by Davis, L. G.
She eventually fell asleep, and I slid out of bed and tiptoed to the bathroom, where I opened the medicine cabinet. There was quite a collection of pills inside, some prescribed to me when I was discharged from hospital and some from before. Pain meds, anxiety meds, sleeping pills.
I picked up the white bottle of sleeping pills and poured the little balls into the palm of my hand. A teardrop dripped from my eye and plopped onto one of them, turning it a few shades darker.
Moving on was too terrifying. Where would I even start? It would be so easy to let go, to call it quits.
I tipped my head back, tossed the chalky pills into my mouth, and poured myself a glass of water. After swallowing the pills, I sat cross-legged on the bathroom floor and waited for them to work, to take me away to a place where it wouldn’t hurt so much.
It felt like hours until something happened, then the pills started to do what they were supposed to do. I closed my eyes, hoping it would be for the last time.
My wish didn’t come true.
I woke up in the hospital, getting my stomach pumped. Sydney had come looking for me and managed to unlock the bathroom door. She immediately called 911, and the paramedics saved my life—a life I did not want to live.
Twenty-Four
Present
My hands shake as I dial Marcia’s number.
A man answers the call, a familiar voice.
“Clayton?” I pull the phone from my ear and glance at the screen. I had called him by mistake. “I’m so sorry. I was calling Marcia.”
“Grace, are you okay?” he asks. “You sound like you’re crying.”
“I’m...” I stammer. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. I can hear it in your voice. Come on, tell me what happened.” The gentleness in his voice soothes me.
I contemplate whether to talk to him about something so personal.
“Are you in pain?” he asks. A shuffling sound on his end signals he’s probably trying to sit up in bed. “You can tell me anything.”
“I had spotting,” I blurt out.
He lets out a harsh breath. “Spotting.”
“Yeah. That’s when—”
“You don’t have to explain it to me. I had a pregnant wife once.” I’m grateful for that because the last thing I want to do is go into detail.
“Do you feel any pain?” he asks again.
“Not really. Not anymore. I felt cramping earlier. When I went to the bathroom, that’s when I saw it.”
“Was it a lot?”
“It was enough to scare the hell out of me.” I slide out of bed and use my free hand to remove my night dress. “I’m going to the hospital, just in case.”
“That’s a good idea. Will Marcia or Travis take you?”
I walk into the closet and pull out a pair of jeans from the shelf. “They’re not home. They’re attending their baby shower at the Sawyer Hotel.”
Marcia asked me if I wanted to go to the shower with them, but I refused. It would be way too awkward for me, and I liked the idea of being home by myself.
One other reason I refused to go is Agnes. They wouldn’t have a party where she’s staying and not invite her. That would stir up more trouble. Travis had not wanted to go to the party, and kept repeating that baby showers were for women only, but Marcia insisted.
“Are you thinking of driving yourself to the hospital?” Clayton asks.
“Sure. It’s not far from here.”
“No, you’re not going alone. I’ll come and get you.”
“It’s really not a big deal.” I struggle to get into my jeans with one hand. “I’m not in pain, but I don’t want to take chances.”
“That’s smart, but I don’t think you should drive yourself.”
“Then I’ll take a cab.”
“Taxis in Wellice don’t operate after midnight.” He’s in the bathroom or kitchen. I can hear the sound of running water. “Stay where you are, Grace. I’ll be there in twenty minutes max. My mother is here to take care of Heidi.”
“Thank you, Clayton.”
The only reason I agree to his offer is because I’m terrified of being alone. What if I receive bad news and there’s no one there to comfort me? I could insist on calling Marcia and Travis, but I don’t want to worry them, especially on the day they’re celebrating the upcoming birth of their child.
Clayton arrives twenty-five minutes after we speak on the phone.
“You really didn’t have to do this.” I buckle my seatbelt.
The interior of his car smells like mint chewing gum and fresh coffee. The scent is coming from a half-empty plastic cup of coffee in the cup holder.
“I know.” He glances over his shoulder as he backs out of the driveway. “But I want to.”
I look out the window, turning away from him. I don’t want him to see the tears in my eyes, tears of gratitude. The fact that he would get up in the middle of the night to come and help me means more to me than he could ever imagine.
“Tell me about the baby shower.”
“Are you trying to distract me?”
“Maybe.” His laughter ripples through the air. “I’m also curious. Why aren’t you there?”
“Marcia wanted me to go, but I refused. I don’t want to divert the attention from her. She’s the mother.”
“I get that.” He touches my arm. “I’m glad you called me.”
I blink away the tears and look at his side profile. “I didn’t mean to. I wanted to call Marcia, but I called you by mistake.”
What if he thinks I’m lying? I don’t want him thinking I’m after him. That’s definitely not the case. He’s a great guy, and I’d be lying if I said I don’t find him attractive, but it’s much easier to remain friends.
“Well, I’m glad you called me by mistake.”
I laugh in spite of myself, then stiffen when pressure builds in my stomach.
“Are you okay?” Clayton asks, throwing a glance at me.
“I think so. My stomach just went hard.”
“Braxton-Hicks contractions, huh?”
I look at him in disbelief. “What don’t you know about pregnancy?”
“Not much. When my wife was pregnant, I wanted to be fully involved in the whole process. It wouldn’t have been fair for her to do it all on her own. So, I read all the books and watched all the videos. I’m glad I did.” He threw a glance my way. “If I remember correctly, Braxton-Hicks are often harmless. I’m sure the baby’s fine.”
“I hope so.” This cannot go wrong, not so close to the due date. Surely, fate wouldn’t be that cruel.
When we pull into the hospital parking lot, Clayton comes to open my door and helps me out. But my stomach has hardened again. I ask him to wait a few seconds until the discomfort passes. When it finally does, he escorts me through the automatic doors into the hospital.
From the outside, we might look like we’re together, a happy couple expecting a child. They would never guess that we’re only two people trying to heal together. Nothing more.
Then why am I so flustered around him? It’s a warm night, sure, but what I feel has little to do with the weather.
A doctor agrees to see me immediately. A few minutes later, the checkup is done, and I’m waiting for her to tell me the results. But she’s typing something on her computer, her expression too serious.
Without warning, my mind goes back to the day I swallowed the pills. What if something goes wrong? Will I be tempted to escape the pain again?
The doctor looks back at me and her face breaks into a warm smile. “The baby is fine. Many women experience spotting from time to time, especially when they’re stressed or dehydrated. It doesn’t have to be cause for concern. But it’s good you came in.”
“Thank God everything is fine.” Clayton pulls me into a quick hug when I return to the waiting room and tell him the news. He didn’t feel it was right for him to come into the examination room with me.
Overwhelmed with relief, I sit down next to him, co
ver my face with my hands, and allow the tears to fall. I had no idea how worried I was.
He doesn’t speak as he puts his hand on my upper back, rubbing in circles until I stop crying.
“Why does this mean so much to you?” he asks. “I get the feeling it’s personal.” If he knew I’m doing it for free, he would be even more convinced that it is personal.
I look at him with sore eyes. He’s my only friend in this town, and he dropped everything to be by my side. How could I not tell him the truth?
“My twin sister died during childbirth. She had a stroke, and her baby didn’t make it.”
“Jesus.” Clayton’s hand claps his mouth. “That’s terrible. I’m so sorry to hear that.”
“A few months before that, she and her husband, Peter, asked me to be their surrogate. I said yes, but then I changed my mind.” I stare my hands, clasping them together to stop them from shaking. “If I had gone through with it, Rachel would not have gotten pregnant again. She would not have died.”
“That’s why you’re doing this?” Clayton’s voice is low against my ear as he puts an arm around me, pulling me close. “Because you feel responsible?”
“Don’t. Please, don’t tell me it’s not my fault.”
“Okay, I won’t. But that doesn’t mean I’m not thinking it.”
He holds me a while longer, the silence between us filled in by the sounds of hospital staff being paged over the intercom. When the woman sitting opposite us starts to cough and sneeze uncontrollably, we stand up to leave.
Just as well. I’m not a fan of hospitals. They take me back to a dark place.
In the car, he turns to me. “How’s your sister’s husband? It must have hit him hard.”
My chest tightens. “It did. He couldn’t cope. So, he… he ended his life.”
“What the—”
“Now you understand, don’t you?” I lean back my head and stare through the window at the other parked cars. A man is pulling a folded wheelchair out of the trunk. Then he helps an old woman into it.
Clayton puts a hand on my cheek and turns me to face him. His eyes are glistening.
“You need to stop punishing yourself.” He leans into my direction and brushes his lips with mine, barely. “You deserve to be happy,” he whispers against my lips, then pulls away. “Give yourself permission to be.”
Not a kiss, not really, but it still sends my senses spinning out of control.
The engine of the car springs to life. The sound brings me back to reality. What am I doing? Why am I letting down my guard? Clayton and I can’t work. I’m too complicated. He needs someone who has her emotions under control. Someone who knows where her life is headed. I’m neither of those things.
We drive back to the Thorpes’ in silence. The driveway is still empty. Marcia and Travis are still not back. Maybe they’re spending the night at the hotel.
“Thanks, Clayton. I’m sorry you had to come all the way out here because of a false alarm.”
“Call me if it happens again.” He cups my chin with his hand. “I mean it. I’m always here if you need me.”
“Why are you doing this?” I ask. “Why are you helping me?”
“You’re doing something good for other people. You need someone to take care of you.” He pauses. “I’m not at the café tomorrow, but feel free to drop by the house any time.”
“After what happened tonight, it might be a good idea for me to stay in.” In fact, he won’t see much of me from now on. I plan on taking it easy the next few days before the baby comes.
“You’re right. I’ll see you around. Let me know if the baby decides to come ahead of schedule.”
“I will.” I open the car and step out.
As soon as I’m indoors, I call Sydney. I need to speak to someone, and I don’t have other friends to call.
“There’s something I need to tell you,” I say when she picks up.
“Something good, I hope.”
“Something complicated.” I lean against the pillows.
“Does it have to do with the baby?”
I could tell her what happened, but since there’s nothing to worry about, there’s no need. I’m actually glad that Marcia and Travis are not home. They don’t need to know either.
“No,” I say. “The baby is fine.”
“Then spit it out, woman,” she pushes. “Hang on a second. Is this about a boy?”
I laugh. “It’s about a friend.”
“A boy-friend? Grace, have you met someone out there?”
“We’re just friends. We’ve been hanging out, that’s all. He’s been showing me around town.”
“Oh, my goodness. That’s great. It’s time you start dating again.”
I haven’t dated anyone since Chad and I broke up. And when Rachel died, I had other things to think about than men.
“I’m not dating him.” I shrug. “It’s complicated.”
“It always is, isn’t it? Tell me about him. Pretend it’s an ad for a dating site.”
“Tall, dark, and handsome, lawyer and widower in his late thirties with an adorable five-year-old daughter.”
“Aha! I get now why that might be complicated. He’s got a broken heart too.”
“Something like that. And then there’s me and my baggage.”
I’m not even sure why I’m telling Sydney about Clayton. The fact that he almost kissed me doesn’t mean he’s interested.
“What does he think about what you’re doing for the Thorpes?”
“He thinks it’s wonderful, actually.”
“Well, that’s a few points for him. He’s not another Chad.”
“Definitely not.” There’s nothing similar about the two men at all.
“I think you should let down your guard and see where this takes you.”
“You know what? Let’s talk about something else.”
Sydney laughs but doesn’t object as she fills me in on her travel plans. But my mind is still on Clayton and the kiss we almost shared.
Stop it, Grace. Just stop.
What I need to do is wait until the baby comes before thinking about any kind of romantic relationship with anyone.
Twenty-Five
Past
After Peter took his own life, my free time was spent reading tragic online stories about women who lost babies, and sometimes their own lives, in childbirth. It was the best way I found to torture myself during the weeks and months after I was discharged from hospital following my own suicide attempt.
I didn’t have anything better to do with my life.
Since losing my high-paying job, I had managed to hold on to some pieces of my life, living on nothing but my savings. Then Peter died and what was left of my life went up in smoke. I lost my house, my car, and myself.
Finding a job at another big magazine was impossible. Roman had been so bitter that he dragged my name through the mud. I did manage to get a crappy, low-paying job at a weekly newspaper, but I just couldn’t hold on to it.
My savings were dwindling, and if it weren’t for Sydney begging her sister to give me a part-time job at Dear Blooms, a year ago, I’d have no source of income.
In addition to finding me a job, Sydney also convinced me to move in with her and her family while I searched for a new place. I had the feeling she wanted to keep an eye on me, to make sure I didn’t do something stupid again.
What she didn’t know was the extend of my emotional wreckage. She had no idea of what I did when I was home alone with my laptop. Working at the flower shop three days a week meant I had a lot of time on my hands. I searched for ways to ease the pain, but I ended up inflicting even more pain on myself.
I was sitting at Sydney’s kitchen table, my laptop in front of me. Her husband, Jeff, a firefighter, and their two daughters had left the house for school and work. Sydney would also step out any minute.
“What are you up to?” she asked when she walked into the kitchen. Dressed in an ivory sheath dress and cropped jacket, she loo
ked elegant and powerful, ready to sell homes as one of the top real estate agents in Miami. I felt a sting when I remembered the days I dressed up to go to a high-powered job.
“Looking for a job,” I lied. My computer was turned away from her, so she couldn’t see what I was up to.
Working at Dear Blooms was only supposed to be temporary, but the thought of going back to being a magazine editor made me feel exhausted. I didn’t have the energy or the mental space to do any type of work, let alone one that required so much responsibility.
I was well aware that Camille complained about me to Sydney. I eavesdropped on one of their phone conversations and heard her tell Sydney that I was lazy and disengaged. She was right. I knew she only gave me the job as a favor to her sister.
There was really no point in me looking for a job. In the state I was in, no one would give me one. I had gone for a job interview at a small magazine the previous month, and halfway through the interview, I burst out crying. How would I ever hold down a job when I couldn’t even control my emotions?
Even though I was not actively looking for a job, I spent many hours on the computer trying to convince Sydney that I was doing what she thought I was doing.
“Are you scheduled for therapy this week?” she asked, taking a sip of hot coffee, the steam rising up to her face.
“Sorry, what did you say?”
I heard exactly what she said, but I needed a moment to come up with a convincing response. There was no way I was going to tell her that I stopped going to a therapist a month ago. All he did was dig up the past by making me repeat the painful moments of my life. I hated sharing my pain with a complete stranger who cared more about the money than my well-being, and that reserve of money got smaller every day.
“He’s on vacation this week,” I said, “but we have an appointment for next Wednesday.”
“Great,” Sydney said.
Please leave, I thought, and guilt gnawed at me. I shouldn’t be thinking like that, wishing her out of her own home. But when we were together, I felt like I was in a room with my mother, not my friend. I would be moving into my own place in three weeks, and I couldn’t wait to have my own space again. The small studio apartment would be a downgrade from my townhouse, but it was all I could afford.