c5

"Beth, I have thought it through. I'm afraid of what one more will do to our family and it's a real fear—not just me overreacting. And I definitely can't get used to carrying a baby and then lose it. I don't know how I'd recover from that."
"Then I suggest you make an appointment and take Billy with you, tell him this is urgent and critical and you need his support and—"
"Beth, can you just remove my IUD? Without all this crap?"
Beth pursed her lips for a second. Then she said, "Yes, I can. It may or may not make any difference."
"Explain. Again."
"I can remove the IUD and the pregnancy could be unaffected. Or you could have spotting, bleeding and possibly a miscarriage. If you really don't want to be pregnant, it makes better sense to see a doctor who can take care of both the IUD and the pregnancy. But…"
"But if you just take it out right now, I might be saved the trouble," Julie said.
"Jules, don't you want to think about this?"
"I have. Take it out. Now."
Beth connected eyes with her for a long moment. Then she said, "It will go in your chart—that I removed the IUD at your request, that I informed you—"
"I know."
"You're sure?"
"I'm absolutely sure."
"Lie down." The gloves went back on, the speculum back in. Beth began to work, talking to Julie's vagina. "You might have some cramping, some spotting. The spotting could last a few days, then stop. Or you could miscarry spontaneously, in which case I'd like to check you, maybe do a follow-up D and C. If you have any heavy bleeding, please let me know immediately—I'm on call tonight. You have my cell number. If I don't answer on the first try, just leave a message and come into the E.R. and I'll see you there. I don't anticipate problems, but you should be aware. No matter which way this goes, I'll have to see you in two weeks." She glanced over Julie's drape. "Sure?"
"Do it."
And while Beth did her work, Julie cried silently, tears sliding out of her eyes and into the hair at her temples.
 
Cassie was getting pretty flexible with this riding stuff. She packed them some sandwiches and wore a tank top and shorts under her jeans and borrowed leather jacket. They went back to Sonoma, but this time north of San Francisco they got off the road and went along the beach toward Bodega Bay. They found a peaceful spot to park where she disrobed a little bit and produced food and drink. Then Walt surprised her by pulling out a blanket and they sat in the sun on a cool, rocky northern Pacific beach and enjoyed the seascape.
"Tell me what it was like, growing up with three brothers," she said.
"Like a circus," he said, laughing. "We were each born two years apart—I was the second. My mom always worked, so when we were real young, my grandma took care of us. It's amazing she lived as long as she did—she only passed a couple of years ago. But my mom was a teacher, so once we were in school, we were on the same schedule. She taught special ed—did I tell you?"
"You did," she said, chewing on a pastrami sandwich. "And your dad was a grocer. What does that mean, he was a grocer?"
"Well, he bought a little corner grocery store—kind of like the precursor to the 7-Eleven. It was in a crappy neighborhood, but did a great business. Rental houses were his thing, though—great for him, awful for the rest of us."
"Why is that?"
"He'd search for a deal—a repo or falling-down piece of junk—and then we'd live in it while he fixed it up. The second any of us could hold a hammer or paintbrush, we were working on it, too. We lived in one once that had no kitchen appliances at all. My mom kept a refrigerator in the garage. We had a grill in the backyard and a hot plate. There were times he had to turn the water off to plumb—now we're talking about four little boys and a gnarly mom. We boys would pee in the yard and we'd all shower at Grandma's before going to work and school. Mom would rag on Dad to get the water or electric or whatever back on before she killed him." He laughed. "We had a new place every year. I mean an old one every year. Sometimes we could turn 'em in less than a year. I think I remember every one, and there had to be more than twenty. They were awful. When they were fixed up, he'd rent 'em and buy another dilapidated house. At some point my mom was fighting to live in a finished house while he fixed up an empty one, but he wouldn't hear of it. He just couldn't throw away money like that."
"Is he still doing that?"
"Nah, it worked out for him. About twenty years ago or so when we had a real-estate boom, prices doubled or tripled. The other thing—he bought small houses all the time, so the margin was greater and the market better. You know, more people can afford three-hundred-thousand-dollar houses than million-dollar houses. Plus, if you can't sell 'em, rent's cheaper. So when real estate was good, he started selling 'em and bought a few more small grocery stores. Same drill—he'd buy 'em in trouble, get 'em right, sell 'em—but at least we didn't have to live in those! My mom and dad live in a real nice house now—she finally beat him down. Me and my brothers, we give them a lot of grief about never having lived in a finished house, growing up."
"Tell me about your brothers," she said.
"They're all married, have kids. You know about Kevin, the cop. Twenty-eight, wife of one year, pregnant with their first. Joel—the student. He's working on a Ph.D. in bugs so he can be super Orkin. He has two kids and a wife who's a professor already. And Tommy—he's a CPA. He has his own little firm. He handles all the family's stuff along with his other clients. He's thirty-four, been married ten years already—three kids."
"Six grandchildren," she said. "You're the only one not contributing."
"I know," he laughed. "I don't think anyone expects much out of me that way…."
"Aw, they shouldn't write you off so soon."
"That's what I say." He grinned. "Your turn. Tell me about growing up."
"Hmm. Well, it was just me and my mom until I was eight, and then she met Frank, my stepdad. That made her so happy. When I was ten, their first baby came—and I was pretty thrilled to have this little play toy. When I was twelve the next little baby girl came. Then, when I was fourteen and the third one was on the way, Frank got a promotion and transfer to Des Moines." She looked at him and said, "By that time I was pretty reluctant to move, so when Julie's family offered to let me stay with them, my parents agreed to it. I found out later that nobody expected that to work out, but it did. You know, Frank and my mom had this whole new life, new family. I never really felt a part of it."
"Did you miss them?" he asked.
"Sure I did. I visited, spent whole summers there for a couple of years. But then I started getting jobs and my visits were shorter."
"What about your dad? Your biological father?"
"Never knew him," she said with a shrug. "My mom died young—she was only forty-four—a freak brain tumor. She only lasted six months, and I was in Des Moines most of that time, taking care of her. I tried to locate my father then, but I didn't find him. There are all these networks to post your search so the missing parent who might not want to be found can get in touch with you, but he never has. Who knows, maybe he's gone, too? Anyway, I don't care anymore. He was never a part of my life. If he got in touch now, I'd ask him some medical history questions, but I don't have much else to ask. Except…"
He gave her a second and then said, "Except?"
"Well, I'm curious about why he left us."
"You don't know anything about that?"
"My mom said they weren't together long. She got pregnant, he married her but never really lived with her, wasn't around for my birth. The divorce was final before I was six months old. They were both young. It was like a big mistake, an accident he ran from. So far in the past and so irrelevant, it seems ridiculous to wonder anymore."
Walt put his big hand against the hair at her temple and ran it back in a caress. "Are you okay about that now? Does it hurt?"
She shook her head. "What hurts is not having my mom anymore. She went on to a new life with Frank, but we stayed real close. We'd spend hours on the phone, talking about everything. Sometimes I miss her so much."
"I can understand that. In case you didn't get the message, I'm real tight with my mom and dad. They hung in there with me when I was in trouble a lot, when I tested every rule they came up with. Losing either one of them would hurt real hard."
"Our histories plan our futures," she said. "I think some of that explains how I could end up fighting for my life in the front seat of an SUV…."
He frowned. "How?"
"Walt, when you get down to it, I have no family. No real family."
"You have your stepdad and siblings, even if they're halfs."
"It's not the same. I never got close to Frank or the little kids, and now the oldest one has started college—to her I was just an occasional visitor since she was five. When I was a kid, it was me and my mom—I was her life and she was mine. Then it was my mom and Frank and the babies and she was so happy. Even I was happy with those babies to take care of. I think the message I got was that a fulfilled life is one where there's a spouse and family. Ever since I separated myself from my mom and the little kids, I've always thought what I wanted from life was exactly what she had—someone who made me that happy and gave me children. It's possible I was trying too hard to make every guy who asked me out into that. I have an image of what I want my life to be, but none of the details. No instructions. My mom—she wasn't hunting. She never went out that I remember. I was never left home alone or with a sitter. She met Frank at the copy machine in her office and the rest is history."
"Things happen like that," he said. "Without much warning."
"Really?" She smiled. "Something like that happen with you?"
"Almost everything. I never planned that eighteen-month ride—I was pissed and took off—and it changed my life. That bike shop, my first job when I got back? It was a little job fixing bikes, but it grew from a little store into a successful store, then four stores… I thought we were doing a good job, but I didn't know it was that good. I never saw that coming. And I've been there from the beginning. If you'd asked me ten years ago if I thought things would work out like this, I wouldn't have believed it." He laughed. "Ten years ago, I thought I might end up in jail or something…."
"You love your work, don't you?" she asked, smiling.
"I do. Things just keep getting better there. And in my personal life, too—I mean, look at you in those shorts, Cassie. How could I ever complain? And we didn't exactly meet through a dating service." He grinned at her.
"You've been real nice to me, Walt," Cassie said. "You've turned into a real good friend."
"Thanks, Cassie. I like hearing that. Wanna put your jeans back on and ride up the coast for a while?"
"I do. I like your silly bike."
"There's a fish house in Bodega Bay—not fancy, but some of the best fresh fish you can imagine."
"Do they all know you there?" she asked, shimmying into her jeans.
"Of course. I've been there a lot."
"Of course," she laughed.

Billy came home from the shop at ten-thirty after eight hours. He was all dusty from the saw, dirty from wood, grainy from marble and granite. The house was dimmed. There was a light left on in the kitchen over the stove and he assumed Julie was in bed, asleep. He was exhausted; he'd worked every day for the past six days, three of them twenty-four-hour shifts. Now he was facing four days off from F.D. in a row, but he'd spend all of them at the shop. He reached into the fridge for a cold cola, after which he'd shower off the grime and pass out.
"Billy?"
He turned toward the living room. "Jules? You still up?"
"Billy…" she said weakly. "I have a problem. I'm losing the baby…."
He rushed to the sofa and found her there, lying down, an ice pack on her lower abdomen. He knelt beside her and brushed the hair back from her brow. "What's going on?" he asked.
"I went to see Beth to confirm what we knew. I asked her to take out the IUD. She told me this could happen. It's happening. I'm bleeding a lot. I have to do something…."
"Did you call her? Ask her what to do?"
She nodded. "I have to go in now. To the hospital. We'll have to call Cassie or my mom to come over for the kids. I wanted to wait for you. I needed you with me."
"Jesus, what if I'd been late!" He jumped up and headed for the phone. "You should've called me! I could've come right away." Into the phone, he said, "Cass? We got a problem. Can you come over for the kids? I have to take Julie to the hospital. She might be miscarrying." A pause. "Yeah, that's what I said. I guess she didn't tell anyone—she was upset. We can't talk about it now. I need you to come. Thanks."