Continuum (The South Beach Connection Trilogy Book 3) Page 18

  “I fail if I admit failure.”

  “Parents are often surprised to find the reality doesn’t always meet the ideal.”

  “He cries a lot. He’s … colicky.” She sighed and twirled a whole mess of hair between her fingers. “Nursing is harder than I imagined. It’s demanding ... time consuming.”

  “Did you try supplementing with formula?”

  “I didn’t ... I don’t want to.”

  “I see.” He made more notes. “And name something which exceeded your expectations.”

  “Do you want a light on?” Cal asked, interrupting Annie’s thoughts as he placed their son in her arms.

  Annie’s gown was open and her breast out in a heartbeat, Ben’s mouth latching on even faster.

  Cal went to the window, shoving his hands in his pockets. The wind had picked up, and the rain struck the glass harder. “Should you find a different therapist?”

  “I don’t know.” She stroked Ben’s hair. It had changed color but hardly grown. Darker than Cal’s, lighter than hers. And his eyes remained blue ... like Cal’s mother’s.

  “Why did you make the appointment?”

  “Because you wanted me to.”

  “I’m not an expert”—he strolled over to Annie and knelt on his heels—“but I think you should be there for you.”

  For me...

  Every waking moment was about Benjamin. Waking being the operative word.

  Her throat tightened as she shifted her eyes from Cal to Ben.

  “I’m going to order dinner.” He wiped the tear sliding down her cheek. “What can I get you?”

  “I’m not—”

  “Don’t tell me you’re not hungry.” Cal stood.

  Her lip trembled, and she nibbled it as she switched Ben to the other breast.

  “What can I say to make you happy?” she choked out.

  “Annie…” His palm was fixed to the back of his neck — squeezing, squeezing, squeezing. “I just want you to be happy.”

  “You want someone else.”

  His eyes narrowed. The pain she saw etched in them hurt her greatly.

  “I mean”—she recoiled—“you want who you thought I was. Not who I am now.”

  “I want you. Period. End of fucking discussion.” Cal pinched his nose and went toward the door.

  “I...” she began, and Cal stopped. “The doctor asked me about expectations.”

  He turned around, fixing his gaze on Annie. She held Ben in a way which never ceased to move him. There was something rhythmic about the rain too, mixing with the quiet noises of his son. It was relaxing.

  Rain and family. Both nurturing and necessary.

  “What expectations?”

  “About being a mom. He suggested I make a list.”

  Silence swallowed the room when she failed to elaborate. The rain continued.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To order food.”

  “Cal?”

  “Yes, Annie.” His voice indicated she was testing his patience astronomically.

  “Will you sit with me a little longer? The rain ... it makes me feel things I don’t want to.”

  But it made her cognizant too.

  Aware of what she would put at the top of the list, she glanced down at Benjamin. His eyes closed. His lips pursed, intermittently sucking. His lungs perfect.

  I didn’t expect him to feel like an extension of me. So much and so fast. Instantly. His skin is familiar. The way Cal’s was ... is. Different but the same.

  I loved him at first sight.

  Annie sat in the kitchen, spoon-feeding Benjamin.

  He was strapped into his booster seat, happy and licking his chops, food smeared all over his face and tray.

  Annie juggled holding the phone to her ear and keeping the train of mush barreling toward her son's mouth. He’d passed the six-month mark and taken to solids immediately.

  The spoon was near his chunky fingers, and he grabbed it, displaying his normal curiosity, then he slammed his slimy hand down repeatedly and delightfully, prattling endlessly.

  Annie prattled too. Her sentences practically ran together...

  "I've done everything I went to see someone Cal suggested I talk to someone." She bit her lip and forced a smile for the sake of Ben.

  "You mean … like a psychiatrist?" Tab asked.

  "Yes." The word blew out in a rush as she wiped Ben's fingers with a damp towel. "Mommy's okay, Bennie boy." She smiled again, but now fat tears pooled at her rims. "It wasn’t any better than talking to my mother.”

  Beverly and her father had visited. Not at the same times.

  Cal and Annie had chosen to buy a house in Seattle to be closer to Albert. But right now, she was of no use to either of them. And they’d never known how much she’d suffered after Peter died. Didn’t know her propensity for pills. And they wouldn’t know now.

  "If you can imagine…” She straightened up, huffed, and rolled her eyes. “My mom thinks she’s Doctor God."

  "Have you talked to your doctor?"

  "Yes," Annie snapped. "But I don't … I don't want to be on medication. Why doesn’t anyone talk about this? Why do people only ever tell you how great it is to be a mother? People lie." She stood, turned her head from Ben, and winced. "I feel like shit."

  As Annie looked back at her son, her heart filled with his beauty and wonder, but her eyes filled to the brim with salt water.

  "Benjamin deserves more than I can give him. I don't have anything. And I certainly don't have anything left to give Cal. There's nothing. Don't you see? Nothing!"

  Annie paused, sucked in a breath and snot, and gave Ben a kiss on the forehead.

  "Are you there, Tabitha? Don't leave me. Don't hate me."

  Annie sat and planted another spoonful of pulverized asparagus into Ben's mouth. He slapped his hand onto the tray and cooed.

  "Yes, yes, I'm here." Tab cleared her throat.

  "Say something then."

  "I'm going to fly out, and this time, I won't take no for an answer."

  "When?"

  "Before the end of the week. Oh, and, Annie."

  "What?" She sniffled.

  "I love you."

  The girls took turns pushing Benjamin in his stroller around the winding streets of Annie's neighborhood.

  Ben was layered and bundled, a blanket stretching out across the carriage. The girls were in full gear too, covered in coats and scarves and boots, pounding the asphalt and talking.

  Tab had been at Annie’s for a few days. She’d made several meals — wholesome ones with fresh ingredients and no garbage — and she’d plied her with water by the gallon too. Tab forced Annie to drink, all day long, until she complained or felt she might burst. Tab also shopped, cleaned, and opened the windows, letting in the cold, pristine Pacific air and some fucking sunlight. She gave Annie massages every night and went walking with her every day, sometimes twice a day. Things she knew Cal had offered and Annie had been too stubborn to accept.

  "When was the last time you took pictures?" Tab asked.

  "I just took some yesterday of Ben."

  Tab stopped and put a hand on her hip. "No … when is the last time you were inspired to take pictures? I know this little guy is inspiring." She pointed to Ben. "That's not what I mean. I want to know when you last experienced that feeling”—Tab poked Annie’s stomach—"deep in the pit of your gut?"

  Annie gripped the bar on the stroller, turning her palms over it, like she was revving a motorcycle.

  "I've seen you get lost doing your thing, Annie-pie. It never mattered if it was a tiny creature crawling on the ground or a giant cloud in the sky. You were always mesmerized.”

  Annie peered down their road, beyond the curve, staring at the mailboxes lining the street, the trees, the cars — until her eyes burned.

  She couldn't remember the last time she’d noticed the small things, the big things, the meaningful things … things other people usually took for granted.

  Annie st
ruggled to reply as she fought the realization she was now one of those people: a passive observer instead of an active one.

  Had she been missing the point, the rainbows, the clouds, the silver lining?

  Yes.

  She’d been too busy caring for a life … she’d forgotten her own.

  “I don’t know,” Annie said, shifting her eyes, grieving what she’d never truly lost. The passion remained within her … somewhere.

  After a few seconds, they started to walk again. Tab looked at Annie, cleared her throat, and said, "Have you thought about having someone come in during the week? Regularly?"

  "Absolutely not.”

  "Annie, Cal said Rosa is—”

  "He talked to you? He talked to you about this?"

  "Cal wants to help you.” Tab placed her hand on the stroller, stopping its motion. She tried to calm Annie by fixing her a with a look. Serenity and empathy filled Tab’s oceanic eyes. The actress in her could call upon many things at any moment. “You won't let him. You won't let anyone help you."

  “That’s not true. He helps. Rosa lives too far.”

  “She would move for you, Annie. And, the help you do accept, it’s not enough. I know Rosa did things for you both before you had the baby. What’s the difference now?”

  “What do you think you know?” She narrowed her eyes. “About any of this? About taking care of a baby?”

  Tabitha’s nostrils flared. "When are you going to realize if you don't give up this self-righteous, control-freak bullshit, you may never come out of this … this depression?” Tabitha paused, took shallow breaths, and tried to calm down. “Annie, if you can survive what I saw you go through after Peter died, then you can get through anything. You’re so strong."

  "No.” She shook her head. “No, I’m not.”

  “Yes, you are. You’re one of the strongest people I know.”

  “This is different. It's like … like I have no control over it. It has control of me.”

  "While I'm here"—Tab smirked and bounced her eyebrows—"I have control of you."

  Several mornings later, Annie strolled into the kitchen wearing her gray fleece bathrobe.

  “You look good,” Tab said.

  “Yeah.”

  “Yeah. Your eyes aren’t all puffy, and you have color.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “I’m gonna take you to get a facial before I go.”

  “Tab…”

  “He’s sleeping better?”

  “Seems to be. Did you work your magic on my son too?”

  “I’m very magical.” She laughed and scraped oatmeal along the sides of her bowl. “Cal just left for his run. And you … you are going to be a photographer today. I’m casting my spell.”

  Except no one forced her to be a photographer.

  Cal had tried and failed. He’d mentioned it once or twice, and she’d scolded him. She regretted having done so. But neither of them had a right to make her be creative.

  It was a job, but it was also a feeling.

  Annie balled her hands into fists inside the pockets of her robe. Tab continued to eat as if what she’d said was no big deal. Cast a spell… The witch… Go be a photographer. Sure. Poof!

  Annie didn't say a word, but her expression spoke volumes — trepidation mixed with a goat-like stubbornness at being told what to do.

  "You are, Annie. Wipe that fucking look off your face and go get dressed." Tab waved her palms in the air toward the stairs. "I'll make you something to eat that you can take with you."

  Annie inhaled a deep breath.

  It was a bad idea. The worst.

  She eyeballed Tabitha, watching her eat in peace, jealous of her friend’s ability to start every day fresh without a dark cloud hanging over her, ready to unleash rain and snow and sleet.

  "I don't know." Annie exhaled, dropping her chin.

  Tab lowered her head, trying to meet her eyes. "I can manage this. Ben will be fine. You’re going.”

  Annie sighed.

  “Go.”

  "Fine."

  After Annie headed upstairs and dressed, she pulled her camera off the top shelf of the closet and set it on the bed. She sat beside it — without looking at it — tapping her fingers, thinking.

  She had taken a million pictures of Benjamin.

  But.

  This.

  Now.

  It was different.

  And terrifying and exciting.

  The prospect of failure and success.

  A knee on the bed, Annie shifted toward what was once one of her most prized possessions. She held its weight, reacquainting herself with her companion, rubbing her fingers over the black, coarse body, recalling years she’d spent using it — all over and everywhere.

  Annie’s musings were interrupted by Benjamin’s talking. As his cooing and babbling grew louder, she was struck with a fear — lots of them:

  Leaving the house … alone.

  Driving in the car … alone.

  People might make fun of her silly manner, positions she would get into for a shot, things she’d need to capture.

  Could she handle being alone?

  Ben was always beside her now.

  Could she own the space of solitude with no noise, no distraction, and no tension?

  The idea was mortifying.

  Her normal, shining confidence — whatever Cal had been attracted to — was barely at an ebb. There was no ebb. Only a jagged cliff. She hung from its towering edge, dangling and clinging to its rocks using only her fingernails.

  Feet pounded up the staircase, breaking Annie’s daydream … her nightmare. But they stopped her fears from escalating. She stood, placing the strap of the camera over her neck, and made her way to Ben’s room.

  “Good morning," Annie said to her boys, her voice a little unsteady.

  Cal was back from his run. He stood in the center of the baby’s room, holding Ben. He didn't even seem to notice her because he was so engrossed in conversation with his son, holding his tiny fingers, bouncing a little as they spoke to each other.

  "Good morning.” He didn’t bother looking up. Nor did his voice have any inflection.

  "I'm going out.” She tried to sound certain, but she knew the words tumbled out frayed. “I'm going to look for things to photograph.”

  "Good." Cal laid Ben on the changing table.

  She remained quite a distance away, just inside the doorway. "Tab will watch him."

  "I'll take care of him." He readied a clean diaper.

  Annie moved closer, studying every move Cal made, then she leaned over and kissed her son. "Hi, Bennie." She tickled his belly button. “Mommy’s going out.”

  The baby babbled, toes in the air, fingers holding onto them. Annie grinned.

  Cal continued with the task, wiping and cleaning, talking to Ben, virtually ignoring his wife’s presence. Annie glanced at his profile, and then she turned to leave.

  "Have fun," he finally said, this time with a genuine smile on his face, the sound of it in his voice.

  “Thank you."

  The sanguine look she noted in Cal’s eyes gave her a boost, and she left the room, ready to find the silver lining in the streets of Seattle, holding the cherished smiles of both her boys in her heart and mind.

  Cal entered the kitchen with Ben in his arms, then he set him down in the playpen and put a toy in his hands. Annie had left with her bagel and camera. Tab was at the sink, washing dishes.

  “Are you hungry?”

  “I’ll make something.” Cal leaned over and looked at Ben.

  “When did Rosa stop coming?” Tab dried her hands on a towel.

  “I’ve had someone come and do—”

  “I know. You told me someone helps with the laundry. You know that’s not what I mean.”

  “Rosa visited after Ben was born. She offered to stay.”

  “You mentioned that.”

  “But Annie wanted it to just be the three of us.”

  “And you agreed?
”

  “Rosa agreed. I agreed. We all agreed.”

  “What about Maggie?”

  Cal gave Tabitha a look that could’ve only been described as “Are you fucking kidding me?” They’d made their peace at the wedding. But Maggie and a new baby and Annie and anxiety … those things didn’t mix. Not for days or weeks at a time.

  “Why did you agree? Why...? How did you let it get this far?”

  “None of us knew what this would turn out to be. It wasn’t like this then. And it's not time to pass blame."

  “I’m sorry. It’s just that it’s been over six months. Did you think it was going to just fix itself?”

  “This isn’t anyone’s fault, T. This whole thing is a fucking mess. I don’t even know how it got this far."

  “I’m sorry.” Tab sighed. “You're right. I'm sorry. It’s just hard for me to see her like this. I know it’s been hard for you too.”

  “I almost don’t remember her any other way.” Cal’s eyes blurred. “I don’t know who she is anymore. I don’t know who I am half the time. She isn’t the person I met.”

  “She is. She’s in there. I told you before… I read up on it. We’re going to find her in there. She’ll come out of it. We need to find her a new doctor.”

  “She doesn't want a prescription. I’ve tried talking to her about it. She’s like the fucking Berlin Wall sometimes."

  “No, I know. She won’t take it. She ... she can’t.”

  “What do you mean, she can’t?”

  “She just can’t."

  “Don’t give me that bullshit answer.”

  “Pills fuck her up, okay?”

  “What pills?”

  “All pills. I don’t know. She never does well with them. Why do you think she never took birth control? God, I shouldn’t be telling you this.”

  “Of course you should be telling me this. My wife should be telling me. I’m her fucking husband. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. I’m not some jerk-off boyfriend who—”

  “I know. I know.” She placed a hand over her forehead while looking back at Cal, ready to spill. “She never told you? About any of it?”

  “Not the finer details apparently,” he hissed. “Please enlighten me.”

  “Well … what do you know?"