All She Ever Wanted Part 3

The snow was crisp and squeaky underfoot. Chelsea hooked her arm onto Leo's and they stood still as mannequins on the quiet street.

"I love snow in the city," she said. "It makes everything clean and white, and it puts a hush over all the noise."

He stepped away from her and bent down to grab a handful of snow.

"What are you doing?" She backed away as he packed it into a ball. "Think twice about that. I was the best pitcher on St. Philip Neri's softball team."

"Yeah. And we all know what a powerhouse they were in the late nineties."

Laughing, she turned and raced down the street, sliding as she cut around a bus shelter where snow was sticking in a jagged pattern that covered half of the billboard for Wicked. Shielding herself with the Plexiglas siding, she squatted to gather some snow to fire back at him. She peeked around the shelter, and a s...o...b..ll whizzed by, clipping her shoulder.

"Whoa! That was close. Remember, you need me to pay half of that mortgage!"

He tossed the s...o...b..ll from one hand to another. "Now you're getting personal?"

"Absolutely." She took advantage of his hesitation and launched a s...o...b..ll at his chest. He turned, and it struck him squarely in the back.

"Hey!" he called after her as she took off running through the snow.

"You won't get off that easy."

She was a decent runner, but she was giddy from the chase, slowed by laughter and the soft bed of snow underfoot. Leo caught up to her easily, and they both slowed as they caught sight of the footbridge, where the snow encased the pillars and covered the lamps built into them. A warm light of orange and gold and lemony yellow suffused the entire footpath.

"Look at that." He squinted, snowflakes catching in his lashes.

It was all so beautiful . . . the wonder on his face, the snowflakes lingering in the air, seemingly suspended under the light of the streetlamp, the glowing bridge ahead of them.

"It's magical." So warm and bright, a sign of good things to come.

She linked her arm through his and leaned close to Leo. They seemed suspended in time, on a floating island of snow, as they walked down the crystal lane, flanked by trees lifting white arms to the sky.

We could be walking through a poem . . . the center line in a haiku.

It was a poetic, magical beginning to their life together.

"This house is going to be great for us," Leo said. "After the apartment, it'll be a freakin' castle for the two of us."

"Maybe three soon."

His lips stretched wide in that smile that always softened the rough edges of a situation. "You know, maybe we'd better get started on that," he'd said. "Don't want to waste any time."

"I was just thinking the same thing."

In the back of her mind there was the worry that she might have the same problems conceiving that her sister Emma had endured. But then Emma had always suffered from cramps; she'd always had female issues. Chelsea had a feeling that their journey would be different. They had always made a good team, but they were moving into new territory now, buying a house, leaving the city, starting a family.

As they headed back to the apartment, she leaned into Leo, thinking that snow had never looked so beautiful.

Snow with iridescent city lights pooling upon it, like a water-color tray.

Ice crystals that sparkled silver on the bare trees.

Snowflakes filling the air, whispering excitement . . .

Not like the snow fading on their front lawn.

She lifted her head from the steering wheel long enough to glom onto the gray patch melting by the edge of driveway.

This was not the snow she had wanted to share with her daughter. It was faded like everything else, its brilliance tainted by the shadows that seeped from her dark soul. It just wasn't pretty anymore.

Chapter 5.

As soon as she turned onto Chelsea's street, Emma saw the familiar green Subaru parked in the driveway.

Thank you, G.o.d.

As she parked on the street, she noticed a figure in the driver's seat behind windows that were opaque with steam. Chelsea was still in the car. For how long?

Through the misty window she could see the baby carrier in the back. Annabelle squirmed, probably eager to get out.

Chelsea was a mound in the driver's seat, hunched over the steering wheel.

Emma rapped on the window, the gla.s.s cold against her knuckles.

Her sister didn't move.

Emma knocked again. "Chelsea, honey, it's me. Are you asleep?"

Again, no response.

If it's locked, I'm calling the police, she thought. She didn't know how to handle this. Chelsea needed real help, not her ditzy sister who had barely made it through Psych 101.

Her fingers closed around the door handle, and it popped open. From this close, she could see her sister's shoulders trembling. Strands of hair fell over Chelsea's face, and the scrunchie was slipping loose from her ponytail.

"Oh, honey . . . am I glad to see you." She pressed her hand between Chelsea's shoulder blades and gave her a little rub intended to sooth her. "You had me so scared."

"I'm going crazy," Chelsea sobbed into the sleeves of her jacket.

Such a thin blazer, and it was freezing out here. In the twenties. How could Chelsea stand to be out in this cold without her coat?

"I wanted to smash into the barrier. I almost turned the wheel and crashed the car with . . . with my baby in the back. I'm losing it. I've lost my mind."

"You're not crazy." Emma banged into the steering wheel as she hugged her sister, wishing she could transmit feelings of love and security and hope with her touch. "But you're going through a scary time. Promise me you won't do anything to hurt yourself or Annabelle."

"What's the point? I'm crazy." Chelsea's shoulders shook as a sob tore through her.

"Chelsea, you are the most honorable person I know. So if you make this promise, I know you'll keep it."

"I don't know what I'm doing anymore."

"Just promise me," Emma said, trying to rationalize her sister to a place where everyone could be safe for now. "Promise me."

Chelsea sniffed. "I promise."

"Okay then." Emma stroked a hand over her sister's smooth, shiny hair. She noticed a slip of paper on the pa.s.senger's seat. A prescription. "Can you walk? Let's get you and Annie inside, where it's warm. I'm freezing my petooty off out here."

Although Chelsea didn't laugh, she did push away from the steering wheel and slide out of the car. Emma balanced her sister on one arm, struggling as she reached in to extract the keys. Chelsea was dead weight. She was falling apart and it was up to Emma to help her out of this. Mom had warned her that Chelsea would need help.

She guided her sister to the side door, managed to unlock the door with the key on her set, and ushered Chelsea in to the small kitchen. The place wasn't looking its best, with dirty dishes and stacks of mail here and there. Clearly it wasn't up to Chelsea's high standards, which Emma suspected made Chelsea's outlook even darker.

While Chelsea settled into her favorite corner of the sofa, Emma hurried back to the car for Annabelle. It worried her to leave the baby even for a minute, even with the car locked. Such precious cargo!

But Annie was fine, squirming and chirping those sharp little squeaks that probably were a sign of hunger. From her observations, nearly every one of Annie's little disturbances seemed to boil down to cries for her mother's milk.

Emma unstrapped her and lifted her out of the infant seat. "You're getting heavy."

Annabelle's stern eyes found hers and her face puckered.

"Oh, don't take it personally. You're supposed to be gaining weight. Just like your aunt Emma." She slammed the car door and moved up the driveway, stepping carefully. By the time they reached the door, Annie's whimpers had accelerated to a crying session.

"Music to my ears," Emma whispered, holding her close. She was so relieved that Annie and Chelsea were okay.

"It's okay, little one," Emma cooed as she carried the baby into the living room and placed her gently on the changing table that had been set up behind the couch. Although she couldn't seem to reach Chelsea, this was something she could do . . . loving Annie. She leaned in to one of the baby girl's chubby, sweet cheeks and planted rapid-fire kisses.

"What's the matter, Annie-bananee?" Emma ignored the baby's bleating cries as she stripped off her little terrycloth outfit. "I think you need a diaper change."

Annabelle raged in response, her face red, her arms shaking.

"Oh, I know, my hands are cold," Emma said. "Sorry, sweetie."

Loving the infant squirming on the table, Emma set to changing her diaper. The changing table was chic, a cabinet that blended into the living room decor when the doors were closed. Chelsea had driven out to Long Island to find just the right table. Decor had been important before Annie was born; not so much afterward. Today the cabinet doors were open, with a balled-up diaper and a stray wipe on the floor by Emma's feet. Before Annabelle was born, Chelsea had worked out every little detail of this room so that its design was interlaced with function. Eventually, Chelsea would care about things like design again . . . just not today.

Annabelle had soaked through her onesie, so Emma quickly replaced it with a pink romper with covered feet. "This is such a cute outfit. I love the little baby footie pajamas. I need to get some for these cold winter nights."

Emma lifted her head to check on Chelsea, nestled into the couch. "So what do you think this cry means? You think she's hungry?"

"She just ate at the doctor's office. How could she be hungry again?" Chelsea pressed her fingertips to her temples and let out a breath. "She never follows the schedule. Whoever thought a baby would pay attention to a feeding schedule? It's all so ludicrous."

"What do you think?" Emma scooped Annie up and rocked her in a dancing rhythm. "Should I try to put her down for a nap?"

"I don't know. I'll feed her again. Just give her to me."

She sat beside Chelsea and held the baby toward her. "Here you go, Mom."

Chelsea turned toward her, her blue eyes flashing with anger and annoyance. Was it because she'd said the word Mom, reminding them both of their own mother? Frowning, Chelsea took the baby, resting her on her lap while she unb.u.t.toned her shirt.

Brushing the awkwardness aside, Emma offered Chelsea water or tea, or maybe a snack.

"Some cheese and crackers?"

It seemed inappropriate, offering a snack to someone who'd just been to the edge of h.e.l.l and back, but Chelsea seemed unfazed. "No."

Emma bit her lip, studying her sister. Should she press Chelsea to talk about her panic attack? She wanted answers, but she didn't want to batter her poor sister with questions.

"Chels, do you want to talk about it? What happened on the parkway?"

Tears flooded Chelsea's eyes. "There's nothing to talk about. I freaked out. Crashing into the wall suddenly seemed like the right thing to do. I know it sounds crazy." She swiped at her cheeks with her free hand. "I guess that's it. I'm losing my mind."

"But you're not." Emma sat down again, wishing she could hug her sister, spin her around. All the tricks that used to work to calm Chelsea when they were kids were now useless. "Honey, you're upset because you care so much. I know you love Annie, and you're not going to hurt yourself, right? You promised."

Chelsea nodded.

"So just remember that, for starters. And when your medication starts to take effect, I'm sure you'll start feeling better."

A red flush suffused Chelsea's cheeks as she collapsed into a sob. "The medication. Yeah, I have to get that filled, but it will take a week, at least. And I'm not allowed to see a therapist. And there was no blood test or screening."

Emma squinted at her. "What do you mean?"

"Dr. Volmer says it's just the baby blues and I should tough it out. And the insurance won't pay for it."

"Are you kidding me? There's no toughing it out in your situation. I can't believe that guy."

Chelsea stared down at the floor. "Dr. Volmer doesn't even like to prescribe medication."

"Well, I don't like to eat my vegetables, but it doesn't keep me from digging into the broccoli." Emma was so furious with Dr. Volmer, she wanted to march into his office and demand that he treat her sister properly. "Did you tell him everything that's been happening? That this isn't just a bad mood?"

"I told him enough." Chelsea's mouth twisted as she tried to hold back tears. "He said stuff like this happens to every new mother. He thinks I'm just a complainer."

"Which couldn't be farther from the truth." What kind of a doctor treated a depressed woman this way? "You're one of the strongest people I know. You've been dealing with this practically on your own since Annabelle was born, but honestly, sometimes the most difficult part of any illness is asking for help. You reached out for help, and he turned you away. What kind of a moron doctor can't diagnose postpartum depression?"

"If that's what I have," Chelsea said, her voice hollow and thin. "We don't know for sure."

"I know for sure. Honey, you've got all the symptoms, and some of the key risk factors, too. Any decent doctor would see you're suffering from postpartum depression."

"That's just a guess, Emma. You're not a doctor. You're not even a nurse."

The comment stung, but Emma tried not to show it. Though a few years had pa.s.sed, she was still sensitive about dropping out of nursing school. Nursing had been a dream of hers, but six months into the intensive program she had realized she didn't have the math tools to make it through the meds and chemistry cla.s.ses.

"I'm not a nurse," she said quietly, "but I know how to research a topic, and I've been all over the Internet on this one." She had combed through some books from the library, too-books she'd pa.s.sed on to Chelsea-but she didn't want to bicker right now. It wasn't about winning the argument; the important thing was to get Chelsea some help. "This thing that's knocked you over, there's a cure for it. There's a treatment that goes beyond a prescription. And, honey, you need the cure. It's time to do an end run around this Dr. Volmer and get you to a specialist."

Chelsea shook her head slowly, lowering the baby who had dropped off to sleep.

"Do you want me to take her?" Emma offered.