What We Carry

by Kalyn Fogarty

  “What now?” he asked, still holding my hand.

  A nurse stood at the foot of the bed, the doctor already gone. “We can bring him in here for you to say good-bye,” she offered. He.

  “It was a boy?” I asked, the words stilted and slow, the first I’d spoken in hours. Earlier in the day we’d been excited to learn the sex of the baby. I’d never imagined this was how we’d find out. Filled with a sudden rage, I wanted to scream at the nurse, at Owen, at anyone who’d listen. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. This wasn’t fair.

  “He was a boy,” Owen murmured. He stumbled backward into the chair before his legs gave out. Dropping his head into his hands, he cried so hard his shoulders shook with each sob. It seemed he hadn’t run out of tears after all. “Yes, we’d like to see him, please,” he said, polite even in his agony.

  A few minutes later the nurse returned and placed my son in the palms of my hands. His eyes were closed, a small fluttering of black lashes laid against his cheeks. I studied his perfect button nose and pouted lips. A blue hat covered his head. Someone had wrapped a white layette made from satin and lace around his body like a shroud. If I hadn’t known better, I would have thought he was only sleeping. But he was too cold. Too blue.

  “I’ll leave you alone for a few minutes. Some parents like to take a picture to remember,” the nurse added. “Just buzz me when you’re ready.”

  My son was both bigger and smaller than I’d imagined. One app had likened a twenty-week-old fetus to a banana, but he was nothing like a fruit. My baby was seven inches long and weighed twelve ounces. A hint of straight and stern eyebrows framed his closed eyes. Eyebrows like his daddy’s. With my fingertips, I stroked his small hands, ten perfectly formed fingers closed over each other as if in prayer. Owen reached down and grazed his own finger across our baby’s smooth forehead, gently pushing back the hat to reveal reddish-blond hair so soft it was like touching a whisper.

  “Do you want me to take a picture?” Owen asked, reaching into his pocket for his phone.

  It took me a moment to answer. I couldn’t bring myself to take my eyes off my baby. I memorized his face. Holding him closer to my heart, I wished I could put him back inside me.

  “No,” I said at last. “I’ll always remember him.” Lifting him to my mouth, I kissed his porcelain cheek, my lips burning against the cool expanse. “I don’t need a picture.”

  Owen nodded, and I moved over to let him sit next to me on the narrow hospital bed. When I passed him into Owen’s big hands, he looked even smaller. Owen cradled him in his callused palm, his thumb stroking his shrouded shoulder. “Me neither,” he agreed, reaching over and kissing me on the forehead. We lay together in silence for a few more minutes, neither of us sure how to say good-bye.

  ♦   8   ♦

  OWEN

  Before

  March 17

  I’D KNOWN BETTER THAN to trust the damn groundhog, but here I was, fooled again. In my defense, the last ten days had been tropical for March in New England, with temperatures near fifty degrees midday and never dipping below freezing at night. Dad always swore March roared in like a lion and out like a lamb, but this year’s gentle start had been a ruse and we might roar our way right into April.

  To make matters worse, I’d woken up to Cassidy’s phone ringing with the first of what would surely be many emergency calls. Even though I was still uncertain exactly what it means when a horse colicked, I was fairly certain that whoever coined the phrase healthy as a horse had never met one. From my experience as a veterinarian’s husband, those enormous animals got a tummy ache at the drop of a hat, and something as simple as the weather was always a factor.

  Cass had kissed my forehead before tiptoeing downstairs early this morning. Careful not to wake me, she didn’t even turn on the light as she threw on her work clothes in the pitch-blackness of dawn. I waited until I heard the familiar sound of her SUV tires crunching over gravel as she reversed out of the drive before jumping out of bed. It was never clear how long she’d be out on calls, but I figured I had at least two hours. While brushing my teeth, I was plagued with a wave of doubt but convinced myself waiting wasn’t an option.

  I’d gone over my schedule in painstaking detail and determined I could spare the manpower right now. The weather was always a gamble, but I hoped to finish the exterior renovation before March turned on me again. The sudden drop in temperature gave me a second’s pause, but the forecast promised a few more days of lamb weather before the lion roared his ugly head. Better to start now than risk pushing it to the back burner, where it would stay for the next five years.

  Despite the chill in the air, it was a beautiful day to be working outside. The sky was that special shade of blue you only saw when the air was a little too cold and the sun was huge and bright but still too far away to warm you. A few of my guys had offered to help, but since we were heading into the busy season, I needed them rested and eager. Today was only setting up; the real construction wouldn’t start until Monday.

  Bob Seger’s raspy voice singing through my earbuds quieted the anxious voice nagging in the back of my head. For the hundredth time, I reminded myself that Cassidy would love the renovation. Sure, it had been a while since we’d discussed it, but she’d been sincerely excited when I showed her the blueprints a month or so back. With all the craziness of doctor’s appointments and morning sickness, it was normal to be distracted. That didn’t mean she’d changed her mind. Distracted, that was it. The kitchen would be off-limits for a few weeks, but she’d never complained about ordering takeout before. Apprehension swirled in my gut, despite my careful planning. Cassidy hated surprises, but this was a happy surprise, right?

  * * *

  “Owen!” she yelled again, annoyance and cold painting each cheek a rosy pink. Cassidy stood in front of me, hands on her hips, lips pressed together in a thin line. Clearly, she’d been screaming my name for some time. Pulling my earphones out, I wiped my hair out of my face with a gloved hand.

  “Morning, babe,” I said, giving her my best million-dollar smile. She didn’t look amused. Her eyes flitted around the yard, taking inventory of the sawhorses and tools strewn around the patio.

  She opened her mouth like she might yell again but closed it and pinched the bridge of her nose with two fingers, a clear signal she was fighting a headache. Since she’d found out she was pregnant, her migraines had gotten worse. Hormones, she’d explained. “You okay?” I asked, hopeful it was the morning sickness causing her distress.

  “Well, no, not really,” she said, shaking her head. “But that’s beside the point. What are you doing?” she asked.

  I pushed the goggles back from my face and used them to hold my shaggy curls out of my eyes. Cassidy’s eyes softened, igniting a flicker of hope inside me. “I thought I’d get started on the addition,” I answered, pulling off my gloves and setting them on the makeshift workbench before handing her the rolled-up piece of paper from my back pocket. She looked it over, but her face remained unreadable. “Remember?” She nodded, still unimpressed. The paper folded back up into itself as she handed it back to me. Not the reaction I’d hoped for.

  She sighed, and my stomach dropped. A husband learned his wife’s sounds, and I knew what that sigh meant. “Do you really think now is the best time to start this?”

  Clenching my teeth, I bit back the quick-tempered response that rose to my tongue. I hated that tone. She usually reserved it for her mother, but I’d been on the receiving end enough times to recognize it at once.

  “Now is the perfect time to start. We’ve been talking about doing this for ages,” I said, standing a little straighter. “And we could use the extra space with the baby coming.”

  Cassidy sighed again and dropped her chin to her chest, rolling her neck from side to side. “Can we talk about this inside? I’m freezing,” she said, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Neither of us moved toward the door. If I followed her inside, it was all over. Sensing my hesitati
on, she continued, “This is just too much to take on right now. You have the Bourne job coming up, and I’m exhausted. I can’t deal with your guys ripping apart my kitchen too.” She blew on her hands and waited for me to respond, but I stayed silent.

  “Plus, we need to save money now. Who knows what I’m going to do about work once the baby’s here.” Childcare had always been a point of contention between us, even though I was fully aware that Cassidy intended to continue working full-time after children. She loved her job, and it paid well. Still, she acted as though no one in the history of parenthood had made such an arrangement work. Eventually we’d stopped discussing it. I guess we both hoped it would work itself out when the time came.

  “There will never be a good time to do it,” I argued, hoping my voice didn’t reveal the desperation I felt. Did she really think I hadn’t thought of all this, that I’d woken up one morning and decided to bust holes in our walls with no forethought? Looking at her expressionless face, I thought maybe she did think so little of me. “I will always have a job that gets in the way. You’re pregnant now, but it won’t be any easier once the baby’s born.”

  I’d already lost her. She looked toward the house, not listening to a word I was saying. I might as well be talking to the sawhorse. This argument was over before it started.

  “I get what you’re saying,” she said, stepping toward me with her green eyes shining. “I’m just so overwhelmed.” Cassidy rarely let the curtain fall back from her carefully guarded emotions. Either her sudden vulnerability was an act, or pregnancy hormones had softened her. No matter. I wasn’t the guy who’d keep fighting until my pregnant wife cried.

  “You won’t have to do anything. I’ll handle it all.” Arguing at this point was useless, but I had to give it one last shot. She looked up at me, biting her lip. I sighed my own particular sigh, the sigh of defeat. “But if you really want to wait, I guess we can plan for after the Bourne job …”

  Instantly her face changed, and relief spread across it in a smile. “I think that’s best,” she said, wrapping her arms around my neck and kissing my cheek, rough with weekend stubble. “Thank you for listening to me.”

  Pulling from her embrace, I flipped the goggles back down over my face to shield myself from her gaze. “Get warm. I’m going to clean up, then head to the office to finish up some paperwork,” I said, bending and picking up a piece of wood before throwing it onto the makeshift table, causing a hammer to fall to the grass.

  She cocked her head as though she might argue but thought better of it. Cassidy always knew to quit while she was ahead. “Okay, I’ll see you for lunch?” she asked, furrowing her brow.

  “Sure,” I said, managing a thin smile that seemed to satisfy her. As she headed back toward the house, I popped my earbuds back in and let the Moody Blues croon. My shoulders sagged as I looked around the yard, then started picking up the tools scattered in the grass. Disappointment replaced my anxiety, and I wasn’t sure which was worse. Again I was stuck waiting for the right time to be the right time. Seemed like it would always be not quite right.

  My mind distracted, the saw I held slipped from my grasp and landed squarely on my other thumb. Pain, quick and hot, seared through my body, and I cursed out loud. The pain faded to a warm throb as I stood there staring at our unfinished patio, letting the tears fall inside my goggles.

  ♦   9   ♦

  CASSIDY

  After

  May 23

  OWEN TAPS THE STEERING wheel in time with the radio, and it’s driving me crazy. Normally, I’d be singing along. He’s even changed the station to an old-school country tune he knows I like, even though he despises country music. This small kindness keeps me from snapping at him to stop. Just stop. Not just the tapping but the furtive glances he shoots in my direction as though he’s scared I might open the door and throw myself into traffic.

  I stroke my empty stomach, trying to remember how it felt yesterday when my son was still inside me. It should feel different, but it doesn’t. I push and prod my slightly soft midsection, but it feels exactly the same as yesterday and the day before that and the day before that. It isn’t fair. Maybe I’d feel better if there was physical proof my baby is gone. A gaping hole, blood and guts spewing every which way, or a jagged scar seems appropriate. Instead, my stomach is the same rounded mound, only now it’s empty.

  My baby had only just began kicking before he was gone forever. I think back to the first time I felt it, just a gentle tap from the inside, a little nudge that might’ve been mistaken for gas or indigestion. Since he was still so small, the kicks were sporadic. Some days I was hardly aware he moved at all. Now I wish I’d memorized each little punch, held my hand against my stomach to feel the tiny weight of each push.

  Ironically, I feel every twinge and pull now that he’s gone—my uterus contracting back to its normal size, according to the discharge papers. Biting back tears, I hate myself for ignoring the expanding glory of my body as it was happening. I took the miracle of pregnancy for granted and even complained about the discomfort it caused me. Feeling my womb deflate is a special form of torture.

  Owen glances at me again. Thankfully, he’s stopped tapping. We should talk about it, but I let the radio fill the silence between us instead. I don’t know what comes next. Maybe I should Google what to do the afternoon after losing your child. I’m sure someone on the internet has written an article on it.

  Ignoring his scrutiny, I stare out the window. In the last thirty-six hours, it’s rained, and the trees still glisten with dew. Everything is green, so alive and earthy. Unlike me. I close my eyes and rest my temple against the cool window, shutting out the bright spring sun.

  The test was positive. No doubt as to whether it was an evaporation line or an actual pink line this time. It was bright and stark against the white window. With shaking hands, I’d peed on the expensive digital test I’d saved for such a time. I didn’t even have to wait the full three minutes. PREGNANT popped up almost instantly. Tears stung the corners of my eyes. I’d been waiting for this for so long that I should have been overjoyed. Still, I couldn’t shake the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. I wrapped both tests in tissue and shoved them to the back of the towel shelf. Out of sight, out of mind.

  We hit a pothole and I bite my tongue, the hot copper taste of blood filling my mouth. “Did this happen because we didn’t want him?” I whisper, my voice raw and cracked from disuse.

  Owen grips the wheel tighter with both hands. “Of course we wanted him,” he says, trying to catch my eye, but I continue staring straight ahead. “What are you talking about?”

  I was afraid to tell Owen about the test. We were finally in a good place, making plans for the future and acting more like ourselves than we had in years. He’d asked me to wait and here we were, not even three months since having that conversation, and I was pregnant. He wouldn’t believe me if I said it hadn’t been part of some grand plan the whole time. I wasn’t even sure I believed me.

  “Nothing,” I mutter. It’s a crazy thought. We wanted a baby. We always wanted a baby. Until we wanted to wait. “Maybe we didn’t want him enough,” I say, finally turning toward him. If only our son knew how much I wanted him now. I want him more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my entire life. Maybe this is the problem. Maybe I want him more now that he’s gone.

  Without signaling, Owen pulls the car over to the shoulder of the road. “Don’t,” he says, taking my limp hand in his. He shakes it, like he’s trying to shake the life back into me. “We wanted him, and we loved him.” He looks at me, blue eyes watering. “This isn’t our fault,” he says firmly. I shake my head, wanting it to be the truth.

  “Are you mad?” I asked. For a split second something flashed across his face, but it was gone before I could define it. He lifted me off my feet, hugging me close.

  “Mad? Why would I be mad?” he said, mouth against my ear. “This is everything we ever wanted.” I leaned into his chest and listened
to his heart as it fluttered wildly. I’d dreamed about this moment, obsessed over it, planned for it. Why was I so scared?

  “Cass,” he says, and my attention snaps back toward him. “This isn’t your fault.”

  A million what-ifs and could’ve/should’ves run through my mind. Was it the wine I drank before I knew I was pregnant? Did I push too hard at work? Should I have stopped drinking coffee? Selfishly I insisted on still drinking my one cup a day, despite the potential risks. I failed our son in one big way or many little ways, and there’s nothing I can do to fix it now.

  “I don’t understand why this happened,” I moan. “It’s not fair.”

  Owen sighs. “No, it’s not.” He turns to me and strokes my cheek. “But everything …”

  I jerk my head up and pull away from him. “Don’t,” I say, shaking my head. “I don’t want to hear it from you too. I hate that fucking expression.” I pick at a loose thread on the sleeve of my gray sweater. It unravels, and I pull harder. “Everything happens for a reason,” I mock. “What the hell does that even mean?”

  Owen settles back behind the wheel, refusing to engage. He puts the truck back in gear, and the tick of the turn signal fills the car. “I don’t know, Cass.” He pulls onto the road. “It’s just something people say.”

  “It’s bullshit,” I mutter. The thread of the sweater loosens up other threads. Soon the entire thing will come undone. It’s my favorite; now it’s ruined.

  * * *

  It’s been seven years and I still haven’t gotten my wedding dress cleaned and preserved. After the wedding, I meant to take it to the dry cleaner in town but kept forgetting. It hung in the dining room for two weeks before Owen dragged it up the two flights of stairs to the old attic. A compulsive neat freak, he couldn’t stomach seeing it hanging there day after day. When I finally noticed it was missing, he promised to retrieve it whenever I was ready to take it to the cleaners. It’s been collecting dust ever since.