Part Six We get married. Not because it is “the right thing to do.” Because we love each other and this child is not a problem for either of us. It’s happening a bit too soon – I think we were planning on waiting until we were out of college to have kids, but it’s really okay. We’ll adjust. I want Michael as my best man; Maria wants Liz as her maid of honor. But neither of us would hurt the other like that, so we compromise – we don’t have a wedding. We get married at the court house and Isabel and Alex stand up for us. We move to Las Cruces to go to the University of New Mexico. Because we are married, we’re exempt from that whole living in the dorm your first two years crap. We get a tiny apartment just off campus. It’s small and cramped and co-habiting is new for us, but again we adjust. Our bedroom is too small to hold anything other than a full-size bed, so sleeping is an adventure. We both sprawl when we sleep, which means we are constantly climbing over one another. And neither of us minds. Classes start and I spend my time studying and watching Maria’s body go through its metamorphosis. It’s a fascinating process and she doesn’t try to hide her impending motherhood from the world. It takes forever for her to show, but once she does, it’s like her stomach expands a little every day. Her breasts are becoming heavy, full, preparing to feed our child. At night, I lay my head against her belly and feel the tiny kicks and punches coming from within. I think it’s a girl. We decided to not find out, but instinct is telling me it’s a little girl. I imagine what she will look like – hopefully like her mother. I envision putting bows in her blond hair, taking her to the park, buying frilly little dresses for her and I smile. Maria puts a hand in my hair and laughs. We’re bound together tighter than we ever have been. I am awakened from my slumber by Maria shifting on the bed. She’s uncomfortable these days, about six months pregnant. She’s restless, her back hurts. But it feels like she is getting up, which isn’t unusual since she pees every ten minutes lately. “You okay?” I ask against my pillow, without looking at her. There is a pause and I glance over my shoulder. She’s sitting on the edge of the bed, her shoulders sort of hunched together. “Yeah,” she finally answers, her voice sounding exhausted. “I just need to pee.” I figured as much. She leaves the bed and I start to drift back to sleep. My eyes snap open a little while later as I realize that she hasn’t come back to bed. How long has she been gone? I sit up and rub my eyes. I can see the bathroom light illuminating from beneath the door. “Maria?” I call. There’s no answer. And now I’m scared. I shove the covers from my body and run to the bathroom door. I push it open – and stop short. She’s lying on the floor in a pool of blood. The thick red fluid has soaked through her nightgown and is spreading into a wide ellipse around her body. I’m shaking everywhere as I drop to my knees and take her face between my hands. She’s barely conscious. “Maria,” I say. “Look at me, Maria.” Her hazel eyes barely crack open and a tear slips down her cheek. Her skin is so pale, so lifeless, so cold. “The…baby…” she gasps. “I know – hang on,” I tell her. I place my palm on her belly and concentrate. Nothing. I let out a desperate gasp of air and try again. Nothing. “Max,” she cries, her voice weak. “Hang on,” I reassure her. Get a grip on yourself, Max – calm down. “You’ll be okay.” I draw in another breath, concentrate on the baby. Again nothing. Now full-fledged panic is assaulting my body. The blood is soaking through the knees of my pajama bottoms at an alarming rate. Maybe I’m doing this wrong. Maybe I need to heal the mother before I can heal the child. So I place my hand on Maria’s chest and concentrate on connecting with her. “Look at me, Maria,” I order her. She’s fading fast and I have to speak sternly to her to get her attention. “Look at me!” Her eyes fix on mine and for the briefest moment I am in. I feel a little rush of joy at getting in, then a horrible stab of pain, then nothing again. I can’t heal her. Oh my God. I don’t know what to do. In my arms, she goes limp, unconscious. She’s dying. She’s really dying right here in front of me and there is nothing I can do about it. My instincts kick in and I run into the bedroom, pull on a shirt and stuff my feet into my shoes. Then I grab a blanket and race back to the bathroom. Wrapping her up tightly, I hoist her into my arms and run for the jeep. I think I left the door to our apartment wide open – I’m not sure and I really don’t care. I race as fast as I can for the hospital. I pull the jeep to a screeching halt outside of the emergency room entrance and barely remember to yank up the emergency brake before charging to the passenger side of the vehicle. I pull Maria out and run for the doors. The stark light of the emergency room stings my eyes and I have to squint against the pain. As I am stumbling through the doors with my bleeding wife in my arms, several nurses and interns look up at my intrusion. Within seconds I am surrounded; someone is ripping her from my arms. I don’t want to let her go, but someone else puts a hand on my shoulder and pulls me in the opposite direction. I watch in horror as they put her on a gurney and start undressing her. So much blood, everywhere. “Who is she?” a nurse asks. I look at her blankly. “My wife.” “What’s going on with her?” I look at her dumbfounded. What is going on with her? She’s dying, you moron. “She’s pregnant,” I manage to choke out. “What happened?” is the next question. I know they are only trying to do their jobs, but God, woman, leave me alone. I run a hand through my hair. “Sir,” the nurse says sternly. “We need your help.” Of course. Sorry. “She said she had to pee,” I explain. I’m sure they care about that. “I found her on the bathroom floor.” She nods and moves away, to the pack of scrub-suited wolves that are attacking my wife. I have never felt so lost in my entire life. They start to wheel her away and I start to follow, but a hand on my arm stops me. I look down into the cute face of a very young nurse. “Why don’t you come with me?” she says sweetly. I don’t want to go with her. I want to go with Maria. But the nurse smiles gently at me and I let her lead me away. I watch the doors through which my wife disappeared until not even craning my neck will keep them in view. And then the waiting starts. I sit in the waiting room staring blankly at a television I think is placed there to distract. Like anything could distract me from this. It’s been two hours. I’ve been sitting here, alone, in the middle of the night for the past two hours and no one has come out to tell me how she is. I try to convince myself that that is a good thing – it means she’s still alive. If she’d died, they wouldn’t waste time telling me that, would they? But maybe it’s also a bad thing… Why couldn’t I help her? Why couldn’t I work the voodoo like I have so many times before and just make everything all better for her? And what about the baby? Will she live? I feel a lump in my throat and I force it away. I can’t cry. Not now. Maybe I should call Mom. Mom would sit here with me…but Mom is in Roswell and I don’t want to wake her in the middle of the night and frighten her. Maria’s mom should know what is going on. But I have nothing definite to tell her and Amy Deluca is not a calm person. I will have to wait until morning to call her. Another hour passes and finally a woman doctor approaches me. She has that look on her face. I’ve seen that look before and my heart jerks in my chest. This isn’t good. The doctor sits down beside me and I suddenly feel cornered. “Mr. Evans,” she begins. “Max,” I correct her. I am younger than this woman and the fact that she wants to address me with a title is ridiculous. “Okay, Max. I’m Dr. Shea. I performed your wife’s surgery.” Surgery? Oh God. She tries to give an optimistic smile. “Is she okay?” I manage to stutter out. The doctor nods. “I think she will recover.” What does that mean? She continues. “She lost a lot of blood, she’s very weak. But the surgery went well and we’re keeping a close eye on her.” I have to know. I don’t want to ask, but I have to know. “The b…the baby?” I know my voice just cracked. She shakes her head. “I’m sorry, Mr. Ev – Max. There was nothing we could do.” I look to the floor and I can feel the tears seeping out from beneath my lashes. All of those fantasies of trips to the park, birthday cakes, pig tails and hair ribbons – they’re all dead now. “Maria is going to need your support,” Dr. Shea is saying. “She’s been through a lot.” She looks a little uncomfortable. “There’s something else, Max.” I look back at her through blurry eyes. “The damage was severe, Max. I hate to have to tell you this, but Maria will never be able to bare another child.” And now I am numb. I can’t cry. I can’t even think. I believe this woman just told me that my nineteen year old wife is barren. She was pregnant a few hours ago, and now she will be childless. “I’m sorry,” she says sympathetically and for a moment I muse about how difficult it must be to deliver news like this. “Can I see her?” I choke out. She nods. “She’s sedated right now, but it would probably be a good thing if you were there when she wakes up.” She eyes my clothes. “I’ll get you something to wear.” For the first time, I realize that I am a blood-covered mess. My pajamas are soaked. There is blood smeared across my shirt, dried on my arms. No, it wouldn’t be a good idea to let her see me like this. The doctor starts to move away, but I stop her. “What was it?” I ask. She gives me a look that reads “Are you sure you want to know?” but relents anyway. “A girl.” |
| PART 6 |