay,” I said, but I’d already planned on peeing on them all weekend.

Tyler and I left the office, holding hands with high hopes. Then we went home and lit the candles.

When I was young and my prayers were consistently ignored, I quickly grew tired of religion. But since Tyler’s parents were staunch Catholics, I had taken it upon myself to create a new relationship
with God—one that I could turn to in situations that required divine intervention.

About a week after my transfer, I was driving home from the train station when I passed a church on a street that I had driven down a hundred times before. I stopped in front of Saint Francis. It was eight o’clock at night, but the front doors were wide open. Something inside me told me to go inside and pray.

I approached the entrance tentatively, not wanting to disturb any services that might be going on, but once I entered the foyer, there was pure silence. I walked through another set of double doors into the nave. I stood alone at the end of the aisle and marveled at the church’s splendor. The large altar looked as though it had been prepared for the next service with wine and communion set on top. Large stained-glass windows circled the room in hundreds of colors, depicting some of Christ’s joyful and most trying moments. I took a few steps and sat on the edge of one of the wooden pews for about five minutes before finally pulling down the padded bar near my feet and kneeling. Just as I was about to formulate something…anything to say, I felt a tap on my right shoulder.

“I’m so sorry to disturb you,” said a man in a black-and-white clerical collar.

I leaped to my feet, knocking my knee on the little built-in box that held the Bibles. “Oh, no bother, I was…the door was open, and I just came in for a second.” I stood and hovered over him. I instinctively slumped my shoulders and bent my knees once I became aware of his smaller stature.

“It’s no trouble, my dear,” he said, folding his hands in front of him. “I was only going to tell you that you are early. Tonight’s evening service was moved to nine o’clock to accommodate the youth group event. It’s their annual spaghetti dinner tonight.”

“Thank you, Father.”

“I’m Father John. Is there anything I can help you with?”

I sat back down and thought,
Here’s my chance
. My one-degree of separation from God. This man standing calmly before me had an “in” with possibly the only person, or deity, who—according to Dixie Reed—was necessary to help me achieve my dream of having a child. Instead of formulating an intelligent and thoughtful request, I did what I’d done that entire summer: I burst into tears.

Father John did not move a muscle as I wiped my face. I wanted to tell him that I wasn’t weak. That I was an accomplished and successful lawyer, and that he needn’t feel sorry for me—but I said nothing. Once I had composed myself, I moved over, and he joined me on the pew.

“I see you are not yourself,” he said. Maybe he did know me after all.

I took a deep breath. “My husband and I are trying to have a baby, and it’s been very hard on me, as you can see,” I started. “I must confess that I’m not much of a churchgoer, but something drew me in here today.”

“This is God’s house, open to everyone who needs it.”

“Thank you. I was going to say a prayer, but I wasn’t sure how to phrase it,” I told him. “Should I just ask for what I want? Like meeting Santa?”

Thankfully, Father John had a sense of humor. “There is no wrong way to pray,” he said, speaking in short, majestic statements.

I see you are not yourself.

This is God’s house, open to everyone who needs it.

There is no wrong way to pray.

Things he could’ve said to anyone for any reason, yet I felt intrinsically moved by his words.

I looked him in the eye and smiled as he stood.

“Tell God what’s in your heart. He is always with you,” he said and smiled. “Stay as long as you wish.” Father John turned and walked away toward the other end of the pew. Once I was alone again, I knelt and prayed.

Hey God,

Thank you for inviting me into your home. I know this is a little weird, well, maybe it’s not since Father John says you’re always with me…in which case, you probably know why I’m here. As you know, Tyler and I have been trying to have a baby and, well, that old-fashioned method you created hasn’t really worked out for us. So we’re now among the weary masses trying to conceive a child through science, and deep down I’m losing faith. My patience is nonexistent, and my hope is fading fast. I work with people who take their children for granted every day, which you also must know, and it’s getting harder and harder to do my job…which I love, by the way. There’s a new bitterness about me that I hate. I don’t want to cringe when I hear of other people’s pregnancies. I don’t want to judge other parents, waiting for my chance to do it better. I don’t want to wait any longer for my baby, and I don’t want to let Tyler down.

I’m sure I can’t just waltz in here and ask you for my baby, because if that were the case, I’d have to ask for world peace and a cure for cancer first. I guess what I’m asking for is some more strength. I need to be able to carry this burden, and it’s gaining weight with every day that passes. Please just equip me with what I need to get through this. As much as I want this baby, I want to be able to forge ahead and do whatever is in my power to make this possible for Tyler and me.

Thank you for listening. And last, I’m not above a little immaculate conception…just saying.

My phone rang as I was inching my way out of the pew. I silenced it immediately when I didn’t recognize the number on the
screen. When I got outside there was a new voice mail, so I pressed play.

“This message is for Chloe Carlyle Reed. This is Officer Gregory of the Florida State Police calling. We have your mother, Jane, in custody.”

I
ran to my car and dialed Officer Gregory’s phone number.

“This is Chloe Reed. I just got a phone call about my mother; can you tell me what’s going on?!” I shouted into the phone when he answered.

His voice was very methodical and void of inflection. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Reed. We responded to a call from the Publix grocery store on Collins Avenue earlier today. It appears that your mother was screaming obscenities at the cashier when the store manager intervened and called us. She then began threatening the manager once our officers arrived on the scene.”

I almost ran back inside the church yelling,
one more thing!

“Anyway,” he continued. “She’s calmed down considerably, but she’s going to need someone to come down to the Sunny Isles station and post bond.”

I closed my eyes and exhaled. “What’s she being charged with?”

“Disorderly conduct—it’s a misdemeanor, but she’ll need someone to come get her and pay a five-hundred-dollar bond. In cash.”

“Oh my God, okay, well, I live in Chicago, so I obviously can’t get down there. Let me call her caregiver and see what I can do. Can I at least wire the money to the station to cover the bond?”

“You’ll have to call the bond desk about that.”

“I don’t suppose you have their number?”

“Nope.”

I hung up with him and searched for Vivian’s number on my phone. She answered on the first ring.

“Vivian, oh thank God you’re home. It’s Chloe, Jane’s daughter, and I just got a call from the police station that Mom has been arrested.”

She gasped. “Oh no, Ms. Jane, no—what happened?”

“I guess she got belligerent with one of the cashiers at Publix…”

Vivian made a
tsk tsk
sound on the other end.

“Is something wrong?” I asked.

“I told her the women there were not talking bad about her, and she never believes me.”

I dropped my head back onto the headrest. Poor Vivian now had this to add to her list of things to manage when it came to my mother. “I’m going to wire the money to the station. Could you please get down there to pick her up? She has no one else, and I’d hate for her to have to jump in a cab after that ordeal.”

“Yes. I will get her and bring her a Diet Coke.”

I smiled. “Thank you, Vivian.”

Just as I hung up, I got a call from Tyler.

“Hi,” I answered.

“Where are you?”

“Sitting in my car outside the Saint Francis church—where I just had a heart-to-heart with God—and fielding calls about my mother’s arrest. You?”

“Your mother got arrested?”

“Yup,” I said, accentuating the
p
.

He sighed. “And you’re going to church now?”

I knew Tyler could see my own mental demise through the phone. “I have my blood test in a couple of days, and I thought I could use a little extra help.” I’d already taken twelve pregnancy
tests since the two eggs had been replanted in me. Eight were positive and four were negative. I confessed only two of them to Tyler.

“Come home,” he said.

Two days later I went back to the fertility clinic to get a blood test that would confirm whether I was pregnant.

“Okay,” the nurse said as she placed a cotton ball on my arm after removing the needle. “You’re all set. We’ll call you tomorrow with the results.”

“Who calls, you or Dr. Wilder? I heard the nurses call with bad news, and the doctors call with good.”

She laughed. “I’ve heard that, too, but I promise you that is not our policy. I can’t say who will call you, but you will definitely get a call either way.”

I hopped off the table. “Do you happen to know what time? Because I’ll be obsessing until I hear from someone.”

“I can’t say for sure, but we typically get the results back by noon. But don’t hold me to that.”

Back at the office, I threw myself into my work with a vengeance. I answered e-mails, ran two meetings, wrote two petitions, and even returned Kimberly James’s phone calls from the day before. I got home late that night and nearly burst into tears when I saw that Tyler had waited up and cooked dinner for me. Spaghetti with our favorite vodka cream sauce, an iceberg salad with Thousand Island dressing, and vanilla ice cream for dessert.

At ten the next morning, my cell phone rang. I looked away from my computer and saw THE CLINIC on my phone. My throat tightened.