At First Sight - Nicholas Sparks [87]
He didn’t know, couldn’t begin to fathom the answers.
What made him hurt, however, was something else. Amniotic band syndrome was rarely fatal. But abnormalities and deformities were the rule, not the exception. It was the unspoken topic between Lexie and himself, something that neither wanted to discuss. When they talked about their worries for the baby, it was always couched in terms of possible death instead of the more realistic scenario. That their baby would look different; that their baby would have serious abnormalities; that their baby would face countless surgeries; that their baby might suffer.
He hated himself for thinking that it would matter, because when it came right down to it, he knew he would love the baby no matter what. He didn’t care about missing limbs or webbing between her fingers; he would raise her and care for her as well as any father could. Still, when he thought about the baby, he couldn’t deny that he envisioned her in almost clichéd snapshots: wearing an Easter dress while surrounded by tulips, or splashing through the sprinklers, or sitting in the high chair, smiling broadly through the chocolate cake smeared on her face. He never imagined her with deformities; he never saw her with a cleft palate or missing a nose, or with an ear the size of a penny. In his mind’s eye, she was always perfect and bright eyed. And Lexie, he knew, imagined her exactly the same way.
He knew that everyone had his or her burdens, that no one’s life was perfect. But some burdens were worse than others, and despite the terrible way it made him feel about himself, he wondered whether death would be easier than their daughter living with a severe abnormality—not a missing limb, but something far worse—one that would make her suffer for the rest of her life, no matter how long that might be. He couldn’t imagine having a child for whom pain and suffering were as constant as breathing or the beating of her heart. But what if that was his child’s destiny? It was too terrible to contemplate, and he tried to force the thought from his mind.
Still, the question haunted him.
Time moved slowly the following week. Lexie went off to work, but Jeremy didn’t even attempt to write. He couldn’t find the energy to concentrate, so instead he spent much of the time at the house. They were in the final stages of the renovations now, and Jeremy took it upon himself to begin cleaning. He washed the windows inside and out, he vacuumed the corners of the stairs, he scraped paint splatters from the counters in the kitchen. It was tedious, mind-numbing work, but it served to clear his mind, to keep his fears at bay. The painters were finishing up the rooms downstairs, and the wallpaper for the baby’s room was already hung. Lexie had picked out most of the major pieces of furniture for the room, and when they arrived, Jeremy spent two afternoons putting everything together and finishing the room. After Lexie got off work, he brought her to the house. At the top of the stairs, he asked her to close her eyes and he led her to the doorway.
“Okay,” he said, “you can open your eyes now.”
For an instant, there were no worries about the future, no fears for their daughter. Instead, it was the Lexie of old, the Lexie who looked forward to motherhood, who smiled easily and found everything about the experience memorable.
“You did this?” she asked, her voice soft.
“Most of it. I had to have the painters help me with the blinds and the curtains, but I did the rest.”
“It’s beautiful,” she murmured, moving