Authors: Joy DeKok
She irked me, but the waiter arrived with our food before I could reply.
How can my mother gloat when my life is breaking apart?
Tiny pink shrimp nestled into a bed of greens with vinaigrette dressing on the side. Our politically correct lunch. No woman could be too thin or too powerful.
Eve sipped white wine while I gulped ice water. My empty stomach gurgled. We ate in silence. I finished first—I mean really finished. Only the olive oil I couldn’t get to coat my lettuce was left shimmering on the plate.
“You shouldn’t devour your food, Stacie. You are an adult—you don’t need to clean your plate. Manners are an important part of success in the political world. I trained you better than this.”
“It was a very small salad, and I was hungry.”
“A little self-control goes a long way. You do, however, look thinner. New diet?”
“No. I haven’t felt well lately.”
“Have you seen a doctor?”
Her little bit of concern undid me. Hope rose in my chest.
Maybe she really wants to know.
“I’m . . . recovering from an abortion.”
She stabbed a shrimp with her fork, and I jumped. “What do you mean recovering?”
“I hemorrhaged. It takes time to recover from the loss of blood, and I’m a little depressed.”
“When did you have it done?”
“A couple of weeks ago. I can’t sleep or focus at work. Mike is upset because I didn’t tell him before I went ahead with it.”
We talked about “it.” A nameless entity. A legal right shrouded in shame.
“I didn’t raise you to be weak and out of control. It’s a simple procedure. You need to get over it.”
“Did you ever have an abortion?”
“Of course not.”
Her sarcasm and disdain chafed me, but I couldn’t seem to stop confiding in her. “There’s more. I feel sad. Empty.”
“You need a change. A new job—a new place to live. A city with a pulse.”
“I need Mike.”
As soon as the words left my mouth, I trembled at the power they held over me. When I glanced at Eve, my trembling turned to shakes. I watched, fascinated, as she set her fork down beside her plate, wiped the corners of her mouth, and folded her napkin, placing it with exaggerated care beside her plate. I was secretly glad I’d breached her public facade. Her proper movements were an attempt to gain control of her surging anger.
“I knew it—you’re dependent on him,” she snarled still smiling just in case anyone who counted was watching.
“He’s my husband.”
“So? Women enjoy more opportunities to advance and grow than ever before. Why waste your life in a nowhere job with a nowhere and now absent man?”
“I love him.”
She waved a dismissive hand. “That will pass. There is no future for you here. Divorce is easy and quick. It will also put you in a unique position to understand the many women who, like you, are expanding their horizons beyond men.”
“Are all men a hindrance to women? Did your love for Dad pass?”
“No. Your father and I are fortunate to enjoy a different kind of relationship based on personal freedom.”
A waiter interrupted our discussion as he refilled my water glass. I waited until he moved away.
“I won’t stop loving Mike.”
I recognized the look on her face. I’d seen it in press conferences when a reporter asked a question she wanted to bypass.
“You can fly back to sign the divorce papers.”
Standing up, I somehow pulled on the ivory linen tablecloth. My goblet teetered, spilling ice and water over the edge. Eve looked at me, her fingers gracefully interlaced, her elbows anchoring the tablecloth.
“I didn’t agree to a divorce or the job. I don’t want either.”
“Quiet, Stacie,” she hissed, her professional smile still in place.
My voice had risen above the acceptable level of country club etiquette and the standard of public performance set by my mother. The room fell silent and heads turned toward us. Of course, Eve didn’t want her famous face connected with an emotional outburst or a clumsy daughter. She insisted on good press.
Our waiter appeared at my side. “Can I help you?”
Eve indicated the spilled water. “Please clean this up.” She frowned at me. “You are disrupting other people’s meals and embarrassing me. Sit down.”
My obedience was expected. Instead, I ignored her command, swung my purse onto my shoulder, and ran from the elegant room.
In my car, I took a few deep breaths, almost hoping she would follow me and make sure I was okay. I studied the stucco building I had once considered my second home. After tennis lessons or golf with Dad, he always bought me lunch there. Anything on the menu was mine for the asking.
Until today this place was a safe haven. Now it represented the court of my mother’s judgment and betrayal.
As I drove toward home where no one waited for me, I set my anger loose.
She never even asked why I hemorrhaged.
Can’t she be liberated, a senator—and my mother?
Who does she think she is?
Why isn’t it enough for her that I love Mike? I don’t fit into her perfect daughter mold. I’m more like Dad, but
I’m like her too.
I have a vision and passion, but that’s
never good enough for her.
What does she know about abortion anyway? It’s just an issue to her, but
it’s my reality. Why can’t I please her?
Why can’t she love me?
How can she judge me so harshly?
I became aware of my voice above the traffic and the wind blowing through my open window. Great. I hoped no one noticed me talking to myself. I could see the headlines in my mind: Senator’s Daughter Heard Ranting Alone in Her Car. I wondered how Eve would respond to that kind of press. Smoothly, I was sure.
My stomach growled as I approached Juan’s and I detoured into the drive-thru. I ordered a bean burrito and a large cola.
I wanted to talk to someone. Jonica? Maybe she’d understand, but then again maybe not. If the women who were supposed to be on my side didn’t, how could one from the other side? Perhaps no one could.
I pulled into a spot at the park and watched a solitary old man feed a demanding bunch of geese.
Thunder rolled in the distance. Emptiness and loneliness battled for first place in my heart.
Chapter
7
Jonica
The dreams exhausted me.
Sometimes the memory lingered in my mind all day.
I resisted going to bed. Instead, I’d pick up a new book to read, start watching a long movie, or get back to work on my current writing project.
Every day I begged,
please, not tonight!
Each night the dream started the same way. My tummy protruded, and so did my belly button. My skin was tight, and I couldn’t bend. Ben was somehow just out of sight, but his voice teased me about bursting at the seams.
Then a low backache, the gush of warm water down my legs, and an all encompassing pain took over the nightmare.
Next, without knowing how I got there, I was in a delivery room with my bare feet in stirrups, my body in a hospital gown, and a sheet draped around my knees. An urgency to push demanded my attention.
From behind the sheet Dr. Steele’s voice commanded, “Not yet, Jonica. Don’t push. Breathe.”
There were people all around me. I listened to them, but they never came into view. Ben’s gentle voice encouraged me through breathing exercises as another tidal wave of pain hit.
Finally Dr. Steele said, “Push now.”
I pushed with all my might—so hard my teeth and jaw hurt.
“The head is out. Take a deep breath. Now, Jonica! We’ve got to get the shoulders through. Push. Push. Push.”
I obeyed, bending forward until my chin touched my knees. Things happened fast then. The child left my body, and so did the pain. Someone wrapped the infant and handed it to Ben, who finally came into view as he carried the baby to me.
This was the only place the dreams varied. Some nights I “delivered” a girl, others a boy. I saw their faces, counted their fingers and toes. The healthy cry ended when he or she began to seek nourishment. I felt the tug and sting on my breast and woke up.
The moment my eyes opened, grief washed over me. These pains and the wonder of bringing a new life into the world would always be a mystery to me.
My womb remained hollow.
Stacie
The nightmares left me quaking.
They were always the same. Each evening I sought a new diversion—anything to avoid sleep.
I heard myself say to an empty room, “Please, not tonight.”
Inside the dream, a baby’s scream woke me. I wiggled my feet into my slippers. A strange hazy light flooded the hallway, making all the edges blurry. As I walked toward the crying it began to get softer and farther away. Someone was taking the baby—my baby.
My feet stumbled as my terror grew. The pounding of my heart echoed off the walls, making it even harder to hear my baby’s cries.
In the center of the room where I was sure the cries came from stood a crib. It felt as though I walked in slow motion as I struggled to get there in time.
A blanket rested inside the crib. It looked like it was wrapped around a small body. I saw my hand pull back the soft covering.
It was empty. Except for the stains. Blood—lots of blood.
In the dream, I heard myself cry out, “No!”
My voice woke me. My cheeks were wet with tears. I clutched the sheet so tight my hands ached.
I’d never been aware of my womb. Now suddenly that vacant place was in my thoughts day and night.
Chapter
8
Jonica
For weeks after the Bible study incident, anger kept us home from church. Janice called and left several messages, but I ignored them.
On Sundays we lounged around, watched TV preachers, and then went out for dinner late so we missed the church crowd. And we were crabby with each other.
“Maybe we should look for a new church,” I suggested.
“Do you think there is a place where all the people understand what it’s like not to be able to have children?” Ben asked from behind the Sunday paper.
“No.”
“Has sulking helped us?”
“No.”
He continued to read as I pouted.
Why is he so ornery with me? Since when did all this become my fault?
Finally he got up and tossed me the comics. “Maybe these will perk you up.”
“Me? It’s you who’s in such a bad mood.” I snapped the paper up in front of my face as he climbed the stairs. “Where should we go for lunch?” I asked his disappearing back.
“Nowhere, if you don’t cheer up. It’s bad enough staying home with a grump—I don’t want to go out with one.”
I fumed.
Me a grump? Right. He’s the champion grouch!
Upstairs, as if to cancel out my silent complaint, I heard Ben start the hot water for a shave, singing, “I’ve got a tiger by the tail it’s plain to see . . .”
When I heard the shower spray begin, I stomped upstairs. Making the bed, I took my frustrations out on the sheets and comforter. I yanked and smoothed everything into place. Then I got out a clean pair of jeans and a white T-shirt, and looked in my jewelry box.
The light shone on my mother-of-pearl earrings. Ben had given them to me as our first just-because-I-love-you present. Picking them up, I admired the silver setting. The hard spot in my heart melted just as Ben turned off the water.
Rats! I
cannot
stay mad at my man.
I waited outside the bathroom door. When Ben opened it, I grabbed him in a bear hug around his waist.
“Do you love me that much or do you want to go out to eat?”
I looked into his eyes feeling a surge of defiance I hoped he’d translate as bold flirting. “Both.”
When I turned away, he swatted me with his towel. “Hurry—I’m starved.”
We drove to a little café on the river. After ordering hamburgers and shakes, Ben reached across the table for my hand.
“It’s time to go back to church. We can go to the first service, and you can choose a different Bible study.”
“I know.”
“What? No argument?”
“No, I don’t want to be a victim anymore.”
“I also want to stop by Natalie and Dave’s house. I miss the boys. I miss my sister and brother-in-law.”
“I know. But . . .”
“What?”
“How do we do this? How can Natalie and I understand each other?”
“You can’t. But you can both choose to be kind. You don’t even have to like each other. But I need you to be nice and treat her with respect. So do the boys.”
“I know.”
Ben raised an eyebrow. “This is too easy. What’s really on your mind?
Tears welled up in my eyes. “The boys are so special to me. I long to love them and be loved by them. I want Natalie to let us be part of their lives. I need her to understand I don’t want her boys in my life as substitute sons, I want them to be my nephews. I’m still scared of her judgment, but I’m more afraid of not having Jeremy and Kevin in my life. I want to be the best Aunt Joni I can be!”
Ben called his sister on his cell phone. She agreed it was time for us to see each other.
When Dave opened the door, Natalie peeked out from around him and said, “Hi guys.”
Her unkind words echoed in my mind, but I could see that she was scared too.
Lord, help me choose not to be angry anymore.
Before I could say anything, Jeremy and Kevin ran to us for hugs.
“Please can we go to your house and play computer and stay overnight?” Jeremy begged, shifting from one foot to the other.
“Please?” Kevin echoed.
Dave pulled his wife from behind him and held her at his side. “Give them a break, guys. Let them get in the house before you take them away again.”
Natalie hung onto Dave’s shirt the same way Kevin held onto her purse strap in the stores—for dear life.
“I miss your hugs,” I told Natalie. “I think I’m way overdue.”