Waiting: One Wife's Year of the Vietnam War

Chapter 30

{Chapter 30} On Wednesday night Susan went to the airport to pick up Gayle. I drew a breath of apprehension when I heard the garage open and watched the petite blonde climb toward me with a sleeping baby cradled in her arms. I mimed a greeting and motioned for Gayle to follow so she could put David down. By the time Susan had emptied the car, the hallway was crammed wall to wall with luggage and infant trappings. Gayle stepped out of Susan’s room and gently closed the door. “Where’s the baby bed?” she asked expectantly. “It’s still in the garage,” I answered. “We put the crib in there for you. Did you see it?” “Yes, but I don’t think it’s sturdy enough for David,” she observed pointedly, “I assumed you’d have everything set up, but I guess we can get by.” I bit my tongue. Sympathy for Gayle had eclipsed my memory of her sharp, Eastern style of communication, which was a major reason, from my point of view, why she and I were acquaintances rather than friends. I excused myself and went to the bedroom where I dallied for as long as I dared. When I returned, Susan and Gayle had settled in the living room where their conversation skittered from topic to topic like nervous birds lighting on one tree branch and then another. Susan plied Gayle with questions about David—birth weight, current weight, length—queries she explained were intended to enlighten me. Gayle answered with a restlessness that exposed a pent-up energy. It was as though she were wired for [216] chapter 30 action, and the tension I felt in the room told me she might spring loose at any moment, though I had no idea if the result would be hysterical tears or scathing sarcasm. Finally deciding Gayle resented my presence, I said goodnight and escaped to bed. It was going to be a long five days, an assessment that made me feel guilty and tired. • • • The next morning I found Gayle in the kitchen with David strapped into an infant seat in the middle of the table. “Since you don’t have a high chair, I’m having to improvise here,” she said as she poked a tiny spoonful of cereal into the baby’s mouth. I watched as he rolled it around on his tongue and forced it back out. She scooped up the bite and reinserted it no less than four times before I stopped counting. “Make yourself at home,” I said, having decided to ignore her opening remarks. “Just let us know what you need. I have a doctor’s appointment, but Susan is taking the day off.” “What time do you think she’ll be up? I want to see San Francisco,” she said between coos to David, who was a divinely beautiful baby with fat cereal-caked cheeks and blue eyes too big to bring into focus. “Mike says it’s a wonderful city.” I jerked to attention but supposed that the adjustment to his death would cause inconsistent slips. “Oh, you’re such a cute boy,” Gayle baby-talked to David. “You look just like your daddy.” I almost dropped my cup, instead clattering it against the counter. This would be a good morning to be extra early at the clinic, I decided. At the hospital, I found my medical folder in the hands of a meek little obstetrician. I badgered him into a detailed explanation I couldn’t begin to comprehend, but his ultimate message was clear: the baby had never been in jeopardy. The tests had been to predict my body’s ability to handle the delivery without undue loss of blood. I believed him, I supposed, but my mind had locked into an alarm about the baby’s health like a tracking device and nothing seemed to deter it from its course. November 1969 [217] • • • When I arrived back at the apartment, I heard Gayle announce at the top of the stairs, “Oh good, Linda’s home.” By the time I completed the climb, she was standing in the hall with her purse on one shoulder and David on the other. “Here you go,” she said, transferring the wiggling baby into my arms before I could close the door. “He should go down for a nap in an hour or so. His juice is in...