Blessed Hearts Series

Sandy's Romance Part One Disillusioned   by Andrea Lena DiMaggio for my dear sweet sister Alison   You're the sweet dreams that soothe me when I can't fall asleep. You're the field in the middle of the city. When I'm rushing by at the speed of light.

At home

She'd been up all night fiddling with the camera, wanting it to be just so. She wasn't able to sleep after a fitful two hours staring at the ceiling. It had been six weeks since she made the decision to move on. Her boyfriend had grown "tired" of her neediness, as if being someone wanting to have a conversation once and a while were needy. And he had grown tired of her need to be herself, wanting a more traditional relationship. She set the timer and got ready for the new photo.

"I hope this turns out okay," she said to herself. She said that every time like a prayer, wanting so desperately to be accepted. Maybe this time her features would appear softer? Maybe this time she might actually look more appealing? She quickly checked her face in the compact mirror. Like the old 60's hit by Jay and the Americans, it was "now or never."

"Who the hell am I kidding," she said and shook her head. Tears streamed down her face, ruining what she considered only a fair job with her makeup. That was the least of her concerns. Never feeling comfortable with her looks to begin with, she grew more and more insecure as the months passed.

"Sandy? Sandy, can you come down and help me? Johnny is coming over for breakfast and I want it to be special. The baby is so cute, and it's her first time out in a while. Okay? Sandy, did you hear me?"

Sandy Pevour looked down at her stomach, as if wishing would make all that lack disappear magically. She wished her mom doted on her like her brother. Too bad that she'd never bear a child, but that's the way things go sometimes.

"Coming, mom," she cried out as she washed her face off quickly. She pulled off her bra and pulled on a bulky sweat shirt. Pulling off her slacks she quickly pulled on some socks and sweatpants before checking herself once again in the mirror. Catching the hint of shadow on her lid, she quickly grabbed a washcloth and scrubbed it hard. Pulling a towel off the rack, she wet down her hair in the sink and bounded down the stairs, looking all the world like she had just taken a shower. She passed the mirror at the foot of the stairs and saw her reflection.

Phillipe "Sandy" Pevour, college junior, Art History major and second son of Collette Pevour.

“Oh, I’m so happy that the baby’s coming over.” Collette said as she set the table for dinner.”

“Does that mean she can drive already? My God, mom, she’s only four months old!” Sandy quipped. His mother took it the wrong way, as she did nearly all the time.

“Oh, stop it this second. You always seem to turn a good situation bad; can’t you see the good in anything? Don’t you love your brother?”

“Not as much as you do,” he thought to himself. Johnny was the Golden Child of the family. Marcel Jean Pevour was a Stanford graduate with a beautiful wife, baby daughter, house, car, and exquisite taste. If he had a dog, it would likely be the most beautiful dog in creation, his mother actually said once.

“You always seem to make a joke…He’s successful!” She would have added , “unlike yourself, but her last conversation with Sandy turned odd and sad all at once as he cried in front of his mother.

“Imagine a grown man crying over something his mother said. I’m glad your father never lived to see you like this.” She had said, surprised that her words didn’t stir him to act like a ‘man.”

“I’ve always told you that you can bring your friends to the house. Why do you avoid having friends here?” She would say.

As the conversation turned luke-warm, a knock came at the front door. Sandy walked and opened it, finding his sister—in-law standing on the porch with Carrie in her arms. Johnny was just getting the carry seat out of the back.

“Hey baby brother. You get a job yet? And how's that book coming along?” Johnny teased Sandy with that line every time he saw him. The first time was nice and clever; the second not so nice, and each succeeding time became more and more hurtful. Sandy had tried day after day to write the art history commentary he was working on, but his depression made it nearly impossible to concentrate, even with medication. That spiral had gotten worse when his boyfriend broke off their relationship.

“John…please stop teasing him…you know it hurts…I’ve told you how many times?” Dana whispered an aside to Johnny as he met them on the front porch. Dana was probably the only person in the world who understood Sandy, and it was painful to know that his own brother had become so arrogant and insensitive.

Sandy wasn’t in the least bit more self-centered than anyone else who was mired in their own depression; that no one understood him was likely the most commonality he had with a lot of folks, but he’d never know because he insisted no one understood. He was about to find out just how much he was loved, and from a very unexpected source.

At home several weeks later

“So you haven’t been over to seen me for days,” Collette said into the phone to her son.

“I’ve been busy. Dana really isn’t much of a help around the house, and I come home exhausted.”

All three statements were true after a fashion, but to say they were truthful? Johnny was busy, but it wasn’t just with work. Dana had still held the appearance of a woman recovering from childbirth with virtually no help at home, and Johnny was preoccupied with his latest project. He was building a second career in consulting, which included frequently consulting his secretary, Marta Kovalcek, after hours. So to say he came home exhausted would have been a huge understatement.

“Well, I did warn you,” Collette said, shaking her head.

Dana Lynn Pevour was a nice girl; as nice girls go. But Collette always felt Johnny married below his station, as they say. That she was a sweet girl with an adorable spirit made little difference to Collette. That Dana was a giving, caring person who loved children and dogs? Nope, not important as far as Collette was concerned. And that Dana was aware of Johnny’s frequent affairs? Collette always knew Johnny would take after his father; she just didn’t know how accurate that statement was.

“Just take care of yourself, honey, okay? I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Bye now.” Collette hung up the phone.

Of course, that Dana had grown up in Galveston, Texas wasn’t a plus at all, especially considering that her mother married a policeman of all things. That might have been bad enough for Collette but for the fact that her father’s name was Peter Muldoon. Her mother’s name was An (Annie) Nguyen, having been born in Saigon in 1962 and a Boat People á‰migré to Texas.

“Mom, did it ever occur to you that she’s tired because of her illness and the long labor?” Sandy said as he stood at the fridge, looking for some half & half for his coffee.

“Nonsense, I had you two boys without any trouble. I just don’t understand those people.” Collette shook her head once again.

“Mind you, I’m not saying she’s not a nice girl, but I would have expected her to support her husband."

“’Those” people are considered to be among the most industrious people in this lovely melting pot of ours.” Sandy said as he sat down at the table.

“Oh, I know all that, but it’s one thing to sit down at a desk and do math and a completely different thing to raise a family. Your brother is working hard to provide a good life for her and the baby, and I would have expected you’d be more sympathetic.” His mother usually finished the statement with, “considering he has a job,” but today was an especially lovely morning so she skipped that part of their routine.

“Mom…Dana was working two jobs before she got pregnant. And she managed to take care of everything at home until she got sick. They still don’t know what she’s got, but she’s been achy and exhausted since before the baby was born.”

“Oh, I suppose so, but in my mother’s day, women were made of much sterner stuff, as Granddaddy used to say.” Granddaddy being her father Claude, who also had suffered fatigue from trying to bed too many women. And her mother got an epidural after fifteen minutes of labor; not that there’s anything wrong with that, but stacked against Dana’s thirty hour labor with no medication other than Tylenol?

“All I’m saying is that Johnny is blessed to have a wife as wonderful as her.” Sandy regretted saying that as soon as it left his mouth.

“Speaking of which, when are you going to get serious with your life? I never hear you talk about girls and what about your preoccupation with old paintings and the like. How are you going to support a family on that kind of career?” She hit him every time with the “serious” card. It had gotten old after the first twelve hundred times, and it wore on him like a dripping faucet on a hot summer night.

“Mom, I told you, if I get my Master’s in Art History, I can teach at the High School and still have time for other things.

The other things were currently on hold. He had most of his time occupied with a TA position at the university and up until six weeks ago had been in a relationship. That his intended was Martin instead of Martine would have disappointed his mother, but hell, at least he was being ‘serious.”

“Well if she’s that feeble, then why did she get pregnant in the first place?” Collette asked. Sandy would have loved to have told her that Johnny had come home one night after a long weekend away with his secretary and had literally forced himself on Dana. And he knew she’d really be disappointed to find out that Dana was pregnant again. It wasn’t her design or choice, but she was doing the best she could with what she had.

“I’m going to stop over at their place after my last class today, mom. I’ll see if she needs anything.” Sandy smiled as he put his mug in the sink.

“Well, if you think that’s best, dear. But keep in mind that if you keep helping her she’ll never be able to fare for herself. I heard Dr. Phil talk about that yesterday. I think he said it’s called ‘enabling.’”

“That’s right mom…enabling,” Sandy chuckled at the irony of his mother’s statement. He picked up his backpack off the counter and kissed her on the cheek before walking out.

On the way from school

The bike ride to Johnny’s house was only a half-hour from school, and Sandy took the time to think and pray as he pedaled. That it was always called Johnny’s house instead of ‘their’ house or even Johnny and Dana’s house was telling. She didn’t drive because Johnny refused to buy a second car.

“Not necessary; you’ve got everything you need right here.” Johnny had told her. That they could well afford three cars was lost on Sandy’s brother; when he was convinced of something there was no debate…no argument. Sandy pulled into the driveway and leaned his bike against the tall cedar fence on the side. He walked up and knocked on the door in greeting.

“Hello, Dana?” He said as he walked into the front hall way. The hall lights were off and the house seemed darker than usual. He called out again.

“Dana, it’s Sandy…Dana, Hon? Dana?” Still no answer. He walked into the living room and noticed that Carrie was in her playpen, sleeping. He stepped lightly so as not to wake her, but the hardwood floor creaked under his feet. He slipped off his sneakers and stepped toward the dining room when he felt something wet on the bottom of his sock. He looked down and saw a dark viscous liquid in a trail of drops headed toward the dining room. As he stood, he thought he heard a woman’s voice.

“If you need assistance please hang up and dial the operator.” He stepped into the dining room and saw a figure on the floor. The phone had fallen just out of her reach, and she was moaning softly.

“Carrie…Mommy’s coming honey…ohhh”

“Oh God…Dana!” Sandy knelt down and turned her over. Her slacks were wet with blood and her face was pale.

“God, Dana, I’m here…I’m here.” He kissed her on the cheek and leaned over and grabbed the phone. He clicked it off and called 911.

“Hello, I need an ambulance at 12 Violet Court…My sister-in-law...I think she's having a miscarriage and she’s bleeding bad…Oh god please hurry."

He cradled her in his arms, weeping in prayer even as he turned back to look through to the living room where Carrie still lay sound asleep.

"It's okay, Dana, I'm here. I'm here...oh god please be okay...Dana...Dana?"

Next: Discouraged

Illustration adapted from
"Maud Cook" 1895, a painting by
Thomas Eakins 1844 - 1916

Lovely
As sung by
Trish Thuy Trang
from the Album
Waiting for You
words and music by
Michelle Tumes
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QXQbiWUHXlg