Broken Read online

  She didn’t leave. She went to the counter and brought back two of the biggest chocolate cupcakes I’d ever seen. She put them in front of us and handed me a fork.

  “The icing’s made of Godiva,” she said. “And if ever a woman needed an overdose of premium chocolate, it’s you.”

  A good sister is one who won’t be embarrassed when you burst into tears in public. A better one will hand you tissues until you stop. The best is the one who will go get you another latte to go with the ginormous chocolate orgy she’s already laid in front of you.

  “Why didn’t you tell me any of this before?” she demanded, stabbing her fork at me. “God, Sadie, you must have been going out of your mind.”

  “It’s not that easy to talk about.” I licked icing that had come straight from heaven. “And you had Evan and Lily to deal with, and then you were pregnant again and having James…you didn’t need to listen to my grief.”

  She made a face. “I’m pissed at you.”

  “You are?” I paused with my fork halfway to my mouth.

  “For thinking I wouldn’t have listened.”

  “You’d have listened,” I told her, “but it wouldn’t have been fair of me to make you.”

  She looked like she wanted to protest, but then nodded. “You’re right. I wouldn’t have been able to listen well enough. I’m sorry. I suck.”

  Our sisterhood fit like a pair of faded jeans. I’d missed Katie.

  “I didn’t want you to think I don’t love him,” I admitted. “And when he stopped wanting to go out it felt…”

  “Disloyal.” She nodded, as though she understood.

  “Yes. Disloyal.”

  “Nobody would blame you for having a life.”

  “That’s what Adam said, too.” I thought of the one support group meeting I’d attended. The wives had taken turns praising each other’s sacrifices and trying to outdo each other’s martyrdoms. Scowling, Katie stabbed her cupcake when I told her about it.

  “It’s just like those holier-than-thou mothers in my play-group. God, you’d think I was committing a mortal sin by hiring a sitter for my kids so I can get my hair cut.”

  “It’s not like I didn’t understand them,” I said. “I mean, from a professional point of view, I could see how focusing on the tiny details is the only way some people can deal with trauma. Understanding them only made it harder, though. Because I know I shouldn’t feel guilty for being angry sometimes, or bitter.”

  “Knowing something is beans,” Katie declared. “Besides, I don’t have a problem with anyone who thinks devoting their entire life to the happiness and comfort of someone else, be it a husband or a child, is what makes them a good person. My problem is when they act like anyone who doesn’t spend hours scrapbooking every freaking detail of their kid’s first tooth is not only a bad person, but a shitty mother, too!”

  We stared at each other for a moment, then burst into laughter.

  “God, that felt good to say,” she told me.

  “I’m sorry it’s been so long, Kates.”

  “Me, too. Don’t let it happen again, or I’ll have to kick your ass. Or steal your cupcake.”

  I made a show of guarding it. “I’d like to see you try.”

  Chocolate, caffeine and girl-bonding left me languid with relaxation. I gobbled the feeling as greedily as I’d done the cupcake.

  “Don’t tell the mommy police, but I’m thinking of going back to work. From home, at first, until the kids are older. A few mortgages here and there. I ran into Priscilla from the old bank a week ago, and she told me they’re looking for someone part-time.”

  I blinked and found my coffee suddenly very interesting. “Oh, really?”

  “Yep. Oh, and you’ll get a kick out of this. Remember how we used to mock those people who used those wedding invitations with the pictures of little kids on them? The ones that say ‘I’m marrying my best friend’ or something like that?”

  I remembered.

  “Well, Priscilla’s getting married and she showed me her invitations. And guess which ones she’s using.”

  Chocolate lurched to my throat, but I couldn’t tell if it was from bitter satisfaction or morbid fascination. “Today, I marry my friend?”

  Katie crowed, clapping her hands. “Right on, sister. Ugliest invitations I’d ever seen. Ever. I mean, c’mon, the woman’s in her thirties, for God’s sakes.”

  “When’s she getting married?”

  “In June, apparently. But she’s like the checklist queen, so…” Katie shrugged. “I think she’s got everything planned out to the millisecond. Her poor fiancé, I bet she’s got him jumping through hoops.”

  “He probably doesn’t care.”

  “Well,” said Katie, “A guy who agrees to use wedding invitations with little kids on them sure as hell can’t be very good in bed, I’ll tell you that.”

  To this, I said nothing, and the conversation switched gears again. In my car, where once I’d sobbed against the steering wheel because of him, now I gave in to laughter that was no less hysterical. Every time I thought I was done, I’d picture those invitations again and burst again, until at last I was wrung dry.

  At home, Adam was absorbed in his computer, which didn’t concern me. The fact that that I found Randy snoring downstairs in front of the television, however, did. I shook him awake and dismissed him with a brusqueness that seemed to offend him, but he was lucky I didn’t kick him in the ass on the way out the door.

  “Don’t think I’m not going to call the agency tomorrow and complain, either.” I pounded Adam’s pillows in preparation for helping him into bed. “I didn’t even ask him to stay to help me do the transfer, that’s how angry I was.”

  “Sadie-me-love,” Adam said quietly. “Did you have fun with Katie?”

  I turned from my molestation of his bedding. “I did. Yes. A lot, actually. It felt really good.”

  “Good.” He closed the open documents and then maneuvered his chair away from the computer. “I’m glad. Don’t let him ruin that.”

  “Adam, he was supposed to be watching you, not dreaming!”

  “I was fine,” he said. “I told him to leave me alone.”

  “That doesn’t matter.” I took off my jacket and laid it over the back of the recliner, then unbuttoned my blouse. “Did he at least take care of you if you needed something?”

  He didn’t answer me at first. When I looked up, he’d gone pale, his eyes squinted tight like he was in pain.

  “Adam?”

  He opened his eyes and gave me a smile I failed to believe. “Got a headache, that’s all. Eye strain, maybe.”

  Alarmed, I started checking him over. His face was clammy, his forehead damp with sweat. When I put a hand inside the front of his shirt, his chest was dry and hot.

  “Adam, talk to me.”

  I opened his shirt and ran my hands over him, checking as best I could for signs of an irritation. I bent to run my hands up and down his legs, straightening them. I checked his feet at once for an ingrown toenail, anything that could be causing his body trauma.

  “When’s the last time he cathed you?” I looked up and fear tried to steal my voice. I forced it aside. “Adam. Look at me.”

  His head was drooping, eyelids fluttering. His body trembled slightly all over. He didn’t respond.

  Fuck fear. Terror crashed over me and tried to pin me to the floor. I ran for the bathroom, where I wet a cloth with cold water and brought it back to place on the back of his neck. He was gasping a little.

  Autonomic Dysreflexia. It happens as a result of distress, even something as simple as not emptying the bladder often enough. If not treated immediately, it can be fatal.

  “How long have you had the headache?”

  The headache’s caused by a spike in blood pressure. The body’s protection mechanisms are amazing.

  And he might be having a stroke.

  I put aside my terror as though I’d shoved away an annoying dog nipping at my shins. I knew how to