by Stacy Borel
“I know. Unfortunately, sometimes these things happen. It could have been anything.”
Her head tossed back and forth and denial seeped in. “No, these things don’t just happen. He was fine. I was just with him yesterday morning. The doctor told me he was doing better. His stats were good, they were going to decrease some of his medication. This doesn’t make any sense. Are they sure they called the right person?”
I lowered my head to hers. “I’m sorry, Annabelle. What can I do?”
She didn’t answer me. She simply looked off into the distance and kept her mouth shut. She wasn’t here with me. She was somewhere else. Remembering something, feeling something, and I wasn’t included. I stood with her in my arms and I set her in the passenger seat.
“Do you want me to take you home, or would you like to come back to my place?”
Again, silence.
I didn’t know what to do. A new side of Annabelle was emerging and this was one that I had no clue how to deal with. I wasn’t familiar with death. Even worse, I didn’t know how to handle death of a baby. Tentatively I buckled her in and came back to the driver’s side. I had no clue where I was going so I did the one thing that I felt was right. I drove her back to her house. It was a quiet drive. Nothing could be said. We were only just outside of the city and it was maybe twenty minutes, but when your head is full of unanswered questions and wondering why these things happened to good people, it made for an extraordinarily long ride. When I pulled into her driveway, I grabbed her keys from her purse and went to unlock the door. She wasn’t following behind me, so I went back to the Jeep and carried her inside. Her cat, Chaz, came running but didn’t meow like he normally did. Even he could tell his human wasn’t okay.
Setting her on her bed, I slipped her shoes off and asked her if she needed anything. There was no response. She lay down and faced the wall. I don’t think I’d ever felt so helpless in my life. Did I lay down beside her and cuddle her and let her feel me there with her? Did I leave her alone and check on her later? Did I go into the kitchen and make something for her and see if she would eat? What the in the hell was the right thing here? I chose the first option. Scooting in behind her, I wrapped my arm around her middle and pulled her back to my chest. I felt her breathe in deep and exhale. She still hadn’t shed a single tear, which I found more disturbing than her silence. I knew she was feeling broken from the news, but the way she loved Noah, there was bound to be a river of tears waiting to come crashing out of her, it was just a matter of time. She needed to cry. I brushed my thumb back and forth in a soothing fashion across her stomach, and I waited for something to hit me. I hoped sleep would claim her for at least a little bit. In the meantime, I would also wait for some guidance to what I needed to be doing.
Sleep did take her under after she shifted around restlessly for almost a half hour. I quieted her the best I could, and her cat jumped on the bed in front of her and purred in her face. I think he gave her more comfort than I was capable of giving her. When I felt her heavy breathing, I carefully moved out of the bed without disturbing her and did the next best thing I could think of. Stepping outside, I called my mom.
“Hey, baby, whatchu up too?” My mom’s southern drawl was always sugary sweet when she heard from her boys.
“Mom, something happened.”
I could hear her moving and shutting a door. “Sorry, I had some company over. What’s going on, Turner?”
“You remember that baby Annabelle told you about? The one she cared for?”
“Of course.”
“She got a call today that he died.”
Mom gasped. “Sweet Jesus, what happened? How is Annabelle doing?”
“Honestly, we don’t know many details, but he’s gone.” I swallowed hard. I, myself, was getting choked up. “She’s not doing well, Mom. She won’t speak and she hasn’t cried.”
It took her a moment to respond. “Okay, well we all grieve differently.”
“No, Mom, you don’t get it. She’s lost. I can see it in her eyes, she’s not there right now. As soon as I told her, everything shut off and she receded. I don’t know what to do.”
“Alright, baby, it’s okay. Tell me where are you at and I’ll come to y’all. She may need another female to confide in. It’s not you, but she’s a very guarded girl. I could tell from the start. I can see where this would make her shut down.”
Maybe she was right. Maybe Annabelle needed a woman to talk to. I might not be the source of comfort she was seeking.
I gave her the address and told her to come whenever she’d like, but that Annabelle was sleeping right now and probably needed it. She agreed and said she would be over in a couple hours. I figured that was plenty of time to get myself together and figure out what my girl needed.
Time was flying by, yet slowed every time I looked at the clock. Annabelle was still in bed. She’d woken once and I went in to ask her if she was hungry, and got her a glass of water with some aspirin. She declined all of it. Only two words had been uttered by her since we left the field, and I was now anxious for my mom to get here to see what she could do.
About that time, the doorbell rang. Annabelle looked over at me and I gave her a sympathetic look.
“I called my mom. I’m sorry if that makes you upset, but I think you need someone other than just me right now.”
She simply nodded.
Going to the door, I let my mom in and took her purse. “Where is she?”
“Down the hall, the last door on the left.”
Taking no time to ask me anything else, she headed off in the direction I told her. I followed behind her. Upon entering the room, Annabelle was still lying down but facing the door. Her expression appeared to be resolved. She knew she was going to be asked questions and it was like she had steeled herself for the onslaught. Except, that’s not what happened. My mom, in her typical fashion knew exactly what was needed. She took one look at Annabelle, and instead of the fifty questions I think both of us expected, she went to her and lifted her head and lay Annabelle’s head back down in her lap. I watched on as my mother gently stroked Annabelle’s hair and started to hum a soft lullaby I knew she sang to my brothers and me when we were younger and not feeling well.
She cracked.
Tears pooled in her eyes, and for the first time in hours, she released her emotions. My mom cooed to her and told her it would be okay. She simply let her have her feelings without forcing anything from her. It was then that I knew I made the right choice asking her to come over. Annabelle needed a mom. She needed the touch of a mother to make her feel like her world would be okay even though she was hurting.
“I named him. Turner was the only one I told.” Her voice was hoarse from sleep, and not speaking.
“You did? Well, I’m sure it was a special one,” my mom replied.
“Noah. It was my dad’s middle name.”
I didn’t know that. She never shared that bit of information with me.
“Noah is a good and strong name. Sounds like he was a fighter.”
A fresh wave of tears and sobs wracked her body. “He was, except now he’s gone.”
“I don’t know what your religion is, honey, but I am a firm believer that God has a plan for all of us. When it’s our time to be called back to his side, it’s because we are needed elsewhere, and to teach those of us who still remain how to live differently. Noah had his purpose. What the purpose was . . . well, that’s up to you to search for that answer.”
I could tell she was pondering this thought. I didn’t think Annabelle was a very religious person, but in some way shape or form, we all had our beliefs. If my mom’s words were giving her comfort, then by God, I hope she kept talking. I didn’t want to continue to intrude on their moment of quietness and solitude, so I stepped back and shut the door. Walking into the living room, I sat down on the couch and buried my head in my hands, my fingers diving into my hair. My mom being here was giving me some peace as well. I didn’t want to deal with th
is alone and being at a loss how to comfort the one person you never want to see hurt is more stressful than I ever thought possible. Sitting back, I rested my head on the back of the couch and closed my eyes. What a day it has been.
Not having a clue how long it’d been, I awoken by my mom’s hand on my leg and her whispered voice telling me she was leaving. I didn’t even realize I’d dozed off.
“Where is she?”
Her eyes were red, and I knew she had shed tears alongside my girl. “She’s asleep again.”
I nodded. “Thanks for coming.”
“You’re welcome, son.”
“I didn’t know what else to do, Mom. It’s like as soon as I told her he was gone, so was she.”
She reached forward and patted my cheek, her hand lingering. “I don’t know what it’s like losing a child. Hearing Annabelle talk about that baby during dinner, there was so much adoration in her voice, I knew he was special to her.” Mom dropped her hand. “She was loving him like he was hers, Turner. I don’t know how or why she attached herself to him, but she obviously saw a reason to. The poor girl has seen entirely too much loss in her short life, and this was just another notch for her to believe the world is a cruel place that only hurts her if she lets it.”
“Well, I don’t need her shutting me out. That’s what I’m concerned about right now. It has taken some time to get her to open up to me, and even then she is guarded.”
“She has reason to be.”
“I know.”
Mom gave me a soft smile. “One thing at a time, Turner. You can’t fix everyone. Show her you’re here, and she will tell you what she needs.”
She stood and went for the door.
“You okay to drive, or should I call Dad to come pick you up?”
“I’m good. I’ll be calling tomorrow morning to check on her. I have some things I’d like to do, and I’ll need your opinion on it.”
My mom, always busy doing something. “Sounds good.”
She shut the door behind her and the house went silent. What a shitty ending to a day that had so much potential. Deciding I needed to see Annabelle and feel her, I went back to her room. She was on her back with her hands resting across her stomach. At least she looked peaceful. Stripping off my shirt, I went to her and scooted in beside her. I didn’t want to crowd her, but I also wanted to make sure she knew I was here. I placed my hand on top of hers, and of their own accord, her fingers threaded through mine. She breathed in a broken inhale. The kind that comes from a child that had been crying too much. I was giving her space and, yet, still being close enough that if she needed me I was at arms length. It was enough, for now.
IT’D BEEN TWO DAYS since Noah passed. My shifts at the hospital had been picked up and I’d sequestered myself to my house. I didn’t want to go anywhere and I didn’t want to do anything. I couldn’t get over something like this. A baby, who was completely innocent and brought into this world under some of the worst circumstances, fought so hard. He fought and started to get better and then he was snatched away like he didn’t matter to anybody. Except he did. He mattered to me. I cared enough about him that I’d devoted my time to him, and I loved him and showed him love. His worthless mother abandoned him. No child deserved such cruelty. I didn’t have any intention of adopting him or anything, but I would have ensured that someone worthy would have ended up with him. I was nowhere near ready to have a child of my own. In fact, the very idea of having a baby scared me so much I had come to the conclusion that I likely wouldn’t have my own kids. I’d seen so many babies being brought into this world. The way the parents react to their new little bundles kept the saying in perspective.
Having a child is like having your heart walking around outside your body.
I had too many nervous tendencies since my parents passed away, to even consider having children. Turner has hardly left my side since I got the news. I didn’t know how to speak to him about my grief. I tried yesterday, but nothing came out of my mouth. So I continued on with head nods and shakes as my form of communication and doing the things that others expect from you to show that you’re okay. I learned far too early that when someone passes away, the people around you want and need you to be okay, so that they may move on with their own lives. Was it selfish of them? I had no clue. But I could also tell Turner may be on to me. He didn’t just watch me, he studied me. It should have made me uncomfortable him being here, but it didn’t. His presence was nice, and he never once forced me to talk about anything. He didn’t ask me to cry, or tell him how I was feeling. He’s simply let me be. But I knew he sensed me. There was something there under the surface of those blue eyes that were watching me. For now, he let me know he was near and it was enough.
Today was just another day that I woke up with the same empty feeling I’d felt the last three days. No Noah, and the fear that life could take a tragic turn for me or anybody else I knew. I rolled over in my bed and smelled that a fresh pot of coffee had been made. Frowning, I sat up and rubbed my eyes. Living like this wasn’t ideal for anyone. It was time to make face with Turner, just so I could come back into my room and sleep some more. As I left my comfortable bed, I glanced in the mirror on my way out.
Ewwww, holy crap!
I had a nest forming on the top of my head that would be perfect for a couple baby birds, and I had dark circles under my eyes. I tried to run my fingers through my thick hair, but had no luck. They got stuck in the tangles and I gave up. Lifting my shoulders and exhaling, it didn’t matter. Turner wouldn’t stick around too much longer. He was going to get tired of my attitude and leave.
“Morning, beautiful.” Turner greeted me. He was leaning up against the kitchen counter, shirtless, a pair of sweat pants hanging low on his hips. Could that V get any deeper? Even in my state of mind, I was fully capable of appreciating the man that stood before me. He twisted behind himself to hand me a mug. The simple motion caused my lips to part. When he handed it to me, his blue eyes held mine. There was a warm fire just under the surface that I could see burning. Oh my.
“Morning,” I rasped.
He took a sip of his coffee and asked, “How’d you sleep?”
I shook off the errant thoughts and answered, “Like I have been.”
“Restless?”
I frowned. “No. Dreamlessly.”
He set his mug down. “Sounds boring.”
What in the hell? “Sorry to bore you.” I went to the coffee pot and poured my first cup.
“Annabelle, you’re not boring me. You’re misunderstanding what I’m saying. Get your coffee and come out on the deck.”
He walked out the sliding glass door, and left me standing there to figure out what he was doing.
I dumped some cream and sugar into my “Follow your dreams” mug. The irony wasn’t lost on me, and walked in the same direction he did. Turner was sitting in my dad’s chair. I stopped and analyzed how I felt seeing him sitting there. That was a special seat, and only someone who meant something to me should ever be allowed to sit there. After my parents died, all of the distant family and friends that came in and out of this house, I guarded that chair with my life. Nobody was to sit there except my dad or me. And since he was gone, it was only a place for me. A thousand emotions swirled through me, but not a single one was anger or the urge to tell him he needed to move. Turner was welcome there, and I was more than okay with it.
“You going to stand there watching me, or do you plan on coming over here to talk to me?”
I raised my brow despite him not being able to see it. “Are you always so bossy and demanding?”
“No. I could be worse,” he said matter of fact.
Great. Lord only knows what that was really like. I came to stand in front of him and made a show of leaning against the railing and feigning indifference to his sassy mouth.
“What’s up?”
He wanted to chuckle but he didn’t. Instead his expression turned stoic. “We are going to do something a little different. I know
you probably want to have your coffee and go lay back down and drown out the day, but not today.”
My heart picked up its pace. “What are you talking about, Turner?”
“When you’re done with your little breakfast there. . .” He nodded toward my cup. “I’m going to need you to go take a nice long shower, relax your muscles, and get ready for the day. I’ll put some clothes out for you. We have somewhere we need to be this morning.”
I was already feeling defensive. He wasn’t going to force me out of my home just because he didn’t want to stay here. “No. You can go do whatever it is that you need to do, but I’m not in the mood to do anything.”
“I’m not asking, Annabelle.”
“Neither am I.” I squared my shoulders.
He sighed, looking slightly defeated. “Please. I’m not going to make you do anything that you don’t want to do, but this is something that I think you need.”
“And what’s that?”
He shook his head. “I’m not saying. You’ll fight me tooth and nail, and, frankly, I don’t think you are ready for that battle.”
“I’m not in the mood for one of your crazy ass dates, Turner.”
He almost looked offended. “I’m not taking you on a date.”
Okay, now I was confused. If he wasn’t taking me on a crazy date, where else would he need to drag me kicking and screaming?
“I need to have an idea of what is going on, okay? I’ll admit I’m feeling anxious about stepping foot outside of my comfort zone. You must at least understand that much.”
His eyes softened. “I do. We are meeting up with my mom. She asked me to bring you somewhere, and I promised I would. So would you please? If not for me, at least try for her?”
The mother card was now in play. What on earth could Donna have in store for me today? She’d stopped by a few times, maybe even more while I was sleeping, to check on me. She was the only one I’d confided in with my true feelings about Noah. She was a mom of four boys. There was something very maternal going on deep in my bones when it came to the baby. It was unexpected, but she opened her mind to why I felt the way that I did. She shared stories with me how she thought when Camden was born something horrible was happening to him. Turns out, he had an irregular heartbeat and a small murmur. When it’s your baby and they aren’t the epitome of health, your world stops. You question why these things are happening to you and your baby. Noah may not have been mine, but I did love him. I felt drawn to him the moment he was born and his own mother didn’t want to give him a name. I promised myself before I walked out of that delivery room that I would show him what a gentle touch was. Donna praised me for loving unconditionally. She said it was very much the sign of a mother. I wouldn’t call myself that at all, but if there was a step below that . . . that was me.