Promise to Cherish (16 page)

CHAPTER 13

T
he next morning her legs hit the floor heavily at the side of her bed, like firewood being thrown into the woodstove. Her eyes moved faster, almost ahead of her body, but her mind was behind, not processing everything at the same speed. The lure of a full night’s sleep, however, made her consider taking a dose the second night.

There was a strange sensation when she watched her hand reach for a patient’s arm. Like it was detached. When it reached him, his arm reminded her of the play dough her mother used to make when she was a child. Malleable. Her eyebrows joined, furrowing.

“Stand up,” she told the patient. Her voice sounded unfamiliar in her ears. She shook her head.

He stood, unaware of her state. His eyes were distant and his motions were slow. Was he feeling like her? Fuzzy. Unsettled.

“I’ll take him.” Eli’s voice came from somewhere far away. She looked up, finding his face closer than she anticipated, and reeled backwards, falling back into a chair.

“Are you all right?” Eli looked over at her. “You’re pale and—are your pupils dilated?”

“What? Are they?” She fiddled with her glasses then giggled and tried to throw him off. When she looked back up at him, his face was serious. Christine was a terrible actress. She shook her head and jolted herself back, forcing the dizziness from her mind. “I’m really tired. I’m not feeling well.”

The second night on barbital her sleep was haunted, but she couldn’t wake herself to get away from her tormentor. He was holding her down and she was clawing at him. He was so much stronger but she kept fighting. Everything around her suddenly chilled her. Even with closed eyes bright lights bothered her and unrecognizable faces came in and out of focus. Voices spoke but she didn’t understand anything that was said.

No, they were saying her name.

“Christine, open your eyes.”

Was someone telling her to open her eyes? But they were so heavy. It was too hard. She didn’t want to open her eyes.

It was a different voice now.

“Open your eyes, Christine.” It was Jeanne’s voice. Why was Jeanne there? But where was she anyway? Was she working? No. Her mind worked against her grogginess and tried to figure out the last thing she remembered. There was a low groaning in the room. It distracted her from remembering where she was and why Jeanne would’ve been there. And who was that other voice?

“Christine, this is Dr. Norton. Open your eyes. Now.”

Dr. Norton. He was a doctor that she’d worked with during nursing school. Why was he in her apartment? Yes, she was in her apartment at the hospital where she worked. Right? She was so tired and confused. Couldn’t he ask another nurse for help with Gov’s barbital? Barbital. Yes, she’d taken some for a second time. Her throat tightened and her hands rounded into fists. She had to wake up. She couldn’t wake up. She couldn’t breathe. The groaning she heard had stopped and now there was coughing and gasping.

“Christine,” Jeanne’s voice was worried. Was she crying? “Wake up.”

She was awake, wasn’t she? She was trying to talk but nothing would come out. Panic rose. Maybe she was still asleep. What if she never woke up? Was this what her patients experienced when they were sedated?

A horrible smell suddenly filled her senses. Her head moved back and forth to get away from it. What was it? It was strong but fishy. She needed to take a deep breath but didn’t want to breathe in the odor.

She gasped a large breath, filling her lungs, and opened her eyes.

“Christine, I knocked on your door and you wouldn’t wake. I had to get Phancock to unlock your room. Neither of us could wake you so we called for the doctor.”

“What?” She tried to get up but was pushed back down. That’s when she realized she was in an examination room. How had she gotten there? “How did I get here?”

“We had you brought down,” Jeanne said gently.

“Brought down?” She turned to see Dr. Norton. Why was she in an examination room?

“Nurse Freeman.” Dr. Norton’s deep voice resounded against the walls of the small square room. “May I speak frankly?”

Christine looked at Dr. Norton then over to Jeanne’s panicked eyes. They knew about the barbital, didn’t they? Lying at this point wasn’t going to work and her conscience wouldn’t allow for it.

She only nodded, not trusting her voice. Her eyes were dry, as if she’d been holding them open too long but couldn’t force herself to blink. If she closed her eyes at all she might drown again in sleep.

“First, I’d like to ask you some questions.” He raised his eyebrows.

Christine nodded her head.

“Do you remember fainting?”

“No,” she whispered and tried to keep her chin from quivering.

“Your pupils are dilated and your blood pressure was very low. I hesitate to ask this, but Nurse Freeman, did you take something? A sedative, perhaps?”

This was it.

“I haven’t been able to sleep lately and I’ve been nauseated because of it.” Her voice got shaky. “I just needed some rest. I thought maybe if I had a few nights of real sleep I would be able to sleep on my own after that. I never thought—”

“Did you talk to a doctor about this?” he asked, interrupting her, his voice still gentle.

She shook her head and mouthed the word
no
, but her emotions had taken her voice away.

“Did you take something from the medicine cabinet?”

Her eyes filled with tears and a hot stream trailed down both sides of her face. The room sighed, or so it seemed.

“Barbital?” Dr. Norton asked.

“Yes,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry—I took two pills. I didn’t want to steal, only I was too ashamed to ask for help.”

Without a word the doctor began performing a basic physical examination.

Christine simply pretended she was someone and somewhere else. Dr. Norton checked her pulse, her eyes, looked inside her ears and mouth. He had Jeanne check her blood pressure again and said it was getting better the more the barbital wore off. The doctor palpated her abdomen and asked her questions about dizziness and nausea.

He marked his clipboard occasionally and when he was through he took her hands and helped her sit up.

“Nurse Freeman—Christine,” he said, looking at her over
his glasses, “how long has it been since you’ve had your last menstruation?”

“What?” She’d never spoken about her menstruation with anyone, not even her mother. “What does that have to do with anything?”

The doctor cleared his throat and pushed his glasses up as he documented something on the clipboard he carried.

Christine looked over at Jeanne. Her friend’s face was sallow and she bit her lower lip.

“Christine,” her friend’s voice was like that of a small child. “Have you had the curse recently?”

Jeanne stifled a sob.

“But I have missed
them
before.” She looked from the doctor to Jeanne and back again. “When I’ve been ill or overworked. During my final semester, I missed two months in a row. That’s all this is.”

“I’m afraid not,” the doctor said, pursing his lips and looking at her over his glasses. “I’ve examined you and you are expecting a baby.”

His eyes were kind when he spoke, only there couldn’t have been worse words to hear.

“Do you really mean that I’m . . .” Christine couldn’t finish her question. She looked at Jeanne and gripped her friend’s arms as she spoke. “I didn’t mean for it to happen. He was just too strong. I didn’t . . .”

It was true, wasn’t it? She was pregnant. How had she not realized this? She was a nurse. The nightmares, exhaustion, Floyd, and even Eli. His watchful eye comforted and cursed her. She hadn’t realized that she hadn’t bled since the middle of December. It was nearly March.

“No, no,” she started crying. She wanted to scream but didn’t have the energy. She looked over at Jeanne who was also crying.

“I told him no.” She wept as she spoke.

“Did someone harm you?” the doctor asked with concern written across his brow.

Her silence was an answer to the doctor.

“I see.” He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry to say that I will have to report your condition to Mrs. Phancock, but I will not reveal the barbital. I think you might have enough to deal with already.”

She nodded and gave a half-hearted smile of thanks. “That’s very kind of you.” She did her best to regain her composure.

Christine heard only parts of what the doctor said after this. Something about rest and if there was someone they could call. He said that the baby seemed fine, but not to do anything strenuous. Mostly, however, she heard the rush of guilt, like floodwaters, drowning everything around her.

Calculations and dates ran quickly through her mind as she lay in bed the next day. She tried to push all thoughts away, filling it instead with once-upon-a-time memories from years gone by, pleasant memories. Her grandma’s lap when she was six. Fresh baked bread. Christmas. But that wasn’t her reality.

Christine was pregnant and unmarried with no prospects.

Jeanne knew. Her mother did not. Jack did not.

Jack had violated her—but only after she’d carelessly flirted with him and let him believe she wanted it. She lay holding her abdomen. Inside she carried a baby. It seemed no one but her cared. Did she even care? Didn’t she have to now? No one but her knew it was her fault. She’d provoked Jack. He was a man and men weren’t always able to control their needs. Wasn’t that what her mother told her when she was fifteen?

Christine was to blame. This was her fault. She lay awake in bed agonizing about her life. Once the doctor told Nurse Minton she would lose her job. She would have to move back home with her parents. She would have a child. Could she and Jack find a way to work it out?

What else could she do?

The second full day in bed was too much for her. She needed to see her mother. She wore her brown dress and buttoned her sweater and winter coat. She wore a scarf over her head and tied it under her chin. Lastly she wore her sunglasses—claiming even to herself that it was because her eyes were sensitive to the white light of late March sun. If she was truthful, it was simply to be less recognizable.

She jogged off the hospital campus and then walked the rest of the way, glad to be bundled. Spring was on the other side of the chilly weather, but it didn’t excite her like it usually did. The fresh air, however, had helped calm her nerves. It wasn’t long before she was walking up the street in front of her parents’ picket-fenced house. There was another car in the driveway and Christine’s heart sank with the thought that her mother wasn’t alone.

“Mother?” she said, sticking her head inside the doorway.

“Christine?” her mother said, wearing an ivory apron over a floral dress. Her hair and makeup were immaculate, making Christine feel a bit self-conscious. Once she took off her headscarf her hair would be mashed and untidy. “What brings you here? You’re supposed to be working, aren’t you?”

They met eyes and she could see her mother’s confusion despite the smile on her face.

“Kathleen is here. She wanted to hear all about Doris and Lewis.”

She followed her mother into the living room, where one of her mother’s closest friends sat. Mrs. Kathleen Berryhill was the most active woman Christine had ever met. She was a part of nearly every committee and club at church, at school, and in town. A busybody if there ever was one.

“Hello, Christine.” Mrs. Berryhill stood and gave Christine a stiff hug. “I was just leaving.”

“Oh, please stay,” Margie nearly pleaded.

“I don’t want to intrude on mother and daughter time, Margie. Besides, I promised to go to the church and start planning the Missionary Ladies luncheon for next month.” With a rise in her chin Mrs. Berryhill was gone.

“Where’s dad?”

“Napping, of course. It’s about all he does these days.”

Christine didn’t respond but just stood in the living room still with her scarf and coat on.

“Well, take off your coat if you are able to stay,” her mother said. Christine did so.

Her mother began tidying, picking up the tea service and jellies. Christine picked up a plate of biscuits and cookies and followed her mother into the kitchen.

“Just set that down there,” her mother said, then continued to busy herself and chat as she usually did. “Well, Kathleen had to come over and hear all about Doris and Lewis. They had another date on Saturday night, you know.”

“No, I don’t know. Who’s Lewis?”

“I must have missed telling you. Well, his name is Lewis Roush and he’s perfect for Doris. He visited in February for an interview at the bank and they hired him on the spot, said he’s a responsible young man. He moved here right away and even bought a house. Isn’t that just great? He bought a house.”

Christine wasn’t sure how to respond so she remained silent.

“He’s twenty-five and has a college degree and he’s a decorated soldier.”

“And he likes Doris?” She found her voice.

Margie spun around.

“Christine, you make it sound odd that someone likes Doris.”

“Mother, she doesn’t talk to anyone.”

Margie turned back around and began scrubbing the already clean countertops.

“Anyway, Lewis likes her and you should just see them together already. Doris smiles and Lewis is just such a gentleman.”

Her mother washed the counters clean as she spoke, though they hadn’t looked dirty before she started. Suddenly, however, Margie paused and turned to look at Christine. Their eyes met for several long moments before her mother spoke again.

“Christine, what’s the real reason you didn’t tell me that Jack drove you home on New Year’s Eve?”

Christine needed to tell her now, before she lost her courage. The image of Jack and his electrifying grin made her shut her eyes to her own memory. How many girls had he taken advantage of? Her lungs burned from holding a breath, she let it out evenly but couldn’t find the words to speak.

“Ma, you don’t really want to know why.” She stuttered as she spoke.

“Christine, I simply do not understand you.” Her mother turned and smiled. “For months I’ve tried to stay out of it and not play matchmaker, but here you are ruining your chances with the best, most handsome man around here.”