At First Sight(27)
Author: Nicholas Sparks

“I hate waiting like this,” Lexie said. “Waiting and hoping and not knowing what’s going to happen.”

She said exactly what Jeremy was thinking, the words he refused to utter in her presence. A week had gone by since they had received the news, and although they were surviving, that’s all it seemed they could do. Survive and hope and wait. Another ultrasound was scheduled in less than two weeks.

“It’s going to be okay,” Jeremy said. “Just because the band is there doesn’t mean it’s going to attach.”

“Why me, though? Why us?”

“I don’t know. But it’s going to work out. Everything’s going to be fine.”

“How do you know that? You can’t know that. You can’t promise me that.”

No, I can’t, Jeremy thought. “You’re doing everything right,” he said instead. “You’re healthy and you eat right and you take care of yourself. I just tell myself that as long as you keep doing those things, the baby will be fine.”

“It’s just not fair,” she cried. “I mean, I know it’s petty, but when I read the papers, I always come across stories about girls who have babies when they didn’t even know they were pregnant. Or have perfectly healthy babies and abandon them. Or smoke and drink and everything turns out okay. It’s not fair. And now I can’t even enjoy the rest of the pregnancy. It’s like I wake up every day and even if I’m not thinking about it specifically, I walk around with this sense of anxiety, and then boom! It hits me all at once and I remember and I find myself thinking that something inside me might kill the baby. Me! I’m doing this. My body is doing this, and no matter how hard I want to stop it, I can’t and there’s nothing I can do.”

“It’s not your fault,” Jeremy said.

“Then whose is it? The baby’s?” she snapped. “What did I do wrong?”

It was the first time Jeremy realized that Lexie wasn’t simply frightened, but felt guilty as well. The realization made him ache.

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“But this thing inside me—”

“Hasn’t done anything yet,” he said gently. “And part of the reason, I’m sure, is that you’ve been doing everything right. The baby is fine. That’s all we know for sure right now. The baby’s doing great.”

Lexie whispered so softly that Jeremy barely heard her. “Do you think she’ll be okay?”

“I know she’ll be okay.”

Again, he was lying, but he couldn’t tell her the truth. Sometimes, he knew, lying was the right thing to do.

Jeremy had little experience with death. But death had been Lexie’s companion throughout her life. Not only had she lost her parents, but she’d also lost her grandfather a few years back. While Jeremy claimed to empathize, he knew he was incapable of fully understanding how hard it must have been for her. He hadn’t known her then and had no idea how she’d reacted, but he had no doubt how she would react if their baby died.

What if they went through the next ultrasound and all was well? It wouldn’t matter, he thought, for the amniotic band could still ensnare the umbilical cord. What if that happened when she went into labor? What if they were a few minutes too late? Yes, the baby would be lost, and that would be heartbreaking. But how would Lexie be? Would she blame herself? Would she blame him, since the odds of another pregnancy were basically nil? How would she feel when she walked by the baby’s room in the new house? Would she keep the baby furniture or sell it? Would they adopt?

He didn’t know, couldn’t begin to fathom the answers.

What made him hurt, however, was something else. Amniotic band syndrome was rarely fatal. But abnormalities and deformities were the rule, not the exception. It was the unspoken topic between Lexie and himself, something that neither wanted to discuss. When they talked about their worries for the baby, it was always couched in terms of possible death instead of the more realistic scenario. That their baby would look different; that their baby would have serious abnormalities; that their baby would face countless surgeries; that their baby might suffer.

He hated himself for thinking that it would matter, because when it came right down to it, he knew he would love the baby no matter what. He didn’t care about missing limbs or webbing between her fingers; he would raise her and care for her as well as any father could. Still, when he thought about the baby, he couldn’t deny that he envisioned her in almost clichéd snapshots: wearing an Easter dress while surrounded by tulips, or splashing through the sprinklers, or sitting in the high chair, smiling broadly through the chocolate cake smeared on her face. He never imagined her with deformities; he never saw her with a cleft palate or missing a nose, or with an ear the size of a penny. In his mind’s eye, she was always perfect and bright eyed. And Lexie, he knew, imagined her exactly the same way.

He knew that everyone had his or her burdens, that no one’s life was perfect. But some burdens were worse than others, and despite the terrible way it made him feel about himself, he wondered whether death would be easier than their daughter living with a severe abnormality—not a missing limb, but something far worse—one that would make her suffer for the rest of her life, no matter how long that might be. He couldn’t imagine having a child for whom pain and suffering were as constant as breathing or the beating of her heart. But what if that was his child’s destiny? It was too terrible to contemplate, and he tried to force the thought from his mind.

Still, the question haunted him.

Time moved slowly the following week. Lexie went off to work, but Jeremy didn’t even attempt to write. He couldn’t find the energy to concentrate, so instead he spent much of the time at the house. They were in the final stages of the renovations now, and Jeremy took it upon himself to begin cleaning. He washed the windows inside and out, he vacuumed the corners of the stairs, he scraped paint splatters from the counters in the kitchen. It was tedious, mind-numbing work, but it served to clear his mind, to keep his fears at bay. The painters were finishing up the rooms downstairs, and the wallpaper for the baby’s room was already hung. Lexie had picked out most of the major pieces of furniture for the room, and when they arrived, Jeremy spent two afternoons putting everything together and finishing the room. After Lexie got off work, he brought her to the house. At the top of the stairs, he asked her to close her eyes and he led her to the doorway.

“Okay,” he said, “you can open your eyes now.”

For an instant, there were no worries about the future, no fears for their daughter. Instead, it was the Lexie of old, the Lexie who looked forward to motherhood, who smiled easily and found everything about the experience memorable.

“You did this?” she asked, her voice soft.

“Most of it. I had to have the painters help me with the blinds and the curtains, but I did the rest.”

“It’s beautiful,” she murmured, moving inside.

On the carpet was a throw rug decorated with ducks; in the corner, the crib—with a soft cotton sheet on the mattress and colorful bumpers already attached—sat beneath the mobile they’d purchased a lifetime ago. The curtains matched the rug and the small towels atop the chest of drawers. The changing table was fully stocked with diapers, ointments, and wipes. A small musical merry-go-round, playing quietly, sparkled in the soft yellow light from a decorative lamp.

“I figured that since we’ll be moving soon, I should go ahead and get this room out of the way.”

Lexie moved to the bureau and picked up a small porcelain duck. “Did you pick this?”

“It matched the rug and the curtains. If you don’t like it—”

“No, I do. It’s just that I’m surprised.”

“Why?”

“When we went shopping, you didn’t seem that into it.”

“I guess I’m finally getting used to the idea. And besides, I couldn’t let you have all the fun. Do you think she’ll like it?”

She moved to the window, running her finger over the curtain. “She’s going to love it. I love it.”

“I’m glad.”

Lexie let the curtain drop and moved to the crib. She smiled when she saw the small stuffed animals, but all at once it faded. She crossed her arms, and Jeremy knew that the worries had returned.

“We should be able to move in this weekend,” he said, wishing he knew what else to say. “In fact, the painters said we can begin moving our things in anytime. We might have to keep some furniture in the bedrooms while they finish painting the living room for a while, but the other rooms are ready. I was thinking about setting up my office next, then maybe the master bedroom. But either way, since you’re working, I’ll take care of it.”

“Yeah,” she said, nodding. “Okay.”

Jeremy put his hands in his pockets. “I’ve been thinking about the baby’s name,” he said. “And don’t worry, it’s not Misty.”

She glanced over at him, one eyebrow raised.

“I don’t know why it didn’t come to me earlier.”

“What is it?”

He hesitated, remembering how it would look on a page in Doris’s journal, remembering how it looked when he saw it on the headstone adjacent to Lexie’s father’s. He took a deep breath, strangely nervous.

“Claire,” he said.

He couldn’t read Lexie’s expression, and for an instant he wondered whether he’d made a mistake. But when she started toward him, she had the trace of a smile on her lips. Up close, she put her arms around him and then leaned her head against his chest. Jeremy wrapped her in his arms, and they stood in the nursery together, still afraid but no longer alone.

“My mother,” she whispered.

“Yes,” he said. “I can’t imagine our daughter with any other name.”

That night, Jeremy found himself praying for the first time in years.

Though he’d been raised Catholic and had continued to attend both Christmas and Easter Mass with his family, he seldom felt any connection with either the service or his faith. It wasn’t that he doubted God’s existence; despite the skepticism upon which he’d based his career, he felt that belief in God was not only natural, but rational. How else could there be such order in the universe? How else could life have evolved the way it did? Years ago, he’d written a column expressing his doubts that life existed elsewhere in the universe, using mathematics to bolster his point, making the case that despite the millions of galaxies and trillions of stars, the odds of any advanced life in the universe were almost nonexistent.

It had been among his most popular columns, one that elicited a great deal of mail. While most people wrote that they agreed with his belief that God created the universe, there were those who differed and offered the big bang theory as an alternative. In a follow-up column, Jeremy wrote about the big bang in layman’s terms, essentially laying out the point that, according to the theory, it meant that all matter in the universe had at one point been compressed into a dense sphere no larger than a tennis ball. It then exploded, creating the universe as we know it. He concluded the column with the question “On the surface, which seems more believable? The belief in God or the belief that at one point, all the matter in the entire universe—every atom and molecule—was condensed into a tiny ball?”

Still, the belief in God was essentially a question of faith. Even for those, like Jeremy, who believed in the big bang theory, it said nothing about the creation of the sphere in the first place. Atheists would say the sphere was always there, those with faith might say that God created it, and there was no way ever to prove which group was right. That’s why, Jeremy figured, it was called faith.

Still, he wasn’t ready to accept that God played an active role in human events. Despite his Catholic upbringing, he didn’t believe in miracles, and he’d exposed more than one faith healer as a fraud. He didn’t believe in a God who sifted through prayers, answering some and ignoring others, no matter how unworthy or worthy a person might be. Instead, he preferred to believe in a God who bestowed all people with gifts and abilities and placed them in an imperfect world; only then was faith tested, only then could faith be earned.

His beliefs didn’t fit in with the beliefs of organized religion; when he went to Mass, he knew he did so for his mother’s benefit. His mother sometimes sensed this about him and suggested that he pray; more often than not, he said he would give it a try, but he never did. Until now.

That night, after decorating the baby’s room, Jeremy found himself on his knees, begging God to help keep his baby safe, to bless them with a healthy child. With his hands clenched together, he prayed in silence, promising to be the best father he could be. He promised to start attending Mass again, promised to make prayer a part of his daily life, promised to read the Bible from cover to cover. He asked for a sign to let him know his prayer had been heard, that his prayer would be answered. But there was nothing.

“Sometimes I don’t know what I’m supposed to say or do,” Jeremy admitted.

Doris was sitting across the table at Herbs the following day; because he hadn’t told his family, she was the one person he could confide in.

“I know she needs me to be strong, and I’m trying. I try to be optimistic, I tell her that everything’s going to turn out okay, and I do my best not to make her any more nervous than she already is. But . . .”

When he trailed off, Doris finished for him. “But it’s hard, because you’re just as frightened as she is.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to drag you into this.”

“I’m already in this,” she said. “And all I can say is that I know it’s tough, but you’re doing the right thing. Right now, she needs your support. That’s one of the reasons she married you. She knew you’d be there for her, and when we talk, she says that you’ve been a big help.”