As I sat at the kitchen table, I felt the sweet sensation of my baby moving in my belly. It was like a flutter of butterfly wings. Was he kicking or rolling over? Or was he a she?
I sat back and stared at those crash reports and realized how quiet the condo was. There was no music or television, laughter or conversation. It was just me, alone with the sound of pages turning. It wasn’t so bad in the daytime, but at night, in the darkness, with only one lamp at my desk or with the cold glare of the fluorescent light bulb over the kitchen table and the unbearable silence, I recognized how desperately I missed Dean. There was no joy left in my life, only a terrible sorrow born out of an unfathomable loss. Sometimes my body ached from the grief in my heart, and I couldn’t sleep. Night after night, I would get up and read crash investigation reports until dawn, searching for a clue. Anything that might have happened in the past. Something that might give me insight into what had become of Dean or if there was any possibility that he was still out there, alive somewhere. But night after night, the result was the same. I found nothing.
My baby kicked again, so I rubbed tiny circles just above my belly button. “Hi there,” I softly said. “It’s too quiet in here, don’t you think? Maybe you’d like to hear some music?”
He or she didn’t respond, which only made me want to try harder to impress. I stood up, went to the shelf over the stereo, and withdrew Van Morrison’s Moondance album, which was one of Dean’s favorites. We used to listen to it when we were first married, living in the tiny studio apartment close to the flight school. My father had still been alive at the time, but we were cut off completely from my family, which had brought us closer together. It was only after Dad died that Mom finally reached out to us and suggested we move into the condo.
As I lowered the needle onto the vinyl record and heard the familiar guitar chords and jazzy rhythms, I wondered if I should think about a trip home to New York. Mom had been suggesting it ever since she found out I was expecting, but I always said no. I suppose I wanted to keep that proverbial light on in the window for Dean. And New York didn’t hold much appeal for me these days, because that’s where I’d had the terrible falling-out with my father. But Dad was gone now, and my mother was looking forward to becoming a grandmother.
I walked to the window, looked out at the sailboats in the marina below. Every time I saw them, I thought of Dean, and all I felt was a great big gaping hole in my heart and in my life. This condo was beginning to feel like a tomb. Was this the place I wanted to raise my child?
The phone rang, and as always, with a flash of hope, I hurried to answer it. “Hello?”
“Hello, is this the wife of the missing pilot?” the caller asked.
“Yes,” I replied. “Who, may I ask, is calling?”
There was a long pause, then a screeching sound like static from an old walkie-talkie. “This is your husband calling from outer space. I won’t be coming home tonight because I met a hot alien and we’re in love!”
Laughter ensued, and I understood right away that it was a prank call, probably some teenagers in the building.
“Grow up, will you?” I sternly replied and slammed the phone down, hard.
My heart pounded raucously, and my stomach churned with anger. Clenching my hands into fists, I returned to my chair and took a few deep breaths, laboring to calm myself. I laid my hands on my belly, closed my eyes for a moment, and listened to the silence.
When I opened my eyes, I found myself staring at the toppling pile of crash reports and wondered what the devil I was searching for, exactly. I heard the voice of the prank caller in my mind. This is your husband . . . calling from outer space . . .
I slid my hands across my belly and felt a sudden momentous shift in my emotions. What was I doing here? Alone in a condo in Miami when I had a baby on the way. Dean’s baby. At long last, I began to consider the possibility that it was time for me to call my mother and talk about my return to New York.
CHAPTER 9
OLIVIA
New York, 1990
Six days before Christmas, my blood pressure skyrocketed, and I fell into a frightful panic. I had swelling in my legs and ankles, which the doctor called “edema.” A dipstick test showed protein in my urine. Taken together, these were signs of preeclampsia, which was a danger to the health of me and my baby. The doctors wanted to keep an eye on me until they could get my blood pressure under control, so I was admitted to the hospital for a few days, where I couldn’t shake the fear that something terrible might happen and I would lose my baby. The baby Dean and I had created together. Before I lost him.
It was Christmas Eve when I was finally discharged and prescribed complete bed rest until the day of my delivery. Maria, our housekeeper, brought me a chicken dinner on a tray, and Mom was very attentive. After dinner, we watched A Christmas Carol with George C. Scott.
I tried to be cheerful the next morning when my mother wheeled a cart, piled high with gifts for me and the baby, into the room. I thanked her as I opened them, but it wasn’t easy to get through the day. I was in a constant state of anxiety, and there weren’t even any pretty snowflakes outside my window to lift my spirits. Just a curtain of cold, hard rain. My bedroom was a forbidding shade of gray, as if I were living inside a thundercloud where only bad things could happen.
I prayed heartily for good things because surely I had suffered enough loss this year.
On Boxing Day, my mother woke me up by marching into my bedroom. She ripped the curtains wide open and said, “Look! Snow!”
I sat up and squinted at the whiteness beyond the glass. Big fat snowflakes turned to slush as they slid slowly down the windowpane.
“That’s lovely,” I replied, feeling my baby kick, which gave my mood a lift.
Mom sat on the edge of my bed. “Maria will be in soon with some oatmeal and blueberries, and then you’ll have to take a shower and get dressed because you’re having visitors today.”
“Visitors,” I said with a frown. “Who?”
“Cassie, Rachel, Amanda, Kevin, and Gabriel. I called Todd, but he’s in Barbados for the holidays.”
These were my oldest and dearest friends from college, which included my ex.
“Mom, why did you invite Gabriel? That’s going to be awkward.”
“No, it won’t be. It’s been five years, and you’ve each moved on. He’s been seeing someone for over a year now. She’s a nurse, I’m told.”
“But I haven’t seen him since . . .”
I didn’t have the energy to explain that the last time I’d spoken to Gabriel was at a coffeehouse in SoHo, when he’d invited me to watch him play his saxophone. We were broken up at the time, but he wanted to get back together, so I showed up with Dean. It was my way of telling Gabriel that we were over for good, and I had always felt guilty about that. It was cruel and cowardly of me, to flaunt my new boyfriend in front of Gabriel like that.
“I’m supposed to be resting,” I told my mother, grasping at any excuse not to see people. “You shouldn’t have done that.”
“Don’t worry. They won’t expect you to get up and do a jig. I explained the doctor’s orders, and they just want to come by and see you. To cheer you up a little.”
I looked at the snow piling up on the windowsill outside and decided I could use a little bit of cheer. “Okay, fine,” I said. “But I’ll definitely need to take a shower and get out of this old nightgown.”