Read All She Ever Wanted Online
Authors: Rosalind Noonan
All She Ever Wanted (2 page)
Minus the happy ending.
She sniffed. Well, that was going to change, starting today. Dr. Volmer was going to give her some happy pills to chase the blues away. Her sister Emma had researched the whole thing and learned that there were medications Chelsea could take while breast-feeding.
It sounded so simple; she didn't know why she hadn't turned to him sooner.
“Silly pride,” she said, looking down at her sleeping baby. “Mommy has silly pride.” There . . . she could talk to her baby. Or did it count when she was talking about herself? Had she even said the words aloud?
Chelsea bit her lips, hoping that her failure as a mother hadn't affected Annabelle too much. She wanted to do everything right. Perfect. Her chief weakness was her perfectionism. Listing it as a fault had always worked well on job applications, but in real life, the need to be perfect could be a bitch.
Well, not anymore.
With a sigh, she summoned the energy to push off the couch and place Annabelle in her carrier. Time to find her way back to happiness.
Chapter 2
C
helsea had never liked Dr. Volmer. The dour man with the threadbare home office had always frightened her a little. His slick comb-over and tired eyes made her think of a failing executive scraping together yesterday's crumbsâand that was not the sort of doctor a girl wanted to entrust her most vulnerable parts to. At least she'd had an affinity for Dr. Hurley, who'd delivered her baby.
helsea had never liked Dr. Volmer. The dour man with the threadbare home office had always frightened her a little. His slick comb-over and tired eyes made her think of a failing executive scraping together yesterday's crumbsâand that was not the sort of doctor a girl wanted to entrust her most vulnerable parts to. At least she'd had an affinity for Dr. Hurley, who'd delivered her baby.
Her former gynecologist had been in a newer office building with plenty of parking. But she'd had to give up that health insurance when she left her job at the magazine. Under Sounder Health Care, choices were limited. Volmer was the only ob-gyn in their new insurance plan with an office that was reasonably close to their house in New Rochelle. One doctor had spoken with a thick accent that had been too hard to decipher. One wasn't taking new clients, and the specialists in the Bronx came with another set of city problems like parking and traffic.
In the end, Chelsea had gritted her teeth and chosen to suffer through Dr. Second-Rate.
“You brought the baby?” The woman in the crisp blouse at the reception desk craned her neck to look over the counter at the stroller behind Chelsea. What was her name? Despite the visits during the past three months, Chelsea couldn't remember. “Dr. Volmer doesn't allow that. Didn't you read the instructions?”
Chelsea swallowed. “What instructions?”
“On the Web site? When you made the appointment.” The stripe in her blouse brought out the teal in her eyes. Cold but sophisticated, it was the sort of color you'd find in a south Florida mansion. All the times she'd been here, she had never paid much attention to the receptionist before. “Didn't you see the red warning about no babies in the office?”
“I didn't know. My husband made the appointment for me. My sister usually watches her, but she's back at work now.”
“Mm-mm-mm.” Translation: You're in trouble. When the woman rose and emerged from the reception cubicle, Chelsea stepped back.
Was she going to chase them out?
Instead, the woman cut around her and leaned over the stroller to coo for Annabelle. Light flashed on the silver nameplate on her shirt, making it look like a piece of jewelry.
Val . . . Chelsea's senses swam with the gentle scent of her perfume, a delicious mix that reminded her of baby powder and flowers. Without the cover of the desk, Val's teal blouse no longer concealed her shape, the soft, doughy body of a Care Bear.
She wished Val would take care of her. A big, soft, plush hug would be so nice right now. Chelsea bit her bottom lip, missing her mother.
“You'll have to take her in,” Val said without looking up from Annie. “But he's not going to like it.”
“Okay. Sorry.” Chelsea adjusted her oversized sweater, which tended to bunch at her puffy waist. How did other overweight people like Val manage to look so togetherâso sharp? In that moment she would have given anything to have Val's life. A pretty blouse that matched her eyes. A quiet cubby to spend the day in. Lunch with friends. She probably had time to read books and soak in the tub with those amazing scents.
“Oh, look at you!” Val fussed. “Such a beautiful baby, and you know it, too! Yes, you do.”
Chelsea didn't think Annabelle was so beautiful, with her flaky cradle cap and chubby jowls. Why did people always say that?
“And with your pink little booties I can tell you're a girl. What's her name?”
“Annabelle.”
“A name almost as pretty as you.”
Annabelle's eyes opened wide in response to Val.
“Oh, aren't you yummy?” Val shot Chelsea a look. “Do you mind if I hold her? It's been so long since I had a little one.”
Chelsea nodded and stood back as the woman lifted her baby in her capable arms. Sometimes it reassured her to see other people give her baby the love she couldn't find in her own heart. She imagined Annabelle's senses coming alive to the sweet perfume, her fears and muscles easing in the nest of warm, capable arms.
“You are cute as a button,” Val cooed. “But you don't belong in this big doctor's office. Mommy needs to get a sitter.”
“But it's just an office visit,” Chelsea said. “A consultation. I'm not due for an exam.”
Val shrugged. “He doesn't want the babies in here. Next time, you really need to leave her with a sitter.”
One more expense that wasn't in their budget. Since Chelsea had left her job at the magazine, they were living on one salary and there was no room for any extras now.
“Who's the cutest baby here?” Val cajoled. “Who is? Who is?”
Annabelle's eyes lit with interest as she pressed a little fist to a chubby cheek. They seemed to like each other, Annabelle and Val. And Chelsea was the outsider, watching them through binoculars. Why was she a million miles away from her own baby?
The door behind them opened and a nurse appeared, chart in hand. “Chelsea Maynard?”
“That's me.” Chelsea's back ached as she took Annabelle from the woman and leaned down to place her in the stroller.
“Don't forget to buckle her in,” Val said. “We don't want any mishaps.”
Like the baby slipping out, her head thumping as it hit the floor.
No, that wouldn't happen . . . but she might bump it on the wheel.
Or if she fell out in the parking lot, the impact on the concrete might draw blood.
Chelsea closed her eyes against the horrible images that flooded her mind. Why did she let herself go there? Such sick, horrifying scenarios of the terrible things that could happen.
“Let me help.” The nurse reached down and clicked the clasp on Annie's seat belt. More a means of moving Chelsea along than an act of kindness, but Chelsea nodded gratefully, then pushed the stroller inside.
The office was a tired room that aspired to be a paneled library in an English manor house. Only here, the paneling was the prefab kind and the built-in shelving was no more than kitchen cabinets with a walnut stain. Chelsea assessed the quickest and cheapest way to make the room over as Dr. Volmer went over her chart, grunting out a few questions now and then.
A coat of paint could open this room up and give it a more modern look. A buttery yellow, or a more neutral pearl gray. Silver mist. Were there decent walls under the paneling? Chelsea's fingers itched to pry one loose and take a peek. If necessary, the paneling could be painted. . . .
She hadn't expected that she would miss her job at the magazine, but it was hard to back away from an occupation when you knew you were so damned good at it. Granted, she had plenty of projects of her own waiting back at the house, and the managing editor was hoping she would freelance for the magazine, either by editing or turning one of her projects into a “how to” feature. But that wasn't like basking in the social glow at the office each day. She missed the adult conversation and the design challenge. There was a certain adrenaline rush in taking on a new space, triaging the worst elements, and making it better in less time than some people took to decide on vacation plans.
“Your weight could be a little lower,” the doctor said, jarring her from her reverie. “Are you getting exercise?”
“I do some walking. Not enough.”
“You need exercise.”
“I know, but the weather's been crummy, and the C-section really knocked me off my feet for a while.” The surgery had been complicated, traumatic, with some repair necessary to her uterus. The ordeal had sucked all the joy out of Annabelle's birth. For hours Chelsea had been splayed open on the table, shivering in alarm as the surgeons had worked behind the drape. She still hated thinking about it.
“Get yourself moving,” he ordered. From his gray complexion and slight paunch, she doubted that he was pumping iron at the gym, but she didn't argue. “It will help you feel better.”
“I'll get walking again.” She would go with Emma, whose doctor had been on her about exercise, too. She was pregnant with her first baby.
Dr. Volmer closed the chart and started cleaning his glasses with a tissue. “Then I'm satisfied with your progress. You're good to go.”
Her confidence slid down to the floor. “Wait . . .” How had she lost control of the appointment? “I came in because I'm having some problems. Didn't the nurse tell you?”
“Mmm.” He put his glasses back on and opened the folder. “So tell me why you're here.”
“I need an antidepressant.” She noticed his scowl as she said the words. “IâI just feel really bad all the time.”
“You came for drugs?” His magnified eyes were huge behind the wall of his glasses. “I'm not one of those doctors who will send you home with a handful of prescriptions when all you really need is rest and fresh air.” His annoyance was abrasive; he didn't even pretend to be patient.
She wanted to ask him how she was supposed to get rest when she had to feed Annabelle every three hours. How did other mothers do it? She wanted to ask them, to shout a question out to the new mothers of the world, a plea for them to share their answers, reveal their secrets. Other mothers were competent. They managed to feed their babies, to coo and snuggle with them. Chelsea so desperately wanted that for herself, and for Annabelle.
“What about a blood test?” she asked. “Isn't there some kind of screening you can do?”
“To tell me that your hormones are off balance? We already know that. You've just got a case of the baby blues,” Dr. Volmer said. “That's normal.”
“But it's more than that. There's something really wrong with me. I'm not happy about anything anymore, and I feel so . . . I go from being numb inside to feeling broken.”
“The baby blues,” he repeated.
No, no, it's so much more than that. Can't you hear what I'm saying? I'm slipping into a dark hole. I don't feel anything for my baby. I can't remember the woman I used to be.
And I'm so worried that something is going to happen to Annie . . . if I drop her, if she flies out of the car in a crash. If I drop her down the stairs . . .
She closed her eyes against the rhythmic thumping of her baby down the stairsâthe rolling, falling bundle of skin and bones. All in her head, of course, and she couldn't tell Dr. Volmer about that. She couldn't let him see that she was a terrible person inside.
She could handle this. She would handle this. On her own.
“The hormones will even out eventually. I could give you an antidepressant, but you know anything you take will go through to the baby while you're nursing.”
She nodded, not wanting to face him because that would make her cry. Everything made her cry these days. “I don't want to do anything to hurt my baby.” Her voice was tight, her throat dry and scratchy. “But isn't there something? My sister said there are some medications that can be prescribed to nursing mothers.”
“Your sister . . . is she a doctor?”
She opened her eyes. “No.”
He grunted. “Diagnosing you over the Internet, I take it?”
It was true, but why did he make her feel bad for asking? “I came here because I can't take this anymore. I can't go on feeling this way.” She brought her burning eyes to his hateful face. “I need your help.”
“Well.” He frowned, and she looked down as a tear ran down her cheek. “If it's that bad I'll write you a prescription for something that won't harm the baby. But it takes a while to work. You probably won't notice it taking effect for a week or so.” He took a pad out of a drawer and scribbled something on it. “There. Is that what you wanted?”
Chelsea clutched the prescription as if it were a lifeline. “What about therapy?” Emma had told her to ask about it.
“That's only in the worst cases, and I don't think it's warranted here. The baby blues go away on their own. . . .” The doctor's voice was fuzzy, as if coming from the other side of a wall.
A massive wall.
Chelsea was walled in. Imprisoned with her baby. And talking about things changing in a few weeks or a few years was like the promise of a parole hearing in thirty years. It was too far away to be real.
“Of course, if it's really bad, I can recommend a therapist.” He flipped through her file and rubbed his jaw. “I can't tell if your insurance would cover that. You'd have to call and find out. Chances are you'd have to pay out of pocket.”
Their health care insurance was another issue. It wasn't long after Chelsea's discharge from the hospital that unresolved claims from Sounder Health Care had begun flooding inâall of them with a series of complicated footnotes implying problems.
No . . . she couldn't face trying to get one more approval from Sounder Health Care and they certainly couldn't afford to pay out of pocket.
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