Heart & Soul

by Nicole Williams

  She pinched at my arm then glided her pinkie along the seams of the muscles winding down my bicep and forearm. Her lightest, most simple touch could still trickle through me and chase away the fears and hurts and worries I didn’t even know I’d been carrying. She might have liked to consider herself rough around the edges, but she was the most gentle, soothing spirit I’d ever been around.

  “Okay, I get you want to help. I get you need to help,” she said, wrapping her fingers around my wrist. “But I’ve been thinking, and I’m confident I need to lay some additional ground rules.”

  “Additional ground rules?” I sighed; there’d been additions to the additions already. “What kind of additional ground rules?”

  Her hand went to her hip as the other, still wound around my wrist, tightened. “Ground rules that include you not trying to strap my watch on in the middle of us making love so you can make sure my heart rate isn’t nearing the danger zone.”

  I shifted the groceries in my hands. “That wasn’t what happened . . .”

  “No, because I grabbed the thing and threw it across the room before your fingers could curl around it.” She moved closer, an evil smile twisting into place. “Then I did that one thing that makes your forget your name, let alone some stupid watch reading my heart rate.”

  I felt a stupid smile creep into place as I remembered last night. “That’s a ground rule I can accept, but I might need a repeat just to make sure I can resist the temptation. Practice makes perfect, right?”

  Rowen’s gaze lowered to the bags, the skin between her eyebrows just barely creasing. “You’ve had no shortage of practice, that’s for sure.”

  When she bit her lip, that’s when the first alert in my mind went off.

  “What’s going on?” I asked, lowering my head so I could look into her eyes. She was far better than I was at hiding her emotions, but if I could get a good solid look in those eyes of hers, I could usually catch a hint at what was wrong. If had only taken me a few years to start to figure it out . . .

  “Jesse,” she said, the slightest of warnings in her tone.

  “Rowen.” I gave it right back to her, but she was already heading up the stairs.

  “If we keep bickering out here, the yogurt’s going to go bad,” she called back at me, pulling her keys out of her purse.

  “The threat of yogurt going bad isn’t going to make me drop this.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Delay, if you will,” I said, bounding up the stairs after her, “but I’m only giving you a few minutes. Five max.”

  She had the key in the lock and was shoving the door open when I leapt up the last couple of stairs. “Good thing I’m a pro at distracting you and rendering your brain into mush. Your intentions become putty in my hands when I turn on my feminine prowess and beguile you with my wanton passion.”

  I gave her a peculiar look. “You’ve been reading those books Lily sent you, haven’t you? The ones with the swoopy fonts, and oiled up men, and women looking ravished in their arms?”

  “The bodice-rippers?” She shut the door and followed me into the kitchen, which wasn’t far since our condo was about a coat closet larger than my attic bedroom at Willow Springs. “No, I could barely stomach the first page of the first one I picked up. What she sees in them, I don’t know, but I guess romance is kind of like everything else—everyone has a different cup of tea.”

  “And what’s your cup of tea?” I dropped the bags onto the kitchen counter and turned to face her.

  “You.” She pinched the brim of my hat and tugged it lower on my forehead. “You’re my cup of tea.”

  A grin worked into place on my face. When she saw it, she slid the bill of my hat down farther so it covered my eyes.

  “That might be the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me,” I said as I readjusted my hat back into place. Then I noticed the look on her face and recognized my poor choice of words. “I mean . . . that was the most edgy, spunky, rough-around-the-edges thing you’ve ever said to me.”

  She chuckled as she shook her head. “That’s two, Walker. One more, and you’re out.”

  “Out of what?”

  As she started sorting through the grocery bags, I slid up beside her to help. She seemed to be looking for something in them more than actually being concerned with putting the food away though.

  “Out of luck for getting laid tonight,” she said, pillaging through the next bag.

  “Ouch. My lips are sealed with that threat on the table. Consider me mute from now until we tumble into bed just in case I make another slip.”

  “Such a man,” she mumbled, tearing through the second bag.

  “Hey, let me help you before that vein in your forehead ruptures.”

  Her face was screwed tight with concentration. I reached into the third bag, which she hadn’t gotten to yet. The first thing my fingers curled around, I pulled out of the bag. I had to lift it up in front of my face and read what was written on the box three times before it processed.

  Beside me, a curse slipped past Rowen’s lips. “You found it. Thanks.”

  My eyes narrowed as I studied the rectangular box for a few more seconds, as if I was expecting the words to read something different the next time. “What’s this for?”

  Rowen’s shoulders fell as she shoved the grocery bags farther down the counter like they’d betrayed her. “I’m doing this new art show with fertility as the theme. Totally cutting edge. Avant-garde all the way. I thought using pregnancy tests as a medium would score me some creativity points in the ironic department.”

  When she reached for the box, I lifted it out of her reach. My forehead couldn’t have creased any deeper.

  “They’re for me, crazy,” she said, jumping to try to snag the box away from me. “What do you think they’re for?”

  I swallowed so hard I felt my Adam’s apple drop a foot before bobbing back into place. “Like, just to have for one day in the future, right? A just in case precaution? Not to use, as in, right now? Right?” How many rights could I fit in one breath?

  She let out a long sigh then, moving so quickly she caught me off guard, her fingers wrapped around the box and snatched it out of my grasp. She was halfway down the hall before I’d realized what had happened.

  “Rowen? What’s going on? Not a fan of being left in the dark. Especially when my wife shows up with a box of pregnancy tests when she absolutely, positively, most certainly could not be pregnant.”

  Before I could catch up to her, she disappeared into the bathroom and sealed the door. When I tried to open it, I found she’d locked it. I could already feel my heart in the back of my throat, but then I tasted it—the metallic, bitter taste of panic filling my mouth.

  “Yeah, that’s why I was hoping to beat you home,” she hollered. “So you wouldn’t need to go through any undue stress if this turns out to be nothing.”

  “If what turns out to be nothing?” I called back, hovering on the other side of the door. The last minute had happened so quickly, I couldn’t catch up to what was happening. What that box meant. What her disappearing behind the bathroom door with it meant. What her wanting to beat me home meant.

  “If I turn out to be pregnant.” Her voice wasn’t quite so loud now, but it hit me as if she’d just dropped a grenade in front of me.

  I had to take a couple of breaths before I could work up any sort of reply. “But we’re on, like, every form of birth control known to mankind.”

  “Every kind but one.”

  I heard what sounded like the box being ripped open, but I couldn’t be sure because everything from the time she’d said the word pregnant in reference to herself was a blur of total and utter confusion.

  “I don’t understand . . .” I said to her reply and everything that had happened in the last two and a half minutes.

  “Abstinence.”

  My face screwed together. “That’s barbaric.”

  “Well, you’re the one who broug
ht up the birth control subject.”

  I didn’t understand how she could sound so calm—so in control of her emotions. How could she go on acting and talking to me as if this was any old day, any old conversation, while she was taking a test to determine whether she was or wasn’t pregnant? Didn’t she understand what it meant if she was? Hadn’t she been sitting next to me while the doctor cautioned us to use every contraceptive measure possible until after the surgery? Hadn’t the ramifications and dangers computed in her head the way they had in mine? How could she talk to me as though her heart wasn’t about to burst out of her chest or her knees weren’t about to give out, like mine felt close to doing?

  “Rowen?” I knocked on the door and tried the door handle again. I didn’t like being on this side of the door when she was on the other side, having her future revealed to her alone. “Let me in. Please?”

  On the other side, there was silence.

  “Rowen?” My knocks turned to pounds as I imagined the worst—her passed out on the tile from taxing her heart from the bike ride or the stairs or the shock of finding out . . . “Rowen! Please. Open the door.”

  Another moment of silence. All I could hear was my heart beating in my ears before the door in front of me opened.

  She stuck out her head, and even though she was biting at her lip like crazy, she lifted her eyes to mine. “Do you want the good news or the bad news first?” She didn’t seem to blink as she watched me. “The good news, right?”

  “Usually, yeah,” I answered, focusing on her because she was the only thing in the room that wasn’t spinning. “But let’s switch it up today. Give me the bad news first.”

  Her teeth sank deeper into her lip. “We’re going to need to buy a new car.”

  I waited for her to add something. When it was clear she was waiting for me to say something else, I cleared my throat. “That’s not bad news. I’ve been trying to get you a mode of transportation that has four wheels instead of two wheels for years. What kind are you thinking?”

  Her head tilted as she gave me a curious look. I knew that look. It meant I wasn’t getting it.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I think a mini-van’s the no-brainer option, but maybe we could manage with a roomy sedan.”

  “A mini-van? I thought I’d see you in a pair of chaps before I’d see you in a mini-van.”

  Another look from her, this one even more pronounced. I really wasn’t getting it.

  “Along with that mini-van, we’ll need to grab a car seat, and one of those mirrors so the driver can see into the backseat, and a case or five of diapers, and probably those stick figure decals people display on their back windows because . . .” She lifted her hand. In it was clutched a white plastic stick with one end showing two pink lines. “Because baby makes three.”

  The air left my lungs in one quick rush . . . then what she said started to sink in. Two pink lines. Baby makes three. Car seats. Diapers. Was she saying? Was Rowen . . .?

  “Are you pregnant?” My voice didn’t sound like my own. It sounded like a stranger’s.

  She lifted another test stick into the air. Two pink lines on that one too. “Either I’m pregnant, or this company has got some serious quality control issues.”

  This time it didn’t just feel as if the air had been robbed from my lungs—it felt as if they’d collapsed in on themselves.

  “What’s the good news?” I asked, curling my fingers into her side. It was like she was already slipping away, and I would hold on for as long and as hard as I could.

  I couldn’t be sure, because it flashed across her face so quickly, but it looked as if pain flooded her eyes and lined her face. “The good news is that I’m pregnant, Jesse Walker. With our child. With your future son or daughter. Our baby is growing inside me right this very moment . . . which reminds me, I need to eat lunch.” She smiled, waiting for me to join her. When my face stayed a mask of shock and what I guessed was dismay, her smile disappeared. “You’re not taking the good news like I thought you would.”

  So much coming at me. Hit after hit after hit. As soon as I’d managed to regain my balance, the next assault came at me, reeling me back over. I was so turned upside down, I didn’t know if I was flat on my feet or on my back.

  “This isn’t good news, Rowen. Why are you expecting me to take this like it’s good news?” Every few words, I had to take a breath, but it didn’t seem to help. My lungs felt collapsed and shriveled and useless.

  She blinked. “How is our baby not good news? How can you imply that me being pregnant with our baby is anything but good news?”

  When she blinked again, a tear slipped out of the corner of her eye. I’d grown so accustomed to Rowen’s seeming inability to cry, I’d almost convinced myself that I’d imagined it until another tear slipped out of the corner of the same eye. She was crying, or she’d shed two tears, because of me. Because of what I’d said and how I was reacting to the news. It was enough to break through my shell of shock.

  Scrubbing at my face, I exhaled. “You’re asking me to celebrate something that might very well kill you. How can you expect me to look at this as good news?”

  Her face broke for a moment, then the resolve I was used to seeing carved in her expression took hold. Opening the door all of the way, she grabbed my hand and lowered it to her stomach. She slid it under her shirt and splayed my fingers against her skin, pressing it so firmly against her that I could feel her heartbeat thrumming against my palm from her belly button.

  “This isn’t about me right now, Jesse. This is about the living thing inside of me the two of us created.”

  My hand warmed from her skin. My heart started to slow to match her steady, rhythmic beat.

  “I know neither one of us would have chosen to have a baby right now, with everything going on with me and my troublemaker of a heart, but we don’t always get to choose the hand we’re dealt. All we can control is how we play that hand—from a place of fear or a place of hope.” Her fingers curled through mine, holding on to me as if she also felt the slipping away sensation and was doing everything to hang on. “I don’t know why I’m the one siding with hope and you seem to be siding with the other when our whole lives we’ve done the opposite, but I could really use you on my side with this. I could really, really use your support.” She moved closer, fitting her body into mine before wrapping an arm around me. Our hands stayed tied together and pressed against her stomach. “I’m scared too, you know? This is all coming at me as fast as it’s coming at you. I’m not refusing to admit this is dangerous and less than ideal and going to be a terrifying journey, but I’m choosing to let the good overshadow the bad. I won’t let what might happen rob me of everything wonderful that can and will happen as a result of this.”

  I found myself shaking my head when I knew I should have been nodding. She was saying everything that made sense and everything I’d say to her if things were different, but I couldn’t. Not with her life on the line. “You could die. Having this baby could kill you.”

  She looked at me with big searching eyes. “I won’t let the fear of dying take away the absolute wonder and joy of this tiny little life. I won’t let death take away the excitement of life.” Her hand around me pulled me closer. “Can you do that with me? Will you do this with me?”

  In one part of my head, I knew we were talking about Rowen and I having a baby. I knew that for most married, loving couples, this was the kind of news that inspired jumping around rooms and screaming before dialing phone numbers and screaming in family members’ ears. I knew that if Rowen was healthy and didn’t have a heart condition that could potentially kill her and I’d just found out about her being pregnant, I would have been so overwhelmed with amazement and joy that I would have been spinning Rowen around instead of clinging to her as though I was afraid someone was tugging her away from me. But I couldn’t get past the crippling horror and panic of this change bringing my wife face to face with the very real threat of losing her life. I couldn’t se
e past the great black tower of fear and dread to catch a glimpse of the light and peace on the other side.

  All I could think about was Rowen . . . and the possibility of her one day not existing. The possibility of being unable to pull her into my arms whenever I wanted or wake up in the dead of night and let her rhythmic breathing lull me back to sleep. She was woven into every part of my life, down to the last thread, and I couldn’t picture my life without her in it.

  It felt like half a lifetime had passed before I could say anything. “I’m scared.”

  Rowen lowered her head to my chest. My hand skimmed up her back and settled into the bend of her neck, holding her so close to my chest.

  “I am too,” she whispered into my shirt. “It’s okay. Be scared with me. But don’t forget to be happy too.”

  Happy? How could I be happy when I knew what this meant? Rowen. Her heart. It might not be able to handle the stresses of pregnancy. Rowen . . . was asking me to be happy with her. She was asking me to be happy with her for her. At the same time I knew that was impossible, I knew it was impossible not to give her what she needed.

  Squeezing my eyes shut, I forced all remnants of worry and images of death aside. She was waiting for my response, so I nodded. I would try to be happy too. No guarantees, but I’d try.

  “You’re going to be a dad.” Her words were muffled against my chest, but I heard the smile in her voice. I felt her smile in the air.

  I wanted to return the sentiment. You’re going to be a mom. But the first word stuck in my throat, making it impossible for the rest to follow. Instead, I somehow managed to pull her closer, trying to silence the question cycling through my head. Will that baby ever get a chance to know its mom?

  Three Months Later

  I’D BEEN STARING at her for so long, my eyes felt as if they were about to start watering. Blink, Jesse, I had to say to myself. It was all kinds of ridiculous that I had to remind myself to blink, but I’d found things that used to come instinctually weren’t so natural anymore and things that hadn’t come naturally were now hard-wired into my instincts.