Not wanting to argue with her, I lowered my gaze. It’s not that I disagreed. I knew it could happen to anyone; I just didn’t believe it would ever happen to
me
. I’d always been incredibly rational and self-disciplined. I remained calm in a crisis when everyone else around me was in a panic—because I was in control of my mind and therefore my emotions. I almost never let them get the better of me.
Well…the pregnancy hormones had caused a few changes, but I refused to consider that the same thing.
But still, I understood what she was trying to tell me—that I had to be more forgiving and understanding when others were suffering.
“I’m sorry I’ve been so hard on you lately,” I said. “I’ve had my own stuff going on. Know what I mean?”
“Of course.” She twirled the birthstone ring around on her finger. “I want to talk to you about that, actually.”
Recognizing my sister’s hesitation, I regarded her curiously.
When I gave no reply, her eyes lifted again. “Do you still have no idea when you lost the baby?”
Our neighbor’s dog began to bark outside in their backyard. I glanced toward the open window. Then, without warning, something urgent and insistent compelled me to rise from the bed to close it.
After I shut it tight, I flicked the locks and noticed a thick layer of dust on the sill. Moving to my dresser, I pulled a tissue out of the box and wiped the sill clean. Then I threw the tissue into the wastebasket. I noticed it was full, and picked it up.
What’s this wrapper from?
Feeling suddenly agitated, I reached into the basket and withdrew a colorful plastic candy bar wrapper. “Were you in here eating chocolate?” I asked Sylvie with a frown. “Were you snooping around or something?”
“No,” she replied defensively. “Why?”
“Because I didn’t eat this. I hate this kind of chocolate. It has nuts in it.”
With growing apprehension, my sister shook her head at me. “I never came in here to eat chocolate.”
Just like you never broke my honeymoon picture?
“Please come back and sit down,” Sylvie pleaded while patting the bed. “I want to finish talking about this.”
“About what?”
She blinked at me a few times. “About what happened. You didn’t answer my question. Do you still have no idea
when
you lost the baby?”
“Lost the baby…?”
This confused me. What was she talking about? Then my stomach dropped sickeningly as I recalled sitting on the examination table in the clinic that morning. I remembered the static on the monitor, the doctor’s concerned expression, my mother fumbling in a panic to shut off the camera…
Overcome with a sudden wave of grief and a terrifying burst of fear in my veins—
what was happening to me?
—I set the wastepaper basket down on the floor. “No.”
As I returned to the bed and climbed onto it, I couldn’t help shivering at the troubled expression on my sister’s face—as if I were sprouting horns.
“Jenn…” she cautiously said, “do you think it’s possible you might be suffering from some memory loss?”
I couldn’t deny that there had been many instances over the past few weeks where I’d felt confused and disoriented, easily distracted. Like just now, when I heard the dog barking…
Sylvie inched a little closer. “Remember the day when I came home from school and you accused me of smashing your photograph?”
I nodded.
“You looked really bad that day. You were white as a sheet and you’d called in sick that morning. Do you remember making the actual phone call or
why
you made it?”
I struggled to think. “Yes. I felt sick, like I always did in the mornings, and too tired to get out of bed.”
“Do you recall anything before that? Why you were so tired? Is it possible you might have had the miscarriage during the night?”
I fought hard to remember. “I slept all morning. It was noon when I got up. But if I miscarried, there would have been blood.”
Sylvie nodded. “Yes, there would have been, unless you cleaned it up, or it happened in the shower or something. But the spotting can go on for days. Surely you would have noticed.” She paused when I cupped my forehead in a hand. “What is it? Do you remember something?”
I labored to locate details in my mind, but it was like trying to make sense of images from an illogical dream that comes to you later, hours or even days after you wake up. “There might have been some bleeding…but I thought I’d dreamed it. I remember not thinking anything of it. I just told myself, ‘That’s weird. I must be having a period.’”
Sylvie touched my knee. “When was this?”
“I don’t remember. Maybe the day I called in sick. Or maybe not.”
“But why wouldn’t you take it seriously, Jenn? You were pregnant.”
My heart began to race with anxiety. “I don’t know. I just wasn’t thinking clearly, I guess. My brain feels like cotton lately.”
“Have there been any other instances where you’ve felt that way? Or have there been missing blocks of time?”
I thought about an afternoon the previous week when I noticed a bad smell in the car. Eventually I found three grocery bags in the trunk but had no idea how they’d gotten there. The meat was rancid and the milk was curdled in the summer heat, so they’d been sitting there awhile.
Like so many other inexplicable events lately, I’d blamed it on a severe case of “pregnancy brain.” Or maybe Sylvie had put the bags there.
“Yes,” I replied.
Just then, my laptop chimed. Darting a concerned glance at the clock, I said, “It’s Jake, but he’s not supposed to call until midnight.”
My stomach exploded with dread. I met Sylvie’s eyes.
“Do you want me to talk to him for you?” she asked.
“No, I need to do it. Can you leave us alone please? And turn the light on for me?”
She nodded, rose to her feet and flicked the light switch on at the door before closing it behind her.
With a deep, nervous breath, I raised the screen of my laptop.
“Hey, babe,” I said, forcing a smile. “You’re early.”
There was panic in Jake’s eyes and I knew immediately that something was wrong.
“I’m sorry, Jenn,” he said, “I can’t talk for too long. I have to go in about sixty seconds. I shouldn’t even have called but I wanted to find out how it went today.”
I sat forward. “What do you mean, you have to go? It sounds urgent.”
“It’s no big deal,” he replied.
Of course, I knew he was lying. My blood quickened. “Are you going to be okay?”
“We’ll be fine. It’s just a routine mission, but we might be gone a few days. Maybe even a week. I won’t be able to get in touch with you, but I don’t want you to worry about anything.”
“Will it be dangerous?” I asked, reaching forward to touch the screen with the tips of my fingers.
He glanced over his shoulder as if to check for anyone listening in on our conversation. For a brief, fretful moment I thought he might confide in me, but when he faced the camera again, he said, “Not dangerous at all. I just wanted to hear your voice before I left.”
A ball of heat rolled over in my belly. I had to fight hard not to give in to the worst kinds of forebodings.
“I’m so glad you called,” I said.
“How did it go today?” He glanced over his shoulder again, preoccupied and impatient. I knew we didn’t have much time.
“Great,” I heard myself saying, feeling rather hazy about what he was asking and what the correct answer was. “It went really well.”
“I wish I could have been there,” he replied.
“Me, too.”
“I’m sorry baby,” he continued. “I know this is rushed, but you have to tell me. I want to know before we take off so I can give the guys the news. Boy or girl?”
I blinked a few times. My connection to him seemed to hang on a thread.
Would I lose him? Where was he going?
“Jenn?” he prodded and I knew I had to answer his question. “Boy or girl?”
Lord help me. The words spilled out of my mouth before I could stop them. “It’s a girl.”
Joy spread across Jake’s face. He let out a tearful laugh. “A girl? No kidding? That’s amazing!” His eyes glistened. “How are
you
doing? Are you okay?”
“Of course. I’m fine. Really, everything’s wonderful. Don’t worry.”
But I wasn’t fine. I’d lost our child. And something strange was happening to me—something I didn’t understand.
“I’m so happy, Jenn,” he replied. “I can’t wait to get home to you.”
“Me, too.” Again, I reached out and touched the screen.
He nodded and glanced over his shoulder. “I really have to go.” Leaning forward, he kissed the camera. “Bye, hon. I love you.”
Like a flick of a switch, he was gone.
I sat there in stunned silence, unable to move.
This isn’t happening.
A knock sounded at my door.
How long had I been sitting there just staring at the blank computer screen? I had no idea.
Sylvie entered. Her hand came to rest gently on my shoulder. “Are you okay?”
I looked up at her in a daze. “He’s going away. I think it’s going to be dangerous. He asked about the baby and I didn’t know how to answer.”
“What did you say?” Sylvie asked with concern.
I gazed up at her pleadingly, as if she could absolve me somehow for the lie I’d just told my husband.
“If he’s distracted,” I explained, “even for a second, he could get killed. I don’t want him to have bad thoughts in his head. I don’t want him to be upset—and if the worst happens… You know, if he…”
Oh, God, I couldn’t say it
. “If the worst happens, he needs to believe he’s leaving something good behind. He needs to know I’m okay.”
“You didn’t tell him…” Sylvie said with disbelief.
Still floating in a mindless stupor of dread and confusion, I shook my head.
“What did you say to him, Jenn?” she firmly asked. “
Tell
me.”
Panic swarmed into my belly. “God help me, Sylvie. I told him it was a girl. What am I going to do? Please help me. Tell me what to do.”
She sank down on the edge of the bed and covered her face with her hands.
November 9
I woke up feeling knifelike stabs of guilt, grief, and fear. At first I didn’t understand where they were coming from. Then I remembered: The guilt was from lying to my husband; the grief was from the loss of my child; and the fear was for the future—both Jake’s and my own.
Where was he? Would he be safe? What would he do when he found out I’d lied to him?
As for my own situation, and why I couldn’t remember my miscarriage…
Was I losing my mind?
“I’m taking you straight to the ER,” Mom said as she set a plate of scrambled eggs and toast in front of me.
I looked down at it without interest. I couldn’t even bring myself to pick up my fork. “I’ll call my regular doctor today and make an appointment.”
“What if she can’t see you?” Mom challenged. “I think we should just go to the hospital. This is serious, Jenn.”
“It’s not an emergency.”
“Yes, it is. Do you even hear yourself?”
For some reason in that moment, no matter what she said, I simply couldn’t grasp the fact that something was wrong with me. Maybe some part of me knew there was, but another part was in denial. Of course I was upset. I’d just learned I’d had a miscarriage. We just had to stay calm.
Suddenly I became aware of Sylvie standing at the counter refilling her coffee cup. “Why aren’t you at school?” I asked.
“I thought I should stay home today,” she replied, looking at me disapprovingly, as if I were a criminal.
“Why?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Really, Jenn? You have to ask why?”
Blankly, I stared down at my breakfast.
“It’s not going to eat itself,” Mom said, taking a seat across from me at the table.
“I’m not hungry,” I replied.
My mother’s shoulders slumped with disappointment. “You have to eat, darling.”
“I will,” I replied. “Just not right now. I don’t feel so good. I want to go back to bed.”
Mom and Sylvie exchanged looks of concern, so I pushed my chair back and stood. I froze, however, when a soft buzzing sound began in my head. I couldn’t seem to make my body work. I couldn’t even put one foot in front of the other.
“What is that smell?” I asked my mother. “Is it lemons?”
“I don’t smell anything,” she replied.
A shiver of anxiety moved through me, followed by intense heart palpitations. I sat back down on the chair.
“Are you all right?” Sylvie asked.
“I feel strange.”
For a long moment I sat and stared at my open palms. All my extremities grew cold and numb. I wanted to ask what was going on, but I couldn’t seem to remember what words I wanted to say, or how to put them in the right order to make a sentence. Then pins and needles spread over my skin from the soles of my bare feet to the top of my head. All my muscles tensed up, hard as steel. I wanted to scream but I couldn’t.