A Moment for Us

by Corinne Michaels

  He moves his hand up my back, rubbing the tight muscles. “The doctor said she’d be in this morning to talk about everything.”

  “She did say that.”

  He sighs and then gets out of the bed. “Yeah, I know it doesn’t feel like it, but you’re going to be okay.”

  I move to my back so I can look at him. “No, it doesn’t feel that way. It feels worse. It feels like I’m pregnant and like I lost a baby. The life we envisioned has been ripped away, and I don’t understand why. I have no answers.”

  Josh takes my hand. “Because that’s what it is. We’ve lost a child, but we still have one, and we have no explanations other than it happens. I’m not really sure what the hell to feel either.”

  “I just keep trying to wrap my head around how what should’ve been a good appointment turned into this.”

  “Some of us just seem to be destined to suffer.”

  My eyes widen. “What does that mean?”

  “Nothing. It means nothing.” Only it doesn’t feel like nothing.

  “This isn’t your fault, you know that, right?”

  Josh lets go of my hand. “Yeah, I know that.”

  “Do you? Because if you’re telling me this isn’t my fault, and I’m the one who is pregnant, then it sure as fuck isn’t yours either.”

  Something in my stomach clenches because I can see something in his gaze. The way his eyes aren’t meeting mine.

  Then he comes back to me. His hand brushes my hair back, and he gives me a sad smile. “I love you, and you’re hurting, and I can’t fix it. I can’t help you feel better because I don’t have any fucking way to change things.”

  I wrap my fingers around his wrist. “We’re going to be okay.”

  He nods. “Eventually, we will. We’ll move on because that’s what happens after loss. We just . . . keep going forward.” Josh leans in, his lips touch my forehead. “I’m going to grab coffee, want some?”

  I shake my head, feeling unsettled. “No.”

  “No?” Josh asks.

  “I’m not . . . I don’t want it.”

  He’s quiet for a beat, and I turn to see if he’s still there. He watches me, concern etched on his beautiful face. “You don’t want coffee?”

  His tone causes me to wonder if I just imagined that exchange. Maybe he’s fine, and I’m reading into everything. God, I’m such a mess. I’m so sad and angry that I can’t think straight. Josh has been wonderful. He’s been by my side the entire time, holding me as I cried and never once pulled away. I’m just such a riot of emotions right now. I can’t unravel where one feeling starts and another begins. Each time I think I’m okay, I start sobbing again.

  I shake my head and let the truth slip out. “Not even coffee can soothe my broken heart today. Nothing can. I think I’m going to be a mess for a while.”

  The defeat in his eyes is heavy. “All right. Want me to send someone in to sit with you?”

  The last thing I want is another person consoling me. They have nothing to say that I want to hear. “No, I’ll be fine, I’m not a child.”

  “Well, I hope I’m excluded from that since you are my child,” my mother says from the doorway. I turn, instantly feeling the urge to cry again.

  “Mom.”

  She enters and rubs Josh’s arm. “I’m so sorry for you both. I came as soon as I heard.”

  Mom was visiting her friend in Charlotte, and we got in touch with her late last night. Josh pulls my mother in for a hug. “Thank you. We’re both . . . trying.”

  “That’s all you can do.”

  He looks to me and then at her. “I’m going to grab coffee. I’ll give you both some time together.”

  Mom nods once and then sits in the chair beside my bed. She doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t have to. My mother has always been able to test my mood and then do whatever I’ve needed.

  Her beautiful green eyes are filled with love and understanding. She has felt the pain I’m in. She was pregnant and lost that baby four weeks after my father died. “We gave her a name. The day before my appointment. We sort of agreed on what to name her. How stupid were we? So hopeful and thinking it would all be okay.”

  “And what name did you agree on?”

  “Gina.”

  My mother’s lip trembles and a tear falls, but she brushes it away quickly. “For your dad?”

  “Yes.”

  The warmth of my mother’s hand slides around my cold one. “I’m sure she would’ve been beautiful, like you.”

  “I don’t know how to feel,” I confess.

  “I know.”

  “I’m still pregnant and yet I’m not.”

  “I know.”

  I close my eyes. “I just want to cry.”

  Mom’s hand squeezes a little. “Then cry.”

  The permission that comes is freeing, but the tears don’t follow. I want them to come, to let myself drown in them. “I don’t have anything left.”

  I am struggling to come to terms with the reality of my life. How can I be both happy and utterly broken at the same time? It doesn’t make sense. My son kicks at that moment and I move my other hand there.

  “Your son still needs you, Delia,” my mother says, pulling my attention. “He is still in there, needing his momma to take care of things. You can be sad. You can be angry, but you still have a son who’s growing. I can’t imagine what you’re feeling. I know the devastation of losing a baby, but not when I was still pregnant like you are. I lost your father and that child within a few weeks. I was . . . well, devastated doesn’t begin to describe how I felt, but I had you. I had to get myself up and dressed to make sure you were cared for.”

  “You’re stronger than I am.”

  “Oh, sweet girl, I am definitely not. You saved me, Delia. You gave me a reason to go on with my life after feeling so lost. You’re in pain and things look bleak, but there is always light. Tomorrow, the sun will rise again, the birds will chirp, and you aren’t alone. You have Josh.”

  “He didn’t even want this. He didn’t want a family.”

  She shrugs. “He’s here.”

  “For now.”

  She sighs and then shifts a little. “Do you want him to stay?”

  I turn quickly. “Of course I do.”

  “Then don’t push him away. Lean on each other and let love heal you both.”

  That’s it, I’ve decided . . . no more tears. No more crying because my mother is right. I’m going to have a baby still, and I need to be strong. While it hurts and I’m sad, I have to grieve and prepare for the life that’s still growing inside me.

  I open my eyes to see Josh sitting in the chair. His head is down, resting in his hands, and it’s as if the weight of the world is on his shoulders. The last two days we’ve been quiet, both dealing with the loss in different ways but trying to be there for the other.

  He lifts his head and blinks a few times. “Hey.”

  “Hey.”

  “Did you sleep okay?”

  I shrug. “I guess. It’ll be nice to be back in my bed.”

  He sighs deeply. “I think we should ask the doctor to let you stay a few more days.”

  “Why?”

  “Because what if you need something?”

  “Then I’ll call her. I can’t stay here until I have the baby.”

  “I’m not saying for that long, but at least another week.”

  I shake my head. “I really want to be home. I’m tired, and I want to start moving on.”

  “What about the baby? You’re still pregnant.”

  “And I will still be pregnant at the house,” I say carefully because who knows if that’s true. I lost one baby already.

  Josh gets up, his hand gripping the back of his neck. “I just think, until we know about how this is going, that you should be here, where someone can monitor you at all times.”

  I move, sitting up straighter. “The doctor said last night that everything looks good and it would be better if I was home resting.”
>
  “That’s great, but I don’t see how. If we’re here, then we have a team ready to fix things. Here, we know that the baby is okay because that machine tells us it is.”

  My lip trembles, and I bite down, trying to get control of my emotions. I’m just as scared as he is, but I am trying to keep my cool. Once I feel like I can speak again, I try. “I don’t feel comfortable either, but we can’t stay here.”

  “I think we should ask again.”

  A few minutes later Dr. Locke enters.

  “Hi, Delia, I just went over your morning bloodwork and things are right where we want. No signs of infection or complications. We’ll continue to monitor you and the baby closely for the remainder of the pregnancy, but based on what I’m seeing, you’ll get to go home today.”

  “Why not just keep her?” Josh asks.

  “Keep her here?”

  “Yes, at least then she’s on the monitors.”

  Dr. Locke’s smile is full of understanding. “We can’t do that because she doesn’t require that level of care. There’s no medical reason to keep her. She will do much better when she’s at home and can be comfortable.”

  “How will I know if something is wrong with her?” His voice is clipped.

  “I understand the concerns you’re having. I can assure you that if I thought she or the baby were in any danger, we would have her stay here.” She turns back to me. “Your white blood cell counts are normal, and everything looks good. Going forward, we’ll be monitoring you weekly, and I want you on bed rest for at least a week,” Dr. Locke explains again.

  Josh starts to pace. “You’re asking us to go home and, what? Hope? How do we know if there’s an issue? We won’t. We’re just going to have to wait for things to happen and then hope to God we get help in time.”

  My chest tightens as I listen to him go on about what’s coming.

  Dr. Locke speaks before I can. “You’re nervous, and that’s okay, but we did another ultrasound yesterday, and the baby looks good. We can go over the things to watch for. My office is ten minutes from you and either me or Dr. Willbanks are always on call.”

  My hands are shaking as my heart begins to race. “I just . . . I can’t do this. I can’t be freaked out, and I’m trying not to be.”

  Josh clears his throat, and when he speaks, this time, his voice is calm. “I just want to protect her.”

  And I want him to relax because he’s freaking me the fuck out. “You can’t protect me, Josh. You can’t do anything to save this baby, just like I can’t. We have to be vigilant, but I can’t be afraid.”

  “You have both gone through a loss, and uncertainty is normal. I would be concerned if you weren’t at least a bit worried.” She heads over to Josh. “There are things you can watch out for. If she feels sick, vomiting, bleeding, decreased baby movement, we want you to call. Also, they make fetal heart monitors that you use at home. I want to warn you they aren’t always accurate, but if it brings you both some comfort, it could be worth the investment.” Josh pulls out his phone, and I would bet my ass he’s ordering one. She turns to me. “Being on bed rest is just a precaution, and after this week, we’ll evaluate if it’s still necessary. You’ll come in weekly so we can do bloodwork. I know you’re nervous, but your health and the baby’s health are my concern. If I believed either were in danger, you’d be staying here.”

  A shaky breath leaves my lungs. “Okay. Josh, please get the car so we can go home.”

  I can see that he’s reluctant, but he doesn’t fight me. He kisses the top of my head and then he and the doctor talk a little more, going over my discharge papers. When he leaves to get the car, I feel so alone and confused. All of this is too much for my heart.

  The fears he has are everything I’m not saying. Now, I’m worried that this will ruin him, us, and whatever is left of my heart.

  Chapter 36

  Joshua

  We pull up to the house after a very quiet car ride. I’m not sure what to say to her because I have no idea how to explain feelings that are completely irrational.

  Everything I worried about has become true. Delia is suffering because of me. Once again, I failed someone I was supposed to love and protect.

  One day, she’ll see it, and then, I’ll be left with nothing.

  “Josh?” she asks after a minute of me staring out the window.

  “Yeah?”

  “Are you okay? Are we okay?”

  I look at her, finding her brown eyes filled with tears and uncertainty. “I should be asking you that.”

  “You seem distant.”

  “I’m just thinking about everything.”

  She sighs. “Me too. I keep thinking this wasn’t real. That we didn’t just go through all this, but the loss of her is . . . it’s just . . .” Her voice cracks, and she starts to cry again. “I don’t know how I feel. We have him, and he needs us. But it’s not them or they anymore. I keep thinking about the twins, but now it’s just one. It’s crazy, right? I shouldn’t feel this way because it feels selfish. I’m at least still going to have a baby, but Celeste won’t.”

  Celeste was the woman in the room next to us. During Delia’s stay, we met her and her husband, who had told us this was her third loss.

  “You’re not selfish.”

  She cries harder. “God, I’m a mess!”

  I exit the car, moving around to her door and opening it. I pull her in my arms, holding her tight. She’s not a mess, she’s in pain. I don’t have the right words to say or anything to make this pain go away. All I can do is be here for her until she sees that it was me who caused this.

  “A mess or not, you’re still beautiful,” I tell her as I lean back.

  She shakes her head. “Don’t lie to me.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Well, I’m glad you think that, even if it’s not true.” Delia’s gaze moves to the front door. “I’m not ready to go inside.”

  “Why?”

  Her watery eyes find mine. “She had a home, Josh. She had a place for her.”

  The words slash against my soul, making everything ache. I should’ve thought about the nursery. The place where she was going to sleep next to her brother as the four of us built a life. A life that will never be.

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I failed you.”

  Delia wipes the tears away. “How did you fail me?”

  I love you. I love you and those babies, and I fucked it all up. Had I stayed away, allowed you to have a life free of me, it would’ve been different.

  “I just did.”

  Her hand slides against my cheek. “You didn’t fail me, Josh. You have been the only thing keeping me together.”

  I push against the words, the lie she’s clinging to because seeing the truth is too hard.

  “You are much stronger than that.”

  She laughs once, her head dropping. “I don’t feel that way. I want to scream and cry and throw things. I want this all to be a lie, but it’s not.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “So, now we move forward and try to find a way to get through the next few months.”

  I’m not sure that’s possible, but the hope in her voice makes me keep my mouth shut. Grief is an unending thing. People think you get through the stages, and then, at the end, you just move past it.

  That’s not how it works.

  It lives inside you always. A song, a scent, the whisper of the wind can bring it all back. In an instant, I’m there on that road, watching her drift away with the current. It creeps up on me, forcing me to see that moment over and over again. It may happen less often as the years have passed, but it still is there, waiting for the moment my guard is down.

  Like now.

  Losing our little girl was God’s way of telling me that I am unworthy of the life I was forging.

  I stand, extending my hand to her. “Then we go inside, and we begin finding a new future. One that isn’t what we thought it would be a few days ago.”

  Her hand moves to
her belly, and a wobbly smile pulls on her lips. “He just kicked in agreement.”

  “Glad he agrees.”

  Delia places her hand in mine, and I help her out of the car. We get to the front door to find baskets and coolers stacked up.

  “What is all this?” she asks.

  I grab the card, read it, and hand it to her.

  I lift the cooler and laugh softly. Mrs. Villafane and Mrs. Garner have cooked for the last three days. There’s food, cakes, breads, and pastries.

  “Those two women are the sweetest things,” Delia says as she peeks in the other basket. “I don’t think we have to cook for a month.”

  “And you have cake.”

  Delia smiles. “Come on, babe. Let’s go inside and eat cake on the couch and pretend that we aren’t breaking.”

  “That I can do.” I’ve perfected the art of pretending everything is okay when, clearly, it’s not.

  She may want to scream and cry, but I want to rage at the injustice of it all. I find love again, only to lose it.

  Chapter 37

  Delia

  I’m standing outside the nursery.

  My hand on the doorknob, trying to decide if I’m ready to go in. It’s still dark out, the morning sun hasn’t awoken yet, but I can’t sleep. My mind is racing, and fear has kept me restless.

  Josh is asleep, and since we got home six days ago, neither of us have had the desire to look at this room, but at some point, I need to do it. Today we go back to the doctor, and I know that the lie I’ve been living is about to end. We won’t be able to just act as though nothing is going on. I’ll have an ultrasound or hear the heartbeat of just one.

  Slowly, I turn the knob, push the door open, and walk in. Everything is just as we left it. Her bedding is hanging over the edge of the crib, and the pink flowers are still on the wall, waiting for her initial.