Disposition of Remains (29 page)

I awakened next to Jerry in the morning, feeling like an overfilled balloon about to burst with my news. I couldn’t wait another minute to tell Misty and Wilbur about my new diagnosis. But news of that magnitude couldn’t be delivered via the telephone; it was something I had to convey face to face. So before I’d even finished clearing the breakfast plates, I found myself saying goodbye to Jerry. I was officially back to being a nomad.

Right around dusk, I turned down Back O’ Beyond Road in Sedona,
and parked next to Paul’s truck. As I began the hike up the face of Cathedral Rock, before turning right and heading around toward the river, I could feel the calming energy of the vortex ahead. This was the kind of environment I needed to be in; I had to provide a calming atmosphere for my baby. No more emotional roller coaster.

I arrived near the same spot I’d been
to before, right in the middle of the vortex, next to the stream. Through the slight fog and across the stream, I could see them milling around the campsite, but they hadn’t yet noticed me. I could hardly contain my excitement, and I decided to make a grand entrance. I stripped off my clothes, ran naked toward the riverbank, and executed a perfect cannonball into the water.

When I came up for air I yelled, “Hey, guys! Did you miss me?”
basking in my cleverness.

My gaze was met by the bewildered
stares of three of the roughest looking men I had ever seen.

“I’ve been missin’ you all my life
darlin’,” one of them replied.

“Oh my God. I thought you were someone else,” I muttered, quickly ducking back under
the water.

“Stacia?” I heard as I resurfaced.

I looked around and saw Paul coming out from his tent.

“What are you doing here?” he asked with surprise.

“I’m looking for Wilbur and Misty.”

“Are you…naked?”

“I didn’t realize…,” I began as Paul started to laugh hysterically.

“These guys work for my construction company. This is Big Jim, Bob, and Thug.”

“Oh,…um, hello…great to meet you. Got a towel by any chance?”

Thug handed me a rag, only slightly bigger than a washcloth, and I inched slowly backward out of the river, ducking behind a bush. I quickly dried off as best I could, and redressed.

“Wilbur and Misty just went for a hike. She needed a break from all the testosterone. They should be back soon.”

I was quickly surrounded by Big Jim, Bob, and Thug. It was as though they were newly released prisoners who hadn’t seen a woman in ten years.

“Back off, boys; she’s Wilbur’s girl,” Paul warned.

I was Wilbur’s girl, at least for the moment, at least until I told him about the baby. The man had confessed to me in that very stream that he had never really committed to anyone. Maybe he would be so overjoyed by the news that I was going to live that the rest of my news would seem rather insignificant. Or maybe, I thought, when he finds out that our relationship doesn’t have a set shelf life—that I might be around for a while—
he might just run for the hills. I started to panic just as I noticed Misty and Wilbur making their way back to camp, so I took a few deep breaths and tried to absorb the calming energy of the vortex.

The moment he saw me, Wilbur ran over, scooped me up off of the ground, and held me tight. My eyes met his, the magnetism took over, and we kissed. And kissed. And kissed some more.

“What a great surprise!” he exclaimed.

“I have even more surprises for in store for you. Can we go for a walk?”

“All right,” he said cautiously.

We walked for a few minutes in silence; I didn’t know where to start. I nervously mumbled a few insignificant remarks about the weather before I felt I was able to articulate my news.

“I went to see Jerry, and he did some tests, and I’m not going to die,” I rambled all in one breath.

“I like that new attitude!”

“No. I’m not saying that I’m not going to die, like
I’m going to fight this
. I mean I’m not dying because I’m not sick.”

I watched the whole gamut of emotions play across Wilbur’s face: shock, then happiness, then apprehension. I could tell he was wondering whether it was true or whether I was just more delusional than ever.

“Wilbur, this is real. I’m not sick. It was all a mistake.”

“Oh my God! That’s amazing!” he yelled, proceeding to pick me up and twirl me around. Suddenly, he stopped and examined my face.

“But, all the vomiting and passing out…”

“Well,…I’m kind of…a little…pregnant.”

“What?!”

“You know, knocked up…with child.”

“How? Already? But we hadn’t even—” Wilbur stopped short, realizing.

“It’s Evan’s. I’m sorry. I really didn’t realize. I know it was ridiculously stupid.”

“But didn’t you miss your period?”

“Not until just recently. They were irregular before…and I thought it was because of the cancer,” I said, stumbling over the stupidity of my words.

“What about the sharp pains?”

“They’re called rolling ligament pains, totally normal, according to my obstetrician. I never thought in a million years that I was pregnant. I know this is a shock. I just want you to know that you don’t have to do anything. And I don’t expect anything from you, but I have to have this baby.”

“Stacia, I would never suggest otherwise. This is incredible! I want you to marry me. I’ll take care of you and the baby.”

He launched me into the air and spun me around again, like Mary Poppins’ umbrella.

I was stunned. I looked him in the eye once he finally set me down.

“But you don’t believe in marriage.”

“I believe in you. I believe in us. I love you, and that’s all that matters. Every time we’ve been separated I can’t focus on anything but wanting to be near you again. I’ve never wanted to be with anyone full time, but that’s how I feel about you.”

“I love you too, but I think we both need some time to wrap our heads around this. We have the rest of our lives to figure it all out.”

“All right,” he sighed.

I so loved him. He always said, “all right.”

Then Wilbur added, “But I won’t change my mind. I love you. I love that you’re going to live. I thought I was about to lose you, and now we have a second chance. I’m not letting you get away this time. I
won’t
lose you again.”

He slid his hand gently over my lower abdomen.

“Either one of you.”

Weeks turned into months as I contemplated whether or not to tell Evan about the baby. It would have been so easy just to leave him in the
dark. How would he ever find out if I didn’t tell him? In my mind, I argued both sides over and over. The thought of having that man in my life for another eighteen-or-so years made me shudder. But it just didn’t sit right with me, evading the truth—especially when the truth is what saved me. Somewhere in the back of my mind I believed that something or someone had exonerated me, maybe because I had made an attempt to be a good person. Maybe it was something else. I would probably never know, but I didn’t want to squander my good fortune by becoming a deceitful menace to society. I didn’t want to become one of those people you see on talk shows throwing chairs at each other after they receive the DNA test results.

I decided to do the right thing, and as luck would have it, Evan didn’t believe me. At first, he thought that I was making up the baby news to get him back—as if
that
would ever happen. Then, when he saw that I was, in fact, pregnant, he called me a “whore” and insisted that my precious, little baby wasn’t his. I had never been so ecstatic to be called such a vile name. I wanted my son to have everything, including knowledge of his biological father, but ultimately, he was so much better off without him. I hoped that he wouldn’t feel a void and someday try to seek him out, as he would be most disappointed at what he would discover. My other hope was that Asshole-Shit-for-Brains Disease wasn’t genetic.

Evan negotiated the terms of our divorce, which included, but were not limited to, him getting everything and me getting nothing. He even wanted half of my $7,600
slot-machine winnings. California is a no-fault state, and while I was entitled to an equal portion of his earnings during our seventeen-year marriage, I gladly signed his version. I think he was disappointed to miss out on a rough-and-tumble fight. When the final papers arrived in the mail, they included a brief cover letter from Evan.

Your mother gave me this letter, and asked me to give it to you after she died. She never said how long after, YOU BITCH!

I frantically tore through the manila envelope and found a letter-sized envelope inside. Though it obviously had once been sealed, it had clearly been opened. It was handwritten in cursive.

Dear Anastasia,

If you are reading this letter, it means I am gone. I have never been able to express how much I love you. It always comes out wrong. You are the most special thing in the world to me, which is why I want to tell you the truth. I should have told you while I was still living, but I was too ashamed. Even as I write this, I am terrified that you will judge me poorly when you know the truth.

I want you to have all the things that I was not able to have. Not only the material things that I didn’t have because I grew up on the reservation, I also want you to have all the joys of life that I didn’t have because I made the wrong choices. The truth is, I was never a nurse. I know this will come as a shock to you, and I’m sorry. I was just a cocktail waitress—a boozie. I worked at the Imperial Palace for eighteen years.

There is more. This is the part that I dread telling you most, the part I know you won’t understand. I hope, after some time, you will find a way to forgive me.

Your father is not dead. I spent my whole life trying not to love him because he was married. I failed miserably. I never wanted you to be like me; I wanted you to look up to me. That is why I lied.

Your father is a doctor here in Las Vegas. His name is Alexander
Misalov. I will ask Evan to give him a letter as well, because he doesn’t know about you either. I hope that someday you will meet him and understand why I loved him so much.

As we’ve already discussed, I would like to be cremated. What I haven’t told you yet is that I would like my ashes to be left at the place I first met your father. He’ll know where. My hope is that you can go there together, because you were the two most important people in my life. I know it’s a lot to ask, especially after what I’ve done.

I want you to know that you are not alone. My family lives on the Havasupai reservation on the floor of the Grand Canyon. Please tell my father and my sister, Irma, that I’m sorry for all I’ve done.

One more thing. I know that you left that boy, Michael, because of me, and I can see how unhappy you are. I know I pushed you into accepting Evan’s advances. I want you do to what you want to do. Follow your heart. Go with the boy to Italy if that’s what you want. Don’t listen to me. I’ve been a fool.

Love,

Mom

I wanted to kill Evan. That horrible bastard had withheld the one thing that could have changed the course of my life. If I had read that letter when she had intended for me to, I never would have married Evan, and he knew it. Maintaining possession of that letter kept him in control of my life. The only reason he gave it to me when he finally did was to provoke me. He knew there was no other way to get to me. One final
screw you.
I decided not to give him what he wanted. I never spoke to him again.

I did hear, however, that he married Margaret shortly after our divorce was final. It was a mystery to everyone when she committed suicide six years later. A mystery to everyone but me.

Shortly after I arrived back in town, I started my job in the nursery at Las Vegas Memorial Hospital. After I had saved some money, Misty and I moved into a bigger place. She was as excited about the baby as I was. We shopped for baby stuff all the time, and were mistaken for a lesbian couple on more than one occasion. We arranged our work schedules so that one of us was always home with the baby after he was born.

Misty took me to the grave of her late husband and son. Rather than bringing flowers, she would bring jokes, things she would cut out from the newspaper or print up from the Internet. They hadn’t laughed enough in life, she would say. She wanted nothing more than for them to be continually laughing.

Misty and Paul never got married, and she continued to work at the Imperial Palace, helping whatever needy stranger crossed her path in search of a little advice and as many boozie drinks as she could furnish. She remained blissfully content.

***

I decided to keep Dr. Manny as my obstetrician, so I made the journey back to Los Angeles for the remainder of my prenatal visits. The rest of my pregnancy was uncomplicated—no more vomiting or fainting. I even developed that “glow” one always hears about.

Jerry accompanied me to all my appointments. He was fascinated with the whole process. I later learned that he was also fascinated with Dr. Manny. As it happened, Jerry and Dr. Manny became quite close while discussing my birth plan, as if I weren’t part of the process.

After a few years, Jerry moved his practice to Las Vegas. He and Manny set up the first obstetrics/gerontology office in Las Vegas, possibly anywhere.
I loved that it truly represented the circle of life.

It was so great that Jerry had finally settled down, but he couldn’t stand that I’d had a baby before him, so he and Manny adopted a baby boy. They decided to adopt from Zimbabwe after I told them of my experience in Africa. I threw their baby shower, of course. I was just returning the favor since Jerry had thrown one for me.

I was so happy to have Jerry back as a regular, permanent part of my life. After all, he was my first love.

***

It was decided—mostly by me—that Wilbur would keep his place, but we saw each other whenever we could. I didn’t want him to change his life for me and ultimately resent me. I could see how much he treasured his freedom, and I had grown to feel the same way. I wanted to keep alive the charm, the romance. I didn’t want our relationship to become about the bills, or which way the toilet paper came off the roll, or who left the cap off of the toothpaste. I wanted to savor every moment I had with him, and miss him when we weren’t together.

For my thirty-ninth birth
day, Wilbur gave me two framed posters with which to decorate my new place with Misty. One was a print of Botticelli’s magnificent
Birth of Venus,
and the other was a one-sheet from the film
The Lion King
. I loved them both equally. Every time I looked at them, I recalled how close I had come to losing everything, including my very life. My near-death experience had given me the opportunity to live outside the walls of the prison I had created for myself, and never look back.

In between his travels, Wilbur attended prenatal classes with me—at his insistence. When I was about thirty-seven weeks pregnant, I took leave from work and Wilbur and I temporarily set up camp in Los Angeles.

We were out to dinner with Manny and Jerry when the contractions started. Manny assured me that I still had hours until I needed to go to the hospital.

“It’s not that common that a woman’s water breaks on its own,” Manny insisted, just as a puddle was forming under my chair.

“Oh, Jesus!” Jerry screamed and started to hyperventilate.

I was a little embarrassed but otherwise fine.

“
Now
we should go to the hospital,” Manny announced in a quiet voice.

I spent the ensuing car ride trying my best to calm Jerry down. He became hysterical every time a contraction started.

By the look on my nurse’s face, I realized I must have been the only patient in history to arrive at the hospital in the same car as her obstetrician. I also had two other men with me, neither one of whom was the father of my baby. We all thought it was funnier to not explain.

My son was born on November 16, on a rainy
day. I had seen hundreds of newborn babies before, but had never fully understood the love that a mother instantly feels for her child. I couldn’t stop looking at him. He had dark skin and hair, and ice-blue eyes. He didn’t look like Evan had had a thing to do with him.
My immaculate conception.

I had read every baby book I could get my hands on, but I didn’t have a need for a name book. I knew from
day one that I wanted to name him Sandro, after The Master—Alessandro Filipepi, otherwise known as Sandro Botticelli. As was I in my own way, my son was a cross-cultural enigma: a Native American, Jewish, and Russian mix—with an Italian name.

Misty and Paul made it just in time for the delivery. We were a true modern family.

Wilbur cried when he first held Sandro, just like any new father would do. He stayed with me in the hospital, but I really didn’t need his help. Taking care of a newborn was the one thing I knew how to do. It was probably the one and only thing I ever taught Wilbur, that he didn’t already know.

We left the hospital and drove back to Las Vegas, making several pit stops along the way to take care of
Sandro’s various needs. When we arrived, there was a package on the doorstep—the cradleboard that Irma was making while I was in Havasupai. She had known all along.

Wilbur stayed with us for the first few weeks after
Sandro was born. He held him when he cried, changed his diapers, gave him baths, and even rocked him to sleep. Fatherhood came naturally to him. It didn’t surprise me at all when my son’s first word was “daddy.”

It went on th
at way for a few years. Wilbur would come and stay and eventually, I would shove him out the door, encouraging him to get back to his life. He would grudgingly go visit his parents and keep up with his various properties, but Sandro grew up secure in the knowledge that Wilbur would always return.

At some point, I realized that our relationship could handle
the everyday. If we tried, we could manage to avoid the mundane—live each day as a new adventure. It wasn’t ever going to become about the laundry or bills—maybe about the toilet paper, but we could work out those kinks. It was about the three of us becoming a family. I never grew tired of Wilbur’s touch or the sound of his voice. While we didn’t always agree, he never once raised his voice to me, or to Sandro. He wasn’t Evan. And I wasn’t the same Stacia. Wilbur deserved all of me, and I gave it to him.

Marriage was still out of the question, although I knew that if suddenly, I had a desperate need to marry Wilbur, he would have said, “all right.” He always gave in. But we weren’t about ownership or convention. Instead, we had a “commitment” ceremony in Sedona, the place where we had first met.

After the reception, Misty and Paul came with us to the river and we made our way to the vortex just below Cathedral Rock. We all went for a swim for old times’ sake.
Naked, of course.

***

Even though he slept through the night after only a few weeks, I would wake up during the night just to look Sandro, and to remind myself that my little miracle was real. I had once thought that death was growing inside of me, and instead, it turned out to be a new life—his and mine. The thing I thought was going to take my life, actually gave my life back to me.

I wanted to teach Sandro all I knew. I wanted to learn with him. I wanted to show him the world that I had never bothered to see. I wanted to show him everything through my eyes. I wanted him to know the joy of life and to teach him n
ever to squander it, like I’d almost done. If I weren’t to be successful at anything else in my life, I wanted to succeed at that. And I believe I did.