“Well, my water broke—”
“While you were stalking your past life at the park?”
“Yes . . .” A moment of silence stretched between us.
“And your niece happened to?”
“Well, I couldn’t drive. Brooklyn had just left, and Everly was the only one there. So, she drove me.”
“Brooklyn?”
“Yeah. . .”
“Uh-huh.” Easton sighed. I knew I pushed the limits of what he’d been comfortable with. Being a Tethered Soul came with rules, and I didn’t follow any of them. But it wasn’t an opportunity I could waste.
“Sorry,” I said. “I don’t want to make you worry.”
Easton leaned over me and tucked my hair behind my ear. “You don’t need to apologize for wanting to see your family happy.” I nodded. Tears pricked my eyes, and my chin wobbled. It’s all I really wanted. For them to be happy.
Easton and I chatted until the wee hours of the night when my monitors went haywire. Nurses rushed to my room, checking me and the machines I was hooked up to. I watched them frantically, trying to read their faces.
“Is everything OK?” Easton asked.
Everything happened so fast, it was a whirlwind of nurses and alarms. Panic set deep within the eyes of those who surrounded me. My hand slipped out of Easton’s as I was wheeled off to an emergency C-section. I felt my tether pull tight as our distance stretched, and I knew he felt the same.
The room I entered for surgery was eerie and my instincts told me I should run. This was not how I had planned my delivery, and I knew I was in trouble. Panic had set in, my breathing shallow and erratic as a nurse placed an oxygen mask over my head. With large gulps of air, I watched my doctor wash up through a window. Even his eyes were unnerving.
A curtain went up at my chest, separating my line of sight from my stomach. And though I couldn’t feel myself being sliced open, my body shook with the tugging of my flesh. I tried to be brave. I tried to keep calm. But I had a sense of fear that came from deep down inside that I couldn’t seem to shake. I closed my eyes, steadying my breath, and when I felt brave enough, I opened them and tried to read the expression of the surrounding staff. It was something in the way that Judy looked that told me I’d be able to read her face like a book. I kept my eyes on hers, my heart nearly stopping until the slightest curve of her lips appeared. And then there was a small, distant cry from beyond the sheet.
“It’s a girl!” Dr. Faye announced.
I sobbed as the room erupted into claps and cheers of congratulations. My emotions were scattered like a bag of dropped marbles. I felt everything. And when they showed me her pink little wrinkled body, I saw everything I had felt for her, floating in the air. Surrounding us all. Little bits of glowing lights with the warmth of happiness and hope. It was like a meteor shower inside the hospital, and it struck me with wonder, leaving me in awe. I knew I would give anything or be anything for that little girl the moment I laid eyes on her. And giving up eternal life for her was the most honorable thing I could ever do.
I tried to control my sobbing long enough to ask for the nurses to tell Easton, but the tears just kept coming, with no end in sight. They took my little girl away, and I kept busy by watching the stars twinkle softy. Yellow sparkles glowed brightly until something changed.
At first, the brightness had dimmed, leaving the room a darker shade of love and hope. Then it was the warmth that dissipated, turning the room chilly and bitter. My body trembled, twitching and jerking on top of the table. I watched the magic turn blood red before disappearing into thin wisps of smoke, and I was left with the devastation of what I had not yet known but felt in my heart. I swallowed down the rising bile in my throat and lowered my gaze slowly. The staff was silent. Judy would not look at me.
Dr. Faye came to my side and picked up my hand. Before he had the chance to say anything at all, a deep guttural cry ripped through me. “I’m so sorry,” he said. The staff stilled, and time stopped. The only thing I could feel was pain. Pain so sharp that I could barely catch my breath. I was being suffocated with the truth of losing a child, and I was going to die right here on this table of a broken, battered heart. I don’t know how long I cried for, and I’m not sure how long I lay in the darkness of a room that was once lit with love, but I knew one thing; I’d never come back from this.
Chapter 20
When I was lucid enough to understand that this was real life and not some terrible night terror, I was completely gutted. It wasn’t just that I no longer shared my body with two babies or that my legs were still numb. It was that my emotions were gone, too. All but one. Devastation. And there was so much of it that I felt hallow inside. I couldn’t see the love floating in the air, and I couldn’t feel it swell in my chest. I wasn’t sure I ever would again. I stared unfocused into the middle of the room as Easton stroked my hair. All I could do was blink because even acknowledging his presence was too difficult for me.
It wasn’t until the nurse brought our baby girl into the room that I felt like the worst mother there had ever been. Because even she made me feel nothing. Easton tried to get me to engage, but I just stared at the wall. My mind telling me I was useless. A mother who couldn’t protect her child. I never even had the chance. I never got to hold it, and they never felt my love. I failed. My one job, my one purpose in this life, and I failed. How could I live with myself now?
I closed my eyes and rubbed where the crust had formed from countless dried tears. Inevitably I would have to live with myself because now, I’d be living forever. There was no way I could live a fulfilling life now that I had lost a child. Easton was right, after all. This was a tortured life. I could see it now, and I could feel it right about where my heart used to be. I would have to ask him if he saw the burning rings of smoldering ember radiating off me like he had seen with other tortured souls.
The baby cried, and Easton sang a lullaby as he walked her around the room. I was so thankful for his strength to carry on when I couldn’t. I didn’t know how, but I knew I must find a way to be there for my little girl. Even through the pain and the fog of failure. I was still a mother to one, and I had to be strong enough to be there for her. I opened my eyes. It was the first step. I blinked several times, and I made myself a promise.
You can do this, Beck. You can do this. If you can show up for that little girl, be the mother she needs, I promise . . . you can fall to pieces every other waking second. But for her, you must not give up.
I rolled onto my back, giving it everything I had, and focused my eyes on Easton.
“Hey, there she is. . .” Easton came to me, and I sat up in the hospital bed. “I think she’s hungry. You’ve been . . . out for a while.” Easton handed me the wrapped little peanut, and I reached out instinctively to take her. I had hoped that when I took her in my arms, something would change. My heart would light fire again, and I would come back for her. But it didn’t, and I was no phoenix. I looked at her little red face, and all I could think was how will I ever love her with a broken heart?
I looked up to Easton, the worry etched deep into my face, and I could see that he understood without having to say it. His eyes watered, and he nodded at me. “It’s going to be OK. We're going to get through this,” he said in a whisper. I’m not sure why it hurt to hear it. Maybe it was because everything hurt? Maybe because I didn’t think it was true. Or maybe I knew one day we would get through it, and that hurt too. I didn’t want my child to be something that I one day moved on from. And I didn’t think that the doom would ever subside or that my heart would ever be whole again.
“Let’s name her Clara,” Easton said. I looked up at him. His eyes sad, but there, just on the edges, was a touch of hope.
“Clara. . .”
The time I spent at the hospital went by in a fog. I assume some of that was due to the pain medication, and if I hadn’t known any better, I’d say they gave me a little extra to help get me past the first few days after the stillbirth. I slept a lot
in the hospital, but even when I was awake, a part of me still lingered somewhere in far-off land. Easton and I had to name our other daughter, but I found it incredibly difficult to give her a name that she’d never use. I wondered if it would hurt more or help with closure. Either way, Easton said she deserved a beautiful name, and I couldn’t argue with that.
“What about Molly?” I asked him. He rocked Clara in his arms as we waited to be discharged from the hospital.
“Molly and Clara, I like it,” he said. I nodded and then looked away. Molly would forever be the name I associated with the deepest sorrow and the blood-painted smoke in the operation room.
Nurse Judy came in to give us some paperwork. Easton handed me Clara so that he could fill it out. I took her warm little wrapped body in my arms and stroked her forehead with my fingertips.
“Do you have the names yet?” she asked.
“Molly and Clara Green,” Easton smiled.
“Those are lovely names. Just keep filling that out. I’m going to get a wheelchair for you, Miss Becca, and a little something someone dropped off for you today,” Judy said before disappearing from the room.
“Thank you,” I said, not in the least curious what it was or who it came from. When she returned with a small brown teddy bear, I forced a polite smile.
“Here you are. A pretty little girl dropped that off today. Your sister? She looked just like you,” the nurse said.
My eyes grew, and I reached for the tag. The instant I saw ‘Congratulations,’ my stomach churned. It wasn’t a good feeling to be told congratulations when a tragedy had just happened. I knew I needed to separate the death from the birth. If I hadn’t, poor Clara would forever live in the shadow of Molly’s tragedy, and that was no way to raise a child. But I didn’t know how to compartmentalize the two. I flipped the tag over to see Everly’s name, and it sparked an ember in my broken heart. I’d have to keep this bear safe, and one day, I would explain to Clara just how important it was.
Judy helped me to the wheelchair, and we eventually left the hospital. A part of me didn’t want to leave because inside these walls, I was once a mother of two. Somehow, leaving the hospital made it more real, and the reality sank in that I would be going home with only one of my children. When the cold air met my face, I breathed in my new life with the fresh winter air—and reluctantly—I exhaled the old one out. Molly overshadowed all the bits of excitement that I once had to be a mother, and I felt no joy to begin my journey.
Brooklyn and Tanner were waiting for us when we got home. And if that wasn’t hard enough to see them, I still had to come home to the house that was prepped for two babies. Brooklyn had expected that, and she and Tanner worked tirelessly removing the second crib, second swing, second . . . everything. There was no evidence whatsoever that I had planned for twins. Not in the closet, not in the drawers, and not on the walls. I was relieved that I didn’t have to come home and see it all. But there was also a part of me that hated seeing it gone, and I knew that was the part of me that simply wasn’t ready to let go. I wondered if that part would live in me forever.
During this troublesome time, the nights were especially grueling because that’s when Clara would stay up crying. And to be honest, it was in the off hours she slept that I would keep my promise to myself. When the house was quiet and all were asleep, I’d slip into the garage, climb inside my truck and shut the door tight behind me. I’d grip the steering wheel and listen to the hum of silence for a few seconds before I’d cry. It happened nightly at first. And when I cried myself to sleep in my truck, Easton just about had a heart attack looking for me. After I’d confessed to my promise and my nightly belligerent sessions, he would often check on me in the garage if I wasn’t in bed. Countless nights he crawled inside the cab with me and held me till my tears ran dry. Sometimes, he’d cry too.
But when Clara was up, that was my time to give her what she deserved. A stable, loving mother. And I loved her right. That was the easy part. The hard part was being stable. I had a good streak going, but I told myself it was OK for all the times I failed and broke down in front of her. She wouldn’t remember them, anyway. No, I had a good five years of mistakes before she really remembered what I was like as a mother, and for that, I was thankful.
The shadow that Molly cast on Clara was short-lived. About six weeks after she was born, when I walked into the nursery, Clara smiled at me. It nearly brought me to my knees to see her acknowledge me, and I felt my heart stitch back together. Until then, it had felt like a thankless job, but the moment she smiled at me, I knew it was neither of those things. In the days that followed, I spent my time trying to get her to do it again and then again. Hungry for her little toothless grin because somehow it was the glue that mended my heart back together, and it was Clara who taught me how to love again.
It wasn’t long after the smile had renewed my sense of hope that I could hike a trail—albeit slowly—and that is what I was waiting on for Molly’s ceremony. I wanted to spread her ashes over the Truly River where Easton and I married in my first life and where we were engaged for my second one. It was a meaningful spot to me, full of memories. And I wanted my Molly to rest in the field where I saw the shape of love for the first time. My parents came, too, and so did Easton’s. Brooklyn and Tanner joined as well, completing our family. It was difficult having all the people around, but I was glad they came. And after six weeks, I had finally gathered the strength to face the day I’d say goodbye.
After a slow hike down the trail, we reached the vast opening in the field. It was weird to show up with other people as it had always been a secret spot for Easton and me. Even the day we wed was unconventional. It had just been the two of us. But this felt right, and her memorial was similar in how it too was unconventional. I ran my hands across the tall wet blades of grass and marveled at the beauty beyond the cliffs. My dress soaked up the winter dew much like it had before—and even though we were saying goodbye and my dress was now black—I couldn’t help but feel like I had been here before.
The family gathered at the cliff’s edge. Easton held my hand and his mother held Clara. A crisp breeze passed by, and I thought it was odd how I hadn’t felt the chill, just air that had passed through my hair.
“The most beautiful things on this green earth cannot be seen but must be felt. Molly has touched our hearts, and though she may be gone, she will not be forgotten,” Easton spoke softly. I felt a gentle pull in my attention. Like eyes had been watching me from behind. I turned my head, the breeze dancing in my hair. A dragonfly buzzed across the field, lighting it up with love.
Easton let go of my hand to open the urn. I turned around to watch my daughter fly, but all I saw was ash. Black lifeless particles that painted the sky before dispersing into nothing. Molly had not been inside that urn. As everyone cried and embraced, I turned my head back around to the sparkling field and imagined my Molly chasing the dragonflies.
Chapter 21
The ceremony marked the beginning of a new chapter for me. The one where I became a mother. Of course, I had been a mother for the six weeks prior, but it wasn’t until I saw the ash flutter down in the chilly winter air that I realized it wasn’t my Molly. No, Molly was in the fields chasing the twinkling lights. Basking in love that sprinkled between the blades of grass and twirled through the breeze. I didn’t say goodbye that day, but I did embrace my present life. And I no longer looked at Clara as a reminder of what I’d lost. It was a hard place in my broken heart to find, but once I found the part that could both love and mourn—side by side—I became a better version of myself. Certainly, a stronger one.
The nights were still difficult, and most days, I felt like a zombie, but Easton was marvelous at picking up the pieces that I either dropped or no longer could carry. When he and Tanner graduated from the police academy, I knew our lives would take yet another turn. I was happy for him, but it didn’t make the long hours any less lonely. Easton always said that he wanted to make an honest living, and with a family
by his side, he said it was finally time. On the other hand, I was perfectly fine making ends meet in any which way he knew how. I hadn’t married him to change him after all. I married him because I couldn’t live without him. And some days, it felt like I was.
I’m sure it was hard for anyone to put their life on hold to raise a child. But when you knew that your life would never end, it’s a different kind of hard. Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t give it up for the world. I wouldn’t. But I just wished Clara would talk or something. Some days I would get so sick of hearing my voice I’d have to turn on the music to drown myself out. Or worse, call my mother. Sometimes she would come stay with us, and normally that would be too much for me, but now I welcomed the company. I needed to be seen and heard. My mom did that for me, and after some time, we became friends in a way we never had before. She talked about the divorce a lot, and I talked about losing my identity. It seems we both didn’t know who we were anymore, and simply knowing that I wasn’t alone made me feel better.
A new pastime of mine had become watching the neighbors. I had three particularly sneaky spots around the house that I would spy from; the front window, the mailbox—which had a better view down the street—and the backyard. However, the backyard was better suited for listening. The old lady down the street—I named her Nancy—went missing for a week. When she finally returned, she was in a wheelchair. I think it was a heart issue, but Easton has his money on a stroke. And the neighbors next door fight all the time. He hides the fact that he smokes cigarettes, and he usually sneaks out back after they fight for a nicotine fix.
The neighbors weren’t my friends, but they were a nice supplement to keep my mind busy. Of course, Brooklyn was still my best friend several years later, but she and Tanner had become quite serious, and they started spending more time by themselves. They announced they would move in together on Clara’s second birthday. I tried to help her move, but Clara made more of a mess than I could help pack and ultimately, we had to leave early so Brooklyn could get proper work done. More often than not, I felt more of a burden than a friend, and I longed for the days when she enjoyed my company again.
The Kindred Soul of Nora Faye: The Tethered Soul Series, Book 3 Page 15