Blessed Are the Wholly Broken (7 page)

“I hadn’t known about the miscarriages,” Brian repeated, “but now that I do, a lot of things make sense. Anna didn’t look well when I came to see you. Difficult pregnancy, you said, but even at the time I thought it was more than that. She must have been exhausted, Phil. Three pregnancies in such a short time, not to mention the heartbreak. I wish I’d known. I wish you had told me.”

She was exhausted, yes, and quietly sad. I had not known how to comfort her. It was a very trying time, and though we hadn’t known it, the worst was still to come.

“We didn’t see the point in telling anyone about the miscarriages,” I said. “Our families knew, of course, but no one else did. Anna was private, you know that. She had been through so much; we both just wanted to put it behind us the best we could and move forward.”

“And then Jeffrey,” he said.

“Yes. And then Jeffrey.”

“Not now, Phillip,” he said, and I looked at him, noting for the first time how worn he seemed. He sat across from me, elbows on the table, hands cradling his face. An image flashed through my mind, a picture of a much younger Brian standing with elbows propped on the fence enclosing the practice field. He had done that often our sophomore year, watched his old teammates practice without him.

In the beginning they’d come over to speak with him, invite him to join them after practice, but after a while they moved on, leaving Brian to watch them alone. It must have been hard, I reflected, being left behind. But Brian never spoke of it, and by our junior year he no longer haunted the practice field.

Something in his expression as he regarded me across the scuffed table reminded me of that time. Maybe it was because in both instances he’d lost what he’d come to regard as family.

Brian hadn’t wanted to speak of his loss back then, and he didn’t want me to speak of it now. He didn’t want me to speak of Jeffrey.

“I’ll come tomorrow,” he said, standing. “I just need some time to think about all this, Phil. It hasn’t sunk in; it’s too much.”

I nodded. “Will you see Peter?”

“Of course. And I’ll do some checking, look into a lawyer for you.”

I stood as he hoisted his briefcase and motioned for the guard. “We’ll get through this, Phil,” he said. “We’ll figure it out.”

That was Brian, aligning himself with me as he always had. I watched him go before the guard snapped the cuffs back on and led me away. Truthfully, at that moment I didn’t see how Brian could help me; he looked as lost as I felt.

When the by-now-familiar symptoms presented again, just a few short weeks after Anna’s second miscarriage, we agreed to tell no one. We didn’t want to get our families’ hopes up again only to have them dashed, but it was more than that. We also didn’t want to have to make that terrible phone call again, the one signifying the end of everything. The second time had been painful enough; I couldn’t imagine a third.

There was no joy in the pregnancy those first months. I know how that must sound, but by that point we had already accepted Anna would not carry to term. Whereas in the past we’d made plans to decorate the nursery, this time we made plans for the inevitable trip to the hospital. Anna kept a small overnight bag packed and in the car, not in anticipation of a midnight trip to the hospital to meet our new baby, but because the previous two times I’d had to return home for a change of clothes lest Anna take leave of the hospital wearing the same bloody clothes in which she’d arrived.

As with the previous two pregnancies, Anna was horribly sick the first couple of months. Because of her history, the doctor had her scheduled for a checkup every two weeks, but while she dutifully went, she refused to discuss the severity of her nausea with the doctor. “What’s the point, Phillip? They’ll tell me to drink plenty of fluids and rest. We both know what’s going to happen. By the third month I’ll feel better. And then it’ll all be over.”

At ten weeks, as she approached the time her previous pregnancies had ended, they conducted an ultrasound. While I could just make out the steady flutter of our baby’s heart, Anna refused to look. “I don’t want to get attached to a baby I’ll never meet,” she said, and she turned her face to the wall.

This was a new Anna, one I’d not previously met. I was alarmed by the bitterness in her voice, but at the same time, I understood. After all, I’d had the same thoughts. What bothered me most was Anna’s quiet anger towards me, yet I understood that, too. I was the one who had impregnated her; therefore, I was the one responsible for the upcoming heartbreak.

She was distant from me, and if I’m honest, I have to admit I was somewhat relieved by her coolness. I had no idea how to comfort her. It was an awful situation; I felt guilty about her pregnancy, worried for her health, terrified of the aftermath, and unable to fix any of it. We were quiet those first months, circling each other in a holding pattern of sorts, both fully expecting a tragic ending somewhere ahead, but unable to predict exactly when it would occur.

This is the shape Brian found us in when he finally chose to visit. We weren’t expecting him; it had been several months since he and I had spoken, not since my trip with Anna to Lookout Mountain. Anna was asleep when he arrived; she slept a lot in those days. She was not teaching any classes that quarter; she had arranged for some time off even before finding she was pregnant again. Most mornings she was still in bed when I left, and most evenings I found her on the couch with a blanket when I returned. I did not begrudge her the rest, nor did I begrudge her the mental escape sleeping provided.

I was outside walking the perimeter of our property early in the morning before leaving for work. We had some fences that needed mending; kids from down the road had taken advantage of the openings to four-wheel on our land, and I planned to stop and buy the needed materials on my way home at the end of the day. I’d just stood from measuring a crossbeam when I saw the flash of sun on glass and squinted to see Brian’s sleek sedan turning off the main road. He wound his way up the long driveway, and I walked across the field to join him. I was always happy to see Brian, but that morning, watching him unfold himself from the car and turn in my direction, I nearly had to restrain myself from galloping across the lawn. So glad was I to see him it didn’t immediately register that Sylvie wasn’t with him. Sylvie had played such a small part in our lives I’d nearly forgotten that she
should
be.

“Brian,” I held out my hand for our customary shake and he grasped it, pulling me in for a quick slap on the back. “Where’s Sylvie?”

“Eh,” he said, with a shrug. “She left. Abdicated the marriage, as it were. Decamped, renounced, apostatized. I know, that’s a good one, isn’t it? Apostatized.” He held up a hand as I started to speak. “It’s all good, Phillip. It was a mistake from the beginning.”

“Come on inside and fill me in.” I looked at my watch. “Do you not have to work today?” It was a Wednesday morning, one I would remember forever, as it turned out.

“I took a few days off,” he said. “Going to head up to Kentucky Lake for a few days, camp, do some fishing. Some of the stuff I’ve missed. I just wanted to stop by on the way, let you guys know what’s going on. I wasn’t sure I’d catch you, but I thought if I made it early enough you might not have left for work yet.”

“Hold that thought while I get us some coffee,” I said, leading him to the porch. He stopped at the swing, and I hurried inside, glancing in the bedroom to see Anna still asleep. I grabbed a couple of mugs out of the cabinet and filled them from the pot, black for Brian, I remembered, and sugar for me. I placed a quick call to the lab and begged off for the day, citing illness as the reason, and then returned to the porch. In typical Brian fashion, he was in the swing, kicking it nearly high enough to touch the porch ceiling with the toes of his hiking shoes on the upswing.

“If you don’t mind me saying, you don’t look exactly heartbroken.” I held a mug towards him and he dragged his feet across the porch, bringing the swing to a stop.

“It’s a relief, Phil.” He took a sip from the cup, and then glanced around the yard. “Where’s Anna?”

“Still sleeping.” I lowered myself to the steps and leaned against a porch column.

“Asleep? This late in the morning? What’s wrong with her?”

“Nothing, she’s just tired,” I said, and then changed the subject. “So tell me what happened.”

“It’s not so much that anything happened,” he said. “More that it didn’t. We just didn’t fit, you know? We tried; we really did. She’s a great lady. She deserves someone who can love her the way she needs to be loved.”

“That’s very generous of you,” I said, blowing the coffee to cool it. It was wonderful to be sitting outside with my buddy, drinking coffee on a beautiful fall morning. For a moment, I could almost put the last year behind me.

“I’m a generous kind of guy,” he said, smiling. “It really is okay, Phil. Kind of like correcting a mistake I shouldn’t have made in the first place. Now I just feel the need to catch up on all the stuff I missed the last few years. Like you guys.” He slurped at his coffee, looked over at me. “Don’t you have to go to work?”

“I just called in. It was time for a day off, anyway.”

“You didn’t have to do that, Phil. I didn’t mean to disrupt your day.”

“Well, from a purely selfish standpoint, it’s really good to have both of you here,” said Anna, and we looked over to see her standing by the screened-in storm door. Her hair was disheveled and her old MSU t-shirt hung loosely on her thin frame, but as soon as I saw her, I knew something had changed. It wasn’t just that she was smiling; it was more than that. It was that the smile looked real.

Brian stood as she walked onto the porch, enveloping her in a bear hug. She held onto him a second longer than usual, and he looked over at me with a slight frown. I responded with a quick shake of the head.
Don’t ruin the moment
, I wanted to say.
You have no idea how rare that smile is these days.

He turned his attention back to Anna. “Why so skinny?” he asked, pulling back to look at her. “Are you okay?” He turned to me before she could answer. “Is she okay? This isn’t our quirky little philosopher.” Then back to Anna, “What’s going on, Socrates? Why are you so pale?”

I tensed, ready to jump in with a lie, but Anna was looking at me, and she was still smiling. I found myself smiling back, and as I did, a massive weight fell from my shoulders. She was going to tell him. We weren’t going to be alone in this anymore.
I
wasn’t going to be alone in this anymore.

“I’m pregnant,” she said with a shrug and a grin. “Fourteen weeks.”

“Oh, my God!” Brian grabbed her in another hug and swung her around before rethinking his reaction. “Oh, no. I’m sorry. Sorry, sorry, sorry.” He set her gently back on her feet and smoothed her hair. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

“I’m fine, Brian,” Anna laughed, and I relaxed, thinking through the words she’d spoken. Fourteen weeks, she’d said, longer than we’d previously made it, two weeks past the dangerous first trimester. I’d been so caught up in worry I’d lost track of time. I looked at her, a silent question in the air between us.

She crossed the porch and bent to kiss me on the mouth. “Do you know what today is?” she asked, whispering in my ear. I shook my head, pulling away to look at her. “It’s the day we have our second ultrasound. I didn’t put it on the calendar. I didn’t want to think about it, in case…well, you know. But I think we’ve made it this time, Phillip. I really think we have.”

“What are you two whispering about over there?” Brian called from his seat on the swing. “And what kind of service is this, anyway?  I need more coffee, and you two have clearly had enough time alone,” he said, with a knowing glance at Anna’s stomach. “Don’t you have any food around here?  Did I mention my wife left me? Seems like the least you could do is feed me. Obloquious treatment, I tell you. I expected better.”

Obloquious. I had no idea what the word meant, but, dear God, it was good to see Brian.

Thanksgiving that year dawned gray and misty, the kind of Tennessee weather that chills to the bone. That chills most people, I should say. Anna was hot.

“He’s like a little furnace,” she said, cracking her window open to the damp morning and fiddling with the air vents. We were on our way to the Tyler home in Munford, and Anna seemed intent on freezing me before we made it.

“In that case, can I borrow him?” I asked. “If you’re going to keep trying to turn me into a snowman, I need a furnace of my own.”

Anna glanced over at me and smiled. “Sorry, babe. He took long enough to get here. I’m keeping him with me as long as I can.”

“Then I hope your parents won’t mind if I soak in a hot bath when we get there. It might be the only way to thaw out my feet.” The only thing I hated more than cold, wet weather was cold, wet feet. “What?” She was staring at me with a bemused expression.

“You’re cute when you whine,” she said. “It brings out your inner Keats.”

“My inner what?”

“Keats. You know,
Ode on Melancholy
. ‘Drown the wakeful anguish of the soul,’ and all that.”

“More than my soul will be drowning if you don’t roll up that window,” I grumbled. “It’s raining.”

“Misting,” she corrected, but she rolled the window partway up with a sigh. “What do you think about Keats?” she asked.

“Can’t say as I think anything at all about him,” I said, setting the thermostat on warm and pointing all the vents at me. “I barely remember studying him. Wasn’t he the one who wrote all the odes?”

She nodded. “He wrote a few. I seem to remember something about a Grecian urn. But I guess what I’m asking is, what do you think about his take on melancholy?”

I searched my memory. “Was he the one who thought it was a natural part of life?”

“Sort of,” she said. “He thought joy and sadness went hand in hand. You couldn’t experience joy if you hadn’t experienced sadness.”

“Makes sense,” I said. “But why do you ask? I’m the melancholy one in this relationship.”

“You do have your darker moments, don’t you? But I don’t know if I’d say you’re the only one.”

I squeezed her hand, the one I was holding across the seat. “It’s been a tough time, hasn’t it?” She nodded, and I continued. “But maybe that’s all past us now. Maybe the future is smooth sailing.”

She squeezed me back. “If Keats was right,” she said, “we’re due some joyful days.”

Although Anna had struggled through the early weeks of the pregnancy, she’d seemed to rally with the first trimester safely behind us. We were still cautious, even superstitious, as if we were afraid of jinxing the pregnancy by fully acknowledging it. We hadn’t painted the nursery or bought a baby bed, nor had we discussed names.

But we had finally told our families, and they were waiting on the Tyler porch as we turned into the driveway. I raised Anna’s hand to my mouth for a quick kiss. “Showtime,” I said, and Anna took a deep breath.

“Maybe we shouldn’t have told them yet,” she said. “I don’t want to disappoint them again.”

“You are never disappointing,” I said, and reached over to hold her chin, forcing her to look at me. “We’ve had some bad luck, but that’s over now. These people are here to celebrate, so bring your belly along and let’s introduce them to the guest of honor. Okay?”

“Okay,” she said, “just as long as he doesn’t try to make an actual appearance.”

Several things were memorable about that Thanksgiving. It was the first Thanksgiving Anna’s family and mine had spent together under the same roof, a circumstance that was driven by news of Anna’s pregnancy. We’d told them just the week before and Anna’s mother had proposed a joint holiday-slash-baby-celebration. She volunteered the Tyler home because it was the bigger of the two, and my mother assisted by bringing several dishes and arriving early to help with preparations.

Our families had always gotten along well. In some strange way Mr. Tyler’s incessant worrying seemed calmer in the presence of my own boisterous father, possibly because Dad’s noisy opining left no opportunity for introspection. Our mothers were more similar than different, and I often thought if they weren’t both so introverted, they might have developed a friendship over the years. Although neither was outgoing enough to advance their relationship, they did seem to enjoy the few occasions our families were lumped together.

It was also one of the few holidays we spent without Brian. He’d been invited, of course; he’d remained close to both our families through the years, and I suspected Mr. Tyler still credited him with keeping Anna safe during the months we shared that old apartment in Memphis. He’d planned on coming, right up until the last minute when he got a call from a hospital in a town outside of Nashville. His mother had been admitted in an advanced stage of kidney failure; she was not expected to make it.

Brian had initially been ambivalent about going. “I know she raised me,” he’d said when he called to give me the news, “but is that enough? I mean, there’s a difference between being raised, and being raised right.”

“Don’t you think you’ll regret it if you don’t go?” I asked. “It’s your last chance, Brian. You don’t want that weighing on your conscience.”

“You may be right,” he said, “but I’m angry. I’ve always been angry with her. She basically left me to raise myself while she was out partying, and look where that’s gotten her. Now she wants to be with me. That’s all I wanted as a kid, you know. To have her want to stay home with me instead of going out to bars with people she called friends. And you know what, Phillip?”

I waited without answering, letting him work through the anger.

“Ten to one she’d still be out partying if she were strong enough to get out of the damn bed.”

From what little he’d told me, I suspected he was right. “You’re not going for her, Brian,” I told him. “You’re going for you, so you’ll know in the end you did the right thing, regardless of her history of always doing the wrong one.”

“Damn, Phil,” he said. “If you put it that way, I guess I have to go.” So he did, booking a short flight out of Memphis and promising to call us with an update when he got a chance.

The only pall over the holiday was, not surprisingly, created by Cathy. She, too, was missing in action, but she hadn’t bothered with a phone call to explain her absence. To make matters worse, her cell phone was apparently off, and she hadn’t responded to any of her mother’s messages. Whereas Mrs. Tyler’s imagination naturally jumped to the worst of conclusions, Anna was more pragmatic.

“This isn’t the first time she’s done this, Mom. She’s probably sleeping, or she just forgot to charge her phone. I’m sure she’ll show up soon.” If she resented her younger sister upstaging her on what was supposed to be a celebration of our baby, she didn’t show it, no doubt used to it by then. “You finish mashing the potatoes,” she told her mother, drying her hands on a dishtowel, “and I’ll try to reach Cathy.”

Cathy answered on the first ring, as if expecting the call, and Anna stepped onto the back porch to continue the conversation. Not five minutes later she was back, going to stand beside her mother at the counter and placing an arm around her shoulders. “She said she’s not feeling well,” Anna told her. “She thinks she may be feverish, and she doesn’t want to take a chance around me and the baby. She said to eat without her and she’ll stop by this evening for leftovers after we’re gone.”

“Well, now, that was thoughtful of her,” said Mrs. Tyler. “Poor thing. There’s a bug going around; one of the ladies at church missed Bible study because of it. I’ll save her a plate for later.”

Anna patted her mother’s back before coming to lean against the counter beside me. “She also said I’d have plenty of people fawning over me without her contribution,” she whispered, out of range of her mother’s hearing.

“Seriously?”

“That’s what she said.”

“Good Lord,” I replied. “That’s ridiculous. Do you think that’s the real reason she isn’t coming?”

“Could be,” said Anna. “She doesn’t like not being the center of attention.”

“I’m sorry, Anna.” I pulled her close for a hug. “Don’t let it bother you; it isn’t worth it.”

“It doesn’t bother me, really,” she said. “It’s actually kind of a relief. At least we know no one will throw the turkey against the wall this year.”

I hadn’t heard that story before, but dinner was announced before I could ask for details. Surrounded by the hubbub of family and the temptation of food, my curiosity was soon forgotten. I took my seat between Anna and Mrs. Tyler and gazed around the table. Next year, I found myself thinking, the seating arrangements would be different. Our baby would be nine months old by then. I looked at Anna, beside me, engrossed in conversation with my mother. Next year, we’d have a high chair between us. Our son would be the center of attention. I’d gently scold him not to smear the mashed potatoes in his hair while our parents laughed, and Anna took pictures.

“What are you smiling about?” Mrs. Tyler’s question brought me back to the present.

“I was imagining having a nine month old baby at the table,” I said, somewhat sheepishly.

She laughed. “I’ve been doing that all day,” she said, “thinking, ‘Next year, he can lick the beaters,’ or, ‘I wonder if he’ll like pumpkin pie?’ I was even thinking we’ll have to buy a playpen so he can have a safe place to nap. We’ll put it in the spare bedroom off the kitchen so he won’t be too far away from us.”

“And a high chair,” I said. “We’ll have to get one. We haven’t really bought anything yet, because we wanted to be sure….” I didn’t finish the thought.

“None of that, now,” said Mrs. Tyler. “All that’s behind us.”

“I hope you’re right,” I said, glancing at Anna. “I don’t think she could take it happening again.”

Mrs. Tyler followed my gaze. “How’s she doing?” she asked, lowering her voice.

“I think she’s okay,” I said. “Cautious, but okay. We still haven’t gotten the nursery ready, but she did mention the other day that she was thinking about a jungle theme. She finally told her coworkers about the baby just yesterday. They want to plan a shower for her, of course, and she hasn’t said ‘no.’ I think she’s starting to let herself believe it’s actually going to work out.”

“Well, good,” she said. “But keep an eye on her, Phil.” She leaned closer. “I had some trouble myself, you know.”

This was news to me. “What do you mean?”

She leaned so close she was nearly whispering in my ear. “I had a miscarriage, too, before Anna. I was scared to death when I got pregnant with Anna, afraid it was going to happen again.”

“Does Anna know this? She’s never mentioned it.”

“I thought she did, but now that you ask, I can’t say I remember ever talking about it with her. It wasn’t something Mike and I brought up to people after it happened. We didn’t really discuss those things back then, you know.”

“It might help her to know,” I said, “if you don’t mind talking to her about it. At least she could see that things can still work out in the end.”

“I’ll talk to her before y’all leave today,” she said. “Now I feel bad I didn’t talk to her about it sooner. Somehow I just thought she knew, but I don’t reckon she does, does she?”

“I’m sure she doesn’t,” I said. “But was everything okay after that? Was Anna’s birth normal? Was she healthy?”

She nodded. “As easy as a birth can be, at least. Anna was a beautiful baby. She was never any trouble at all. I had a little touch of what they called the ‘baby blues,’ but that didn’t have anything to do with Anna, and I got through it soon enough. I was lucky to have my momma come and help me, and I’ll be there to help y’all, too. You and Anna will get sick and tired of having us there, won’t they Maria?” She leaned forward to get my mother’s attention.

“What’s that?”

“I said we’ll be there helping take care of this baby so much they’ll have to send us home, won’t they?”

“Oh, absolutely! I’m so excited I’ve already started buying clothes. Sears had a sale on the cutest little pajamas, and I just couldn’t help myself.”

Anna smiled at me as our mothers composed a list of must-haves for the baby. “We really have to get the nursery put together this weekend,” she said. “We’ve waited long enough. And his name is Jeffrey. Jeffrey Daniel Lewinsky.”

“Well, of course it is,” I said, and Anna leaned over to kiss my cheek.