Chords that Bind Ch. 17

She started when she heard the door open. She wanted to pretend to be asleep when she realized it was Abe.

"Sweetness?" he called out to her.

"I'm in the den." She felt heavy and lightheaded all at once.

"I brought some pizza home. James told me not to expect them for dinner."

"Oh. Okay."

"Why are you alone in the dark?" he asked as he flipped the lights on. Then he shook himself. "Right, you shouldn't be on your feet," he said mostly to himself.

The pizza smelled good. Abe got Clara's favorite: a white pie with Parma ham. "I'll get us some plates and we can watch a movie. The air between them was still strained and Clara could tell her husband was making an effort at normalcy.

Abe came back with plates and napkins and took a good look at Clara. He loved her no matter what, but she looked terrible at the moment. Noticing her clothes were the same as what she wore yesterday, he asked, "What did you get up to today?"

"Not much. I'm not allowed on my feet."

"I'm sorry, Sweetness. Here, start with two slices."

Clara's stomach rumbled as she looked at the pizza. "I'm not very hungry, but thanks for picking it up. Do you have a new client? You're home late." Clara didn't want to talk about herself. She picked at the pizza as Abe flipped though movies on Netflix.

"Just trying to wrap up some business so I can relax over the holiday. He settled on a rerun of one of their favorite comedies, more for background noise than anything else.

Neither of them knew what to say. The awkward silence stretched on. "It's nice to have you home," Abe said. "You've been getting in so late from the performances."

"Yes. That's true."

"Aren't you going to eat? You've hardly touched your food."

Clara had been afraid of this, of people watching her like a hawk every time they sat down for a meal.

Dutifully she took another bite. Abe wasn't appeased. "Did you manage okay on your own today?"

"I didn't do much to be honest."

"Did you eat?"

Clara gave an audible sigh. "Yes."

"Sweetness, what did you have?"

"I had some toast and a cup of tea."

Abe's brows knitted together. "What about lunch?"

"I wasn't hungry," Clara responded waspishly.

Abe stood up then, growling in exasperation. "So you had nothing except toast today? And you've barely touched your dinner!"

Clara glared up at him. "Stop acting like I have a problem! I wasn't hungry and getting up would have been more trouble than it was worth."

Abe buried his bald head in his hands trying to keep his temper. His emotional exhaustion and worry kept him from voicing his underlying concerns yesterday, but it looked like they were about to address them now.

"You have no room to argue with me on this, Clara!" Abe raised his voice. He didn't do that often.

"You promised you'd never interfere with what I had to do for my career!"

"Only because you swore you'd take care of yourself better than those china dolls you dance with!"

"You don't dance. You don't know! I'm fine and you're overreacting!"

That's when Abe lost it.

"You're FINE?! If you haven't noticed, you broke your own foot! Look at it Clara!" Abe pulled the blanket off Clara's legs in a single motion, revealing her braced and bruised feet. "Look! You look like you've been tortured!"

"Stop it." Clara refused to look at her swollen feet, instead challenging Abe's gaze.

"Look Clara! We're not resolving anything until you admit this is a problem."

"No. That's not fair."

"You're hurt Clara!"

"Just like so many other dancers. This isn't out of the ordinary. It's normal."

"What is normal about this Clara? Answer me!"

Clara clenched her teeth and remained silent.

Abe's rage turned to incredulity. How could she not see that there was something seriously wrong? He tried a different approach.

"Don't defy me little girl. You know better than that."

"RED!" Clara screamed, squeezing her eyes shut.

Abe felt as if he'd been slapped in the face. She was trying to use her safeword to get out of the conversation. He looked around the room, anywhere but at his wife. Then he stared at his empty hands. This wasn't about power dynamics. This was Clara's health and she was acting like it was some game. He found the anger again.

"I'm not letting you escape this conversation Clara! That's not how this is going to work."

"Oh really? You're ignoring my safeword now?"

"Don't twist this on me! You're the one completely disregarding your wellbeing! I never should have—" Abe stopped himself.

"Never should have what, Abe? Go on. Are you going to forbid me from dancing?"

"Yes! If that's what it takes! Yes! You have no idea how much I hate seeing you like this."

"I'd like to see you try to stop me! I'm not a slave. You can't control me like that!"

Her threat was kind of laughable. "I don't have to stop you Clara. You've stopped yourself! You can't walk on your own, let alone dance! Stop being thick about this!"

"So I'm thick now! Is there anything else I should know?"

"STOP Clara! Stop it. You're in denial. This," he motioned at her condition, "is a problem. What part of 'in sickness and in health' don't you remember? I love you; I want to help you!"

"I'm not a child. Stop talking down to me." Clara wasn't even looking at him anymore.

Abe became afraid that it was already too late. Exasperated, he lowered his voice.

"I don't know how to get through to you Clara. You're being unreasonable. You heard the doctor. It's not just me," he said hopelessly.

Clara maintained her petulance. "I'm fine. I'm already off the rest of the run of Nutcracker. You're blowing this out of proportion."

Abe wanted to beg her to see reason. "It's not about one show, Clara. It's all of it. And you aren't fine. Don't you trust me to care for you?"

"You don't know about dancers' bodies. Stop acting like you're a doctor. I'll eat when I'm hungry."

They were arguing in circles now.

"No, Clara. You'll eat on a schedule. You'll eat full meals. I don't care if you hate me for it."

"So now you don't trust me?"

"No. I don't. Why should I? You lied about your 'diet' and your injuries."

"Because I knew you'd react like this." She finally looked at him with fiery eyes.

"Because I don't want you to hurt yourself. Don't you see how foolish this is? You're weak Clara. You're body is trying to tell you something."

"Stop lecturing me."

"We're going to see that nutritionist."

"You can't make me."

"The hell I can't!"

"What are you going to do? Spank me until I agree? I'm not going!"

"This discussion is over. Finish your dinner. I'll be right back."

Abe stepped out of the room to grab a beer and take a breath. He half expected to hear Clara shout something else back at him. But the abrupt end to the conversation seemed to silence her endless retorts.

He dialed the number Dr. Kessler gave him. Of course, it was too late and the office was closed, but Abe was going to call first thing in the morning. Whatever it took, he would do it. He couldn't lose her.

Clara didn't usually stay angry for long. But something about Abe's paternalistic insistence made her feel stifled and irritated. Her stomach growled. The tiny bites of pizza she tasted to appease Abe woke up her hunger. The last thing she wanted to do was listen to him. She sat in indecision until he came back into the room.

"We can stay here all night. You have nowhere else to go."

He really would treat her like a child who hadn't finished her dinner. To prove his point, he sat back in his armchair, and put his feet up on the ottoman.

"Fine." Clara took a bite of pizza, secretly relishing the flavor and hating every second of it.

Abe saw the pained look on Clara's face as she chewed and swallowed her pizza. He raised an eyebrow when she looked at him pitifully.

It was a torturous meal for Clara. Abe wouldn't relent until she ate two full slices of pizza. She felt so full she wanted to be ill, but there was no way she could get up to go to the loo without Abe noticing.

She glared at him silently as he took her empty plate away. She wasn't sure if she was trying to provoke him into punishing her or drive him away altogether, but whatever her goal, Abraham didn't take the bait.

There wasn't anything else to say, so they sat in silence, pretending to watch television until they heard the door open, heralding James and Cecilia's return. The couple didn't bother to stop in the den, rushing straight upstairs with hushed giggles and whispers, followed by the distinct sound of James slapping Cecilia's ass.

Clara found herself annoyed. She didn't want to be alone with her husband anymore, but she couldn't get up and he wasn't leaving her side.

It seemed that overnight Clara had been transformed into someone Abe didn't know. He found himself jealous of James and Cecilia for the first time. Was this how James felt for all those years? It left him sad and adrift. He waited until Clara fell asleep and then carried her upstairs to bed. Looking at her tiny frame, Abe felt his anger dissipate as worry ate at him. He hoped he was wrong.

***

When Dr. Kessler sent Mrs. Clara Finnegan Kendrick's file to him, certified nutrionist and sports doctor Alan Griswold raised an eyebrow. The woman's blood work was troubling, but her x-ray's showed the true extent of her condition. Griswold was used to seeing footballers and rugby players. Not dancers. Mr. Kendrick looked more the sort that he was used to treating.

"Mrs. Kendrick, please make yourself comfortable. Can I find something to put your feet up?"

She was about to demure, but the brawny man answered for her. "Thank you. Yes. I'm Abraham Kendrick," he said offering his hand to the doctor.

Griswold shook his hand. He didn't consider himself particularly intuitive, but there was obvious tension between husband and wife.

"Tell me what brings you here today," he started after settling in his newest patient.

"Well, Dr. Kessler referred me. He thinks I should see you," Clara answered.

"But you don't." Griswold narrowed his eyes.

"I think everyone is over-reacting because I got hurt." She glanced at her husband, who clenched his jaws at her answer.

"I assume this was a dance-related injury?" Ballerinas were a bit new to him.

She nodded. "It happens to everyone at the company. It's just my turn." It was a weak attempt at humour.

Abraham's hands flexed and clenched. He looked around the office at the pictures of famous footballers with Dr. Griswold, trying to let go of his emotions long enough to pay attention to what he said.

"Well, maybe we can come up with a plan to help you mend that much faster then." Dancers must be like other professional athletes, they always wanted to get back onto the field—or stage as the case may be.

Clara's face softened, but she still looked suspicious. "Alright."

"I see your most recent blood work shows some anemia and vitamin deficiencies. Let's start by telling me what your diet looks like now."

Abe tilted his head, silently daring Clara to lie. She eyed Abe warily. "Well, I was on a vegetarian diet until recently."

"And what were you eating for protein?" He looked up from taking notes.

"Some yoghurt. A bit of tofu. But mostly, I was eating vegetables."

"How often were you taking meals? Six times a day?" Some of Dr. Griswold's patients ate smaller meals more frequently to stay fueled.

"More like two. Sometimes three."

Abe shook his head almost imperceptibly. Griswold flipped through her file. "Were you taking any supplements?"

"No."

"Well, first thing I'll tell you is that athletes have to be very careful if they're going to switch up diets. How long were you eating like this?"

Clara bit her lip. "Oh, erm. I'm not sure. Maybe..."

"Be honest Clara," her husband tried to hide the growl in his voice. Dr. Griswold detected anger, but ignored Abe for the time being.

"Three, maybe four months."

"And what were you eating for an average meal or snack before a workout?"

"Some fruit. A little low-fat cottage cheese for a treat."

Griswold frowned. "What else?"

"Sometimes some kale chips."

"What about for dinner? Weren't you hungry after an intense workout?"

"Well every now and then I'd have something like a Shepard's pie or a pot roast."

Abe snorted derisively, which lead Griswold to ask a follow-up question.

"What about the rest of the time?"

"Soups and salads. But nothing with cream or fattening dressing."

It was like pulling teeth to get this woman to talk. He flipped through to some older records. "I see that you've lost some weight since last year. Nearly six kilos. Tell me, what does your week look like in terms of exercise and physical activity?"

This was an easy one to answer. "Well, I have class everyday for an hour. Then I have rehearsal for 4 or 5 hours. After that there's evening class, a performance or cross-training."

Griswold was impressed. That was just as vigorous a training schedule as his rugby players. "What do you do for cross-training?"

"Yoga, pilates, and weight training."

"When did you start doing weight training?" Abe interrupted the interview.

"A couple of months ago," Clara mumbled. "But since we've been doing Nutcracker I've had evening performances instead of cross-training." She made it sound like an excuse.

"So you've been weight training at the same time you've been cutting out protein?" Griswold raised an eyebrow at Abraham, who voiced—somewhat less delicately—the same question he had for the dancer.

"You're not an expert, Abe," Clara hissed.

"Actually, would you mind answering that question Mrs. Kendrick?" Griswold asked.

Her cheeks flamed. Abe seemed to forget the doctor was in the room with them. "Clara, I used to play rugby and I was in the Marines. Give me some credit. I used to lift."

Dr. Griswold was uncomfortable with the whole situation. Abraham was absolutely right, but he seemed to have entered a minefield. "Mrs. Kendrick? Is that true?"

"I would drink some green juice before and after circuit training."

"Did it have some sort of dairy or protein powder? Maybe soymilk?" Griswold asked, trying to be helpful.

"Not really."

"Well, Mrs. Kendrick, I think your husband is right. It's unadvisable for anyone to do weight training without eating protein. It would have the opposite of the intended effect. You'd break down your muscles without replenishing or rebuilding them. I also think you've lost more weight than is healthy for an athlete of your size."

Clara didn't say anything.

"You're a bit below where you should be in terms of BMI," he added.

"But that's for regular people, I'm a dancer." Clara stared intently at the floor.

"Mrs. Kendrick, my chart is for athletes, which you most certainly are. It's calibrated to take your profession into account. Dr. Kessler's charts show you've had a constant weight for the past three years. I assume you've been dancing that whole time?"

"Yes," she said grudgingly.

This was uncharted territory for Dr. Griswold. He was used to his athletes putting on weight in unhealthy ways. His practice specialized in rugged athletes who were always trying to bulk up. He had an occasional patient who tried steroids and ended up weakening tendons and ligaments. But he suspected the opposite was true here.

"Have you ever purged after a large meal? Mrs. Kendrick?"

Abe was about to say something, but Griswold silenced him with a look. He needed Clara to answer.

"What kind of question is that?" She sounded offended.

"Answer the man Clara!" Abe scolded.

"Please, Mr. Kendrick." Griswold knew he was right then, but the woman's husband wasn't helping. "I don't want to ask you to leave."

Abe was about to object, when Clara cut him off. "No, you should."

"Clara?"

"You heard me."

Griswold didn't like this, but had no choice. "Mrs. Kendrick, it is of course your right to consult with me privately. But it would appear your husband is concerned for your health..."

"No. If he stays in here, I'm leaving."

Abe sized up the doctor. He looked like a former athlete himself. Abe made a judgment in that instant, deciding to trust the man. He raised his hands, as if in surrender. "Alright. I'll wait for you outside."

Secretly, Abe liked that the man's office was decorated in rugby jumpers and football paraphilia. He didn't think this doctor would put much store in the Balanchine aesthetic.

Griswold nodded as Abe showed himself out. Clara crossed her arms and looked at the doctor defensively. "Clara, you need to tell me if you've been purging. It's just the two of us, here. I need to know."

"Only when I couldn't avoid eating... sometimes we have big family dinners and if I have to eat with everyone, then later... I'll..." she trailed off.

Dr. Griswold schooled his features. He knew that this sort of thing happened in some circles, but he hadn't been confronted with it in his practice before. "How long has this been going on?"

"Only a few months." Clara's eyes started to well with tears. She didn't want Abe to know. He'd be so mad at her.

"When you started cutting out meat?"

"Yes, well no. I started limiting meat a little before that."

"Did your eating habits change because you felt you needed to lose weight?"

"Erm... I dunno. I just wanted to make sure I stood out to the higher ups in the company. It was just a health choice. So many other girls are vegetarian... I just wanted to try it out and see. It wasn't about that at first. But then some of the principals noticed. And that made it all worth it..."

Griswold looked at her chart one last time. "Mrs. Kendrick—Clara, if I may?"

Clara sniffed and nodded. "You haven't lost enough weight to call this what it is... But these are all signs of an eating disorder."

"I'm not anorexic!" she was shrill.

"No. You're not, but this behavior certainly falls under the OSFED."

Clara looked at him confused.

"Other specified feeding or eating disorder. What you've described is not healthy or normal for you to be doing, but it doesn't meet the criteria for any of the more commonly-known eating disorders. And you haven't yet lost enough weight to qualify for exercise bulimia, for example."

Clara shook her head. The doctor continued. "Clara, your feet won't heal if you don't eat properly. You won't dance again professionally if you don't sort out your diet."

Griswold watched as the gravity of the situation hit her. "Everything you're doing to try and advance your career is hurting it."

Tears began to fall in earnest. The doctor wondered if he should bring her husband back in. He was uncomfortable with this whole visit, even though he knew what it called for. He just didn't feel equipped with the proper bedside manner for this. He was used to banter with his patients. Not tears. "Clara? Clara?"

"I'm so, so, afraid." Clara was back to chanting her greatest fear over and over again in her head. "I won't dance again. I won't. I won't."

The doctor decided to draw up an eating plan and writing up prescriptions for nutritional supplements. Then he flipped through a few business cards until he found the right contact.

"Clara, you're young and you're clearly a stellar athlete. You'll dance again. But you need to take care of your body if you want it to perform. You need to decide how important dance is. If it's important enough, you'll listen to me, and your husband, and the therapist I'm referring you to."

Dr. Griswold gave Clara an awkward pat on the shoulder. "Dry the tears. I've written you a script for some vitamins and want you to start with this eating plan. Call the number on this card. I haven't worked with her much, but she comes highly recommended."