Stormy Surrender - By Nicole Andrews Moore Page 0,3
take care of myself. I’m doing it here. My vitals are normal; I’m up and out of bed, I…” She took a breath. “I don’t know why you think I need help.”
“Martha,” Dr. Danvers continued gently, “I know you can take care of yourself. You misunderstand.” He looked at her then leaned back in the chair to finish. “Losing a child is emotional. You haven’t come close to working through that. You have been overwhelmed with visitors, but not the one visitor you need to heal from this experience.” He paused and studied her reaction, unsure of how far to push her. “Where is Blaine?”
Martha inhaled deeply, a wavering breath. “He works a lot.” She felt like she spent her life making excuses for him, excuses why he couldn’t attend couples dinners with her friends (he was too tired after working late), why he couldn’t join her at church (Sunday was the only day he could sleep in), why they rarely went out together (he needed some alone time.) None of that mattered now. Now she just wanted to be away from people, away from their prying eyes and incessant chatter. She wanted a break from having to constantly consider other people’s feelings and wanted to just be alone. At least being home, she knew she was guaranteed that.
Squaring her shoulders, Martha stared at Dr. Danvers for a moment. “Please just let me go. There’s nothing more you can do for me here.” She meant for the words to come out strong and sure, but instead they were whispered and pain laden. She winced to hear them.
Head hung, Dr. Danvers thought for a moment. This was so unlike the woman he knew. Her spirit had been broken from the loss of her child and he suspected that soon she would lose her husband as well. He had heard the rumors circulating and not being one to immerse himself in gossip, had kept the tales to himself. Maybe she did need to get out of the hospital before she heard more than she should. Sighing, he met her questioning eyes once more.
“Fine, Martha,” he said slowly. “I’ll take care of the paperwork.” Her eyes glistened with tears. “You’ll be home by lunch.”
Before she contemplated her next move, Martha was out of bed with her arms wrapped around Dr. Danvers neck. “Thank you,” she murmured while a fresh stream of tears streaked down her face. “You’ll never know how much this means.”
True to his word, Martha found herself pulling up the driveway just before eleven thirty that morning. She sat in the Aztek a moment and contemplated the house that she had worked so hard to make a home. It was a gorgeous colonial that she and Blaine had remodeled. She smirked. In truth, she had found it, worked through the financing, and then planned and completed most of the remodeling herself. It was an old home, but all the major systems had been updated, meaning she could focus on what she really loved: the decorating.
The Hardie fiber cement siding was a glorious scarlet color that she had selected. All the window boxes had been decorated for the holiday season with evergreen and holly. A large kissing ball hung down over the front door. She smiled sadly as she remembered how eagerly she had decorated, thinking this would be the last child-free holiday they had for some time. Martha had thought at the time that next year she might be too busy with a new baby to do all of the things that she usually did, so she was going all out this year.
Now, the house, felt empty. She hauled the overnight bag Blaine had dropped off on his only real visit to the hospital back into the house and studied the rooms to survey the damage. Blaine was known to leave a wake of destruction wherever he went. She wasn’t disappointed. She could see clothes and coffee mugs, socks and half eaten sandwiches, all manner of clutter scattered about. Silently, she turned to the task at hand and began cleaning up. Mindless tasks were good sometimes. And cleaning was not something she ever had to think about.
Before she knew it the house was spotless. She didn’t even think about the fact that she hadn’t eaten. She didn’t even consider that Blaine hadn’t taken a moment to call. Martha didn’t even notice when it was nearly dawn and her husband of almost seven years had failed to come home altogether.