“I’m late. Sorry.”
Laurie swallowed the last bite of shepherd’s pie as her husband closed the front door, and told herself her shaky stomach was due to pregnancy rather than the fact that Pierce hadn’t shown up for her appointment today—even though she’d reminded him of the time—where she’d learned that some women did indeed endure morning sickness all day, every day, for their entire pregnancies. Though hers seemed to have shifted. She was pretty good most mornings, but if she didn’t eat in the middle of the day her evenings were tough.
Today she’d forgotten to get lunch after her appointment.
He tossed his keys on the front console table, washed his hands in the kitchen sink, loaded a plate from the dish on the stove, and joined her at the table like nothing was wrong.
“School’s out for the summer next week,” he said as he dug in. “Gilbert says the youth will have a ball tearing out walls and getting ready to reconfigure the youth space from your drawings.”
“Getting permits here is brutal. It’s taken much longer than I imagined. I’ve made connections with suppliers and think I’ve found some good deals. I can stop by anytime to go over them with you and Gilbert.”
“You shouldn’t be there when they start demo. Too dusty.”
“Why? Because I’m pregnant?”
Their eyes met, and he lowered his fork. “I’m sorry I missed your appointment.”
“Pierce, what’s going on with you? We don’t talk much anymore. You leave early in the morning, work until evening, then walk in the woods without me.”
“I’m sorry. I’ve got a lot on my mind.”
“Won’t you share it with me? I watched for you as I sat in the waiting area. When they took me back to a room, the receptionist asked if you were coming and said she’d send you back. But you never came. The due date’s off, Pierce. The two spotty periods threw off my due date. I’m halfway through the pregnancy. Our child is due November 2.” He looked away, and she wadded the napkin in her hands. “Will you please look at me? I heard our baby’s heartbeat today. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”
He rose and carried his dish to the sink. “Of course it does. I texted you, told you I couldn’t make it, and I was sorry.”
“Yeah. I got that message as I was leaving. I’m to return the videos at my next appointment.” He’d never directly refused to watch them. He simply always found a way to not be available.
He walked to the back door, reached for the knob, and stopped. “I’m sorry I missed the appointment. Why don’t you bring the samples or whatever by the office tomorrow after lunch. Gilbert and I can take a look at them.”
“Right,” she said, as he confirmed her suspicions. He had made an art out of changing the subject from the baby to the youth-building renovation or some other subject.
She watched him leave. Part of her fought against anger at the strange rejection and wanted to throw something. Yet she knew breaking every dish or even screaming for an hour would help nothing. Change nothing.
Still, most mornings he woke wrapped around her.
What could be the problem during waking hours? She couldn’t think of a single thing she’d done to deserve being shunned in this manner.
She loaded and closed the dishwasher, set the dial. The instant hum vibrated her very bones, but at least it masked the sound of her solitary heartbeat.
“God, I can’t stand this. At first I thought I was mistaken, but now I see the pattern. I feel like he’s tearing his heart away from mine at the roots.”
And she was grieving the loss. She recognized the bitter-bile tang—she had swallowed enough of it when she lost her parents and after the miscarriage.
Somehow this was worse. Children were meant to grow up and leave their parents, so she supposed that losing them both in an auto accident soon after she graduated from high school wasn’t as life-altering as it might have been. And the miscarriage? Well, some statistics showed as much as twenty percent of pregnancies end in miscarriage, or so she’d read. But Christian men weren’t supposed to tear themselves away from their wives.
She flipped off the kitchen light. In darkness, she walked to their bathroom. She wiped away tears as she ran water in the tub and added foaming bath salts. Her face ached from crying so much over the past weeks.
This was not how she had dreamed a pregnancy would be. They weren’t shopping for baby furniture or decorating the nursery. They hadn’t talked about names. They didn’t talk about anything.
She sank into the lavender-scented bubbles in her yet-unpainted bathroom. She couldn’t call a new friend. Everyone she knew in town was someone from church. Besides, she’d barely begun making friends within the congregation at last Saturday’s Ladies Luncheon. She couldn’t call Kay. What would she say? That Pierce was withdrawing from her in every way that mattered in a marriage? And she couldn’t call her friends in Orlando—they would all expect her to be happy. If she didn’t understand what was happening in her own marriage, how could one of them?
Attending Sunday services proved beyond difficult now. People wanted to congratulate her and Pierce, which was sweet, but it put her in an impossible position. She had to accept their hugs, prayers, and squeals of joy alone—and answer vaguely if someone mentioned Pierce and his feelings about the pregnancy.
She couldn’t lie. Wouldn’t lie. But it was a fine line to walk, and it left her isolated even as she was surrounded by others who obviously cared.
Her mother would have known what to do. Mother … how she needed her mother right now.
She took a deep breath and tried to relax. She’d started writing him letters, a string of them, a journal account of her feelings and prayers and what his withdrawal was doing to her. A spiral notebook, partially filled, sat on the nightstand. She had considered hiding it but figured if he did peek and read, then the time had come for him to know how she felt.
She stroked her slightly rounded belly.
“I miss him, God. His body’s near sometimes, but his heart is somewhere else.” He hadn’t touched her since the morning she learned she was pregnant and they’d made love.
The morning she learned she was pregnant. Did Pierce carry the same worries as she did at times, that she’d miscarry again? He’d been brave enough—or sentimental enough—to give her a Mother’s Day card as well as Kay, and Laurie had already purchased one to give him for Father’s Day next week. Should she give it to him? How could she know what he needed, what he wanted, if he wouldn’t talk to her?
She bathed and then reclined in the frothy water. The miscarriage had been horribly traumatic. What was it he’d said at her bedside? Please don’t die. Maybe he was simply staying busy, occupying his mind, until she was farther along.
But he was in agony. She could see it, feel it. Was it possible he didn’t even realize—
She felt a flutter in her womb.
Laurie sat straight up in the water, gently pressed her hand where she had felt the sensation.
She held her breath. Waited. Wished to feel the movement again.
Thump.
The unexpected kick brought her such joy she scrambled out of the tub. She grabbed her robe and ran, barely remembering to turn on the outside light, and let the back door slam behind her as she headed for the woods through the wet, heavy air.
She was dripping wet, but she didn’t care. She had to find Pierce. Her happiness was too big to contain, the feeling too wonderful to keep to herself. She smiled so wide her cheeks almost cramped. Surely if Pierce experienced this, if he felt their baby move, any concerns he had may be set aside. Maybe he would change back into the man she had fallen in love with and married.
Hope burst inside. Her heart and lungs swelled. If the baby was a girl, Hope would be a great name.
She stopped to catch her breath then continued walking. “Pierce! Pierce!”
His footsteps pounded as he exited the woods. Concern etched his face as he approached. “I heard the door slam. Are you okay?”
She laughed. “I’m fine.” She threw her arms up to hug him.
He held her away. “You’re wet,” he scolded. “What’s wrong?”
“Our baby moved.” She grabbed his hand and pressed it against the damp robe over her belly. “Here.”
She looked into his eyes, willed their child to move under his palm.
Please feel what I’m feeling. Please stay with me like this, like we used to be.
He tried to pull his hand away, but she kept her grip firm. Seconds ticked by without any movement under their hands.
Please don’t back away from me. Please don’t walk away.
Didn’t Pierce know? Didn’t he see in her eyes everything she felt, every way she needed him? She had to tell him.
She hooked an arm around his neck and kissed him.
At first he responded. Then his hands fell away, his arms at his sides. She might as well have been kissing stone.
She closed her eyes and let him back away. “I simply wanted you to feel the baby.”
“You should go dry off.” He looked away. “I’ll come inside in a minute.”
“But—” She stepped toward him and heard his cell phone ring. She turned away at the relief on his face as he welcomed the interruption, and closed her eyes in defeat. What did she have to do to build a bridge between them?
He ended the call. “Angus is having trouble again. Gilbert called an ambulance. They’re on the way to the hospital.”
“Should I come, too?”
For the first time in weeks he touched her. Her heart sighed with relief as he laid his palm on her hair and let his open hand slide down the side of her face to cup her cheek.
“Laurie, I realize I’ve been quiet lately. I do love you. I’ve done some research. I think … maybe I didn’t realize how much the miscarriage affected me.”
He looked terrified as he spoke. Heavy tears sprang into her eyes, and she held his hand in place. “Pierce, we can work through anything if you’ll talk to me.”
“I have to go.”
She nodded, still cradling the sweetness of this momentary touch and the familiar warmth of his breath.
“Call Mom and Dad. They can meet me there.”
He studied her face. If only he would ask her to go with him.
“If you feel up to it, get dressed and come on. I’m sure Gilbert would appreciate it.”
She pressed a kiss into his hand. His touch felt wonderful, and she needed it, needed him so much the words practically jumped out of her mouth. “What about you? Do you want me there?”
He swallowed. “Yes. You should be there.” He stroked her cheek with his fingers. “I want you there.”
She smiled. “I’ll help you in any way I can.”
***
The murky haze cleared by the time Laurie arrived back home. She stepped from the car, reveling in the silence. The stars had multiplied and twinkled brightly. She could actually see the Milky Way.
After the emergency room doctor informed them that Angus likely hadn’t suffered a heart attack, Gilbert had insisted they leave the hospital. He’d call if the prognosis changed.
Laurie yawned even as excitement grew inside her. Pierce had sat beside her in the waiting room most of the evening. Twice he had reached for her hand.
She readied for bed quickly, hoping he wasn’t too tired to spend a few minutes together without the tension that had been between them. She wouldn’t mention his dreams or prepared childbirth classes. No, maybe they could talk about baby names. Maybe hold each other. Maybe more.
She opened the bathroom door to find Pierce propped up in bed reading. Love swelled in her heart, and the baby kicked again. Perfect.
She climbed into bed, laid her head on the end of Pierce’s pillow, and shifted so her belly pressed against him. If the baby moved again, he would probably feel it. That should change everything.
Timidly, slowly, she moved her hand from her thigh and laid it like a feather on his warm chest. He didn’t seem to notice, didn’t react.
Trepidation rolled over her in waves. Should she move her fingers, stroke his chest, kiss his shoulder, or say something? Or should she settle for this tiny bit of contact and the fact that for the first time in weeks he wasn’t pulling away from her?
No. Something rose inside her, lifted its chin in defiance. They had less than five months until they’d become parents. Their child deserved better than a home where the parents didn’t even touch each other. Whatever had him in its grip, she’d help him deal with it.
She kissed Pierce’s shoulder, flexed her fingers on his torso, slid them slowly up to his neck, and caressed his collarbone.
Please come back to me. Love me again. The way we used to.
***
Pierce hadn’t turned a page for several minutes. He couldn’t focus on the words.
How could he have forgotten the perfection of Laurie’s touch? How could he have deprived himself, deprived them both, of the closeness they once enjoyed without reservation?
He lowered the book. Closed his eyes. And enjoyed.
She scooted up to kiss him on the mouth. His eager hands quickly found her face. Together, they slid down on the bed as he wrapped his arms around her, his torso pressed to hers.
Thump.
He jerked away from her as his heart raced like a thoroughbred’s. He sat straight up and searched her confused face. “What was that?”
Her eyes rounded bright and flashed with her smile. “Did you feel it? Did you feel the baby move?” She reached for him, threaded her fingers through his hair, pulled his head back for another kiss. “Isn’t it wonderful?”
He jerked back, scrambled off the bed, and rubbed his hands over his face.
Her voice trembled. “I can still make love with you. We won’t hurt the baby.” She reached for him again.
Anguish ripped his throat. “I didn’t know it would be like this.” He jerked on a pair of jeans and grabbed his pillow. “I’ll sleep on the couch.”
“Please, don’t go.” She extended both arms. “Pierce, I don’t understand …”
“Neither do I.” He turned and left the room.
Pierce tossed his pillow on the living room couch. He was sick, absolutely sick thinking about Laurie giving birth. Which was understandable given the circumstances, wasn’t it? But why couldn’t he set it aside?
He flipped on the TV. Channel surfed. Turned it off, leaving the house silent.
He paced, trying to ignore the guilt, the shame of leaving her. Then he lay on the couch, tried to read his Bible, but couldn’t concentrate. He attempted to pray, but his stumbling efforts only increased his frustration. He finally turned off the light, his body throbbed with exhaustion, but his heart raced with panic and his brain searched for scriptures, ideas, anything to relieve the awful pressure pounding through his system.
For hours he stared into the darkness, giving Laurie time to fall asleep. He shouldered his shame, gathered his pillow, and trudged back to their bedroom.
She looked exactly as she had on Easter Sunday. Curled up on their bed, tissue in hand, her cheeks damp with tears.
Unable to deny himself the feel of her or the sweetness of going to sleep with his arms wrapped around her body, he eased into bed behind her. He draped his arm over her and finally he, too, fell into sleep’s blessed oblivion.
***
Before Laurie opened her eyes the next morning, she felt behind her to Pierce’s side of the bed. She knew she’d find Pierce on the floor.
She went to the bathroom and returned as the alarm sounded. Her husband avoided her gaze as he stood. “Pierce, you need to talk with someone. You should call your dad.”
“I’m not calling my dad.”
“You never once left our bed and slept on the floor until after we moved here. Doesn’t that tell you something? Your parents would help us.”
“Only if I knew what to tell them, which I don’t.”
“You could try telling them the truth.”
&nb
sp; He looked at her. “That I remember the bus ride but not what happened before it? That I remember my mama’s face? Remember looking through a keyhole and wetting my pants?”
“You never told me that part.”
“Because I dreamed it last night.”
“If we tell your parents about the dreams, they will help us.”
“No. Not yet.”
“I know you’re tore up inside. Sometimes it rolls off you in waves.”
“I’m fine. I’ll be fine. I can sleep on the couch if it bothers you.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
He passed her on his way to the bathroom and closed the door behind him; she pressed her forehead against it. A part of her wanted to pound on the barrier shouting, Don’t shut me out!
She clenched her fists at her sides, considered using one when he came out, then remembered the look on his face when he spoke of wetting his pants.
Dear God, what happened to my husband when he was a little boy? And what does it have to do with us having a child now?
CHAPTER EIGHT
Laurie stood in her kitchen, scanning her list of fabric suppliers while vegetable soup simmered on the stove. She and Julie Matthews had worked in the nursery until just after lunch. After Julie left, she’d spent two hours tracking down a delayed order supposedly misplaced over the Independence Day holiday, only to learn the material was out of stock.
She leafed through swatch books, found an alternative, then placed an order online as the July late-afternoon sun speared through the kitchen window.
Next she called the electrical contractor. Part of his work hadn’t passed a preliminary inspection. He must redo the work immediately, so a re-inspection could take place by week’s end, or the entire renovation schedule would be derailed. That she couldn’t have. The work must be completed well before her due date.
She leaned against the counter and sipped cold sweet tea. The last weeks of June, these early days of July had thankfully passed as a blur. She’d been able to distract herself with work.
But the baby was growing. She was growing. Maternity clothes had become a must. Anyone glancing in her direction could see she was pregnant. She was bonding with her child, talking to the baby, daydreaming about the baby, but she seemed to be losing her husband.
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