Deliver Her from Evil Read online

  I turn my body to face her, squinting my eyes. “I’m calling your bluff on that one, Robin.”

  She looks at me stunned. “What are you talking about?”

  “Please don’t lie to me or sugarcoat it. I need to face the truth of my situation, so please, just tell it to me straight,” I plead. “What are my chances of being adopted?”

  Robin hesitates, staring at the road ahead of us. Her reluctance tells me everything I’d already figured out myself. I just need to hear the words so I can move on, so I can give up on that wish.

  “Please, Robin. I need to hear it.”

  She finally nods. “Statistically, it’s not good, Campbell. I promise I’ll never give up looking, but realistically, you will age out of the system. The state will help you transition onto an adult path, but it will be without a family.”

  I stare out the window at the changing landscape as I listen to my young adult fate being handed down to me. I close my eyes and rest my head against the cold, frosty window. I let the chill swarm my body and numb the sadness, which threatens to overwhelm me. Robin continues to talk, rambling on about my options, but her voice fades to the background. It isn’t until I feel the car stop and hear the transmission shift into park that I open my eyes to take in the sight of my new home.

  “This is only temporary. We will get you settled somewhere else soon. Like I said, we were in a bit of an emergency situation and we needed to move things around quickly. I only foresee this being your home for a few weeks until we can get things settled again,” Robin defends.

  I step out into the frigid night, and I quickly understand her defense. The trailer park we’ve landed in isn’t exactly a community of June Cleavers. The single-wide we are standing in front of isn’t decorated in anything resembling Christmas, unless you count the festive sign that says Beware of Dog: Our German Shepard ate Santa’s reindeer.

  Robin notices me looking at the sign and laughs uncomfortably. “They were just approved. They passed all checks; this house will be fine,” she says half-heartedly.

  I hoist my bag on my shoulder and reach for the necklace draped around my neck. “I’m okay. No matter what, Robin, I’m going to make it.”

  Robin provides a sympathetic smile and knocks on the front door. A dog’s bark cuts through the silence of the night, startling both of us. It takes a few minutes for the door to open, but when it does, my resolve diminishes and Robin’s smile slightly fades.

  I hold tight to my necklace, willing it to give me the strength to step through the door without tears. I’m going to need every bit of might to endure the next few weeks, or however long I’m left here.

  “Forget-me-not,” I mumble as I take the first step across the threshold, hoping my new gift will one day guide me home. “Forget-me-not.”

  Spring 2013

  Carly

  “Medically, there is nothing wrong with either of you. It’s something we call secondary infertility,” the doctor says, flipping through our medical charts.

  I tune out everything from the sentence except the one word that sucker punches me in the gut…infertility. My throat burns and my vision blurs with the tears I desperately try to hold in. I can’t break down at the doctor’s office; I’m stronger than that. I lower my head to give myself a moment to pull myself together.

  “So, are you saying we need to look at other alternatives,” Jack says, as he wraps his arm around the back of my chair.

  “Sometimes it’s as simple as getting a correct gauge of when Carly is ovulating. So I’m going to prescribe Clomiphene, and I’d like you to get some ovulation kits to make sure we have your days correct. Hopefully, we can get this situated and you pregnant in the next few months. At that point we can reevaluate to see what our other options are if this approach is not successful.”

  My brain accepts his advice, but my body doesn’t move to reflect it. I’m frozen like a statue, waiting for someone to break me, to push my fragile heart over the edge and smash it into tiny porcelain pieces.

  Dr. Bradly tears off the prescription from his notepad and reaches across the desk to hand it to me, but I don’t respond. Noticing my struggle, Jack reaches across me and takes the paper.

  “Thank you, Doctor. We will be in touch,” he murmurs as he folds the prescription and stands to put it in the pockets of his khakis. He then lightly grabs my arms and assists me from my seat. His touch breaks my trance and I move toward the door to get to our car as soon as possible.

  I ignore the doctor’s goodbyes. I disregard the receptionist when she attempts to schedule our next appointment, and I close my eyes and turn away when I see the pregnant women in the waiting room. My mission is to get to the safety of our car.

  Jack’s footsteps pound on the cement behind me as I rush through the parking lot. The car’s security system beeps as he unlocks the door and I slide into the passenger seat. The cool leather is a shock to my system, which stirs all of the emotion I’ve held in. Resting my elbows on my knees, I settle my face in my palms and release the tears I refused to shed in public.

  Jack climbs in the driver’s seat and closes his door. “It’s okay, Carly,” he says, rubbing my back in an attempt to comfort me. “If we’re meant to have more children, we will. There’s no need to stress over this.”

  “What?” I ask in disbelief. “What do you mean? We have always wanted a large family. If this doesn’t work, then that goes away. How can I not stress about it?”

  His arm moves away from my back and he grips the steering wheel tightly, closing his eyes. “Car,” he exhales, “I have a business trip next week; we can talk more about this when I get back.”

  “We need to talk about this now, Jack,” I insist. I begin to nervously twist my long hair around my fingers. The direction of this conversation has my stomach in knots.

  “I don’t think now is a good time. You’re emotional. We need to let it cool down before we address the issue any further.” His eyes are pleading with me to leave the topic alone, but I ignore the warning. Nothing will be different a week from now; I need to hear what he’s holding back.

  “No. If you have something to say, say it,” I stutter.

  He exhales loudly and stares out his window momentarily before finally speaking. “I’m done, Carly. No more ovulation kits, no more family planning calendars, no more scheduled sex. I’m done. We need to be happy with the family we have. If we were meant to have more children, we would have them. It’s not in our future, and I’m okay with that. I think it’s time you accept that, too.”

  I vigorously shake my head, in disbelief of what I’m hearing. He’s giving up. This journey to have more children is just beginning and he’s throwing in the towel. Before he can say anymore, I open the door and climb out of the car.

  “Come on, Carly. Get back in the car,” I hear him say as I slam the door. He reaches for his door handle to come after me, but I hold my hand up to signal him to stay where he is. Shaking my head, I mouth the words that seem to seal my fate. “Go home.”

  Summer 2014

  Carly

  “Hurry, Olivia! We need to get things put away and dinner started before your daddy gets home from his business trip,” I shout over my shoulder as I walk through the living room, my arms loaded down with bags of groceries. Olivia is lagging behind, dragging a small sack behind her, most of its contents spilling across the floor.

  “I’m coming, Momma,” my four-year-old says merrily, stopping to pick up the cookies which have fallen out of her grocery bag. Distracted by the sugary goodness of the Oreos, she abandons her task and plops onto the floor attempting to peel open the package.

  I quickly fling my bags onto the kitchen counter and race back into the living room to save my carpet from a cookie crumb disaster. “You can have one if you sit up at the table with it, but no more until after dinner. Deal?” I tell her.

  “Deal,” she responds. Her wide grin exposes her chocolate covered teeth from the cookie she has managed to inhale before I could get to he
r.

  I hand her the cookie and she races to the kitchen to sit at the table to eat it. Grabbing the empty grocery sack, I travel Olivia’s previous path to pick up the abandoned grocery items, like a trail of bread crumbs. Once I have her mess handled, I return to the car to grab the remainder of the groceries.

  “Is Daddy bringing a present?” she asks as I begin to put the food items in the refrigerator and pantry. Everything has its perfect place. After Olivia was born I stopped working outside the home. I consider her, my husband, and this house my job, and I take it very seriously. Birthday parties are well-organized, I volunteer at Olivia’s preschool, and dinner is always made on time, even if it’s just Liv and me eating it. I look the part. I feel the part. I am the ideal homemaker wife, or at least I hope I am.

  “I don’t know, Liv. You’ll just have to wait and see,” I tell her with a smile.

  She and I both know we don’t have to think about it too hard. Jack always brings home gifts for the two of us when he goes on business trips. He’s been working on setting up a branch office in New York for his brokerage firm and has spent a great deal of time there. The trips have gotten more frequent and for longer amounts of time. I know it bothers him, so, to make up for his absenteeism at home, he showers us with gifts when he returns.

  We have missed him, but Liv and I make do. I’m just thankful for the job he has; it provides a way for me to stay home with our daughter, and, hopefully at some point, we will finally get pregnant again or I’ll talk Jack into adopting. So, sacrificing some of our time with him is a fair tradeoff for me.

  Olivia jumps down from her chair and I grab a washrag and begin wiping down the table Olivia has vacated, her cookie crumbs covering the top. “Drink, Momma,” she says, walking to the fridge, expecting me to follow and comply with her demand.

  I rinse the rag in the sink and fold it nicely to dry and then follow her to the refrigerator. “Just a little milk, and then you can go color while I fix dinner.”

  She nods and I pour her a small glass of milk into a pink cup.

  “No!” she shouts, just as the liquid hits the bottom of the plastic cup. “My purple one.”

  I halt the flow of milk because I know exactly where this is going. “I already have milk in the pink one. This is fine, Liv.”

  Olivia lets her body go limp and falls to the floor pretending to cry. “I need a drink, Momma. I need my purple cup.”

  “Oh my goodness, girl. The pink one is just as good as the purple one," I say, rolling my eyes.

  “Purple,” she cries.

  “Olivia,” I say a little more sternly. “Don’t you–”

  “Purple,” she says in a monotone voice, cutting me off, her body sprawled out on the wood floor.

  I turn and open the cupboard once more to grab her favorite purple plastic cup and pour milk into it. “Get up, young lady,” I say as I put the milk back into the fridge.

  She hops up and begins to swipe the cup from my hand, but I pull it out of her reach. “That was not okay, Olivia. Next time I see a fit like that, I will walk out of this kitchen and leave you on that floor. You got it?” I ask.

  Her eyes cast down and she slowly nods her head in understanding.

  “Now drink your milk and head to the playroom to color for a bit until dinner’s ready.”

  Just as I hand it to her, the phone begins to ring and I race to the living room to answer it before the machine picks up. Leaving Olivia with her cup is a huge risk. I will more than likely find it empty or spilled in the playroom. I have little faith it will actually make it into the sink, but the call could be Jack, so I accept the risk.

  “Hello,” I pant into the receiver, leaning against the arm of the couch.

  “Hi, this is Judy with Dr. Banks office, is Mr. Carrington available?”

  My brow scrunches together in confusion, our family doctor is Dr. Perry and we haven’t been to the doctor in several months. “Mr. Carrington is out of town on business. This is his wife; is there something I can assist you with?” I tell her.

  “Let me just check the file to make sure you are listed as a person we can release medical information to.” She then places me on hold and I feel a ball of nerves knot in my stomach. I can’t think of a reason why Jack would go to the doctor and not at least let me know. I feel uneasy about the possibilities. Is he sick and afraid to tell me? My mind swims with horrific outcomes of brain tumors or early onset Alzheimer’s when Judy’s voice pulls me out of my anxiety.

  “Ma’am, we do have you listed as an emergency contact. I just had a few questions regarding the billing of your husband’s procedure.”

  My heart races and my brain replays any moments with Jack over the last few months that would indicate a procedure. Stiches, pain, anything that would clue me in, but I come up short-handed.

  “Which procedure would that be?” I inquire.

  “Mrs. Carrington, he has only used our office for one. A vasectomy,” she answers casually.

  My immediate reaction is to laugh. “Thank you for the call, Judy, but I think you have the files mixed-up. My husband hasn’t had a vasectomy. In fact, we have been trying to get pregnant.”

  “Oh my! I’m so sorry. Can you please verify his name and birthday and I can double-check the file?”

  “Of course. Jack Carrington and his birthday is June 4, 1986.” I give her the information she is requesting, but there is an edge of agitation in my voice at how they can be so unprofessional and unorganized with personal information. How could they possibly make this big of a mistake with a person’s chart?

  “That is correct. I have this phone number listed as a secondary phone number. Can you please tell me the primary address that is listed?”

  “805 Sunridge Road Westminster, Colorado,” I answer.

  “All right, there is our issue. I have a New York address listed as the primary. I’m so sorry to bother you, ma’am. I will continue to call the primary number listed and get this situated.”

  Buzzers go off in my head. New York. Could Jack really have done this and used his work office for correspondence?

  “Wait,” I tell her before she hangs up on me. “My husband works most days in New York right now on business. The address would be 1100 West 52nd Street, New York. Is that what’s listed?”

  I hold back my tears and hang onto the tiny sliver of hope that this is just a misunderstanding. When I hear her confirm the address, everything fades out. Gripping the phone, I slide down the couch onto the floor. My cries break through the silence and I immediately attempt to stifle my sobs.

  “Ma’am, are you still there?” I hear Judy ask. “Ma’am, are you okay?”

  I clear my throat, take a deep breath, and gather the strength to respond. “I’m here. Sorry. It seems the file is my husband’s. Please go ahead with whatever you need to ask to get the situation corrected.”

  “Well, we billed the insurance company for the procedure, but the deductible has not been met for the year, and the insurance is placing the entire procedure toward the deductible. We attempted to bill at the address listed, but the bills have been returned. We have been trying to get ahold of him for payment and a current address to send the bill.”

  My breathing has finally calmed, but instead of the sadness I thought would overtake me, rage is the only feeling I’m consumed with. Rage for everything he has secretly taken away from me, from our family. I had a feeling something was off with Jack. I even mentioned it to Jen at Vivian’s baby shower, but I never would have imagined he would have done something like this.

  “Please use this Colorado address for the bill. I will see to it that it gets paid,” I tell her before hanging up the phone.

  My body is motionless, but the wheels turn in my head as I desperately try to put the pieces together. If he had this done in New York, it’s entirely possible I wouldn’t have known about it. He’s been gone for weeks at a time, and with the stress of the job and the issues we’ve been having getting pregnant, we haven’t been intimat
e much. I jog through my mental calendar, and ‘very little sex’ is putting it lightly. We haven’t had sex in months. I have tried to instigate, but he always had some excuse as to why he wasn’t in the mood. Since when is a man not in the mood? Now it makes sense.

  He’s hiding things from me.

  Catching my breath and my bearings, I call the only person I can think of who would know what to do without completely going rogue.

  I call Campbell.

  After hysterically explaining my discovery, she not only talks me off the ledge, but insists I stay quiet about it with Jack. As nicely as she can, she infers there is probably a lot more that Jack is keeping from me, and to really find out, I have to pull myself together. I agree to meet her tomorrow while Jack is at work to figure out the details and plan out what she calls an inquisition intervention.

  I hear the garage door opening as I’m hanging up the phone with her, so I rush to the kitchen to pull something together for dinner. Usually, I would have it finished and laid out pristinely on the table by now.

  Not today.

  In the last hour, my life has been put on pause while my brain rewinds every conversation Jack and I have had, every interaction between us is replayed in an attempt to figure out what has happened. I know things have been off, but this still feels like a boulder-sized curveball.

  My back is turned away from the door, but I can hear every movement as Jack enters the house. Even though it feels like my senses are heightened beyond measure, his routine is so predictable I could describe what he will do before he does it. Briefcase and coat on the bench in the entry, shoes are kicked off underneath. They are things I routinely have to put away for him.

  “Hey, hun. How are my girls doing?” Jack says wrapping his arms around my waist and kissing my cheek. I fight my instinct to peel his hands off me and confront him. I remember what Cam told me though, and plaster a fake smile on my face and relax my tense muscles.