Tomorrow's Dream (4 page)

5 

The telephone's ring
jarred the
silence of their empty little house. Kyle rushed toward the hall phone, not so much because she wanted to speak with someone but because the sound did not belong. She lifted the receiver and said hello.

“Kyle, darling, it's Martha. How are you, dear?”

Kyle couldn't form an answer in her mind. She raised her head and flinched as she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror.

“It's been over a week since I've heard from you,” Martha rushed on into the silence. “I had to call. Has there been any word?”

“No.” She had to turn away from the hollowness in her eyes. But comfort was not to be found elsewhere. There should be a baby here. Every nook and cranny of her empty house shouted Charles Kenneth's absence. “No, nothing,” she repeated.

“But it's been over a month now.” Martha's voice rose. “How long do they need to finish these tests of theirs?”

“They can't tell us. They say they don't know yet.” There should be a baby for her to lift from the crib upstairs, a baby to hold and love and fit into her heart's barren space. A baby to fill the house with its light and cries and love. “They won't—can't tell us anything. And it's been six weeks, Martha. Six weeks tomorrow.”

“Oh, my darling, Kyle, you sound so sad. Wait, Harry's telling me something.” There was a murmuring in the background, then Martha said, “Harry suggests that we take you out for a drive. We could go have lunch in Annapolis and a walk along the Maryland shore. There won't be a soul out this time of year.”

“Thank you, Martha. But I can't.” Her slow revolution around the hall brought her back to her reflection in the mirror. There were new creases to her forehead, new shadows. Her gaze looked as dull and lifeless as her voice sounded to her own ears. “Abigail has arranged for baby Charles to be seen by one of the world's leading heart specialists—a doctor from the Mayo Clinic. He's here for a conference, and she pulled some strings.”

“That's wonderful, dear.” Martha's enthusiasm was full of hope and encouragement. “At last maybe you'll hear some good news. When is your meeting?”

“Kenneth is supposed to pick me up in a half hour.” But saying her husband's name renewed the pain and the guilt she had been feeling all morning. It was so strong she had to let a little of it out. “We had a . . . well, a fight this morning.”

“Oh no, I'm so sorry.”

“It was my fault. Kenneth has been so strong, and I started arguing with him over nothing at all.” There was a little catch to her voice, but she fought it off. It was easy to do. She had cried so much there was no need to shed any more tears. If tears could ease her worry or bring Charles home, it would have happened weeks ago. “I just don't see how he can get up and go to the office like . . . like nothing is wrong.”

“But he has to go, dear. He has a job. The world doesn't stop because—”

“But it
should
stop.” She heard the unreasonableness in her voice and did not care. She was not arguing with Martha. She was giving voice to the storm of feelings that robbed her nights of sleep and her days of meaning. She was calling out for the baby who was not there in her arms. “How
dare
people keep walking by outside my house. Or laugh. Or say hello to each other like nothing was the matter. How
dare
they.”

Martha was silent a long moment before suggesting, “Maybe we should pray together.”

“That's all I do.” Kyle's gaze shifted from the mirror to the Bible resting on her little desk. She had tried to read it since her return from the hospital, but the words were as lifeless as her heart. She had given up even the attempt. She turned away. “I pray so hard I feel like I've wrung my heart dry.”

“Well, we will keep praying right along with you, my darling. Both of us. Night and day. Just remember that.”

“Thank you, Martha. I have to go now.”

When Kyle hung up the phone and walked into the living room, the clock over the mantel seemed to mock her. The ticking slowed and slowed until time was frozen into the same endless void that was in her heart and her home. Kyle wrung her hands and willed the time to move forward until Kenneth would come and pick her up and they could go see her baby again.

Turning away from the clock and walking back into the hallway, Kyle picked up her coat and seated herself in the high-backed chair by the door. She stared through the narrow front window, wishing Kenneth's car would appear and she could open the door and walk away from the emptiness that was in her home. She glanced at her watch, held it to her ear, then sighed and let her hand drop back to her lap.

Kyle wished Martha had not called again. It was too hard to talk with her. It brought up too many things she would rather keep locked away inside. Where was Martha's God all those years when Martha's own baby daughter was missing from her arms? Where was Kyle's God now?

The tap on Kenneth's door had become a familiar sound over the past six weeks. “Am I disturbing you?” Abigail opened it a crack. “Are you ready?”

“Come on in.” He pushed back in his chair. “I have one more letter to approve, and we can be on our way.”

But instead of returning to the letter in front of him, he watched her enter, close the door, walk over, and sit down. Of all the traumas and stresses of the previous six weeks, nothing could have prepared him for the current situation with Abigail. The two of them were becoming friends. Not simply allies against the fear and the strain. Genuine friends. Abigail had the ability to say more with a lift of an eyebrow than most people could with an hour of words. And she knew the value of saying nothing at all, a quality he would never have expected to find in her. But it was there. And it had proven to be a powerful comfort.

Abigail asked, “How is my girl doing?”

“There are good days and bad days,” Kenneth replied. “Today was a bad day.”

“What happened?”

He shook his head and sighed the words, “This is killing her, Abigail. I can't blame her for what she said.”

“Of course you can't.” The normally proud features held a depth of feeling he would never have expected. “But it must still hurt terribly.”

“I made the mistake of talking about business at the breakfast table this morning. I have a dozen things that have been put on hold since Charles was born, and I've got to move on them. I want her to know—”

“Don't tell her.” Abigail was firm, decisive. “Just do it.”

“It's her company.”

“Not right now it's not,” Abigail said. “Her world holds no space for anything but worry and grief.”

He nodded. Her determined stance helped mightily and granted Kenneth the ability to accept what he had not wanted to see. “Abigail, I owe you an apology.”

“Kenneth, there is absolutely no need—”

“Yes there is, and please let me say this.” He stopped and took a breath, trying to ease the pressure building inside. “Ever since we first met, I have seen you as an adversary.”

“And with good reason.”

“Please, this is hard enough as it is,” he said, raising a hand. “All my life I have read about showing the love of God to others. Forgiving the wrongful acts as God forgets and forgives our own sins. And here, with my own mother-in-law, I have held on to my own barriers.” He had to stop there and breathe again. “I want to ask your forgiveness, Abigail.”

“There is nothing to forgive.”

“Yes, I do need your forgiveness. More than that, I don't know what I would have done without you these past weeks. I don't think I could have survived. I really don't.”

“Stop, please, you're going to make me cry.” Her mouth trembled between a sob and a smile.

“I'd like you to give me another chance. See if I can be the friend you deserve. And the son-in-law.”

Abigail reached inside her purse, pulled out a handkerchief, and dabbed at the corners of her eyes. “There. See what you've made me do. Is my makeup a mess?”

“You look fine. As always.”

She extracted a compact, examined herself, and closed it with a snap. “I will tell you something I have never told another soul. When my husband and I were first married, he was struggling to set up this company. It was touch and go for a while. He would come home exhausted. More than that. He was terrified of failing.”

“He told me of that time,” Kenneth said quietly.

“I may not be very religious,” Abigail went on determinedly, “but what little I have managed to attain has brought me face-to-face with how I failed him during his hour of greatest need. He needed me to give him strength. He needed me to give him love.” Her voice cracked over the words, “And I gave him nothing but demands.”

Kenneth waited, marveling that they could be seated there in the same cluttered office where he had once served as her husband's assistant. The woman who had tried with all her might to block his marriage to Kyle, who had treated him from the very first day as an enemy. Yet here they were, talking with an openness that left no room for hiding behind shadows of the past. “I don't think you're a bad person, Abigail.”

“Well, I am. I'm a society matron who places far too much importance on what other people think. But there's nothing I can do about the past, and that's not what we're talking about now.” She drew herself up by strength of will and continued, “I failed my husband, Kenneth. I do not want to fail my daughter. Or my son-in-law. I have seen how hard it is for a strong man to face defeat. I've learned that the worst suffering is the kind that goes on day in and day out, with no answer and no end in sight.”

Kenneth nodded slowly, the power of her understanding almost overwhelming him. “I feel like it's tearing me apart inside.”

“I've seen how hard it is for a strong man to turn and look for help. To
ask
for help.” Her chin trembled slightly, but she lifted her head and forced herself to remain in control. “I want you to know that I am here to support and encourage you, Kenneth. Day or night. As a friend should be. As family.”

She saved him from having to respond immediately by pulling back her cuff to examine her gold watch. “Now we really must be going. If I know my daughter, she will be anxiously watching for us to come.”

6 

“It's not just the problems
with the baby,” Kenneth confessed as he turned down Connecticut Avenue and joined the heavy morning traffic. “It's everything.”

“All the weight of the world has landed on your shoulders,” Abigail sympathized.

The gift of being understood opened the door further, freeing him to say what before had escaped words. “Everything's become so confusing, Abigail. On the one hand there's my relationship with God. At this time when He could seem very far away, He is so close to me. Even in the worst moments, I feel His presence. So I pray for baby Charles, I pray for Kyle, I pray for us. But on the other hand, I don't hear anything in reply. Nothing. And that really scares me. How can God be so close and yet so silent?”

“I can't answer you,” Abigail sighed. “To be perfectly frank, God has never seemed close to me at all. I'm far too inadequate to offer you anything except a listening ear.”

Washington traffic was growing slower every day, or so it seemed to Kenneth. Especially now, when there was so much pressing him to hurry. More cars, more people, more noise in the urgency of one crisis pushing hard on the feet of the last one. In the past he had made it a point of staying on top of the Washington political scene. Now it was just too difficult. His mind seemed to move at the pace of these overcrowded roads. And every thought was about his wife and his precious little baby.

Kenneth stopped for a traffic light and looked at her. “It's hard to believe we're having this conversation.”

Abigail turned her face toward the windshield. Her lovely features tightened and aged. “I have spent a great deal of time watching you since your wedding. I've seen how you are at the company, diligent in your responsibilities and accepting a subordinate position. Anyone else in your place would be demanding a raise and a seat on the board.”

“That's simple enough. I've just been so happy with my life, I didn't need to grasp at anything further.”

“Wait, let me finish.” Abigail continued her inspection of the outside world as Kenneth pulled through the crossroads. “I have also seen you with my daughter. And I have seen you in your worship. You are a good man, Kenneth. You deserve far more than I have been willing to give.” Abigail sighed and smiled weakly. “I suppose what I am trying to say is that you are not the only one who needs to apologize.”

They drove on in companionable silence as Kenneth entered the tree-lined streets of Georgetown. The car drummed over the rounded cobblestones, passing one quiet residential street after another. Kenneth finally said, “Do you think this doctor will really have anything new to offer us?”

Abigail hesitated as they turned down Kenneth's street. As soon as their house came into view, the door sprang open and Kyle rushed down the stairs, her impatience evident. Abigail said quietly, “To be frank, I am beginning to feel like anything at all would be better for my daughter than more of this uncertainty.”

In the hospital ward, Kenneth stepped back so that he could watch his wife watch the baby. Kyle's face was so drawn she looked older than her mother. It was no longer possible to fool himself. Abigail was right. This uncertainty was killing her.

“Mr. Adams? I'm Dr. Hearly.” The beefy man was tall and solid and carried with him an air of confidence. He turned to Abigail. “You must be Mrs. Rothmore.”

“I can't thank you enough for seeing us, doctor.”

“Yes, well, your friends made quite a case on your behalf.” He glanced toward the glass-fronted hospital bassinet. “And now that I have seen the baby, I can well understand why.”

He stepped forward to where Kyle stood by the crib, her fingers curled around the top corner of the glass cover. He inspected her face for a moment, his eyes and voice gentling. “And you must be Mrs. Adams.”

“He just opened his eyes and looked at me. He can see me through the glass, can't he?” Kyle flashed a frantic glance toward the doctor, then turned back to the crib. “He's getting better. I
know
it.”

But the baby did not look well to Kenneth. Not at all. His own heart ached as he watched the helpless little infant trapped there on the other side of the glass.

The baby's entire body was a faint blue. The eyes were clenched so tight his whole face was twisted and furrowed. Every once in a while the body gave a convulsive shiver, then went still. The little mouth was opened up wide, as though baby Charles wanted to scream and cry. Only there was no noise coming from the crib. None at all.

Kyle's fingers seemed ready to claw through the glass. “Can I hold him?” were the words from her lips, but it was the desperation in her tone and expression that tore at Kenneth's heart.

The doctor continued his careful inspection of Kyle for a moment longer, then turned to the nurse hovering on the bassinet's other side. “Let Mrs. Adams have the baby.”

“But, doctor—”

“Give her the baby, nurse.” He waited until the nurse had turned off the oxygen and begun unfastening the catches before turning to Kenneth and Abigail. In a low voice he said, “Why don't you both join me in the conference room.”

Kenneth turned to his wife. “We won't be long, honey.”

But Kyle did not reply. Kenneth wondered if she had even heard him. Her whole being was reaching out along with her arms to accept the tiny bundle.

The doctor waved them into chairs on the table's opposite side. Two thick folders lay open before his own place, along with a pair of empty coffee cups. He glanced at his watch, then at the closed door, and gave a sigh.

Dr. Hearly's gaze was dark and probing. Kenneth sensed he was a man with both intelligence and integrity. This was confirmed to Kenneth when he said, “Long ago I designed a lecture for distraught parents. Most doctors come up with something or other to handle such situations. But I am reluctant to give it here. You both strike me as astute, able to accept the truth.”

“The uncertainty—the waiting—has nearly done us all in,” Kenneth replied. “I simply can't understand why it has taken so long for the doctors to decide what the matter is.”

“They know what the matter is,” Dr. Hearly replied. His voice was deep, strong, and had the characteristic of being both direct and gentle at the same time. “The only question is how much hope they can offer you.”

Again he glanced at his watch and shook his head. “Excuse me.” He reached for the phone and dialed a number. His fingers seemed almost too large for the holes. “This is Dr. Hearly up in Conference Room . . . I'm sorry, I don't know what number . . . oh, you do. Good. Listen, I've been waiting for Dr. Pearce and the pediatric surgeon . . . wait, I have his name here.” He inspected the open file. “Yes. Saunders, that's right.” He listened a moment, shook his head a second time, and said, “No, that's all right. Thank you for checking.”

He placed the receiver back in its cradle and went on. “It seems that Dr. Saunders had to perform an emergency operation and Dr. Pearce is delivering a baby at another hospital. I would have preferred for at least one of them to be present. But I have a conference to get to, and I'm afraid I really can't wait much longer.”

“We understand.” Abigail glanced at Kenneth to make sure it was all right for her to speak. “You're the expert in this field.”

“We'd really like to have your opinion,” Kenneth agreed. “Your unvarnished conclusion.”

The man gave each of them another swift inspection, then nodded once. “Very well. Mr. Adams, I am sorry to tell you that your son has what we call a shunting across his heart.”

My son
. The words were enough to stab him deeply. While Kyle was pregnant he often had dreamed of hearing those words. He had never mentioned it—one of the few secrets he had ever kept from her. He had not wanted to say it and then have her feel disappointment for him if the child turned out to be a girl. He knew he would have been delighted with a daughter. But in his heart of hearts he had yearned for a son. Yet now when he heard those longed-for words, they threatened to tear his world apart.

When he was unable to respond, Abigail said for them both, “I'm afraid I don't understand what you mean.”

The doctor thumbed through pages in the first file. “I understand from your wife's history that her brother suffers from a heart condition.”

“Yes,” Kenneth managed. “But her parents are both in excellent health.”

“I don't suppose you know her grandparents' medical histories?”

Kenneth started to rise. “No, but I could call and—”

“Later. See to that later and inform Dr. Saunders if any of them suffered from a heart problem.” He closed the file. “Infant cardiology represents an entirely new field. But we are beginning to wonder if there is a genetic basis to some of these ailments.”

Abigail reached across the void that seemed to be gathering around Kenneth and took his hand.

“Blood is meant to flow through the heart's valves, you see, moving from one chamber to the next in very careful steps. First blood travels from the heart to the lungs, where it gathers oxygen. Then it returns to the heart and is sent out to the body, carrying oxygen and nourishment.” He paused a moment, gathering himself. “At least, that is how it should work. In your son's case, there is a hole. A very large one, I'm sorry to say, which means that the blood is bypassing the system of valves and chambers.”

Kenneth felt the void grow and expand until he was lost in the darkness. Helpless and terrified. He clutched at Abigail's hand, yet did not even feel her reach across and place a second hand upon his. He wanted to shout at the doctor, tell him to stop. As if halting the words would make it all untrue. But he could not open his mouth. He was imprisoned. Lost.

“This defect in your son's heart, this hole, means his body is forced to work impossibly hard. Rather than correctly sending the blood into the lungs for nourishment, oxygen-starved blood is being shunted back into his oxygen-starved body. The blueness—you must have noticed the bluish tint to his skin.”

“We've noticed,” Abigail said, her voice barely a whisper.

“This is caused by a lack of oxygen.” He sighed again, flipping through pages to a second file. “Your son is showing all the classic symptoms, I'm afraid. He won't feed and takes all his nourishment from the drip. He has difficulty drawing breath, so we are keeping him on straight oxygen. And there seems to be some fluid buildup in his lungs.”

Abigail demanded, “Can't you operate—repair the hole?”

“Not yet.” His eyes took on a distant, professorial look. “Some very good work is being done down in Dallas by a certain Dr. Yacoub. But they have never treated someone so young, or someone so seriously affected as your son, I'm afraid. The problem is not the surgical technique but the anesthesia. The risk to newborns is extremely high. We need a new, gentler anesthetic in order to start working with these very young children.”