“Ooh, bacon!” she said. “But hey: we shoulda kept that ol’ trout and caught some more. Coulda fried ’em up.”
“In this part of the river, we throw them back.”
“Oh! That’s cool. I love that.”
“‘Catch and release.’”
—
Before Dusty left for Utah, Allegra told her about the nightmares she’d been having about the miscarriage. Her wife suggested a support group but Allegra was reticent. Then why don’t you try Skyping with Ginevra?
The therapist was in her early fifties, chicly Euro, kind of hot. (Allegra didn’t know what she’d been expecting but it wasn’t that.) At the beginning of the call, Ginevra informed the young woman that because Dusty was her client, this would have to be a one-off — but she was happy to help in any way she could. Allegra already knew the ethical drill and wasn’t looking for a shrink anyway.
“So how are you doing with everything that’s going on?”
“Oh! I think I’m actually doing okay. But there’s a lot. There’s a lot going on. I mean, man, the whole daughter thing with Dusty… she’s so amazing. She’s been through so much. And I know she likes to — not really minimize, that’s not the word, the right word — but diminish, or whatever, her mother — her mom’s death. I mean, even though she hated her, Reina was just so big in her life, and I think that her death, it just — oh, I don’t know what I’m trying to say.”
“You’re saying — what I think you’re saying — is that grief is complicated and it’s important to honor all of its aspects.”
“I guess… though it’s been so hard for me personally to get to that place. But the whole thing with her daughter — trying to find her — is more about — not more about, but — I think on some level she’s just so angry with herself—totally not that she should be! But you know she kind of pointed the finger at her mother all those years — and Reina was a total monster and I’m totally not judging Dusty — but I think she maybe knew her mom was going to die? Sensed it? And that if she didn’t try to find her kid, there wouldn’t be anyone left to blame but herself? So she finally put it all in motion to, you know, finally go looking for her. Because I think that was something she wished she would have done a long time ago. So what she’s doing now is so amazing and incredibly brave. I try to put myself in her place and just can’t imagine. I don’t think I would have had the courage.”
“You’d be surprised. But let’s talk about you. And your loss.”
“Yeah.”
“Does it upset you that Dusty has a daughter?”
“What do you mean?” she asked, preparing to be offended.
“Well, the two of you have been trying. And now you’re dealing with the grief and I’m wondering if you feel alone in that process. If you resent Dusty for going off and looking for that other little girl.”
“Not really. I don’t think so. And she’s been great. She’s been there for me. I just think because — maybe because she’s older, it maybe didn’t affect her in the same way. Or maybe it did and that’s even a part of what motivated her to — you know, go looking for her kid. I mean, along with Reina’s death, maybe the miscarriage gave her another… push.”
“Let’s talk about the nightmares.”
“Usually, it’s the same one. I’m in bed sleeping and there’s a baby crying somewhere in the house. Kinda obvious, huh. And I just lay there trying to figure out where it is… you know, is it in the library? Is it in the living room? The laundry room? The kitchen? And I sort of start mapping out the house in my mind — going through each room. And my ears are, like, aching from trying to pinpoint it. Then I start to think, well, maybe it’s outside … by the pool or in the cabana. And the only thing that gives me some little form of comfort is that I know at least Dusty is with it. You know, Dusty’s taking care of it. And that’s, like, the moment in the dream where I can actually breathe. But then it occurs to me — and this is the shock and the horrible part! — that Dusty isn’t even home, she’s on location somewhere in Havana or wherever… and that’s when I hear the baby again and now it’s, like, screaming, it’s totally screaming. I mean, shrieking, right at the foot of the bed! And all this is happening, you know, with the incredible speed that shit happens in a dream. Like, the dream could be a half hour or could be, you know, like, three seconds. And I try to get up but I’m paralyzed — of course I am! I mean, what would a nightmare be without total paralysis, right? And I totally can’t move my arms or legs and the screams are getting louder and louder and that’s when I realize — this is the second horrible part — that this is how it’s going to be—you know, the baby screaming and screaming and maybe probably dying, and me just laying there listening to it — with both of us not being able to drink or eat, and no one finding us. And that’s just how it’s going to be… until Dusty comes home.”
—
Jeremy didn’t feel like going, but was compelled.
He wanted to be there for Allegra. And not just because he knew the loss of the child had put stress on her marriage; he didn’t want to sweep his own feelings under the rug either. He needed to fully honor the experience — the death — that had brought him to the emotional breakthrough of meeting with a surrogate. Still, it felt like his mourning period was on the wane, supplanted by the dream of trying again. Allegra’s seemed only to be beginning.
Yet who (he asked himself, with self-loathing malice) had suffered more? While an incubus cast its malevolent spell on the expectant mother’s womb, what had he been up to? Shopping online for designer onesies and pricey Belgian prams; immersed in the real estate porn of lazy river penthouse pools, private automobile elevators, and houses made of rammed earth; buying a car for his friendboy. Signing mass emails “Mrs. Dusty Wilding the Second.” (In preparation for going public with the birth announcement.) While they vacuumed out the little bones, he was having his Tesla detailed at Soho House…
The church basement support group reminded him of a scene from Fight Club. Sad, sad group of people! Like a small circle (and circle-jerk) of Helclass="underline" infinity loop of parents grieving over children unborn. The format wasn’t like A.A., where everyone did their three-minute spiel; it’d be tough to tell someone in the middle of a dead-baby crying jag that their time was up. They went on and on and on… Allegra fought back tears the entire hour while Jeremy zoned. He thought about sex with Tristen (he was always thinking about sex with his “twist”), about projects in various stages of development, about Devi and Sir… he’d been asked to dinner next week in Malibu, at the “pretty penny” house—