Delia’s Gift (12 page)

She was moving in? I wouldn’t be able to take a deep breath without Mrs. Newell knowing about it now. Any other woman in my condition probably would be grateful to have such immediate and constant professional attention, but to me it felt like a collar being tightened around my throat.

I retreated to my bed and again tried to sleep. Just before morning, I did sink into a deep repose, but I heard the curtains being pulled open and felt the sunshine spill through the windows and over me.

“You didn’t bathe last night,” Mrs. Newell said, approaching. “Proper hygiene is even more important now. I’m running a bath for you.”

“Not yet,” I told her. “I’m tired. I want to sleep.”

“Oh, you’ll have plenty of time to sleep. A bath will even help you fall asleep again. Get up, please,” she said.

When I didn’t move quickly enough to satisfy her, she pulled my blanket away.

“The more cooperative you are, the happier you will be,” she told me, blinking a smile.

She reached for my hand. Too tired to put up any resistance, I let her help me sit up.

“I guess I was right in regretting I had given permission for your little excursion yesterday. It was too much for you.”

“No,” I said.

“Please. There’s no sense in debating about it. Look at you. However, what’s done is done. Here are your slippers. I’ll check the tub,” she said, going to the bathroom.

I closed my eyes and nearly fell asleep again sitting up, but she was back quickly to get me moving.

In the bathroom, she pulled my nightgown up and over my head. I started to get into the tub when she stopped me.

“Wait.”

She began to study my body and actually squatted to look at my legs. Suddenly, she squeezed my right calf, and I cried out.

“There’s swelling here,” she said, looking up at me with eyes of accusation. “Why didn’t you tell me you had sensitivity? How am I supposed to do my duties if you don’t follow what you’ve been told?”

“I didn’t feel anything until just now.”

She looked skeptical and then stood up. “Get into the tub,” she told me.

I stepped in carefully and lowered myself, surprised at how hot the water was. When I mentioned it, she said I’d get used to it. My second surprise came when she took the sponge before I did and began to wash my body.

“I can do that myself.”

“You can also twist and turn and injure yourself,” she said, and continued. She made me raise my arms and then came around to run the sponge over my breasts. She paused to study them.

“Now what’s wrong?”

“You need a larger maternity bra. Why don’t you tell me when you have discomfort?”

“I didn’t have any.”

“Of course you did,” she said, and continued to wash me.

I felt very foolish sitting in the tub and letting her go over every private inch of me, but she was working
me over as if she were washing a car, turning and pressing my body until she dropped the sponge into the water and told me to get out carefully.

She held up a bath towel. I started to dry myself, but either she was impatient or she thought she had to be part of everything. She took another towel and worked on my back, rear, and legs.

“I’m going to have Dr. Denardo come look at your swelling,” she said. “We must be very careful about potential blood clots. Thromboembolic disease is the leading cause of death of pregnant women in the United States,” she recited.

“What is that?”

“A clot blocks an artery. If you die, naturally, the baby will,” she added, without any emotion but making it clear that the baby was more important. “Get dressed, and get back into bed. I’ll go see about your breakfast and call the doctor.”

Holding the towels with two fingers, she dropped them into the hamper as if they were filled with disease and walked out. I stood there trembling, feeling she had handled me like a baby. I sensed that I was losing control of myself. She controlled what I wore, what I ate, when I ate, and when I slept. Soon, that woman would tell me when and how to breathe, I thought, and went out to get dressed.

Whatever she said to Señor Bovio about me put him into an immediate state of panic. He rushed up to my bedroom just as I had finished dressing.

“Please, get off your feet,” he told me. “Dr. Denardo is going to get over here as soon as he can.”

“I don’t feel sick,
señor
. There’s no reason for all this panic.”

“There is much you don’t know about yourself right now,” he insisted. “You must follow Mrs. Newell’s orders.”

He stood there until I got back into the bed.

“I’m all right, Señor Bovio. Please.”

His hovering over me with a look of deep concern was actually beginning to frighten me. When Mrs. Newell squeezed my leg, it did hurt. Was I really in some danger?

“You didn’t do too much at Fani’s yesterday, did you?” he asked. “Too much exercise, perhaps?”

“Oh, no,
señor.
”

“This is why it’s good to have someone like Mrs. Newell on the job,” he told me. He squeezed my hand gently.

Teresa entered with my breakfast tray. She looked more timid and afraid than ever. I couldn’t imagine what Mrs. Newell had said to her. I hoped she hadn’t blamed her for anything. Señor Bovio stepped aside, and she set up my breakfast on the bed table. He insisted on arranging my pillows himself and remained there watching me as if he half expected I might keel over with every new bite. Finally, he smiled, patted my hand again, and left.

Teresa had gone into the bathroom to clean up. I finished eating, although my stomach had tightened up because of my nervousness. Teresa took the tray.

“When you were told to prepare that guest suite, did you know that Mrs. Newell was moving into it, Teresa?” I asked.

“No, Miss. No one told me anything, and I don’t ask questions,” she said.

“She didn’t yell at you for anything, did she?”

Teresa looked away rather than respond.

“Teresa?”

“She just told me I was to spend less time in here now. I have to look after her suite as well. Not that I’m complaining,” she added quickly. “I have the time, of course.”

“Why would she tell you that? You don’t spend all that much time in here with me as it is.”

“I don’t ask questions,” she told me, and left.

Maybe you don’t, I thought, but I will. I rose to get dressed. How different this morning was from yesterday, I thought. Yesterday, although I was nervous, I felt excited and happy, looking forward to seeing Edward. What was I to look forward to now? The moment I stepped out of my suite, Mrs. Newell pounced as if she had been hovering in her own doorway.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“I thought I would go out, take a little walk, get some fresh air. Is that all right with you?”

“No,” she said sharply. “Are you really this foolish? Return to your room until Dr. Denardo arrives and examines your swelling. Stay off your feet.”

“But it doesn’t hurt when I walk.”

She shook her head and stepped closer. “So, what does that mean?” she began in a very condescending tone. It was as if she were talking to a five-year-old. “That you should go and aggravate the problem until it does hurt, until it does get worse, until it does cause a serious problem?”

“I’m only going—”

“You’re only going back to your room. Look at this stairway you have to descend and ascend. What if you cramp up out there and collapse? Who would be
blamed for that, do you think? You, a child-mother, or me, a professional maternity nurse?

“Besides,” she continued, “women can give birth at this point in a pregnancy, you know. There are more premature babies than ever. I’m going to take your blood pressure again in an hour, but I’d like you rested before I do, so go back to bed.”

I hesitated. I wanted to be defiant, but I was also frightened.

She brought her hands to her hips and widened her eyes. “Do I have to call Señor Bovio and have him speak to you? I won’t work here if my orders are disregarded,” she threatened.

For a moment, I considered saying, “So what? Quit.”

But then I thought about what this would do to Señor Bovio and all of our arrangements and bargains. Besides, both he and Dr. Denardo had shown how much faith and respect they had for Mrs. Newell. They wouldn’t think much of me for driving her away. I really didn’t have much choice. I turned around and went back to my suite, took off my special maternity shoes, and got into the bed. She didn’t follow me to be sure, but exactly an hour later, she came by to take my blood pressure. It was still higher than she said it should be. She examined my swelling again, and again I jumped when she applied some pressure. Her face wasn’t harsh and angry as much as it was now a face of concern.

“Is it worse?” I asked.

“Just continue to rest,” she said, and left.

She had me so frightened I was afraid to move a
muscle. I concentrated on the swelling myself, anticipating some sort of pain. Whether it had been planted in my imagination or not, I did not know, but I thought my leg had begun to hurt without anyone touching it.

Horrible visions showing me losing my baby passed under my closed eyelids, a streaming movie of my screaming in pain, the doctor rushing to my side, the baby being prematurely born and born dead. In Señor Bovio’s eyes, it would surely be as if I had killed his son a second time. Ignacio would rot in prison, and Señor Bovio and
mi tía
Isabela, with Sophia cheering in the background, would send me packing off to Mexico in some broken-down, smelly pickup truck. I’d be dumped out across the border like some defective product.

I tried to sleep again and did nod off from time to time, but mostly I lay there in a terrible nervous state. Teresa brought up my lunch. I couldn’t eat much of anything. I thought I heard Señor Bovio and Mrs. Newell whispering just outside my doorway, but neither of them came into the suite. Finally, late in the afternoon, I heard footsteps in the corridor, and Dr. Denardo came in with Mrs. Newell and Señor Bovio.

“Well, now,” Dr. Denardo said. “A little complication. Let’s take a look.”

He examined me while Mrs. Newell stood behind him smirking and looking exactly like someone who would blame me. Señor Bovio was quiet and unmoving. Dr. Denardo took my blood pressure, too.

“Something’s starting here,” he said afterward. “But we’ll get right on it. Very good work, Millicent,” he told Mrs. Newell. She glowed. He turned back to me.
“I’m going to put you on a little bit of a blood thinner just to get rid of this. We’ll watch you carefully. Just follow Mrs. Newell’s instructions.”

Tears came to my eyes.

“Now, now, don’t get yourself upset over it. It’s not that uncommon. Everyone’s body is different, Delia. You’ll be fine. Everything will be just fine.”

He stepped away to confer quietly with both Mrs. Newell and Señor Bovio. Then he returned to my bedside to reassure me before leaving. Mrs. Newell followed him, but Señor Bovio remained.

“This is not your fault; it’s mine,” he said. “I should have known better than to let you go off and get into all that turmoil again. I was doing so well protecting you, protecting Adan’s baby.”

I looked away. I wanted to argue with him about it. Dr. Denardo didn’t specifically blame anything for this. Señor Bovio had heard him say, “Everyone’s body is different.” This would probably have happened no matter what. I wasn’t thinking so much about him blaming himself as I was about Edward and me causing it all to happen simply by meeting each other again, simply by daring to defy
mi tía
Isabela.

But resistance and defiance were seeping out of me. I felt like a blob of putty lying here. Everyone but me was shaping me, turning and twisting me to fit into a mold. And what could I do about it?

I had no money.

I had no home.

I really had no friends.

And I had no family.

That is, no family except for the baby forming inside me.

I was sure I felt him move, perhaps to reassure me so I would be strong for the fight that was yet to come.

And don’t doubt it, Delia Yebarra,
I told myself,
there will surely be a fight to come.

I
thought I had been too restricted and confined before, but it was nothing compared to what followed after Dr. Denardo’s visit. In an ironic way, I began to see myself as even more incarcerated than Ignacio, who was in prison. Now I was not to leave the suite to go anywhere in the house without first telling Mrs. Newell. Since the phone in my room still would not call out, and I didn’t have my cell phone anymore, I could speak to no one but those who came to see me or who worked here, just like Ignacio in his prison. I could sneak about and use another phone in the
hacienda,
but for what? Señor Bovio wouldn’t permit Fani to visit, and, of course, Edward was what Señor Bovio called persona non grata. For now, if he showed his face, it would be like looking at the face of the plague.

None of the other girls I had known at the private school had remained friendly with me after Tía Isabela had me transferred to the public school. They were fair-weather friends, anyway. I was afraid to make friends at the public school.
Mi tía
Isabela had forbidden me to do anything socially with anyone. There was no point in making friends, and I was ashamed for anyone to see where and how I lived at the time. I really didn’t have anyone else who would or could visit me. Mrs. Newell had already prohibited Teresa from spending any time in my suite other than the time required to clean it and take care of my clothes, linen, and towels. These were the most difficult weeks.

Dr. Denardo stopped by more frequently and finally told me he was pleased with my improvements. The swelling had nearly disappeared, and my blood pressure had returned to an acceptable number, although according to Mrs. Newell, it was never where she would like it to be. She didn’t build my confidence any, either, when she told me not to be too optimistic about myself yet.

“Doctors don’t see patients as well as private-duty nurses, who spend more time and know their patients better,” she said.

“I don’t understand,” I said. “How can a nurse know a patient better than the patient’s doctor does?”

“Dr. Denardo is as good as any doctor under whom I have worked,” she said, “but he has so many other patients. You can’t expect him to pay attention to every little thing about you the way I do, the way any good private-duty nurse would, even with this so-called special attention he’s giving you. Believe me, he is not doing anything for you that any other doctor would not
do if you went to his or her office. Any special attention you get comes from me and me only.”

I thought she was telling me all of this simply to make herself look more important, but it was still disturbing. Without having anyone with whom I could discuss these problems and fears, I felt even more alone. I began to sleep later and later in the morning, took frequent naps, and took far less care of my appearance. Some mornings, I didn’t even brush out my hair, and whenever Señor Bovio suggested that he call in the beautician and the manicurist, I told him I didn’t want them. I told him I didn’t have the patience for them. When he looked surprised, I added that I couldn’t sit still that long, and he nodded, thinking it all had to do with my discomforts from the pregnancy.

Dr. Denardo had warned me about depression. I was in my third trimester. Almost all of his patients start to feel sorry for themselves then, he said.

“They think they look so bloated and distorted, they are terribly self-conscious, and many withdraw.”

I couldn’t withdraw any more than I was, being practically locked away, so that warning didn’t faze me. Everything about my situation, right from the beginning, lent itself to my becoming more and more depressed. I had no family to surround me with the joy of expectation. Instead, I had only the woman Fani had aptly named Nurse Diablo and an emotionally crippled older man. Why shouldn’t I walk about with a long face?

I think Señor Bovio realized all of this, too. He couldn’t have been more attentive. He continued to have Mr. Blumgarten show up to present me with new clothing, even though I pointed out that I wasn’t going
anywhere and it didn’t look as if I would in the near future. I had enough to wear. The garments building up on the rack began to look silly to me. I practically chased the poor man out of my bedroom, piling the clothes on the bed to show him how ridiculous it had all become.

“You know it, too!” I screamed. “You just want to make more money.”

He fled, and Señor Bovio promised not to bring him back.

He did bring me piles of new magazines, DVD movies, books, and even crossword-puzzle books in an attempt to make me happier about being so confined. And then, one night, he came in with one of the DVD movies in which his wife had acted.

“I have something very special to show you,” he began. “Normally, it’s painful for me to watch these now, but with you, I thought watching it might be different. This,” he announced with some flair, “is one of my wife’s films.”

I had no idea why it would matter if I saw it with him, but I let him insert the DVD into the machine and sat with him as the movie began. Seeing Adan’s mother in the film made me think more about him. I could see the resemblances in their gestures and facial expressions. Señora Bovio was a very good actress, too, and even more attractive than she was in the pictures of her I had seen. She had a beautiful voice and was quite sexy.

I was absorbed in the film, but from time to time, I looked at Señor Bovio and saw that he was staring at me with a soft smile on his lips.

“She was very beautiful,” I told him, thinking that perhaps he was waiting for me to comment.

“
Sí.
She and I often sat here and watched her films together. Sometimes, Adan would be here as well, especially when he was just a little boy, but only if it was a film we thought it was all right for him to see,” he quickly added. “And when she was off somewhere making another film, he and I would come in here to watch one of her previous movies. Although we have the entertainment center downstairs, we’d rather see the films in here. It helped us to feel she was close by. Just as I feel she is now,” he concluded, and smiled. “You understand, I’m sure.”

I nodded.

He looked around and closed his eyes. “I can feel her with us,” he whispered. “With you. With our baby.”

I said nothing, but his intensity made me a little nervous. He looked as if he actually did hear his wife’s voice. Although I enjoyed the film, a good love story, I was happy when it ended. He sat there for a long moment, as if he expected to see it start again. Then he laughed.

“When Adan was little, he thought there were two different women. One was his real mother, the woman who was here with him, and the other was someone who looked like her and sounded like her. Rosalinda would laugh and talk about herself as if she really was someone else who was in the movie. When Adan was older, we teased him about it, but he stopped my wife in her tracks one night when he told her she would always be someone else to him when she was in a
movie. He told her he would never like that woman. ‘Why not?’ she asked. ‘Because that woman keeps her from being with me,’ he replied. I think he was only twelve. For a while after that, I thought she might just give up acting. But of course, she didn’t.”

“She was very good,” I said.

“Yes, this was one of her better films. I’ll bring another around to watch with you soon. I hope you don’t mind,” he said. “I feel much more comfortable watching her films here and, as I said, especially with you.”

“I don’t mind, Señor Bovio.”

He laughed at another thought. “For sure, Rosalinda would have tried to hide the fact that she had become a grandmother. She often told me it was very important, especially for an actress, to appear younger than she really was. ‘When they start asking me to play some teenage girl’s mother, I’ll quit,’ she vowed. She said there was a very negative attitude about older women in Hollywood. It bothered Adan, because she rarely encouraged him to join her on a press junket or any publicity event. After her death and even after her funeral, Adan didn’t accept it. He told me he felt she was just away on another film. It took a long time for it finally to settle in. You know, we all have our own ways to stop the third death.”

“
Sí
,” I said. His words and memories brought me close to tears, tears for him and for Adan and tears of shame of myself for being so difficult now.

“I am sorry,
señor.
I know your pain goes deeply through your soul. You’ve lost the two people you loved the most in the world.”

“
Gracias
,” he said, and then quickly smiled. “Let’s think of nothing but the baby.”

“
Sí.
”

“Sleep well,” he told me.

Nearly another week passed, but he didn’t offer to watch another film, and I didn’t ask for one. Perhaps it had been too painful for him after all, watching with me or not. He had obviously loved his wife very much and never stopped missing her, despite the stories about her affairs.

However, even though I tried to be happier for his sake, the boredom and tediousness of my days grew worse. I began to complain more and more about my confinement, until finally, after Dr. Denardo’s next visit, I was permitted to take walks outside again.

“Mrs. Newell has done a very good job with you, Delia,” he said. “We’re back on track. Rest one more day, and then start your program of regular exercise. Millicent will begin training you in the breathing exercises, too. You’ve been a perfect patient,” he said, patting my hand. “It’s no secret that the first child for a woman is usually the most difficult.” He smiled. “I have patients who swear they’ll never have another afterward. Many don’t.”

I saw Mrs. Newell gazing at me over his shoulder. The expression on her face when he said that made me wonder. Was she included in the reference to such women? Was that why she never made another attempt at having a child? She knew all there was to know about pregnancy and birth, apparently. Was she so disappointed in herself, so angry at her own body, that she had forbidden herself to make another attempt?

Afterward, I chided myself for having any interest in her at all, but for the moment, as in the expression Adan had taught me, she was “the only game in town.”
Getting anything personal from her was probably harder than getting government classified secrets, however.

I tossed away my interest and thought only about the next day. I couldn’t believe how excited such a simple privilege was making me. I tossed and turned practically all night in anticipation, and I was very impatient in the morning, waiting for my breakfast. I knew Mrs. Newell wouldn’t permit me to go walking if I didn’t first eat her meager portions and nutritional concoctions.

Finally, I was ready to go out. I spent more time than I thought I would deciding what to wear and even took the time to brush my hair and apply a little lipstick. Then I put on a pair of earrings, decided they were too ostentatious, and chose another pair and another before settling on a pair. My face was a little bloated, but I didn’t dwell on it. Nevertheless, anyone observing me would think I was going to some grand event. I imagined Fani teasing me, telling me I was hoping the handsome young pool man had returned.

With renewed energy surging through my body, I put on my newest pair of maternity shoes and stepped out of my suite feeling as if someone had unlocked a cell door. The moment I did, Mrs. Newell pounced, giving me the feeling that she had been waiting just outside her own suite, anticipating.

“Wait,” she called to me, and walked slowly to me.

“What is it?”

“I don’t want you going far,” she said. “And I want you to return in fifteen minutes.”

“Fifteen minutes? Why?”

“You’ve just recuperated from a scare. I don’t want
a relapse under my watch. If we are to believe what you told us, you are in the seventh month now. This is the third trimester. You’ve been experiencing more changes in your own body, and I have explained to you how and why the baby has been moving, turning, positioning himself. In fact, from what I have observed and from my years and years of experience and numerous patients, I believe you might be farther along than even the doctor thinks.”

“What does that mean?”

She blinked a smile. “It means that maybe you weren’t as accurate as you think with your periods, or…”

“Or what?”

She took so long to reply that she made my heart race. It wasn’t like her to hesitate. She usually said whatever she wanted whenever she wanted.

“Are you certain that the baby you are carrying is indeed Adan Bovio’s baby?”

For a moment, the heat that came into my face felt as if it would burst into flames. I couldn’t speak. She stood there with that sly, suspicious smile twisting her lips.

“What kind of a thing is that to ask? Of course, I am sure, Mrs. Newell. I had sexual relations only with Adan.”

“I ask only the questions that are important. If you are not honest about it, we’ll find out anyway. The baby will be more mature, more developed, even though apparently born earlier, and as you might know, there are scientific ways to determine who is really the father or, perhaps in this case, who is not. It would be better all around if you would confide in me.
I am a professional nurse and don’t judge you by what is moral and what is immoral. I have my own opinions, of course, but how you live your life is your own affair.”

“I’m glad to hear you say that,” I told her. “Because sometimes you give me a different impression.”

“Whatever. Do you have anything you wish to add to your story at this point? For the sake of the baby, if for anyone, that is.”

“I have told you what you need to know and what is true. The period of time I have given is as accurate as it can be.”

“Fine. Still, these are critical weeks and months. You never know what to expect. It’s not an exact science. Nothing is, actually.” She shrugged. “Babies, in my experience, drive the pregnancy, anyway. This baby might be moving faster to get out,” she said, making it sound now as if my baby were the one who was feeling imprisoned.

“Get out?”

“All I’m saying is that this is not the time to be taking any chances at all. I’m sorry Dr. Denardo was so permissive.”