Brain Damage, page 15
part #2 of Prescription: Murder Series
Chelsea, who has a bib protecting her ridiculously impractical frilly, pink dress, seems nonplussed by the idea of eating turkey in purée form. I can’t say I blame her. Just the sight of it is so revolting that it almost kills my appetite. Which is good, because I’m pretty sure I’m not going to get any food during this alleged lunch.
“Please, Chelsea,” Bridget begs her little daughter, “please just take one bite for Mommy…”
Chelsea presses her little pink lips together tightly. She’s cute, only because I’m not the one who’s force-feeding her.
Bridget drops the baby spoon and sighs. “We’re trying to introduce meat, but it’s not going well.”
“Really,” I say.
“The worst thing,” Bridget says, “is that her poop has been a complete disaster since she started eating meat. I thought it was bad when we introduced solids. You should see what it looks like now.”
“Really,” I say. What would be a polite way to change the topic? To anything besides Chelsea’s poop.
“Actually,” Bridget says, her eyes brightening, “I took a picture of Chelsea’s poop yesterday because it was just so amazing.” She starts reaching for her purse. “Do you want to see?”
Has my best friend completely lost her mind? “That’s all right.”
Bridget’s face falls. She’s probably been waiting to show me the poop photo all day. Thankfully, she doesn’t push the matter further.
“Do you want to go out and get some food?” I suggest. “Like, for ourselves?”
“Oh, no,” Bridget says. “Charly, look at me! I still haven’t lost my baby weight.”
“So what are you saying?” I crinkle my nose. “Have you given up eating?”
“When we go out, we always overeat,” Bridget points out. “You know it’s true. I mean, you’re skinny as a rail so you can afford to eat a bacon cheeseburger, but I can’t.”
I’m not skinny as a rail. Far from it. I’m actually still ten pounds above my goal weight. But that doesn’t mean I’ve stopped eating.
“How about you and Clark?” Bridget says with a sly smile. “Are you guys going to try for a baby soon?”
I cross and uncross my legs. Maybe I should try to change the topic back to Chelsea’s poop. Maybe it’s not too late to see the photo. “We haven’t really talked about it…”
“You want kids though, don’t you, Charly?”
I watch as Bridget wipes off Chelsea’s face, and Chelsea stretches out her little arms to be picked up. Bridget picks her little girl out of her highchair and cuddles her, messy dress and all. Chelsea wraps her chubby little arms around Bridget’s neck.
Don’t tell my mother, but I think I do. I want a child.
I didn’t think I would. I had always been one of those women who assumed I would have children one day, but wasn’t particularly excited about it. But now that I’m married and practically all my friends either are mothers or are trying for a baby, it’s been on my mind more and more. Whenever I see a woman pushing a baby carriage down the street, I get a little ache in my chest.
Although luckily, I haven’t gotten to the point where I have the slightest interest in seeing a photo of a nine-month-old girl’s poop.
“I guess so,” I say. “I mean, I think so.”
“Well, what are you waiting for?” Bridget says. She raises her eyebrows at me. “Charly, we’re in our late thirties!”
I frown at her. “Thirty-six is not late thirties. It’s mid thirties.”
“Bullshit,” Bridget argues. “Anything after thirty-five is late thirties by definition.”
I’m not entirely sure that’s true. But then again, obstetricians consider anything over thirty-five to be advanced maternal age. Right now, I’m advanced maternal age and I haven’t even started trying for a baby yet.
“Steve and I are going to try for a second as soon as Chelsea is one year old,” Bridget says. “You and Clark should start trying right now.”
Bridget is right, of course. But somehow I have reservations about trying for a baby with Clark. Ever since that revelation about his employment, I haven’t entirely been able to trust my husband.
But I know that’s silly. There’s no reason in the world why Clark and I shouldn’t start trying for a baby. That’s what you do when you get married, right?
Chapter 33
Eleven Months Before
Clark has been really stressed out lately about his new practice. He’s got a few cases now that aren’t going great, and he’s been putting in a lot of hours. Clark stressed out is not pleasant, as I found out. He just paces around the house and snaps at me whenever I try to talk to him. With the amount of pacing he’s done in the last few weeks, he’s probably paced the equivalent of a marathon.
And our sex life has pretty much dwindled to zip. I guess Clark used up all his energy with pacing.
I think the two of us both needed a break from the pacing, so we decided to take a night out to unwind. Clark somehow got us reservations at a swanky restaurant called WD 50, which specializes in something called molecular gastronomy. I don’t entirely know what that means, but Clark is eating something called a deconstructed Eggs Benedict. I’m eating shrimp grits. Not shrimp and grits, just shrimp grits. Basically, it’s grits made out of shrimp, with pickled jalapeño and bright shreds of green onion. It’s amazing, actually.
I haven’t decided whether or not it’s a good thing that we’ve only just received our main course and Clark is on his fourth glass of wine. I’m glad he is loosening up a bit, but this might be a little bit too much loosening up. Also, he’s looking for our waiter to get a refill.
“This was a great idea, Charlotte,” Clark says, as he downs the last few drops of pinot noir.
“Well, you were the one who got us reservations,” I point out.
Clark winks at me. “Very true.”
I take his hand across the table. He holds my hand for a moment then goes back to eating. “I think you’re too wrapped up in your practice,” I tell him. “Maybe there are some other things you can think about instead.”
“Maybe.” Clark shrugs. He picks up my glass of wine (my first) and steals a sip. “What sorts of things? Were you thinking about a trip somewhere?”
“Not exactly,” I say. I take a deep breath. “I was thinking maybe we could start trying for a baby.”
Clark starts to choke on my wine. A few droplets of purple end up on his white shirt. “A baby? Now? Are you out of your mind?”
“Clark, I’m thirty-six years old,” I remind him. God, I sound just like Bridget. Oh well. “When am I supposed to have a baby if not now?”
“I didn’t even think you wanted a baby,” Clark says shaking his head. “You’re so caught up in work. When would you even have time?”
I wince. In previous relationships, men had always complained that I was too caught up with work. Clark had never said anything like that to me before. He had always seemed thrilled that I had a job that I loved.
“We could hire a nanny,” I say. “And I can cut back on work a little bit.”
Clark shakes his head again. “How are we supposed to afford that?”
“I’ve got enough savings,” I say. “It will be fine.”
Clark just keeps shaking his head.
“Before we got married, you said you wanted kids,” I remind him.
“Right,” he says. “I do want kids. Someday.”
“I’m thirty-six years old,” I tell him again. “How long am I supposed to wait?”
“Thirty-six is young,” Clark says. “You’re only in your mid thirties.”
“No,” I say. “I’m in my late thirties.”
Now I really do sound like Bridget.
Clark waves his hand in dismissal. “So what? Women have babies in their forties all the time now. I think waiting till forty is completely reasonable.”
“I don’t want to wait till I’m forty,” I say. It’s like I’m deciding at this moment. I hadn’t been certain about the whole child issue, but I am now. I don’t want to wait till I’m forty. “It might be too late by then.”
“You always have to have it your way, don’t you?” Clark grumbles.
What the hell is that supposed to mean?
I stare at Clark, feeling the resentment creep over me. I don’t want to sit here and have dinner with him anymore. I’m this close to storming out the door of WD 50. I certainly don’t have much of an appetite anymore for shrimp grits.
A waiter breaks our heated silence when he comes by our table and refills Clark’s wine glass. Clark lifts up his newly filled glass, swishes the liquid around for a moment, and takes a long drink.
“Listen,” he says. He reaches across the table and takes my hand in his. “You’re right. I want to have a baby too, and we’re not that young. How about… a year? We start trying in one year.”
I smile across the table at him. “Yeah?”
“That will be perfect,” he says. “My practice will have stabilized by then, and we’ll be married for over two years when the baby comes.”
“Sounds perfect,” I say.
I actually feel kind of relieved that he doesn’t want to start trying right away. I’m scared of the idea of becoming a parent too, and this will give me a little time to adjust to it. And to get to know my husband better before we burden ourselves with a child.
“But,” Clark adds, a smile playing in his lips, “you have to promise me that we’re going to have a boy. And that we’re going to name him Clark Junior.”
“Oh no,” I say. “She’s going to be a girl and she’s going to be Charlotte Junior.”
“Hmm,” Clark says. “What about some combination of the two? Clarotte? Oh, I’ve got it—Chark!”
“Brilliant!” I laugh.
I dig back into my shrimp grits. One more year until we start on the road to parenthood. Maybe I can run another marathon.
Chapter 34
Four and a Half Months After
“So are you ever going to get your skull put back on?” Jamie asks me.
We’re sitting together in the hallway, like we do every night. We just finished eating dinner, and an aide has cleared away our trays of food. I still can’t get over the fact that Jamie could go back to his room if he wanted, but instead he’s staying out here with me. He’s got to be out of his mind.
“I guess so,” I say. At least, I hope so. I really don’t want to have to wear a helmet for the rest of my life. Then again, my skull was pretty much destroyed by the bullet. Can they make a new skull? Do we have that kind of technology yet?
“When?”
“I have no idea,” I say. I touch the helmet, which feels suddenly very itchy. “Hopefully soon.”
“I hope so too,” Jamie says. He grins at me. “I want to see what your hair looks like.”
I can’t help but remember what Angela said yesterday in Thinking Skills Group. About how Jamie has a crush on me. I wonder if that could be true. After all, he does stay in the hallway with me when he doesn’t need to…
But no, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t. He couldn’t possibly.
Jamie scratches absently at the scar on his scalp. I’ve noticed he does that a lot. “Does it itch a lot?” I ask him.
He blinks in confusion. “Does what?”
I gesture at his head. “The scar.”
“Oh.” Jamie laughs and touches his scalp self-consciously. “Yeah. Like crazy.”
Another thing that we have in common.
Jamie is looking at me, still smiling. He’s got that look like he wants to say something, but whatever it is, he isn’t saying it. He’s just sitting there quietly, looking at me.
Then I suddenly see the smile fade from Jamie’s face. One second he’s smiling, the next he looks completely horrified. His eyes widen, and I see a vein stand out in his neck that I’d never seen before. He’s not looking at me anymore, but at something past me.
“Karen,” I hear him say in a choked voice. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Then I see her appear. In that sudden way that people appear when they approach me from the left side.
So this is Karen. As terrible as my memory is these days, I remember who Karen is. She’s the mother of Jamie’s son.
She’s young. Younger than I thought she would be, far younger than I am. Maybe mid-twenties, late twenties at most. She’s very tall, probably nearly as tall as Jamie is, and he’s above average height for a man. She has long, wavy black hair, and she’s very thin. The cheekbones on her face look sharp, like they might hurt if you nuzzled against her. And she’s pale. Like she hasn’t been out in the sun in years. The purple lipstick she’s wearing makes her look like a vampire.
I can’t help but notice that she doesn’t look anything like I do. Or at least, the way I did before. If this is Jamie’s type then I am definitely not Jamie’s type.
“Jamie,” she says quietly. “We need to talk. I keep calling you, but you won’t pick up.”
“There’s nothing to say,” he practically spits at her. “So why don’t you get out of here. Before I call the security guard.”
“God, don’t be so dramatic,” Karen says. She blinks her black-lined eyelids. “Look, if you don’t want to talk to me, then you’re going to have to talk to my lawyer. But I prefer not to do things that way.”
Jamie sucks in a breath. “You’re wasting your time, Karen. You’re never going to get custody of Sam. Never.”
“Who’s supposed to take care of him?” She raises her eyebrows. “You?”
“I’ve been doing a pretty good job of that for the last five years,” he retorts.
Karen folds her arms over her chest. She’s so thin that she has zero in the way of bust. At least I’ve got that over her. “Your nurse told me you can’t even get dressed by yourself.”
Jamie’s mouth drops open and his face turns pink. “That’s not true. And anyway, she had no right to talk to you.”
I’m pretty sure it is true. I watch Jamie eat every day, and even though he’s a lot steadier, I’m willing to bet he still needs help getting dressed.
“Your parents aren’t so young,” Karen points out. “When you go home, do you expect that they’re going to take care of both you and Sam? You need my help, Jamie. And I want to see my son again.”
“I absolutely don’t need your help,” Jamie says. “I’m fine. I’ll be completely fine.”
“You’re fine?” Karen snorts. “Prove it to me then. Get up and walk down the hall for me. If you do that, I’ll go away and never bother you again.”
Jamie’s face turns an even darker shade of red. He can’t do it. Not if she gave him half the day. Maybe with a walker he could manage. But without it, he’d fall on his face for sure. I know it, he knows it, and apparently, Karen knows it too.
“It doesn’t matter,” Jamie says through his teeth. “I’m not turning my son over to a drug addict.”
Karen glances at me. I guess it occurs to her that I might not be completely brain-dead and that I’ve heard their entire conversation. She lowers her voice a notch. “I’m clean now, Jamie,” she says softly. “I swear to you, I’m completely sober now. I would never do anything to endanger Sam.”
Jamie just shakes his head at her. “I don’t believe you.”
“I’d like us to be friends, Jamie,” she says in a calm voice. I notice for the first time that her eyes are bright green, contrasting sharply with her ebony hair and dark make-up. “I want to work out a way for both of us to be a part of Sam’s life without bringing lawyers into it and making everyone unhappy.” She leans forward and looks him in the eyes. “But either way, I assure you, I’m going to see my son again regularly. Whether you like it or not.”
Karen is very lucky that Jamie can’t walk. Because if he could, I’m pretty sure he would’ve gotten out of this chair and wrapped his fingers around her neck.
Chapter 35
Four and a Half Months After
The next day in our walking group, I can tell that Jamie is still mad about what happened yesterday with that woman Karen. He’s really quiet, first of all. He hardly talks to Angela or me much, which is unusual for him. He just sits in silence, watching everyone else walk.
When it’s finally his turn, he says to Natalie, “I want to walk without the walker today. Let’s try it with just a cane.”
Natalie looks like she doesn’t think it’s a good idea. I saw Jamie walk yesterday, and I don’t think it’s a good idea either. “I’m not sure if you’re ready for that,” Natalie says.
Jamie looks up to meet her eyes. “I’m ready.”
Natalie obligingly fetches a cane for him. It’s pretty supportive for a cane. It has four prongs at the base instead of just one. He’s able to stand on his own without a problem, but the second he starts walking, you can see how bad his balance is. But it’s a lot better than it used to be. Natalie has to hang onto him and catch him a few times, but he manages to make it across the room and back without coming close to falling.
When Jamie collapses back into his wheelchair, he looks pleased with himself for the first time that day.
Angela squints at him. “What’s your hurry?”
“I need to be able to walk again,” Jamie says. “Like, ASAP.”
She raises her eyebrows. “And why is that?”
“Because if I don’t get out of here soon,” he says, “my son’s mother is going to try to sue me to get custody. She came by yesterday evening when Charly and I were having dinner in the hallway and started threatening me.”
“Charly!” Angela snaps at me. “You saw Jamie’s ex-wife and you didn’t even tell me? What did she look like? Was she hot?”
“Kind of,” I admit, while Jamie rolls his eyes.
“Who does she look like?” Angela asks. “I mean, like, what celebrity?”
