One Woman's Burden
by
Owlcroft
When Beetlejuice went looking for his wife that Sunday afternoon, he was surprised to find that she was not lying down as recommended by her doctor. After not finding her in the bedroom, he checked the small parlor with the comfortable sofa, then heard a noise downstairs in the kitchen behind the Scarabée shop and flashed there immediately.
He found her leaning over the kitchen sink, head down, pale. "You've been over-doing it again," he admonished her in a stern voice. Picking her up, he instantly took her up to their bedroom. "I've asked you to tell me when I can help," he said as he snapped his fingers and her clothes changed to her nightgown, "when you get too tired."
"Beej," she sighed, wrapping her arms around his neck, "honestly, I'm fine. Maybe I should have taken that afternoon nap, but I just need a little rest. My darling, I'm fine."
"Yeah, right," he scoffed as he carefully lifted her and placed her on the bed. "You usually hang over the sink, trying not to fall down."
Lydia propped herself up against the pillows and frowned at him. "There's just so much to do. And it all absolutely has to be done and it's all things nobody else can do, like the designs and the payroll and the advertising and –"
"If I have to, I'll close the shop!" he threatened suddenly. "I'll take us to your folks house and we'll stay there for the next three months until it's time." Suddenly, he softened and sat to embrace her closely. "My only one, my dearest heart, I will do whatever it takes to keep you safe, to keep the baby safe."
She realized then that she'd frightened him and leaned close, a hand over his heart, and tried to allay his anxiety. "Yes, I admit I am tired but I got just a little light-headed for a sec. Probably because I stood up too fast, okay?"
"You know what the doctor said." His voice was very quiet now.
"She said I'd get tired, that's all. I am fine, honestly, just a little too tired right now, Beej."
"What she said was you shouldn't overdo, that you should rest every day, that you should take it easy. That you should ease up on work and delegate stuff. That you should take care of yourself and the baby. Dearest, you're not exactly doing that, are you?"
"But don't you see? It's my company, my business and I'm responsible for everything – all my employees, doing the books, the contract with Poulette – "
"Okay, so be responsible. But isn't your first responsibility to yourself and our child?"
Lydia sighed and fell back onto the pillows. "I'm letting you down, making you worry about me. About us." She patted the small bulge in her abdomen.
He shook his head and settled back next to her, arm still around her shoulders, hand resting on hers over the soft bump. "No, that's not what I'm talking about. I don't want you to feel responsible to me. But for yourself. I want you to think about yourself before anything else. Okay?" He rubbed her hand gently. "You do make me worry so much."
"I know. And I'm sorry." She rubbed her face against his collarbone. "I will do better, I promise. At the very least I owe it to you to take better care of myself."
"Don't say that – you don't owe me anything." He pressed a kiss on her hair. "But you're being so responsible for everything else that you're not being responsible for yourself. Lyds, you get so caught up in things that you don't see the basic stuff. You're such an over-achiever, always were." He craned his neck to catch sight of her face. "But this is different, isn't it? You have to let me help carry the load. Well, not carry, exactly." He offered a faint smile, then turned completely serious again, slouching down against the pillows and leaning his head against hers. "You don't know it, but I lie awake at night, watching you sleep. Every night. I listen to your breathing, make sure you've got the covers all the way up. I have to. I have that need, that right, that responsibility – to take care of you, to care for you in every way."
Lydia lay next to her husband and listened without interruption. He wasn't often this serious and explanatory, but it was always something she wanted to hear and remember.
"It's my . . . job, I guess, but also my very great honor, to support you in whatever you do. To be the framework you hang your life on, the structure you use – ah, I don't have the right words." His voice was slower now and softer, his whole body was relaxing against hers. "But it's what I'm for, it's the reason I exist. You are what I focus on, you are the center of my existence. This baby is our miracle, but you are my miracle and I need to know that I'm doing all I can for you, to make you safe and happy and . . . and fulfilled."
She could tell he was drowsy, which was probably due to his nightly ritual of watching over her sleep. She pushed her head a little more firmly against his shoulder and he responded with a sigh and an even drowsier voice.
"I need you, and I need to know you're all right, that I'm making everything right for you." He was murmuring into her hair now. "That I'm doing all I can for you. All anybody could do for you. That you have all I have to give. My very . . . very dearest . . . only one," and, as he was apt to do, he slid gently into sleep.
Lydia lay and listened to her husband breathing, looking at his hand over her hand over their unborn child. This was her responsibility. And she would embrace that responsibility and take much better care of Beetlejuice. She would take much better care of all three of them. She smiled in utter contentment and followed him into sleep, still smiling.