SC-Epilogue, Part 2b

Note from Nick: Whoops! Sorry this is late. I thought I had it scheduled already, but I didn't. So this is live. I hope the anticipation was worth it.

Oh, and remember... Part 2 takes place from Aug 1990 – Jun 1993. 

✧ ✧ ✧

Christy and I started talking about children again. We both wanted more, but not if it meant several months of hell after they were born. I could handle the lack of sleep and even the lack of sex, but I couldn’t handle watching her suffer, especially when I couldn’t do anything about it.

“But I love being pregnant,” she wheedled. “And you love it too. You know how I am.”

“Our sex life’s pretty good now,” I said.

“Think how much better it’ll be when I’m a nympho and can’t get enough. Mmm, penis.” She reached for it. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

I caught her hand and stopped her, something I rarely did. “We need to talk about this.”

She sighed but nodded.

“I’m not worried about you getting pregnant,” I said. “I’m worried about what comes after.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I arched an eyebrow.

“What? So? It took me some time to get used to being a mother. Now I am. We’ll be fine. I promise. Besides, I want another baby. You know I love them.”

“So do I, but…”

“Laurie needs a little brother.”

“Or sister. And no, she doesn’t.” I didn’t sound convinced, even to myself.

Christy sensed her advantage and pressed it ruthlessly. She was her mother’s daughter, all right. Her father’s too.

“You know I love Wren,” she said, “but she was an only child. I don’t want Laurie to grow up alone.”

“Neither do I.”

We fell silent, and I thought about what she was asking. Then I had a thought, one of my own weird leaps of logic.

“It’s a good thing you didn’t get your nipples pierced.”

Christy frowned. “What?”

“You wouldn’t be able to breastfeed.”

“Of course I would! What makes you—?” Her expression changed as she realized what it meant. “We can have another baby? Thank you, thank you. You’ll love it. I promise! Oh my gosh, we’d better get started!”

I didn’t stop her when she reached for my penis again.

✧ ✧ ✧

To this day, Christy swears she gave me two gifts on my twenty-eighth birthday.

She unveiled the first at a cookout with family and friends. The mounting block was a vertical slab of rose-colored granite, thirty inches on a side and six inches thick, with a polished face and rough edges. I did the math in my head and realized it weighed more than six hundred pounds. My pint-sized princess did not think small.

The sculpture itself was bronze, a bas-relief of a man’s muscular torso, mine. Personally, I wasn’t sure I’d ever looked that good, but I wasn’t about to quibble. My bronze self cradled my infant daughter in one arm while I held the other above her. She gripped my index finger with her tiny hand. It was a private moment, and Christy had captured both the tenderness and the strength in our touch.

“It’s beautiful,” someone said, maybe me. “What’s it called?”

“Sleep, darling.”

People around me started talking, in murmurs at first, but louder as their confidence grew. They thought they knew what the title meant, although none of them did, not for real.

It was from a poem by Sappho, one of my favorites. I thought of it often when I held Laurie, my golden flower. I even called her “Flower” because of it, and I should’ve known that Christy would understand why.

Do you like it? she asked hopefully.

Like it? I love it. And I especially love the artist.

Friends and family complimented her and wished me a happy birthday. Then my golden flower toddled up, and I swept her into my arms.

“Bir’day, Daddy!”

“Thank you, sweetie.” I pointed at the sculpture. “Do you know who that is? It’s you and Daddy.”

“Flower?”

“That’s right, Flower and Daddy.”

“No,” she said with a toddler’s seriousness, “Daddy and Flower.”

I slid my other arm around Christy and kissed the top of her head.

“Look, Mommy,” Laurie said. “Daddy and Flower.”

“I know, darling. Mommy made it for you and Daddy.”

“No,” the little girl grumped. “Daddy and Flower!”

I chuckled. “She’s your daughter, all right.”

“And whose fault is that?” Christy asked sweetly.

✧ ✧ ✧

My second birthday gift arrived nine months later. Emily Anne Hughes joined us on a cold Thursday in February. She was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen, even red-faced and suspicious. She wasn’t grumpy like her sister had been. Instead, she thought I might be up to something, that I might’ve been the reason she’d been evicted from her nice warm home. Then she pursed her tiny lips, sighed, and went to sleep, just like that. I couldn’t help but laugh.

A little while later we introduced her to Laurie, who was curious and affectionate. She snuggled beside Christy in the hospital bed and watched seriously as Emily had her first meal. My little family was growing, and I thought my heart might burst. Christy and I had brought another life into the world. I was twice the dad I’d been only a few hours earlier.

We brought Emily home a couple of days later. Once again, Christy’s mother stayed with us, and my mother came to visit every day or so. At first we thought Christy would be fine. She suffered the normal baby blues but seemed to recover. Anne returned to San Diego, and I went back to work.

✧ ✧ ✧

Christy started losing weight, more than the normal baby weight. She didn’t sleep at night, and sometimes she was confused in the evening when I came home, like I’d just left and had returned because I’d forgotten something. The doctor said it was from lack of sleep and prescribed sleeping pills. They knocked her out, especially after she’d had a couple of drinks, so she stopped taking them.

She started drinking more without the pills, and she bought random things from QVC in the middle of the night. She sobbed when I called the credit card company and told them to block any charges from home shopping networks.

“But… you don’t understand!” Christy pleaded. “I need my things!”

“What, kitschy art? Ugly porcelain dogs? Sports equipment? No! And that’s final!”

Things grew progressively worse over the next couple of months. We didn’t have sex, of course, and we fought more often. Her sketchbook sat untouched, and she stopped going to church. She couldn’t sit still, yet she never seemed to accomplish anything. The house was a mess, and I took care of the girls when I was home.

I called her doctor, but he was no help. Christy’s mother talked to her, and things improved for a little while before they went right back to where they’d been. I even called Leah and begged her to help.

“Let me call Gina.”

“No! You can’t. What if Christy finds out?”

“Let me worry about that,” Leah said patiently.

I waited by the phone and snatched it out of the charging cradle the moment it rang.

“She said it sounds like postpartum depression.”

“What do I do?”

“She has to see her doctor. He can prescribe antidepressants—”

“You mean, like, Prozac?”

“That. Or something else,” Leah said. “And… um… I don’t know how to put this…”

“Just say it,” I snapped, although I immediately felt guilty. “Sorry. I’m not getting any sleep either. And I’m watching my wife slowly disintegrate.”

“I know,” Leah said. “I don’t want to scare you, but Gina said to take her to the emergency room if you think she might… harm herself or the girls.”

I went very still. “Are you serious?”

“Yes. She said it can turn into…” Paper rasped in the background as she flipped a page in her notebook. “Postpartum psychosis.”

“Psychosis,” I said slowly. “Like… she’s crazy? Fucking for real? She might hurt—? I have to get them out of here!”

“Don’t do anything,” Leah said. “I’ll be right there.”

The line clicked.

Leah lived thirty minutes away, even at night and without traffic. She made it in twenty.

“Where is she?” she asked.

“In the bedroom.”

“Where are the girls?”

“Asleep.”

“Check on them.”

“I already did. They’re fine.”

She nodded. Then she looked at her watch and scowled. “I called Kara. She should’ve been here by now.”

“I didn’t even think of Kara!” I said in despair.

“That’s okay. Lack of sleep’ll do that. Besides, Gina’s the real expert. You did right.” She paused and shook her head in dismay. “What happened? I talked to her last week, but she only sounded tired. Wren said she had a cold, so I didn’t think anything of it.”

“A cold? That was… a month ago!”

“Don’t blame Wren,” Leah soothed. “She has her hands full.”

Wren was pregnant herself, due any day now.

Leah checked her watch again. “Has this been going on since Emily was born? Why didn’t you tell us?”

“I… don’t know. I thought I could handle it. And… I… didn’t want to drag you into our problems.”

“That’s what we’re for!” She checked her watch. “Where is she?”

Just then a car pulled into the driveway. Leah yanked open the front door.

“Sorry, I got here as quick as I could,” Kara said. She’d been asleep in bed when Leah had called. It was past midnight, after all. “Where is she?”

“Bedroom,” Leah said.

“The girls?”

“They’re fine. Asleep.”

Kara nodded and took over. She disappeared into the back of the house, and the sound of the television stopped. I couldn’t hear what Kara said, but she spoke in quiet, soothing tones. Christy seemed confused. They talked for a little while longer before Kara returned to the living room. She set a bottle of whiskey on the counter without comment.

“I gave her something to help her sleep,” she said instead. “She’s definitely depressed.”

Leah nodded. “That’s what Gina said.”

“Yeah, we spoke before I left,” Kara said. “She told me what symptoms to look for.” She turned to me. “I don’t think she’s a danger to herself or the children, but I think we should call her OB/GYN first thing in the morning. Who is she?”

“He,” I said, and told her his name.

“Never mind,” Kara said. “You’re changing doctors. I won’t speak ill of a colleague, but… I’ll make an exception this time. Dr. Akin should’ve retired twenty years ago. He’s a chauvinist relic. I’m not sure he understands that ‘hysteria’ isn’t a medical diagnosis.”

“He’s on our insurance,” I said vaguely.

“It’s okay. You had no way to know,” Kara said with the same soothing voice she’d used on Christy.

“What do we do?”

“Sit tight,” she said immediately. “I can admit her to the hospital if you want, but I’m worried that someone might call DFCS. We don’t want that.”

“No!” Leah and I said together.

“I don’t think she’s a danger to herself or the children,” Kara continued, “but she needs help.”

“What kind of help?” I asked.

“Medication and counseling. I’ll call a friend who can see her first thing in the morning. She’ll do a real psych eval and tell us how to proceed.” She glanced at Leah. “Are you okay to spend the night?”

“Of course. I keep a bag packed, just in case I have to leave for a story.”

“I didn’t bring one,” Kara said, “but we can share. It’ll be like old times.”

Leah nodded immediately.

“You don’t have to stay,” I said.

“Nonsense.” Kara smiled, sad and sympathetic. “Looks like you’re spending the night with a couple of Coulter women. Not exactly the way you wanted, is it?”

✧ ✧ ✧

Wren went into labor on the morning of my birthday. I was twenty-nine, and we didn’t have a party.

Melissa Lark was born that evening. Christy made an effort to come to the hospital and meet her, but Wren could tell that things weren’t right.

“Thank you for coming, my love,” she said. “Meet Missy.”

“She looks like you,” Christy said. Then she frowned in confusion. “I didn’t bring my sketchbook.”

“That’s okay,” Wren said. “You’ll have plenty of time.”

Christy nodded glumly. “I should probably go. You don’t need me here.”

“No, stay.”

“Love you,” Christy said. “I’ll be in the waiting room.”

“Okay. I won’t be long,” I said.

She left, and a heavy silence filled the room. Wren glared daggers.

“Why didn’t you tell us? We could’ve helped!”

“Don’t start,” Trip told her. “I’d’ve done the same thing in his shoes.”

“Oh, really! You’d let me die? That’s nice to know!”

“Babe,” he said patiently, “I wouldn’t let you die. But you don’t understand what it’s like for us, me and Paul.”

“Oh, really?” she said, sarcastic this time. “Then please, enlighten me.”

“We’re men. We’re supposed to protect our families. What’s Paul supposed to do when he can’t protect his wife from herself? How d’you think that makes him feel?”

I blinked in surprise and didn’t know what to say. I never would’ve expected him to understand, not in a million years.

“You’re telling me this is a macho thing?” Wren snapped.

“It’s a guy thing.”

She huffed in fury. “Sometimes you make me want to scream! My girlfriend’s dying, and all you can say is, ‘it’s a guy thing’?”

He merely shrugged. She was irrational because of her hormones, although it wasn’t worth the price of his life to say so. She was also scared for Christy, which he seemed to understand.

“She isn’t dying,” I said into the silence.

“Do they know what’s wrong with her?” Wren snarled.

“Severe postpartum depression.”

“Severe—? What the—? For real? Postpartum? But… Emily was born four months ago!”

Three and a half, but I didn’t correct her. I shrugged instead. “The doctor said it’s unpredictable.”

“Unpre—? What the literal fuck! He’s a fucking doctor!”

Trip’s eyebrows rose.

“What the fuck is he doing about it?” Wren demanded.

“He? He who? Oh, Dr. Akin? We switched doctors.”

“Thank God for that!” She glared at Trip. “I told you he was a loser. Fucking dinosaur.”

“Anyway,” I continued, “we switched to a new OB/GYN. And Kara recommended a psychiatrist. She’s also a she. So we have a bunch of female doctors now.”

“About fucking time,” Wren muttered.

“The psychiatrist prescribed an antidepressant and an appetite stimulant. She’s starting to eat—”

“She looks like one of those refugees on CNN!”

“Babe, let him finish,” Trip said.

“Why? He’s not doing his fucking job! He—”

“He loves her too. As much as we do. More.”

“You don’t!” Wren sneered. “You never did. You only like her ’cause she ‘sucks a mean dick’!”

He sighed and kept his temper in check.

“Are you ready to listen?” I said to Wren.

She gestured impatiently.

“She’s starting to eat again,” I said. “And she’s sleeping through the night. The doctor gave her pills for that, too. The antidepressants will take some time, but I’ve seen some little improvements already. And we’ve been to a therapist. She doesn’t like it, but I told her she doesn’t have a choice.”

Wren squeezed her eyes shut and nodded. After a moment she wiped her cheeks. Her temper had finally begun to abate. Now she was just worried about her friend.

“We’re going to see her twice a week,” I continued, “until she’s better. I don’t care how long it takes.”

Wren swallowed hard and then forced a smile. “Thank you.”

“Why don’t you take a break from work,” Trip said.

I nodded. I’d been going to ask.

“I’ll cover for you.” He laughed, a touch bitterly. “I’m an architect too, even if I don’t ever use it.”

“You’re a good one,” I said.

“Not as good as you, but I can do the job.”

“Whitney will help,” I said. “She knows all the projects we’re working on.”

“Yeah. She’s good. I thought you hired her ’cause of her looks—”

I shook my head.

“—but she has a brain too. I wish she was friendlier, but…”

“Dude,” I said, “she’s a lesbian.”

“For real? Man, that’s a shame.”

I felt an irrational stab of annoyance, but it wasn’t the time to lecture him. He was trying to lighten the mood, after all.

“She’s still in the closet,” I said, “so be cool about it. I don’t think she knows I know.”

“No problem. That explains a lot, though, now that you mention it.” He shot a glance at Wren and finished quickly, “I mean, yeah, right, she’s good. Anyway, you’d better go. Take care of Christy. My lovely and not-at-all-hormonal wife will kill us both if anything happens to her.”

“Damn right I will,” Wren said.

I leaned in to kiss her. “Missy’s beautiful. Congratulations. To both of you.”

Trip smiled in paternal pride.

Wren caught my arm before I could leave. She squeezed, part plea, part reassurance.

“Take care of her,” she said. “Let us know what you need. Anything. And… I’m sorry I lost my temper.”

“No worries.”

She smiled. “Thank you.”

✧ ✧ ✧

Christy’s health continued to improve over the next month. She gained weight and began taking care of herself again. She didn’t like going to the therapist, but I didn’t give her a choice, and the sessions seemed to help.

She wouldn’t talk about “her troubles,” except to say that she’d had them. To hear her tell it, she’d been a little “out of sorts.” Still, I wasn’t going to complain, especially since I was getting my wife back.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t shake a nagging sense of guilt. A small part of me didn’t want her to get better. I enjoyed spending time with her, but most of all, I enjoyed spending time with the girls.

Emily was a different child. Laurie had been sweet, but Emily had a temper, so we came to a tacit agreement not to annoy each other. Laurie had gone to sleep easily, but Emily was stubborn, so I rocked her and sang to her. Laurie didn’t mind sleeping in the dark, but Emily hated to be left alone, so I bought her a little froggy night light to keep her company.

I also put Laurie to bed every night. She liked a story instead of songs. I read to her at first, but then I started making up my own story, about a princess who lived in a tower and didn’t want to leave. But then one night she heard a ruckus downstairs and saw that a pack of pixies had invaded the castle. They were throwing food and making a mess. The princess stomped her foot to make them listen. Then she asked them very politely to play nice and clean up after themselves.

I picked up the story the following night. The princess decided to explore some of the rooms in the castle. She discovered the library, but an old ogre scared her. She came back the next night and tried talking to him instead of running away. He was a friendly ogre after all, and he taught her the alphabet.

I continued the story, night after night, and the princess met new friends in the castle. They taught her new things, like how to braid her hair or how to tie her shoes. Sometimes a group of dryads or sprites would make trouble, but the princess always found a way to make them play nice. Sometimes she talked to them. Other times she won a race. One time she even made funny faces until they stopped arguing and listened.

Laurie hung on every word until I finished for the night. Then she gave me a goodnight kiss, curled up on her side (just like her mother), and closed her eyes. She usually fell asleep in minutes.

“Now I want to know what happens to the princess,” Christy said one evening when I joined her in the living room. She closed her sketchbook and poured me a glass of wine.

“You were listening?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Mr. Raconteur.”

I smiled and accepted the glass. Then I sank to the couch beside her.

“I looked it up, you know. Raconteur. Erin isn’t the only one.”

“What’re you talking about?”

“Something you said, years ago.”

I shrugged. “I don’t remember.”

“No, you’re lucky.” She stared into space and then sighed. “I don’t remember them. My troubles, I mean. I remember you being there, but that’s all. I just have this big brown space where I usually have memories.” She sighed again. “I suppose that’s a good thing. My therapist says it is, but I’m not so sure. Maybe if I remembered better I wouldn’t want more children.”

I didn’t know what to say.

“I can’t help it, though. I know we should stop at two, but…” She exhaled, long and dejected. “Oh, well. We’ll burn that bridge when we get to it. You said that to me once. I remember that just fine, but I can’t remember what you said when we brought Emily home from the hospital. Isn’t that weird?”

“It’s probably healthy. You weren’t very happy back then.”

“I know. I’m happy now, though. I like hearing you sing. You’re a little off-key,” she teased with a smile, “but only a little. No one else would notice.”

“Thank you… I think.”

“I like listening to your stories, too. I like relaxing and sitting here with my wine and knowing you’ll always be here.”

“I will.”

“I know. Only, you need to go back to work.”

“Not yet.”

“Soon.” She held up a hand before I could protest. “You can’t protect me forever.”

“The hell I can’t.”

“Paul, I’m serious. Sooner or later, I have to do this. Be a mother, I mean. On my own. You’re a wonderful father, and I love having you at home, but you can’t keep avoiding it.”

“Avoiding what?”

“Leaving me alone with them.”

I sipped my wine so I wouldn’t have to answer.

“I’m not going to hurt them. Or myself.”

“I know. I never thought—”

“Yes. Yes, you did. Leah told me.” She let the words hang there. “You have to trust me, Paul.”

“I do.”

“Oh, no,” she countered. “You can’t just say ‘I do’ and then expect me to do things your way. We have to compromise. You said it, like, a million times. So, now we’re going to do it.” She paused in case I wanted to object, but she knew I couldn’t.

“You’re going to go back to work,” she finished, “and I’m going to be a mother. We have to, Paul. Otherwise, this isn’t a marriage, it’s a dictatorship. I signed up for that in bed, but not the rest of the time.”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

She lifted my arm and pulled it around her shoulders. She was still too small, but she felt solid for the first time in a long time. She leaned against me and sighed.

“I love you.”

I kissed the top of her head. “I love you too.”

“We’ll get through this.”

✧ ✧ ✧