Chapter 36
CHAPTER 36
Bernie
The night of Philip’s passing, a priest comes to visit me. I already know him as Father Walsh. He touches the rosary beads dangling by his side and places a warm hand on my forehead and mumbles a prayer.
“I’m sorry for your troubles, my child,” he says.
“Thank you,” I say, as I stare over his shoulder and out the window at the end of the ward. It’s dark outside, but I can hear buses passing and a car honks its horn every so often.
“The nurses told me he was too wee and arrived too soon. But the baby is with our Lord now, worry you not.”
“Philip. My baby’s name is Philip.”
He looks at me with empathy. “Philip is a lovely name. I have a cousin called Philip. He lives in England.”
We both know there was no time to christen the baby. My son is Philip in my eyes only. To everyone else, he is a baby too fragile for this life. A tiny thing to be forgotten as quickly as he came into the world. I wonder how many other women Father Walsh will visit tonight. This week. This month. Mothers with empty arms and broken hearts. I hope I’m the only one, but of course I know I’m not.
I knew when labor started twelve weeks early that the odds were stacked against us. I’d never heard of a baby so premature surviving. But still, I dared to hope. Foolish of me, I know now.
“We have a wee plot at the back of the hospital,” Father Walsh says. “For the little ones who didn’t make it. It’s a nice spot. A garden, really. With some trees and flowers. The pansies are my pride and joy, if I’m honest. In spring they’re very beautiful. Ah, but you’ll see for yourself.”
I shake my head. I won’t ever see.
And that is that. I don’t have to sign anything. I don’t have to pay a penny. I don’t see my little boy ever again.
For nine days more I lie on the flat of my back. The only thing to occupy my racing mind is the window at the end of the hall. Thank God for that window . Dan visits when he can. He tells me the girls miss me and my heart hurts.
On the tenth day, Sister Lillian announces proudly that it’s time to go home, as if I have served my time and my penance is complete.
I’ve my case packed and I’m dressed and waiting by the door when Dan arrives. I wait for him to kiss me, but he takes my case and says, “Right, love. Let’s get you home. The girls are waiting.”
The bus is late and we’re cold and wet by the time we hop on. We take our seats and I drop my head onto Dan’s shoulder. He smells of sawdust and lavender soap. Familiar. Soothing. But my comfort is lessened when I feel Dan stiffen and pull away.
The flat smells quite different to usual. There’s a large bouquet of red roses in a fancy cut glass vase on the kitchen table and when Dan opens the bedroom door the scent of freshly washed linen wafts toward me.
“Where are the girls?”
“Maura took them for a walk,” Dan says. “She’s been a godsend. And the girls love her. Now, let’s get you into bed.”
My heart sinks. I wanted nothing more than to cuddle my babies. But I don’t say a word, because just looking at my bed with fresh linen, I’ve never felt more exhausted in my life. Dan tucks me in as if I were one of our girls and he brings me warm chicken soup. I eat, and we talk. About all sorts of things. But not about Philip. I doubt we’ll ever talk about him. It’s just too hard.
When I’m finished eating, I ask Dan to lie beside me.
“Just until I fall asleep,” I say. “I’ve missed you so much.”
“I thought I was going to lose you,” Dan says.
I look into the eyes of the man I love so much and wait for him to kiss me. He doesn’t and the surprise of it hurts.
“I’ve moved my things to the living area,” he says. “This is your room now. I thought maybe Marie might like to share it with you. And Elizabeth too, perhaps.”
I look at the bedside table where his cap should be. It’s bare. His spare shoes aren’t by the window. His clothes aren’t hanging on the back of the door. There’s no trace of Dan in our room anymore.
“I don’t understand.”
“Dr. Davenport said no more babies, Bernie.”
“I know, but—”
“You could have died.”
There’s so much pain and fear in my husband’s voice. I reach my arms out to wrap around him, but he steps back.
“But I didn’t,” I say. “I’m here. I’m here now.”
“And that’s the way it’s going to stay. No more babies. I can’t put you at risk.”
“Dan…”
“This is your room now. I’ll sleep in the living area with Alice for the time being. And when she’s older she can join you and the other girls in here.”
“This is ridiculous. Is this why you won’t kiss me? Why you pulled away from me on the bus?”
“I can’t kiss you. It’s dangerous.”
“I don’t think kissing ever made a baby, Dan.”
“Dammit, Bernie,” Dan says gruffly. His frustration is tangible. “Don’t you see it’s not the kissing I’m worried about, it’s what it leads to. I can’t kiss you and not want more. I can’t share a bed with… Jesus, when I think of lying beside you and not being about to touch you… well, it damn near drives me insane. This is just how it has to be. I have to keep you safe and this is the only way I know how.”
I shake my head. Something inside me is shaking too. My heart. My stomach. All of it.
“This isn’t right,” I say. “It isn’t healthy. This is not a marriage.”
“It’s our marriage. And it’s how it’s going to be. I won’t hear any more arguments, Bernie. Not about this.”
“Fine,” I snap. “Then get out of my room.”
Dan’s heart is breaking as much as mine. I can see it in his rounded shoulders and puffy eyes.
“Get out.”
“Bernie, I love you,” he says. “You’ll see. In time, you’ll see this is for the best.”
I throw my pillow at him and shout, “Get out. Get out. Get out.”
Dan backs out and closes the door behind him. I sit alone with my thoughts for a long time. I think about Philip’s tiny body and how much I ache to feel him still inside me. I think about my girls. I miss them more than I can comprehend. And I think about Dr. Davenport. I hate that man. I hate him for what he does to Maura. And I hate him for what he has taken from me.
I find myself writing about it in my beloved sketchbook, the pen pressed so taut against the page that it tears. I keep writing. It’s just my son’s name at first. Philip. Philip. Philip. Over and over. But soon there are other words, too. All my thoughts and emotions spill onto the page, like foam and bubbles when you open a bottle of fizzy pop. I write until my eyes close and the pen falls out of my hand and onto the floor.
Later, I feel Dan take the sketchbook and place it on the bedside table. I feel his warm lips gently kiss my forehead when he thinks I’m sleeping.
“Sweet dreams, my love,” he whispers before he slowly walks away from the bed we once shared, and I worry this is the closest I will ever be to my husband again.