Martha crawled from the bed. Blaine’s side was empty, which was no surprise, and made, which was. She contemplated whether or not he had even slept in the bed, but soon discovered that she didn’t really care. She ran her hands up and down her arms a few times to encourage blood circulation and warm her. She blew on her hands and stomped her feet. It was only forty degrees outside, but as a native, that shouldn’t have bothered her one bit.
Gathering a few necessities, slippers and a bathrobe to throw over her flannel jammies, Martha headed downstairs to the keeping room. As expertly as she managed every other aspect of her life, she started a fire in the hearth which was soon roaring and crackling. By then, she had gathered her wits about her, grabbed a hot tea and her lap top and was preparing to check and see what she had missed in the world over the past week.
Somehow, she couldn’t get warm enough. Her nail beds were nearly blue. Her fingers felt clumsy, and her teeth were nearly chattering. She knew what her mother would have said, had she still been alive. In her head she heard, ‘give me a break. You should be used to this weather.’ But somehow, Martha knew it was more than the weather making her cold. She couldn’t seem to muster a smile; she couldn’t manage a giggle, even at herself, which she did so often. She had lost interest in her books and hobbies. Even checking her emails and responding to heartfelt messages from her few close friends didn’t cheer her.
“Maybe you just need a change of scenery for a while.” One such friend had suggested in an email. “Take a trip with Blaine. Or, if he won’t leave his practice for a few days, get a girlfriend to go with you. Pick someplace nice and warm. Finally get a stamp in that passport.”
Her first thought had been to pooh-pooh the idea. It was the holiday season. As a doctor’s wife, she had plenty of obligations to keep her busy. And then there were the charities she was usually so actively involved in. She worked with the Salvation Army to fill stockings for needy children. She visited the sick children in the hospital and read them stories, brought them gifts to elevate their spirits during the holidays. Oh, and the Ronald MacDonald House would be expecting her to come by and offer some free child care services again for the parents who needed to visit their other sick children. She sighed. She didn’t have time to wallow.
As the weeks dragged on, however, it became clear that no amount of volunteer work was going to keep her mind occupied enough to forget what she had lost. She ached for the child she would never have. She ached for the loss she should have been sharing with her absentee husband. She ached because she didn’t know if she would ever be able to have a child of her own. Martha collapsed in a sobbing heap on the braided rug in front of the fireplace in the living room. It was there Blaine found her hours later when he happened to come home to get a change of clothes.
“Are you all right?” He asked, not even stooping to touch her. Instead he was staring at her dispassionately from nearly three feet away.
Nodding her head, Martha didn’t even turn to spare him a glance. She was curled in a fetal position facing the fire, contemplating her future. Her eyes were glassy from crying. Her body continued to shudder occasionally from the convulsive sobs that had escaped her earlier. And from a certain angle, the tear stains on her face were obvious in the firelight.
“You need to pull it together,” Blaine said without even a hint of compassion.
It was then that she turned toward him for the first time. His once docile wife was now angry and behaving like a wounded animal. “And just how do you suggest I do that, dear?” She nearly snarled. “I mean, thanks to all your love and support and constant presence, I’m healing perfectly.” She slowly moved to stand, and noted with some satisfaction that it made him back up a step or two.
“I was merely going to suggest that you find something to occupy yourself with. A new hobby, perhaps, might keep you from wallowing.” He stared down his nose at her.
His displeasure was obvious. The distance between them