Vic’s stomach tightened as he watched Eleanor seated in the rocking chair, knitting a pair of baby booties. He should be happy about the prospect of becoming a parent—any normal man would be. But for Vic, things were not normal. No matter how hard he’d tried, he couldn’t get past the idea that he was responsible for his brother’s death, and he was still convinced that he could not be a good father, no matter how hard Eleanor tried to convince him otherwise.
Vic recalled the feelings he’d had in Sarasota. He’d felt calm and unencumbered in that homey little cottage not far from the beach. He missed the bike rides he and Eleanor had taken together. Going to the beach and doing anything they wanted without anyone’s interference had been like healing balm. Why couldn’t those feelings have lasted when he and Eleanor had come home? But those carefree days were over, and reality had set in. Even if they could take another trip to Sarasota, it would not change the fact that Eleanor was going to have a baby, and Vic’s depression and his desperate need for alcohol had returned.
Vic was sure that if anyone in his family learned about his habit of lifting a bottle of beer to his lips to numb the pain, there would be problems and plenty of unsolicited comments. Vic’s reason for hiding his need to drink was to avoid confrontation, because he was sure that if anyone found out about it, they’d be on his case. He had enough stress on his plate right now and needed to make sure the truth was kept hidden.
Vic also felt sure that Eleanor didn’t know that he had started drinking regularly again about a month ago. If she did, she hadn’t said anything about it. The day after New Year’s he’d enlisted Tom’s help and bought several cartons of beer. Since Eleanor had found his previous hiding place in the hayloft, Vic had had to unearth some other places to hide the beer: the back of the toolshed, inside an old crate he kept in the corncrib, and a few other places Eleanor was not likely to find. Vic had gotten good at covering his tracks and deceiving his wife. If he avoided her too often, she would become suspicious, so Vic had decided to do his best to act as normal as possible around her. However, he could not muster up the words to say that he was excited about them having a baby. But he didn’t dare say anything that would be off-putting either.
Vic wished he could shake away the doubts and dislike of himself that loomed over his head like a dark, foreboding cloud. No matter what anyone had said about him being a good father or Eddie’s death not being his fault, he couldn’t accept their words or believe it himself. The one thing Vic had accepted was his need for booze, and he thought being dishonest with his wife was a necessity right now. He’d also been careful not to drink to the point of becoming intoxicated. He needed enough alcohol to help him relax, and it had quickly gotten to the point where he needed a few beers almost every day. Vic made sure to cover his breath after drinking with gum, mints, or mouthwash, and he only kissed Eleanor when he hadn’t had a beer to drink.
Yesterday, in an effort to come to grips with his guilty feelings about Eddie’s death, Vic had taken a walk and ended up at the pond where Eddie had drowned. He hadn’t paid anyone to fill it in because of the cost and figured the best thing to do was either force himself to come here once in a while, or not come anywhere near the pond at all. Forcing himself hadn’t helped—it had only made Vic feel worse—so he’d decided he would avoid the pond altogether. Maybe someday, when their finances were better, he’d see about getting the body of water filled in.
“Is there anything interesting in that newspaper you’re holding?” Eleanor’s question pushed Vic’s thoughts aside.
He shook his head. “No, not really. Same old negative news, coupled with too many advertisements for things most people don’t need.” Vic forced a laugh to cover the hopelessness he felt.
“That’s true.” Eleanor held up her pale green yarn. “I’m almost finished with this project, and then I’ll begin making a sweater. Since we don’t know the sex of our child, I chose a neutral color.”
“If the baby’s coming in the heat of summer, why would he or she need a sweater or knitted booties?” he asked.
“I’m making them bigger than newborn size, so Paul or Rosetta can wear them during the cooler fall weather that will come in September or October and beyond.”
Vic’s brows furrowed. “Since when did you start calling our unborn baby by naame, and why those specific names?”
“Because those are the ones we chose. Don’t you remember when we talked about it a few weeks ago?”
If he answered truthfully, Vic would have to admit that he had no memory of the discussion. It was probably one of those nights he’d had a few drinks with Tom after work before coming home and gargling with a strong, minty mouthwash. “Umm … yeah … I must’ve forgot. Guess either of those names would be okay.”
Eleanor tipped her head and looked at him with squinted eyes. “You don’t remember the discussion we had about baby names, do you?”
He scratched an itchy spot on the side of his nose. “Course I remember. It just slipped my mind. You know how forgetful I can be sometimes. Just ask my mamm—she’ll tell you I’ve been like that since I was a boy.” Vic tossed the newspaper aside and stood. “I’m gonna take Checkers outside to do his duty before it’s time to get ready for bed.”
“Okay.” Eleanor yawned. “I’m really tired, so I’ll put things away here and take a warm shower and crawl into bed.”
Vic nodded, put his jacket on, and called for the dog. Checkers stretched lazily from the place where he’d been lying by the fireplace and trotted after Vic when he went to get his jacket.
Once outside, Vic paused in the yard and breathed in the cold night air. The first breath hurt his lungs, but after a few more inhalations, he felt energized. Shoving his cold hands deep into his pockets, Vic plodded through the snow as he made his way out to the toolshed. He would drink one quick beer and chew a couple of mints before heading back to the house. Maybe by then Eleanor would be in bed asleep.
Eleanor crawled into bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. She hoped Vic wouldn’t be too long. It was lonely going to bed without him, and without his body warmth, the sheets felt colder than usual.
Although Vic had been making an attempt to talk with her when she brought up the topic of the baby, Eleanor could tell by the way his gaze darted around the room that he had felt anxious tonight when she’d mentioned the possible names they’d chosen for their baby. She was still concerned about her husband’s disinterest in this baby. Both of their families had reacted positively to their joyful news, yet Vic rarely talked with Eleanor about having their first child. This stifled her joy and left Eleanor in tears. She longed for peace and harmony in their home and wanted laughter, not tears.
She closed her eyes and tried to send her thoughts in another direction, but it was no use. Eleanor wanted desperately for Vic to share in her enthusiasm that she was carrying his baby. Why couldn’t he put his faith and trust in God and ask Him for help in learning how to be a good father? Eleanor was smart enough to realize that the process of becoming a worthy parent took some time. It wouldn’t happen overnight, and they would both make some mistakes along the way. Even so, it would be a joyous journey to raise their child and help him or her grow up to be an example to the people they met along the way and live the Christian life God intended for them.
Eleanor’s eyelids grew heavy, and she was on the verge of drifting off when she heard the bedroom door open, followed by the shuffling of Vic’s feet as he made his way across the room. Eleanor waited until he pulled back the covers and climbed into bed, and then she reached out and put her hand on his back. “I’ve been struggling to stay awake so I could kiss you good night,” she said, scooching closer to him.
“My throat feels kind of scratchy,” he mumbled, keeping his back to her. “So it’s best if we don’t kiss tonight.”
“I’m not worried about you giving me a sore throat,” she responded.
“Well, I am. It’s bad enough that you’re still dealing with morning sickness. You sure don’t need to end up with a sore throat.” Before Eleanor could comment, Vic said, “Good night, Eleanor. See you in the morning.”
That was it. The next thing Eleanor heard was her husband’s heavy breathing. He’d obviously fallen quickly into a deep sleep.
“Good night, Vic. I love you,” Eleanor whispered, even though she wasn’t sure he could hear her. She rolled in the opposite direction and closed her eyes. Dear Lord, please show me what I can say or do to help bring my husband out of his depression before it gets so bad that he resorts to drinking again. Help me to be kind and patient with Vic and open his eyes to the truth that he can and will be a good father if he’ll just allow You to work through him.
When her prayer ended, Eleanor relaxed a bit, and soon she felt herself being lulled closer to sleep. She placed both hands against her stomach. Good night, my sweet child. I love you already, and I’m sure that your daddy does too, even though he hasn’t yet spoken the words.
The following morning it was all Vic could do to pull himself up off the couch. He’d gotten up during the night and snuck back outside for a couple more beers, and to keep Eleanor from knowing, he’d slept in the living room, with only the warmth of a blanket. Vic hadn’t planned to get drunk, but after drinking his first can of beer, he’d wanted another, which had led to more. He liked the relaxed, untroubled way he felt after he’d downed enough beers. He wished he could remain in a perpetual state of intoxication, but it always wore off, and then he had to face reality again.
Vic’s head pounded, and with closed eyes, he reached up to rub his temples. At the same time, he felt the slurp of his dog’s tongue. Vic pulled his hand away and groaned. “Knock it off, Checkers! I’m not in the mood for your sloppy kisses.”
“Nor mine, either, apparently.”
Vic’s eyes snapped open, and he jerked his head to the right. Eleanor stood looking down at him with her arms folded across her stomach and a scowl on her face. “Would you please explain why you got up sometime during the night and slept out here on the couch instead of remaining in our bed next to me?” The red in his wife’s face let him know that she was quite upset.
Vic sat up straight and faced her. “I … uh … had a hard time sleeping and didn’t want to keep you awake with all my tossing and turning. Besides, my throat kept bothering me, and I was afraid I might end up coughing all night.” The words rolled off his tongue with ease. He’d gotten good at lying and only felt a twinge of guilt. Vic told himself that he had no choice. If he’d told Eleanor the truth about what he’d done when he got out of bed during the night, she would get upset. They’d probably have ended up in a heated discussion, which neither of them needed right now.
Eleanor leaned closer and sniffed. “Please don’t lie to me, Vic. You have that rotten egg smell of beer on your breath, as well as your clothes. What’d you do—get up to drink some beer? Or did you take a bath in the horrible stuff?” Her lips pressed into a tight grimace. This was not a good way to start a new day.
Checkers nuzzled Vic’s hand with his cold nose, and Vic pushed the dog away. “I don’t want to discuss this with you right now, Eleanor. I need to get ready for work.”
“When did you start drinking again? Was it right after I told you that I was pregnant?”
He shook his head. “No, but it doesn’t mean I didn’t want to.”
He gave a noncommittal shrug and stood. “I need to shower and change into some clean work clothes. Would you please let Checkers out? I’m sure he’s more than ready by now.”
She stood unmoving, arms still pressed against her slightly protruding stomach. “We need to talk about this, Vic. If you’re drinking again, hoping it will help you cope, then you need to seek help for the problem. Maybe you could—”
“I don’t need any help! I’m not an alcoholic, you know. I can quit anytime I want.” Vic stormed out of the room before Eleanor could offer a retort. She didn’t understand the guilt he still felt over his brother’s death, or the fact that he wouldn’t make a good father. He wished he could push a button and start his life over—or at least begin from that fateful day when Eddie had come here to stay with them. If it were possible, Vic would make sure to keep a close eye on his brother, and he would definitely teach the boy how to swim.
Eleanor let Checkers out the back door and collapsed into a chair at the kitchen table. Her eyelids quivered with the need to cry. So what she had suspected for the last several weeks was true: Vic had started drinking again. Eleanor felt like a fool for believing his lies, but she’d wanted to give her husband the benefit of the doubt.
If Vic kept this up, by the time the baby was born, his previous declaration would be true—he would not be a good father. No child could live a healthy, normal life if either of their parents had an addition to alcohol that went untreated. And with Vic unwilling to admit he had a problem and refusing to seek help, Eleanor didn’t see how their marriage and family life could ever be happy or complete. It was upsetting to hear him deny that he needed help and say he wasn’t an alcoholic. She could hardly believe that her husband had said he could quit drinking anytime he wanted. If what Vic said had been true, then he never would have started drinking in the first place.
Frustration welled in Eleanor’s soul. I think my husband’s lost his way. The taste for alcohol and the lies that spill from his lips seem to be Vic’s only comfort these days.
Eleanor’s gaze went to the jar filled with shells she and Vic had picked up at Lido Beach during their stay in Sarasota. Her jaw ached from clenching her teeth as she struggled with the agony of the situation she and Vic now faced. It would take a lot more than a two-week vacation to make things right this time, but if he wouldn’t seek professional help, Eleanor felt sure that more problems would develop between them.
Could Vic’s drinking problem get worse after the baby was born? Might he ever become abusive to her or their child? So many unanswered questions rolled around in her head. The only thing Eleanor knew for certain was that she needed to tell someone about this, and it had to be a person she could trust not to tell anyone—especially not Vic. Eleanor could only imagine how angry he would become if his family or someone in their church district learned about his drinking problem and confronted him with it. No, she would have to reach out to somebody outside of the family, and Eleanor knew who it should be.