Unspeakable Joy
Wells, Maine
Greg had made the decision to move permanently to Wells, Maine. He winterized the cottage and transformed it into a comfortable year-round home. Allison was enrolled in a small, friendly school where the teachers were sensitive to her medical issues and aware that she did not have a mother.
Greg’s sister Caroline and her family came to visit frequently, even celebrating holidays with them at the cottage. As always, Caroline was trying to set Greg up with someone. When she attended the Christmas pageant at Allison’s school, she observed that one of the teachers had an eye for him, but Greg had no interest. He was too busy juggling work and taking care of Allison. Caroline sometimes brought up Addy, but Greg did not want to discuss her.
In reality, Addy had inadvertently ruined it for him to find any other woman. He knew she was off limits, but he still savored the special memories of Addy and her children. He had had his share of romances, yet he had never met anyone as sincere and tender as Addy. His blood boiled when he thought about her suffering abuse at the hands of her husband, and numerous times, he almost got in his car to drive down to Connecticut. Of course, he always stopped himself. That tyrant by no means intimidated Greg, but a lunatic bully like Lionel can do great harm to his wife and children when threatened. If he killed Lionel, Greg would go to jail, and who would look after Allison?
When he was first married, Greg’s wife Diane seemed loving and caring, but when she got pregnant with Allison, she changed. She had never been the motherly type, but she chose to have a child for Greg’s sake. The pregnancy was a difficult one. Diane experienced drastic mood swings, and the morning sickness lasted almost nine months. Allison was premature, and a callous doctor told them, “Don’t get too attached to this baby because the chances of her surviving are not good.” Greg wanted to punch that doctor in the face. Now that he looked back, his wife had probably wished that grim prediction had come true.
Allison spent her first three months in the hospital barely clinging to life. Greg went every day after work to sit by Allison’s incubator and talk softly to her. Diane rarely accompanied him. She always found some excuse to stay home. Had the fact that she had been unable to bond with Allison made Diane exhibit so little interest in being a mother? Against all odds, Allison did make it, and when that glorious day to pick her up from the hospital arrived, Greg went alone.
His sister Caroline was waiting at his house to greet tiny Allison, but his wife barely glanced at the baby. Greg told himself that the difficult pregnancy had worn Diane out, and she would surely come around. Over the next few months, Allison experienced recurring infections with fever, restlessness, and inconsolable crying. The pediatrician assured Greg that because Allison was premature, she had a hard time fighting off germs. He counseled Greg to bundle up the baby and take her outside in her carriage. He also advised keeping Allison away from young children and crowds.
Greg followed the doctor’s instructions but noticed Allison had difficulty breathing at times. Again, the pediatrician attributed these symptoms to Allison’s underdeveloped lungs. She did not seem to have an appetite and was losing weight. During one of her examinations, Greg mentioned he had read about babies diagnosed with “failure to thrive.”
The doctor dismissed Greg’s concerns with the statement that not all babies grow at the same rate, and some babies lose weight in the first few months.
“You’re a nervous first-time father. Stop worrying so much, and enjoy your baby,” the pediatrician laughed.
Soon, however, Allison began to develop bruises on her body from activities as simple as having her diaper changed. As Greg watched his listless, pale, and thin little girl deteriorating further, he felt helpless and broken-hearted. He had that parental instinct that something was seriously wrong with Allison, and it was time to seek another opinion. His wife Diane told him he was being a worrywart and should listen to the pediatrician. That was easy for her to say because she rarely interacted with Allison. Greg had become the primary caregiver.
Greg decided to make an appointment for Allison at Boston Children’s Hospital and asked his sister Caroline to go with him so that she could hold the baby in the car. By this time, it was obvious that Allison’s mother wanted nothing to do with motherhood. One evening in the midst of an intense argument, Diane shouted at Greg, “I wasn’t cut out to be a wife and mother. I had no idea what this would be like. I’m suffocating!”
From that moment, Greg knew he was in this alone. It took quite a while to get an appointment with Dr. Samuel Hirschfield, a pediatrician who specialized in childhood diseases. Greg counted the days until he could finally take Allison to Boston. Dr. Hirschfield was recognized for his dedication to research of illnesses for which cures had not yet been found. If anyone could find out what was wrong with Allison, this doctor could.
As Dr. Hirschfield took notes about Allison’s short medical history and then examined her, he looked gravely concerned. He informed Greg that before he could make an accurate diagnosis, he had to order blood tests. Greg had done a lot of his own research and feared his suspicions might be correct.
“I know I have to wait for the test results, but do you have ANY idea by examining Allison what might be wrong with her?” Greg entreated.
“Many different illnesses can exhibit these same symptoms. I don’t want to alarm you unnecessarily. Try not to think the worst and relax until I call you with the results.”
And that was that. The doctor shook Greg’s hand and exited the examining room.
Several days had passed, and Greg still had not heard from Boston Children’s Hospital. He was overcome with worry, but his wife seemed unfazed. Sometimes Greg tried to give Diane the benefit of the doubt, telling himself that she was in denial, and this was the only way she could cope with Allison’s poor health. Diane rarely prepared dinner and had plans most evenings to go out with “the girls.” Greg was by no means a mouse, but he was also not a controlling husband and never asked where she was going or what time she expected to be home. After all, they had a live-in helper to take care of Allison while Greg was at work.
When the phone rang early one morning, Greg knew instinctively that it must be the Boston Children’s Hospital. Dr. Hirschfield proceeded in very measured words, “Greg, we have Allison’s test results back. I am sorry to have to tell you this, but Allison has acute leukemia.” Greg had reached that conclusion long ago, but he had hoped it would turn out not to be true.
He knew the statistics. Babies with leukemia had only a few months life expectancy. The treatments in use were arsenic and chemotherapy. How could a baby ever survive these radical therapies?
Dr. Hirschfield continued, “Our hospital has one of the best treatment centers in the world. Will you call my office and make an appointment to bring Allison in again?”
Greg thanked the doctor and hung up the phone. Life had been pretty good to him so far, but today everything came crashing down. How could his sweet baby have this awful disease? When Allison was born, the doctors warned him not to become too attached, but that was the most ridiculous statement anyone had ever made--let alone a doctor. How could you not love your baby?
Greg did not have to wait long to find an answer to that question. When he broke the news about Allison’s diagnosis to Diane, she acted as if he had just informed her of some calamity he read about in the newspaper.
“That’s a shame. I just can’t believe I didn’t have a normal baby.” It was all about her. No thought of the suffering and inevitable short life their child was facing. In that moment, Greg realized he had married the wrong person.
Greg was a New Englander whose ancestors had come to America in the 1700s. Some had fought in the American Revolution. He was raised in a close-knit Catholic family who put God and children above all else. Surrounded by dedicated wives and mothers while he was growing up, Greg assumed all women were like that once they got married.
Greg had first met Diane at college when she was a tall, blonde beauty queen from California. All the guys in his fraternity wanted to date her, but she chose Greg. She knew how to have a good time and made his college years exciting. As their relationship grew more serious, Greg brought Diane home to meet his family. He could tell immediately that his mother did not approve of her. First, she was not Catholic and had no affiliation with any religion. His family’s displeasure with Diane served only to push Greg even closer to her. After all, what did they know about love? They all seemed to base their marriages upon commonplace things like religion or nationality. This was the twentieth century and time for people to marry because they were in love not because they shared similar backgrounds.
Because Diane was not a Catholic, she and Greg could not get married in the Church. This was one of his mother’s greatest heartaches. They eventually eloped and found a justice of the peace to perform the ceremony. The first few years of their marriage were romantic, and Greg believed he had made the right decision.
Greg eventually realized that his mother’s misgivings about Diane were accurate, and he only wished that his mom were still around so that he could tell her. Diane was a very beautiful but superficial woman whose world revolved around herself and her enjoyment. Would she ever mature? Diane reminded Greg of “Fanny Trellis,” the character Betty Davis played in the film, Mr. Skeffington. Fanny was an attractive socialite who could not face getting old. She even rejected her own daughter because she did not want any competition. Greg loathed the character of Fanny Trellis, and he now despised Diane.
Greg did not have to be the one to tell Diane to get lost. One day while he was at work, Diane left him. She did not tell the live-in nanny where she was going, but she had taken her vast wardrobe with her. In a note she left on Greg’s pillow, Diane simply stated:
“We had some good times, but I am finished with this marriage. All you care about is Allison, and I need someone who puts me first. Good-bye and good luck.”
What a cold, cruel woman she was in the end. Greg was relieved she had left him. He could not bear watching her ignore Allison; her blasé manner just added to his anxiety. She had plenty of her own money, so Greg doubted she would try to get alimony from him.
Diane moved to California and never looked back. She resumed her carefree existence as a socialite, watchful not to reveal she had a daughter. As Greg suspected, Diane did not sue him for alimony so they never had to interact again. The whole situation was sad; maybe some women just do not have any maternal instinct. During his childhood, Greg had a female cat who gave birth to four kittens. The mother cat nurtured three of her babies but ignored the fourth one and refused to nurse it. Greg tried feeding the poor little runt with an eyedropper, but that did not work. The neglected kitten died soon after birth, and Greg was furious with this mother cat. His parents told him that occasionally, if an animal senses there is something wrong with one of its babies, the animal ignores that baby. Maybe Diane was like that mother cat. In her case, she could not face the fact that she had given birth to a less than perfect child. Greg eventually reached the conclusion that it was a waste of time to try to figure out some people. He tried to put Diane out of his mind forever.
Being both mother and father to his daughter was not easy, but Greg certainly tried. Allison defied the statistics. She survived the grueling treatments, and her leukemia was in remission. Although there was no known cure for her disease, as long as she remained in remission, she would live. The physicians at Boston Children’s Hospital were amazed at Allison’s progress, and they frequently praised Greg for his devotion to his daughter. Still, Greg was humiliated that Allison’s mother had taken off on them. Mothers are not supposed to do those things.
One evening when Allison was in bed, Greg was reading the Boston Sunday Globe and listening to classical music on the radio. He looked forward to this quiet time just before his workweek began. His eye caught the headline on an article: “Scandal uncovered upon death of Colorado Senator Neal Richter”
Greg enjoyed following national politics and knew that Senator Richter, a conservative Republican with an impeccable record, had been in office for years. The press was so often cruel. Why would they dig up a scandal after a man dies?
The article stated that Senator Richter had not been well ever since his only child, Irene Bauer, was killed in an automobile accident. The details of the crash had been sealed but were leaked to the newspapers when Senator Richter passed away. Apparently, Irene’s car hit an elk, and she died instantly. Her maid survived the accident but was in a coma for some time and recalled nothing. The shocking secret was that the body of a naked man with ligature marks around his wrists and ankles was also discovered at the scene. The man was identified as Lionel Roberge, of Chester, Connecticut. No further information about the deceased man or his connection to Irene Bauer was available.
Greg thought, that’s pretty weird. Then it struck him-- LIONEL ROBERGE. If he remembered correctly, that was the name of Addy’s husband. It couldn’t be the same Lionel Roberge. What would he be doing naked in the Colorado mountains in the middle of the winter? Yet, Chester, Connecticut, was the name of the town where Addy lived. There could be a chance that there was more than one man in Chester named “Lionel Roberge.”
Although Greg tried to forget about what he had read, this bizarre story was bedeviling. If this was, indeed, Addy’s husband, does it mean she is now a free woman? How was she supporting herself and her children? Addy was fragile, and maybe this news had humiliated her beyond healing. She was the somewhat vulnerable, innocent woman a man instinctively wants to protect.
Greg shared the story with his sister Caroline, and she encouraged him to take a ride down to Connecticut to investigate the matter. Ever the optimist, Caroline reminded Greg that he and Addy had a lot in common, and maybe they were meant for each other. This time Greg took Caroline’s words to heart. What did he have to lose? If the outcome were to see Addy and the kids again, however briefly, it would be worth the trip.
Before Greg set out on his journey, he made plans to have Allison stay with Caroline. Although he might have been able to get Addy’s number from the Connecticut telephone operator, he decided against calling her. It would be better to somehow assess the situation first. The ride from Wells to Chester would take him about five or six hours. The pleasant route would give Greg time to relax and figure out how to approach Addy. He did not want the people in her small town to get the impression that his intentions were less than honorable. Maybe he would pretend to be a distant cousin.
Because it took him longer than expected to get Allison settled at his sister’s, Greg hit the road later than planned. He was less than halfway to Chester, and it was already growing dark. Greg was getting sleepy but wondered where in this uninhabited stretch of woodlands he might find a motel. As a last resort, he could pull over to the side of the road and take a snooze, but he did not want to be nabbed by a police officer.
The Connecticut shoreline was a popular vacation spot, so there had to be some places to stay on this god-forsaken road. Greg had almost given up the prospect of finding a place to sleep when he spotted a dim neon sign flashing, “Dew Drop Inn.” Hallelujah! If he was not hallucinating, he had not only stumbled upon a motel, but it had the name his sister and he used to think was hilarious when they were kids. Granted, it took their young brains a while to figure out the double meaning of those words, but once they did, “Dew Drop Inn” never ceased to amuse them.
Greg was relieved that when he reached the motel, the office was still open. The couple who ran the place was one for the books. The husband had a bum leg, and his wife was the spitting image of the bulldog yapping in the background. The motel was clean and cozy. After Greg finished checking in, the man asked him if he wanted to join them in a nightcap. Greg had not eaten, and all he wanted to do was flop in his bed, but he did not want to be rude.
The wife brought out a large bowl of peanuts, and the husband poured some shots of scotch. The couple seemed hungry for conversation so Greg just listened and took it all in. Apparently, the woman was a nurse and met her husband in the hospital when he was recovering from a motorcycle accident, in which, unfortunately, his left leg was severed. The couple bought the motel early in their marriage when she was still working as a nurse and he, a pattern maker in Holyoke, Massachusetts. Someone else managed the motel for them, but the owners came down on weekends to keep an eye on things. They had two of the motel rooms converted into a lovely apartment for themselves, and when they retired, they moved permanently to “The Dew Drop Inn.” Because the scotch was getting to Greg, he had to try hard to suppress his laughter when the man prattled on about their motel being a “respectable” establishment, and not a “hot pillow joint.” The man admitted that it was difficult for him to get up from his recliner so he held a hand mirror over his shoulder to check out the cars that pulled up in front of the office. If the prospective guests looked suspicious, he would warn his wife to say there were no vacancies. In addition, they always asked for identification to be sure a man and woman who were checking in together were married.
The man said after a staid-looking couple checked out one weekend, the maid reported that the couple had removed the mirror from over the dresser and placed it down against the wall on the carpeted floor. Greg almost choked on his drink, but when he saw the looks of horror and disgust on the faces of the owners, he had to maintain his composure. This couple was a riot and didn’t even know it. Now, Greg could belt them back as well as any Irishman, but with just a few peanuts in his stomach, he was getting woozy. When there was finally a break in the conversation, Greg politely excused himself, saying he had to get an early start in the morning. The couple apologized for having kept him so long, but he assured them he had enjoyed every minute of it. What is a white lie when you are sparing someone’s feelings? They told him to drop into the office in the morning for coffee.
When Greg got to his room, he could no longer contain his laughter. He pictured the old man spying over his shoulder with the hand mirror, the “hot pillow joint,” the mirror on the floor … it was a wonder they had any business. All this wackiness put Greg in a great mood, and he was confident he would accomplish what he set out to do. It was lucky the couple did all the talking. If the liquor had loosened his lips, and he blabbed about his affair with Addy, the self-righteous owners of “The Dew Drop Inn” may have given him the boot.
The soft ring of his travel alarm clock awakened Greg the next morning. Boy, his head was pounding. He dropped his room key into the mailbox on the motel office door, hoping the couple would not ask him in for coffee. Fortunately, they must still have been asleep.
He drove for a couple hours and then stopped at a bustling diner for breakfast. Greg asked the waitress how far it was to Chester because the map he had did not show many small towns. The girl looked at Greg as if she did not know what he was talking about, and then she went into the back and got one of the busboys to come out. This kid knew exactly where Chester was located and was proud to explain the route to Greg.
Greg followed the lad’s instructions precisely, but he did not end up in Chester. How prejudiced of him to even think this, but Greg had been told that people in Connecticut sometimes tended to be “backwards.” Hopefully, a gas station attendant might be able to help him.
When he finally arrived in the tiny downtown area of Chester, Greg stopped at the first telephone booth he saw so that he could look up Addy’s address in the directory. There was only one “Lionel Roberge” listed for Chester, so it must have been Addy’s husband who had been killed in that accident. Greg copied down this address: 17 Colonial Road, Chester, Connecticut.
Greg stopped at the drugstore on the corner to ask directions to “Colonial Road” and then started out on the very last leg of his journey. Wow, was he happy. He had such a good feeling about all this. It was a crystal blue day, and Greg’s heart was light. Addy, my dearest, here I come. Not until Greg pulled up in front of 17 Colonial Road did his heart start beating out of control. What the hell was he up to, anyways? Greg walked up the front sidewalk to a very pleasant home. He was practicing what he would say if Addy were to answer the door.
To his dismay, Addy did not come to the door. Instead, a young woman with a baby girl in her arms and twin boys at her skirts answered. “May I help you?” she asked.
Greg was dumbfounded. “I’m looking for the Roberge family. I thought this was their address.”
The young woman smiled and said, “Yes. This used to be their house. We bought it from Mrs. Roberge after her husband died.”
“Husband died …” That was music to Greg’s ears. Struggling to look somber, Greg said, “I’m sorry. I wasn’t aware Lionel had passed away … how tragic.”
The trusting mother continued, “Addy and the kids are still in Chester, but they went to live on the Kurowski farm. It doesn’t really have an address, but I can tell you how to get there, if you want to see them.”
“Thanks so much. What beautiful children you have,” Greg said after he jotted down the directions to the farm.
“Zippity-Do-Dah!” Greg hummed to himself, as corny as anyone could be. He was following the yellow brick road to find his angel. When he arrived, Greg marveled at the storybook setting. What a beautiful, happy place. He wasted no time sprinting up the stairs to the farmhouse, turning the knob on the old-fashioned bell, and waiting breathlessly for Addy to answer. Instead, Peter, Jimmy, and Mary came to the door.
“Greg!” all three children shouted. He instinctively knelt down and tried to scoop all three of them up in his arms.
“Where’s Allison?” Mary asked cautiously.
“She’s with my sister, but WHERE IS YOUR MOM?” Greg teased. Talking all at once, the children told Greg excitedly that their mom was opening a bakery, and she was there working on it with her friend.
Greg hoped “her friend” was not a man. His first instinct was to have the kids pile in his car and show him how to get to the bakery. If the friend turned out to be a man, however, this would be a dumb move. Instead, he asked directions to the bakery. Pete outlined the route, and Greg promised he would drop back to visit with them longer. The kids just could not believe that this wonderful man from Maine who they thought they would never see again had just appeared on their doorstep.
As Greg drove to the bakery, he thought about how much Addy must have blossomed now that Lionel was out of her life. Her own BAKERY? The Addy he had met would never have had the confidence to start a business. Hopefully, it was not a man who had boosted her ego, but even if that were so, good for Addy. Greg realized that although the time they spent together was brief and under ideal circumstances, he believed he loved Addy. When you truly love someone, you want the best for that person, whether or not it includes you.
Greg drove to the location Pete had explained, and pulled up in front of a neat old brick building that appeared to be abuzz with activity. There was no sign that the place was “Open for Business,” but the door was unlocked so Greg went inside. The wood floors of the bakery were highly polished, you could almost see your reflection. Greg was looking down at the sheen of the wood, when a woman’s voice said in a gentle tone, “I’m sorry sir. We are not open yet, but we should be open …”
Addy glanced at the tall, handsome man who was admiring her floors. Oh God, she suddenly thought to herself. I cannot be experiencing this in real life. If this is really Greg, then I may as well stop living and become a character in a book.
Addy lowered her eyes, and tears began streaming down her face. Rushing over, Greg pulled Addy close to him, gently stroking her hair, and, whispering, “Shh. Shh, it’s me, Addy,” Greg consoled her. “Everything’s going to be all right. I won’t ever let you go.”
Helena, looking most unglamorous with hair tied back in a red bandana and overalls speckled with paint, looked over at the two lovebirds and quipped, “Enough histrionics for the day, kiddies, WE HAVE A BAKERY TO OPEN.”