My Life After Now

28

Two Lost Souls




“Miss Williams has suffered what is called a placental abruption,” the doctor explained.

I’d shoved the cocaine baggie into a Ziploc and followed my dads to the hospital. When I found them in the emergency room waiting room, I showed them what I’d found, and Papa informed the medical staff. The three of us sat, shell-shocked, in the waiting room for several hours, not being told anything about Lisa’s status.

But now, finally, we were getting some information.

“What is that?” Dad asked.

“It’s when the placenta, which is the organ that provides nourishment to the fetus, detaches from the uterine wall. It’s rare to see in healthy pregnancies; however, the use of cocaine during pregnancy does greatly increase the chances of it happening.”

Dad rubbed his temples. “Is the baby okay? Is Lisa okay?”

The doctor nodded. “There was only a partial uterine separation, so we were not forced to do an emergency C-section. Because Miss Williams is just now entering her third trimester, the chance of birth defects would have been very high should we have had to deliver. But we were able to stabilize both mother and fetus through blood transfusions and the administering of IV fluids.” He paused to give us each a meaningful look. “They were very lucky.”

Dad shook the doctor’s hand. “Thank you so much. We appreciate everything you’ve done to help them both.”

“A word of advice—keep an eye on her. It is absolutely crucial that she not engage in any more illicit drug use during this pregnancy. Consider today a wakeup call,” he said sternly.

“We will,” Dad said, nodding profusely. “When can we take her home?”

“I want to keep her here for a few days to monitor her for shock and the fetus for any signs of distress. If all goes well, I would say she can probably go home this weekend.”

They were still running some tests on Lisa, so we had to wait awhile longer before we could see her. We returned to our seats in the waiting room. It was already after midnight, but I don’t think any of us were very tired.

We sat there in silence for a long while, half watching a Seinfeld rerun on the waiting room’s fuzzy TV.

My phone buzzed.

Any more news on the commercial? When do you shoot?

I turned the phone off. I couldn’t think about Ty or the commercial right now; there was something I needed to confess. “It was my fault,” I said into the quiet.

“What was your fault, honey?” Papa asked.

“Lisa taking the drugs. I confronted her today. I pretty much screamed in her face, blaming her for everything and telling her what a terrible mother she is going to be to the new baby.” I took a deep breath. “That’s why she did the drugs. It was because of what I said.”

Papa opened his mouth to respond but I kept talking.

“And I should have named the baby.” I was suddenly feeling guilty about that too.

“What do you mean?” Papa said.

“Lisa asked me to name the baby. Maybe if I’d done that, she would have felt like I cared more and wouldn’t have gone and done this.”

Dad and Papa looked at each other.

“Lucy,” Dad said, “Lisa took the drugs because she has a problem. It wasn’t your fault.”

“Whatever,” I mumbled. I knew the truth.

A short time later, a nurse told us we could go in and see her. She was propped up in the hospital bed, a white blanket covering her large belly, hooked up to all kinds of monitors and IVs.

I don’t think my dads knew what to say any better than I did. The air was thick. I stayed close to the door, not saying much of anything. I’d said enough today.

“How are you feeling?” Dad asked.

“Better. The pain is gone,” she said.

“That’s good.”

Then Papa spoke up. “Lisa, you have to be honest with us. I thought the whole point of you staying with us during the pregnancy was because you wanted to stay healthy. What the hell happened?”

“I do want to stay healthy,” Lisa insisted. “But it’s hard.”

“That’s not an explanation,” Papa said.

Lisa shrugged.

“Where did you get the cocaine?” Papa asked.

“From Serge.”

“Serge? Who the hell is Serge?”

“He’s a guy I met a couple months ago.”

“You’re not telling me you’ve been doing drugs for a couple of months…?”

“Like you care!” Lisa said.

“Lisa,” Dad stepped in, clearly trying to set an example with his calm voice, “of course we care.”

“Could have fooled me. No one has even looked at me twice in the last two months. The two of you are so bloody consumed with Lucy all the time. ‘Why is Lucy so down in the dumps?’” she said in a terrible American accent, mocking my dads. “‘Oh gee, I hope Lucy’s okay.’ ‘Let’s have our little secret family meetings with Lucy and not invite Lisa to any of them.’ ‘We’re going to the city with Lucy, Lisa. You can fend for yourself for dinner.’”

We stared at her in shock.

“I swear, I don’t even know why you had me come to live with you in the first place. At least Serge understands me.” She crossed her arms firmly over her expanded middle, sulking.

Papa was at her bedside in two broad strides. He put his face close to hers and spoke fiercely. “You want our attention? You got it. For the next three months you will be watched like a hawk. You will not go anywhere near so much as an aspirin until that baby is born, do you understand me? And once the baby is out, so are you. You will never be welcome in our home again.”

Papa stormed out of the hospital room, and Dad and I followed wordlessly, too stunned to do anything else.

“Lucy, I hope you see now that none of this was even remotely your fault. That vile woman is a lost cause,” Papa growled as we fled the scene.

We exited the hospital to find that it had begun to snow.