––––––––
Not even a month after Raff’s “episode,” I found myself pregnant again. Jeremy and I discussed it and decided right away to detach ourselves from the outcome. We hadn’t planned it, and with my batting average it was safe to say I would probably miscarry. Which sent me back into the hell of rampant hormones, nausea, and lethargy. On top of that pile I added my frustration and anger. Why should I have to suffer so unfairly for nothing? Jeremy also hated seeing me miserable and agreed—as he’d watched me lean my head on the toilet in anticipation of another violent heave. If this one didn’t “take,” we would resort to something we hadn’t used in years—birth control. I just couldn’t deal with this anymore—though we were both behaving a little better this time—with more honesty and courage.
Jeremy pampered me through the first twelve weeks, then, as I passed the line of demarcation—the fifteenth week, the farthest any of my pregnancies had gone—I dared go to my doctor for a check-up. So far, no bleeding. She asked us if we wanted to hear the heartbeat, but I quickly shook my head. I couldn’t allow this pregnancy to dig its claws into me just yet. There was still time for raised hopes to be dashed. We pretended as if nothing had changed in our lives, as my morning sickness subsided and my pants started getting a little tight. Although we didn’t make a pact, we had an unspoken understanding: the subject was not to be mentioned. I eased up on my gardening work, although the winter months were always slower. Jeremy avoided saying anything baby-related, but let it slip that I did seem to glow.
Thanksgiving came and went. Neal and Raff had come over for an early celebration the day before. They had still planned to go to our mother’s the next day, more out of tradition and attempting to keep some sort of truce going with her. Why, I don’t know. I hadn’t spoken to my mother since the day I had screamed at her over the pay phone in the hospital, when Jeremy was lying injured and in pain. Neal had apparently had a few “interesting” discussions with our mother after meeting Ed, but he didn’t go into much detail. I suspected he wanted to spare me the melodrama and not rile me up, given my tenuous condition and all that.
Frankly, I was glad. Just the mention of my mother sent my blood boiling. As much as I wanted to forgive her and try to understand her, I couldn’t get past the hurt. I didn’t know how my brothers could face her. Raff especially. I knew he made his appearances at her home out of duty and cowardliness. He’d finally gotten on meds that alleviated his misery, but he felt brittle and weak. Whatever it took to make peace.
I held my tongue. They had to make their own choices. I had made mine. Perhaps one day my mother and I would start over, but at that moment in my life, I hoped I never saw her again. A relationship with Ruth Sitteroff came at too great a price. Just look at the price my father had paid. And Raff, and Jeremy. No thanks.
Jeremy told me he had spoken to the hospital chaplain during his stay at Marin General. As we sat drinking sparkling apple cider and waiting for the ball drop in Times Square on TV, ushering in 1987, he shared his thoughts about my mother—the first time we’d mentioned her in months.
“When I told the chaplain what happened—about how your mother was taking away our home and treating you with such contempt, he said some people were toxic. They acted like a cancer in your life, robbing you of health and strength and injecting only poison. He showed me that passage in the Bible, where Jesus says ‘Don’t throw your pearls before swine or give what is holy to the dogs.’ There’s more after that verse. It says if you throw your pearls before swine, they will trample those pearls under their feet—and then turn and rip you to shreds. I never knew what that meant until he asked me what I felt was holy in my life. I said, my marriage. My health. My dignity and self-esteem. He said these were holy, and we have every right to cherish and protect these things. Jesus didn’t say to roll over and let the swine tear us apart. He said to stay away from them.
“So no matter how much kindness you showed such people, exposure to them would eventually kill you. The effects could be subtle, barely perceptible, but, over time . . .”
Jeremy’s words sank deep into my soul, a penetrating salve of exoneration. And then I thought of my father, sitting at his desk, knowing he had escaped his poisonous marriage only to choose another deadly substance to expose himself to. Day after day, working on his equations, fitting all his problems into his Boolean algebra framework. Every problem solved simply by and, or, not. Every problem but the one that had Ruth Sitteroff as a factor. For that one, he couldn’t find a solution, not one that balanced on both sides. Not an equal or equitable one.
So, he cheated. He hadn’t cheated death, but he had cheated his wife. And cheated us in the process. All because Ruth Sitteroff had first cheated on him.
“So,” I said, cuddling up with Jeremy on the couch as the muted countdown to the New Year seeped out of the TV speakers, “you have to cut cancer out, if you can. Before it’s too late. Before it spreads. You can try to stop it—radiation, chemo, diet—but if those methods fail, what choice do you have, right?”
“Or maybe, at some point, you could build up a resistance. Lisa, maybe someday you’ll want to try reconnecting with your mom, but for now—”
I snorted in response. “I can’t imagine ever talking to her again. Ever.” Jeremy leaned in closer and wrapped the blanket tighter around us. Maybe he was trying to make me feel safe and protected. “She would have to grovel for a very long time before I would let her back into my life. Into our lives. Look what she did to you. I won’t give her the chance to stomp on you again.”
“People change.”
“Rarely.”
“But, some do. Maybe your mom will realize what she’s done, how much she’s hurt all of you—”
“And, why did she do that?” My voice raised in pitch, and I pulled back to challenge Jeremy. “There’s no excuse for her lies and betrayal. She forced us out of our home. She lied to Neal his whole life, not telling him about his real father. And she stood on the sidelines and watched Raff suffer, knowing she could have helped, knowing she could have told him the truth and maybe he wouldn’t have suffered so much.” I exhaled hard and shook my head. “I’ve been mulling over this for months. I can’t figure it out. Was it out of fear, guilt? Was she just afraid she’d be left alone in the end, abandoned by everyone? Or did she feel so guilty for having that affair and getting pregnant, she couldn’t think of anything else but covering up her crime? If so, look at the cost of her lies! It’s inexcusable.”
“You’re right, Lis. It is inexcusable. And maybe you’ll never know why. Maybe your mother is selfish and heartless by nature. Some people are just rotten through and through and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
“You just said people can change, feel regret. Now you’re saying she can’t change.”
“I’m saying I don’t know. We don’t know anyone’s true nature. You can only go through life being true to who you are and try to protect your family. Right now, I have a family to protect, and I don’t want Ruth Sitteroff getting anywhere near it.”
Jeremy placed his hand on my belly, and at that moment something amazing happened. I gasped.
“It kicked! The baby kicked!” I immediately clamped my mouth shut. I feared saying something that would jinx my pregnancy, but I couldn’t help it. I was so astonished at the feeling inside me, of the life banging on the wall of my abdomen demanding to be acknowledged. I was five months pregnant at that point, and we hadn’t mentioned the baby, not even once.
Jeremy kept his hand there and waited. I waited. The baby kicked again, and Jeremy blurted out a laugh. My doctor had assured us we were pretty much out of the danger zone. A miscarriage at this point would be unlikely. But neither of us felt comforted by the odds. Jeremy must have been thinking along the same lines when he turned to me, love in his eyes, and spoke.
“Lisa, something could go wrong at any time. There’s always a chance of that. Not just miscarrying. You can have problems with the delivery, or something could be wrong with the baby. Or your kid could get some terrible disease, or get hit by a car crossing the street—”
“Well, thanks for being so morbid!”
“You know what I mean. Life is dangerous. You have to trust and go with it. Do your best, but you can’t worry about everything, expecting disaster at every turn. Otherwise, you’ll never enjoy life at all.”
“I know. You’re right.” We let our words dissipate on the air, but our unspoken thoughts filled the space around us just as noisily. Jeremy removed his hand and pulled down my sweater, then bundled me back up in the blanket.
“Well,” he said, holding up his glass of cider, “here’s to a new year, a new start. It’s gotta be a better year than last.”
I clinked my glass against his and drank my cider. Then the phone rang.
“Who’s that?” Jeremy asked. “It’s after midnight.” He disengaged himself from the tangle of blankets and went into the kitchen for the phone.
“It’s probably Neal,” I said. “Wishing us happy New Year. He knew we were staying up. He’s over at Julie’s going through all those boxes Ed had packed away in the attic.”
Jeremy answered the phone and nodded. I heard him wish Neal a happy New Year, then he grew quiet as he listened. I turned and watched his face as he came into the room and handed me the phone. Just one look at his expression sent my heart fluttering. Had something happened?
I took the phone from him. “Neal, is everything okay?”
“Sure. We’re going through photos and stuff. And Julie’s been packing up Ed’s office. Someone’s coming to pick up all the furniture on Friday.”
“Doesn’t sound like a fun way to celebrate New Year’s.”
“Oh, it’s been great. We went out for sushi, and we’re working on the second bottle of champagne right now. Julie brought over some photo albums of her and her mother. She was a pretty cute kid—and had just as many freckles as I had.”
“So . . . what’s up?” I knew he had said something puzzling to Jeremy.
“Well, Julie found something stuffed in the back of one of Ed’s desk drawers. It may be nothing, really. She wanted me to call you and tell you.”
“What is it?”
Neal paused. I heard Julie in the background, saying something to Neal in an agitated voice.
“It’s a sealed envelope, addressed to you,” he said. “With the words ‘my confession’ written under your name.”