I didn't wait long for the next update from Pop-Pop. It came hours after he'd sent a midwife to check in on me. A midwife who looked over my overall health, advised both myself and Selma that my nausea would grow worse with stress, and patted my hand to assure me that women had been giving birth since the dawn of time and I'd be alright.
Her other rules made little sense, which meant that I had to wonder how realistic the entire ordeal would be. No reading, she sniffed, seeing my books lined and stacked around my room. Too much excitement wasn't good for my condition. Rest, and a great deal of it, even as I lay reclining on my bed. No bumpy car rides, no funerals, no sporting events. Nothing to get my emotions raised. No reaching over my head, which she said as she took in my petite frame. She asked if I smoked or drank, but since I'd felt the first gurgling of vomit I hadn't felt the urge to take up smoking and the scent of alcohol or the memory of it made me gag.
She left, telling me to watch my weight, to keep a pleasant and quiet mind, and I rolled my eyes at Selma as she stood next to me with a smirk.
"Is she insane?" I finally asked, having been rendered speechless by the overbearing woman. "Does she have any idea what family I belong to?" No stress? Good luck.
Selma snorted. "She's right about at least one thing," I glanced up at her. "Women HAVE been doing this forever, and we survive." She helped me to my feet, since I wasn't completely up to full strength yet. "I nearly burst out laughing when she told you no reading."
I had to smile at that. Selma had teased me about my appetite for books from the moment we first met. "Yes, well, I nearly concussed myself when she advised 'no stress', as though I have another option."
Pop-Pop called soon after. I was lounging on the sofa, per midwife's orders, reading one of the books she'd taken such offense to, when Selma handed me the phone.
"How are you, Lizzie?" He asked, as I greeted him. "You listening to Ellen's advice?" Ellen, the midwife. I snorted and heard him chuckle. "I promised not to add to your stress, sweetheart, but I have some news."
"Ike?" A breathless as I could sound when I was saying his name to his face. "Is he alright?"
"He made bail." Meg, I thought. "That wife of his, she's got a jealous streak a mile wide." Wait, what?
"I don't understand, Pop-Pop." I didn't, what did Vera's jealousy have to do, I went cold. Did she know? "She knows," I breathed.
"No, Lizzie, no." He sighed. "The sister-in-law?" I made a noise of knowing who he meant. "She offered the money, family like, but the wife? She turned her down flat." How did he know? "That Sid, he's a good guy." Oh, Ike's lawyer. "He tells me that the wife, she stands up and makes demands for the money, but when it's offered by the in-law, she spits at it." So who gave it? "Your father," No, I prayed, no. "He tried to get the son to let him pay it. The kid, he's stubborn and says no." Of course he did, I thought, since this triangle between Lily, Father, and him was a torrid ring of confusion. "Some bookie, Bel something, he gave the wife the cash." Bel? Wasn't Bel-shit. "Then the wife and Ike had their wonderful reunion in full view."
"Bel works for Father." I offered, pushing aside the thought of how wonderful Vera and Ike had reunited, I offered and heard my grandfather chuckle. "Any more bad news?" I settled back against the pillow that Selma had brought me to make the sofa more comfortable.
"He's free. And he wants to have a chat with me." I nodded, and realized he couldn't see me, but it didn't seem to matter because he went on. "He's got ideas, Lizzie, plans, I'm told." What kind of ideas and plans? What kind would Ike have to call on Pop-Pop? "Did you know an Al that worked for Ben?"
"Yes, he-" I stopped suddenly realizing he'd used past tense. "Al's dead?" I felt a strange clutch of sadness at the knowledge that one of my father's hired goons was gone. "How?"
"The story is that Al went after the witness against Ike," the woman that Sid had mentioned. "The whore lived, Al got shot and killed by a hero cop." He was scoffing at the idea of it being true. I shut my eyes, wondering who was next. "I'm sorry, Lizzie, I-"
"I know," I swallowed hard. "It's just a mess, isn't it?"
Another chuckle. "That it is, honey, that it is."
We said goodbye soon after, and as Selma took the phone back, I felt the rush of vomit that I'd been fighting during the call come fighting its way out, and almost didn't make it to the bathroom.
The next call came while I was sleeping. I heard the ringing phone, but rolled over and tried to drift back off. Selma rushing into the room, turning the light on ruined the attempt. "Here," she said, a large smile on her face and her hair a tangled mess. "Take it."
I blinked away the spots that the bright light had coated my vision in, and realized she was handing me the phone. Groaning, and staying prone from weeks of experience at what sitting up too fast could cause, I held the receiver to my ear. "Hello?" I sounded hoarse from sleep, because I'd been sleeping, but the news that my grandfather was giving me woke me fully and I couldn't stop myself from sitting upright.
"The charges have been dropped, Lizzie." I sighed in relief, and nearly squealed as Lily had when she wanted to take me shopping the first time. "He's free and clear."
"Thank God." I sighed, feeling the vertigo from my sudden upright pose had caused, I choked the rising bile down. "How?"
He told me that Judi Silver, the witness, had recanted her statement naming Ike as the murderer. Instead, she offered up Al, dead already and unable to be charged. I wondered what the truth was, and if I'd ever know? The money for Ike's bail would go back to Bel, to my father, and Ike would go back to being the king of his sand castle.
"The wife," I sighed, feeling the burn of tears at the reminder. "She's gonna be going on stage dancing. I hear that it's gonna be billed as 'the queen of the Miramar Playa, former queen of the Tropicana' bullshit. Can't seem to book anyone else." He chuckled at the thought of Ike's wife returning to the stage. And the way he said dancing implied what he thought of that idea.
I huffed out my own mirthless laugh. "Ike must be desperate. He told me-" I stopped, what Ike had told me kept seeming to contradict itself. "Have you seen him?"
"Not yet," he sighed. "Lizzie, you can't expect-"
"I don't." I promised him and myself. "I don't expect anything, Pop-Pop." And it was almost the truth. "Just- I never got to-" Say goodbye, tell him I'd love him and our baby, that I wanted to kiss him and maybe, just maybe then I'd be able to let go? I brushed away the tears that I'd finally let fall, and shook it off. It did no good to wallow.
"I hear the daughter asks about you." Lauren? Why would she ask after me? "Seems that she took a liking to you. She wants to know where you went, when you'll come back, and why you didn't say goodbye."
Heavily sighing, I thought about how she must feel. She'd lost her mother at such a young age, but unlike me, she remembered hers. And I thought about the lunches I shared with her and Vera, the way she watched me and the promise I'd made to take her shopping, but didn't because I'd seen the flash of hurt that had crossed Vera's face at how excited she'd seemed at the prospect. I'd taken her husband carnally, I couldn't take her stepdaughter's friendship.
"I should have-" I wondered if anything would ever feel right again. If I'd ever feel like I hadn't failed at everything. "Is there more?"
"Sid keeps me in the loop. Ike still wants to chat, I'm making him sweat." He sounded gruff again. "Putz puts you in this condition and gets out-" he made a noise that sounded like passing gas, "nothing. He can stew, he can worry. He'll get his meeting, Lizzie, but he might not want to face me." He went quiet, making me think he was holding something back.
"There's more?" I wanted it all. Purge it and move on, or pretend to. "Pop-Pop?"
"His family had a celebration, since he's in the clear." I waited, and wasn't disappointed, at least not in the sense that I was right, there was more. "Ben showed up. Ike insulted him. He reminded, quietly I'm told, Ike about your current predicament, and-"
"Threatened to tell Vera?" Of course, why wouldn't he? "And?"
"He left, it was tense." He chuckled again. "The wife, I'm told it's not all rainbows and sunshine, but-"
"There's an image to maintain." I knew this, the scandal of a murder charge, even if it was dismissed, was something they had to work through.
"He visited the whore." I shook my head at what Pop-Pop was insinuating with his tone. "To 'thank' her. She didn't let him in."
"Miami sounds busy." I was choking back the urge to vomit and he noticed.
"Go, Lizzie, then have the tea you told me about." I agreed with a murmur of apology and thrust the phone back at Selma as I ran to the bathroom and let everything rush out.
I was being punished. That was the only thing I could think as I retched up anything I had put in my mouth that evening. Punished for envy, for infidelity, for immorality. But, as I stood up finally, and scrubbed the acidic sour taste from my mouth, I wouldn't give up the tiny piece of Ike I still had. Even if I felt exhausted and my nerves were stretched to the breaking point. If the baby was all I kept from him, all I was allowed, then it was more precious to me than all the money or jewels in the world. And I hoped it knew. Knew that I already loved it, even if it was forcing misery upon me every single morning.
Selma tried to keep my mind busy. She tried distracting me with thoughts of shopping for new clothes. She tempted me with trips to bookstores. She took it as a personal challenge to find foods that would stay down, and new teas that would help soothe my rolling stomach as the silence from Pop-Pop and the news from Miami stretched out and dried up respectively.
"Tents," I swore, looking through the racks at the store she'd talked me into going to. "Everything for an expecting woman, it all looks like tents." The patterns, the bows, and the utter ugliness of them, offended me on a deep level. "Once we're expecting do we all join the Navy?" I asked, pulling a tent that was trying to pretend it was a sailor suit. And held it up to Selma's smirking amusement.
"Can I help you?" A frowning saleswoman approached, clearly offended by my mockery of the store's line of camping equipment masquerading as clothing.
"I think my niece," Selma started, seeing my cringe grow as I flicked through more hangers holding uglier choices by the second. "Wants to know if you have anything a little less-"
"Eye-gougingly hideous?" I offered with a grimace. I held up another tent with an enormous bow. And met the woman's eyes. "Please?"
She laughed, suddenly seeing that I wasn't being unduly rude, but truly appalled by the lack of attractive options for what I was heading toward. Shaking her head, she came closer and offered in a quiet, conspiratorial way, "they are horrible, aren't they?" She smiled. "You should check-" She gave us the name of a more upscale store a few towns away. "They tend to have the more fashion forward styles, and they cater to more discerning tastes."
I thanked her, but Selma could see that I was too tired to continue shopping. At the house, she told me to settle on the makeshift lounge she'd made the sofa into, and went to get us some tea. Well, tea for me, something a bit stronger for her.
It didn't smell minty, the steaming cup that she handed me and I raised an eyebrow. "Chamomile." She smiled, taking the chair at my feet. "If you're up to it, tomorrow we can try the other store."
I took a sip of the tea and waited a beat to see if it would have to make a return appearance. When nothing happened, I smiled and sighed. "What if we miss a call, Selma?" I was worried that I wouldn't be home, that I'd miss the call that told me I could go back, or that I had nothing to go back to.
She shook her head and sipped from her glass. "Then he calls back, Liz. If it's important, Sy will make sure he gets it to you, you know that." Did I? It had gone quiet, and fast, and I felt like I was on a seesaw and I was waiting for the other person to kick off the ground so my feet could touch firm land again.
"I'm worried, Selma, so worried that I can't do this." My hand had gone to my stomach, to the little being inside.
"You can." She was firm. "You will. And more important, I think, you want to." I met her eyes, and knew that she understood me, possibly better than I did.
I'd consented to the shopping trip. I allowed myself to be dragged into the new store, and even agreed to taking a seat and letting the saleswoman bring me samples of their line. I turned down the offer of champagne, disagreeing with the assurances that it would help with my nausea.
"The smell," I frowned, the mere memory of the scent making my bile rise. "I can't."
Selma asked for seltzer water, for both of us, and the woman rushed off to complete her tasks. First the drinks, fresh and fizzy she assured us with a perkiness that made me want to throw up, but not for the usual reason. And then with two other women, carrying several new, yet still tent-like offerings. I sighed and sat back. Honestly?
"We were told that your establishment had more-" Selma looked to me for the word she wanted.
"Attractive," I supplied, rolling my eyes and taking a sip of my fresh and fizzy consolation prize.
"Yes, attractive options for an expectant young woman." She smiled, knowing that this trip was going downhill fast.
The saleswoman tried to argue that the fabrics, the prints, were all of a far higher quality, but I cut her off.
"They all have hideous bows, or unnecessary frills." I glared at the 'quality' sailor suit one was holding. "Is there nothing with a sleeker line? A cleaner feel?" I could see that the saleswomen were finally taking in how I was dressed. The black dress, my heels, the simple, yet expensive diamond on my finger (a requirement, Selma and I agreed, to cut off the questions or looks).
"Perhaps," the one who had greeted us, the one who had brought us the drinks, was running an idea through her head and I could almost smell the gears grinding. "Give us a moment."
"You're coming back to yourself," Selma said into her drink. "This reminds me of the time in Athens." I smiled at the memory. "They kept trying to force the gauzy pastels on you-"
"All bows and roses," I could almost feel the warm sun on my skin. The scent of the sea. "I thought they would cry when I insisted on-"
"Black. Simple, plain, black." It had been what the salespeople had muttered, in Greek, thinking I couldn't understand. "When you asserted that you did indeed love plain and simple, I thought their heads would implode."
I chuckled and sobered quickly as I saw the group coming back. "Round two?" I muttered to Selma and she covered a laugh as a cough.
"Usually," the saleswoman started her pitch, "these styles are for the more full bodied clients we cater to, but, with the right adjustments, I think we can make them work for someone preparing for a new addition to their family."
Critically, I checked the offerings she'd brought. Upon first inspection, they looked like regular dresses that hung in every shop a woman could shop in, but when I stood to take a closer look, I realized that first look was deceptive. They had hems that hid the unhideable. And-
"What's this?" I fingered a block of fabric that was perfectly disguised in the fabric.
"Panels." The saleswoman offered with a smile. "Added size, that works to hide the size it's adding." Clever. "Is this what you were thinking of?"
"Possibly." I didn't want to give her too much confidence. "Are there other patterns?" Selma and the woman stared at me with shock. "Colors?" More silence as they took in my completely black ensemble. "Do you have this one," I pulled the one that had caught my eye and spoke slow and clear as though they were all very dim witted. "In red."
We left and I felt marginally better about the chance that I wouldn't look like a barge or a sailor as I progressed. I had the woman's promise that, should I return to the states, I could call or have a seamstress call with my measurements and they would send my choices to me then. Of course, it helped that I treated Selma with a few, a lot actually, new selections for her own wardrobe. Greasing the wheel, so to speak.
"You look relaxed," she said, as they carefully packed her purchases into the car. I nodded, I was tired, but I did feel relaxed. "Good." They closed the boot and she started the car. "Let's get you back so you can really rest."