Promise Me, Page 3

  “Who is she?”

  “Wha . . .”

  I held up the note. “Who is she?”

  He looked stricken, like one of those guys on a Dateline sting who’s just been caught on camera. He glanced down at Charlotte, then back at me and stood up. “Come here,” he said to me. “Charlotte doesn’t need to hear this.”

  “Where you going, Daddy?” Charlotte asked.

  “Daddy and Mommy need to talk,” he said.

  I followed him into our bedroom. I was trembling with all the emotions that were flowing through me. “Who is she?”

  He took a deep breath. “She works up in Ogden. She’s a supply manager for St. Jude’s recover—”

  I screamed, “I don’t care about her résumé! Who is she?”

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “She’s a woman I met a while back. We’ve been . . . seeing each other.”

  “How long have you been sleeping with her?”

  “I’m not sure. Maybe six months.”

  “You’re not sure.” I tried to maintain my composure. “Why? Why would you do that?”

  He just stood there looking dumb.

  “You need to go. You need to leave this house.”

  “Beth.” He reached out for me. “Honey—”

  “Don’t touch me. Don’t call me honey. Don’t say my name. You need to go.”

  “She doesn’t mean anything to me.”

  I began to cry again. “Well, she means a lot to me.”

  Just then our bedroom door opened. “Daddy?”

  “Not now, Charlotte,” I said.

  “. . . I threw up.”

  “Get out,” I said to Marc.

  “Come on, Beth.” He again took a step toward me, his arms extended.

  “Don’t touch me!” I screamed. “How could you do this to me?”

  Charlotte started crying. “Stop yelling at Daddy!”

  “Charlotte,” Marc said. “I’ll be out in a minute. Go back and watch TV.” Charlotte took a few steps from the door, then stopped, frightened but too fearful to leave.

  I put my hand over my eyes. I wanted to die. With all my heart I wanted to die. When I looked up, I said, “I thought we had a good marriage.” My voice cracked, “I thought you loved me.”

  “Beth, I do love you. It’s not . . .”

  I looked at him. “It’s not what?”

  “It’s not as bad as you think.”

  I stared at him in utter amazement. “How much worse could it be?”

  “She’s just a friend.”

  “This is what you do with your friends?”

  “Please don’t make this worse than it is. I was going to tell you. I’ve been trying to end this.”

  “You need to go. Go to your girlfriend, your . . . Ash, or whatever her stupid name is.”

  “I don’t love her, Beth. I love you.”

  I slapped him. “How dare you say that! How dare you?” I started sobbing again.

  “Daddy!” Charlotte screamed. “Don’t hit Daddy.”

  “Charlotte,” Marc said. “Go to your room now!”

  My legs felt weak, like I might collapse. “Please go,” I pleaded. “Please, just go away.”

  He exhaled deeply. “Okay.” He took a few steps toward the door, then turned back. “It’s not your fault,” he said.

  “Why would you even say that?”

  “Because I know you. I know you’ll blame yourself later. But don’t.” He walked outside of the bedroom, still within my view. “Come here, Char-char,” he said. “Daddy’s got to go away on another trip.”

  “I don’t want you to go,” she said, her voice cracking. “Please don’t go.”

  “I’m sorry, honey, I have to. But I’ll call. I promise.”

  She grabbed onto his legs and began to cry. “Is it because Mommy hit you?”

  He crouched down, and wrapped his arms around her. “I have to go. And Mommy didn’t do anything bad. Daddy was bad. And Mommy will be here for you. She’ll take good care of you.” I didn’t know if Marc was talking to Charlotte or me. He kissed the top of her head. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” I’m not sure why, but he looked back at me. I turned away. Marc kissed her again, then stood. “Be brave now. Go to Mommy.”

  She wiped her eyes. “Okay.”

  Marc stood and walked away. Charlotte came into the room and wrapped her arms around my legs. I knew I needed to be strong for Charlotte, but I failed miserably. I broke down crying as soon as I heard the front door shut. I couldn’t help it. It was as if the ground had given in beneath me and I fell to my knees and wept. I kept asking myself the same question: How could he do this to us? I loved him. I would have loved him forever. I would have stayed with him forever. Our fairy-tale romance had burned to the ground. Ash was a fitting name for the other woman.

  Life is a house of cards, balanced on a teeter-totter, precariously perched on a roller coaster. The only thing that should surprise us about our surprises is that we are surprised by them.

  Beth Cardall’s Diary

  Roxanne called the house several times that night, but I couldn’t bring myself to answer the phone, so she took it on herself to come by around seven. She let herself in the front door and walked right into my bedroom. Charlotte was in the living room watching television. I was lying in my bed with the night-table lamp still on. I’m certain that my face was as puffy as a bag of marshmallows.

  “Oh, baby,” she said when she saw me. She sat on the bed next to me, her legs dangling from the side. “Are you okay?”

  “I made him leave,” I said hoarsely.

  “Of course you did.”

  “Charlotte was so upset.”

  “You did the right thing.”

  “Charlotte’s still sick.”

  Roxanne shook her head. “Baby, when it rains it pours. That’s why you got me. I’m your umbrella and your galoshes.” She gently ran her hand over my cheek. “I called Ray and told him I wouldn’t be home tonight. What have you got for dinner?”

  “I’m not hungry. Charlotte . . .”

  “Don’t worry about a thing, I’ll make Charlotte a grilled cheese, she loves those. Then I’ll give her a bath and get her ready for bed. You just rest.” She slid from the bed.

  “Rox.”

  “Yeah, baby.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Whatever I can do, baby. That’s what I do, whatever I can do.”

  We still don’t know what’s wrong with Charlotte. I’d like to cry a swimming pool, but then I’d probably drown myself in it.

  Beth Cardall’s Diary

  Roxanne stayed until midnight, maybe later, I’m not sure. She was there when I fell asleep. Charlotte slept in my bed with me. The next morning felt dark, even though there were finally blue skies. I felt like I had woken with a bag of concrete on my chest.

  It was Valentine’s Day, which felt like a cruel, cosmic joke. I couldn’t imagine a greater irony. I rolled over and held Charlotte. She woke an hour or so later. I could see in her face that she still felt sick.

  Roxanne had come in after Charlotte’s bath and asked about a rash she’d found on her legs. The rash was something new. Oddly it gave me hope. Perhaps it might be a clue to what was wrong.

  “I want Daddy,” Charlotte said.

  “I know.” My eyes watered. “But will you be my Valentine?”

  “And Daddy’s.”

  I rubbed her cheek. “Do you still feel sick?”

  “Yes.”

  I sighed. “I guess we’re going to see some doctors today.”

  A half-hour later I forced myself out of bed. I wasn’t hungry, but I hadn’t eaten since lunch the day before and felt weak, so I made myself some coffee and toast, then got myself ready. As I put on my makeup, I started to cry again. I felt like I could cry a swimming pool. But I felt stronger than I had last night and stopped myself. I didn’t have the luxury of collapse. Charlotte needed me.

  I finished my makeup, doing my best to disguise my puffy eyes, then walk
ed back into my bedroom to find that Charlotte had fallen back asleep. I woke her again, dressed her, then carried her out to the kitchen and made her cinnamon toast for breakfast. She didn’t want to eat, but I insisted. She had already lost too much weight for me to let her skip meals. Then I drove her up to Primary Children’s Medical Center. We sat in the waiting room for more than an hour before a nurse took us back to an examination room.

  “How long has”—she looked down at the chart for a name—“Charlotte been ill?”

  “Since Thursday. But I think she’s been losing weight for the last few weeks.”

  “Is this the first time you’ve seen someone about it?”

  “No, I saw my doctor a couple days ago. He told me to come see you if she hadn’t improved by now.”

  “Could you go over the symptoms for me?”

  “She’s had an upset stomach with vomiting and diarrhea and stomach pains, as well as a bad headache. I’ve also noticed that she seems tired all the time. And she’s losing weight.”

  “Has she had a fever?”

  “No.”

  “And what about this rash?” Charlotte was wearing a knee-length skirt, and a patch of red bumps was clustered on her thighs and knees.

  “We just noticed them last night. Do you think they’re related?”

  “Not necessarily. They could just be caused by the weather. We see a lot of eczema during the winter months because everyone’s skin gets so dry.”

  I don’t know if the nurse noticed my disappointment, but she added, “. . . but we’ll definitely want to take it into consideration. What are her eating habits?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Is she a good eater, or is she finicky at meals?”

  “Lately she hasn’t been eating much.”

  She turned to Charlotte and touched her on the arm. “We’re going to do a few tests just to get us on the right track and get you feeling better. Is that okay?”

  Charlotte nodded. “Uh-huh.”

  She cried when the nurse slid a needle into her arm to take a blood sample. They also took a stool sample and a throat culture. Then we waited at the hospital for the results.

  Two hours later a young male doctor came to see us. “Mrs. Cardall?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m Dr. Reese, it’s nice to meet you. This is what we know so far. Charlotte’s blood work shows that she has iron deficiency anemia. This can account for her fatigue, weakness, pale skin and headaches.

  “Now, the question is, why is she anemic? You told the nurse that she’s been a poor eater lately. So we’re thinking that in Charlotte’s case it is possibly a dietary issue. Children who are picky eaters can become deficient in certain nutrients. I’d like to put her on some iron supplements as well as a high-iron diet. You’ll need to make sure that she gets plenty of dairy products, eggs and meat.”

  I nodded, grateful for any diagnosis and open to any counsel. The doctor continued. “However, anemia is just one piece of the puzzle, and it doesn’t account for all of her gastrointestinal issues. We’re going to have a diagnostic meeting in the morning, so we’d like to keep her here overnight just to keep an eye on her.”

  “Overnight?” It’s not that I wasn’t willing to let her stay, I just didn’t want what she had to be that bad.

  “You’re the mother, but we think it would be best.”

  Really there was nothing to do but submit. I called Roxanne from the hospital to let her know where I was. She told me that Marc had called the cleaners twice looking for me and asking for information on Charlotte. He left the phone number of the hotel where he was staying. Honestly, a part of me was glad to see him suffering too.

  Later that evening I phoned him back. He was clearly surprised that I called. “Beth, I—”

  I cut him off. “I didn’t call for me. We’re up at Primary Children’s Medical Center, and Charlotte’s been asking for you.”

  “Did they figure out what’s wrong?”

  “Not completely. She’s severely anemic, but they’re not sure why. They’re keeping her here overnight to keep an eye on her.”

  “I’m sorry you’re going through this alone,” Marc said. “If you want, I’ll come up and spell you off.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” I said curtly. “Here’s your daughter.” I handed the phone to Charlotte.

  “Daddy!”

  I watched her smile for the first time that day and it made me angry. I was the one at her side worrying over her. I felt like I did all the work and he got the pay. I feared that Charlotte blamed me for his not being there. It was so unfair. I wasn’t the bad guy here. I’m not the one who cheated. Then why was I punishing myself as well? Why did I feel guilty for keeping him away? They talked for another five minutes before I took the phone back.

  “Where is the hotel?” I asked.

  “It’s the Jolly Midas just off Seventy-second.”

  “Are you with her?”

  “Her?” He was silent for a moment. “Of course not. I told her that I love you and I never wanted to see her again.”

  “You want an award for that?”

  “Beth, I made a big mistake. There’s no excuse for it. But most of all, I’m sorry that I hurt you. I know they’re just words, but I mean it. There’s no one in the world I care about more than you.”

  “Except yourself,” I said.

  “Yeah, well, a couple days ago I might have agreed with you. But I know that’s not true. Because right now I’m punishing myself more than you could. You’re the only woman I’ve ever loved. I got what I deserve.”

  I sat quietly listening, my eyes filling with tears. “I’ve got to go,” I said.

  “Let me know what I can do to help. Anything. You don’t have to forgive me to let me help.”

  “I’ll think about it,” I said, then hung up before he could respond.

  I wiped my eyes. Charlotte was looking at me. “Why are you crying? Do you miss Daddy?”

  I looked at her for a moment. “I guess I do.”

  She put her hand on mine. “It’s okay, Mommy. He always comes home.”

  Everything in my life seemed in commotion—a dark and complex labyrinth that I not only didn’t know how to navigate; I didn’t even know where it led. That night I slept in a chair by Charlotte’s side. I suppose, on some level, my concern for Charlotte helped keep me sane, as it was easier to forget my pain by focusing on hers.

  The next morning around eleven, Dr. Reese came into the room. Charlotte was asleep, and I was sitting in a chair next to her reading Good Housekeeping magazine. The doctor motioned for me to step outside the room to talk.

  “Mrs. Cardall, this morning we sat down as a diagnostic team and looked over all the test results. The bottom line is, we don’t really know what’s wrong with Charlotte. We don’t believe it’s parasites and we’ve cleared giardia infection as an option. What we know for certain is that her iron count is low, her growth seems to be stunted and that she is still losing weight.”

  My hope fell. “So what do we do?”

  “There’s a possibility that she’s having some issues with her gallbladder, but before we send her to a gastroenterologist and make her go through even more tests, I’d like to start treating her for the iron deficiency and see if we can’t clear up some of these issues. So in the meantime, I’m going to prescribe an iron supplement and I recommend plenty of liquids to keep her hydrated. We also recommend that you feed her more red meat. The natural iron will help.”

  “What if she doesn’t get better?”

  He rubbed his neck. “Then check back with us in a couple weeks.”

  I helped Charlotte get dressed, then we went downstairs. On the way out I stopped at the hospital’s billing office to check out. I nearly drained my emergency checking account just paying my medical deductible. Then I carried Charlotte out to the car. I called Roxanne as soon as I got home.

  “What do you know?” she asked.

  “That I’m a thousand dollars poorer
and Charlotte has an iron deficiency but we don’t know why. Why can’t anyone figure out what’s going on?”

  “Those doctors,” she said angrily. “Don’t get me started. They prescribed arthritis medicine for Ray for six months before we figured out he only had gout. So what are you supposed to do?”

  “Give her more iron.”

  “What about school?”

  “I’m going to keep her out a few more days, then try again.”

  “And work?” There was tension in her voice.

  “I need to be home with Charlotte. What’s going on?”

  “Arthur suggested we start looking for a replacement.”

  “I can’t lose my job.”

  “I know. I told him if he’s thinking of replacing you, he can replace me as well.”

  “You shouldn’t have done that.”

  “Yes, I should have. That old man can’t bully us around. Besides, you think I want to spend my days listening to Teresa’s exploits in Manworld? I’d rather stick darning needles in my ears.”

  “I can’t let you lose your job. And I can’t afford to lose mine. What do I do?”

  “Can’t Marc help?” she asked.

  “He offered.”

  “You should let him help.”

  I groaned. “I just don’t know if I can look at him.”

  “Well, you don’t have to let him move back in. It’s not about you, it’s about Charlotte.”

  I exhaled slowly. “Maybe you’re right. I need to think about it. Thanks for watching my back.”

  “That’s what I do, babe.”

  Why do we delay the changes that will bring us happiness? It’s like finally fixing up the house the week before you sell it.

  Beth Cardall’s Diary

  Marc called around seven that night to talk to Charlotte. For the first time since I sent him away, I was glad to hear his voice. In all honesty, it was more than just exhaustion from going through all of this alone. I missed our family. And even as deeply as I’d been hurt, I missed him. But I wasn’t about to tell him that.

  “Hi, Beth,” he said. “How are you?”

  “Here’s Charlotte,” I said, handing her the phone. As usual, Charlotte was happy to hear his voice, and within just a few minutes she was laughing. As I watched her, I knew just how much she needed her father. After they had talked a while, I told Charlotte to say goodbye and give me back the phone. I put it up to my ear. “Marc, I need to talk to you.”