Second Chances: Pleasant Grove Series Book 2

by Lee, Tara

  I kiss her forehead multiple times before I lean mine against hers.

  Her arms hold my shirt in comfort

  “Hey, what’s wrong?” she asks, pulling back so she can see my face.

  Her hands cup my jaw, fingers stroking my cheeks.

  I wipe my eyes again. Her thumb brushes my skin, tracing the trails of moisture. I close my eyes at her touch. I thought I’d never feel it again.

  I clasp her hand in mine and kiss the back of it.

  I just have to touch her. Am I dreaming? Is she really here with me, awake?

  I kiss her again and smile. She’s real. This isn’t all some dream.

  She runs her free hand down her torso. A frown appears on her face as she strokes her newly flatter belly. Emotions run across her face as she makes sense of things. Turning to me she says, “Where’s our baby? Can I see him?”

  My face falls.

  How do I tell her?

  “Baby, what’s the last thing you remember?”

  “Ummm… I had to pee. When I got up, there was a pain. Then wetness. So, I’m guessing I went into labor and blacked out from the pain, silly.” She laughs.

  I frown because she’s so excited. My heart aches. I push the button beside her bed.

  I wait.

  “Eli, what’s going on? Where’s our baby?”

  I kiss her hand again as Jensen and her doctor walk in along with a nurse.

  “Charli,” Jensen breathes out in relief as he comes over to her and wraps her in his arms. As he kisses her temple, his eyes fill with tears.

  She looks from Jensen to me.

  “What’s going on? Eli, where’s our son?” her voice trembles with fear.

  “Miss Parker,” her doctor says. I think his name is Cameron.

  Her eyes flit to each of us. I know that she knows something’s wrong.

  “Where's my baby?” she asks shrilly.

  “Charli, I need you to lie still while we check you over. Then Jensen and Eli need to talk to you. I think it’s best you hear it from them I—"

  “What aren’t you telling me? Just tell me what’s going on,” she screams, tears filling her eyes.

  “Baby,” I whisper and grab her hand as her body rocks with sobs.

  “Eli?” she says. It’s a question.

  “I'm so sorry, baby. We lost him,” my voice cracks as I admit it out loud.

  Her hands fly to her mouth as she yanks from my grip. Her tears break, slipping down her cheeks as her body trembles with sobs. My tears fall as I watch her wail in heartbroken misery. I wrap my arms around her. She places her head on my shoulder and cries. Her sobs alone are enough to tear me apart.

  I hold her so tightly, hoping I can absorb all her pain, but I know no matter what I do nothing will ever take the pain of this loss away.

  My lips brush against her forehead. Her fingers fist my shirt, and her cries become so hard she’s gasping for air.

  The door closes, so I assume we’ve been left alone in the bubble of our grief.

  I’m not sure how long I hold her for. Hours?

  Maybe. She’s still crying, so maybe it only feels like hours.

  “Charli, baby,” I whisper against her hair.

  “What happened, Eli?” she chokes out, lifting her head. Her beautiful face is red and swollen from hours of crying.

  “You lost a lot of blood. There was a tear inside. You blacked out from the blood loss.”

  “Why didn't God take me instead,” she asks.

  I have no answers for her. Except maybe God knew I wouldn’t make it without her. No more words fall from her lips.

  She just stares ahead. A few tears trickle down her cheeks. I want to wipe each one away. Take her pain away and hold her. But she won’t let me touch her. When I try, she flinches.

  * * *

  Charli hasn’t spoken a word in four hours. Not a single one. Her grief has stolen her voice.

  I’m not sure how to help her.

  The doctor comes back and takes a seat. Charli doesn’t even look at him, so he turns his attention to me. “I think it’s important for you, both of you, to speak with someone about how you’re feeling. Grief is a difficult thing to process in a normal situation. It’s especially hard when it comes to the loss of a child, a baby. We have several counselors we can refer you to who specialize in this sort of thing.”

  When Charli continues to stare off into space, I say, “Thank you.”

  “Charli, your grief may be compounded by postpartum depression. Your body is still flooded with pregnancy hormones and adjusting to not… being pregnant anymore.”

  His speech is interrupted by a loud wail from Charli, the only sign she’s even been listening to him talk.

  He continues, “Anyway, your body has to come back to normal levels with everything. It will take time.”

  He looks at me, and I give him a weak smile.

  “Tomorrow, if things still look good, we’re going to discharge you, and you can go home. We still have that paper work for you to fill out.”

  “What paperwork?” I ask, confused. My brain isn’t working very well.

  “The…um… certificate with his name and information,” he says in a low tone.

  “Right… We’ll get back to you,” I offer.

  “The chaplain will be by later to help you make arrangements.”

  “Okay.”

  The doctor left us to sit in the silence that had been consuming us since Charli’s heart had been shattered.

  I’m looking forward to going home. But I am a little worried. Harley’s room is still set up, waiting for him, exactly like Charli left it. Jensen had asked if I wanted him to take everything down. But I wasn’t sure how Charli would handle that, so I told him to leave it.

  * * *

  We pull into our driveway, and Charli stares straight ahead, her face blank of any expression.

  I grab her hand and give it a squeeze. She glances down at our joined hands, then back up at me. She doesn’t give me even a small smile.

  Sighing, I get out and go around to help her out.

  “I’ll get you settled into bed, then come back and get the bags,” I tell her even though I know I won’t get a reply.

  Carefully, I help Charli up the stairs. On the way to our bedroom, we shuffle past the closed door to what should’ve been our son's room.

  Charli stops and stares at the door for a second. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, then continues ahead. It’s like she’s in a trance.

  Zombie-like she walks into our room and sits on the bed. The only movement is her hands wringing together in her lap. Aching for my girl, I squat down in front of her. With tender fingers, I brush the hair from her face. Finally, her eyes find mine, and I give her a small smile.

  “You hungry? I can fix you something to eat.” I offer.

  She shakes her head.

  “You just want to sleep?”

  She nods.

  I help her into her pajamas, then she slides under the blankets. Leaning down, I kiss her forehead.

  “I love you, baby. More than anything. I promise one day this will get better. I vow to help you.”

  She closes her eyes, and a tear slips down her cheek. I brush my thumb over her skin and kiss her cheek before I let her be alone.

  * * *

  Days drag by. One day falling into the next. Time ceases to matter. Grief is a tricky thing. Why? Because everyone handles it differently. I’ve become angry and want to smash everything in sight. Whereas Charli has shut down completely. She won’t even speak. Not a single word. She's barely eating. In fact, she’s scarcely been out of our room in the last two weeks.

  Every hour of the day, I check on her, but I get the same response. Nothing.

  I’ve tried everything. I’ve had the girls here to talk to her. Doctor Cameron suggested a therapist, who came to the house. She told me Charli didn’t utter a single word to her either. But the therapist assured me it was okay because this was going to be a slow process.<
br />
  The girl who used to be fun-loving and bubbly with just the right amount of attitude was no longer here. Her light was gone, stolen away. Buried with our son.

  I’ve been googling how to cope with the loss of the baby. But what the fuck do I know? Yes, he was my son and I loved him. But Charli’s connection with him was greater. She carried him inside of her, of course the bond was deeper, so the grief more severe.

  I'm worried she’s slipping into a deep depression, and I’m not sure how else to help her. She needs me. And I’m fucking useless.

  I make my way upstairs, hoping to convince her to come downstairs. I softly knock on the door

  “Charli. Baby.”

  I open the door and find her lying in the middle of the bed. She’s curled up in a ball.

  Her soft sobs are the only sound in the room. It's breaking my heart to see her like this.

  I slide onto the bed behind her and draw her to me. She willingly rolls over, letting me hold her. My heart leaps over this small amount of contact. I'll take whatever she’s willing to give me because she’s barely let me touch her since we came home. Her fingers fist my shirt, tightly. I just hold her, let her get it out.

  I kiss her forehead over and over, silently letting her know I’m here. My hand runs over her back, comfortingly. I know it's probably not doing much, but I hope my touch lets her know she isn’t alone.

  “Tell me how to help, baby? Please, tell me how to make you smile again,” I mutter into her hair. “I just want you happy again, baby.”

  She pulls her head back and gazes at me. I wipe her eyes and kiss her nose.

  “I'm, heartbroken, Eli.”

  I smile because these are the first words she’s uttered in two weeks.

  “I know, baby. I am too.”

  “Have you cried?” she asks in a trembling voice.

  Geez if only she knew.

  “Baby, I’ve been a mess. And it makes it worse because I know you’re hurting so much, and I can’t make it better.”

  “Are you trying to be strong?” she hiccups.

  I take a deep breath. “For you, yes, I’m trying to be strong.”

  “It's my fault,” she whispers and looks away from me.

  “What?! Baby, no. This isn’t your fault. Don’t ever say that, you hear me?” I say, cupping her face in my hands, bringing it up to look at mine.

  She slides off me, dipping her chin. Slowly, she sits up. Her hand's twist in her lap, and she’s biting her lip.

  I lift her chin again, so she has to look at me.

  “Baby, this isn’t your fault.”

  She nods, tears filling her eyes again. “Yes, it is I couldn’t carry him, so he died. It was my job to keep him safe. I failed.”

  I sit up and drag her to me, settling her in my lap, cradling her in my arms.

  I hold her, whispering in her ear, “This isn’t your fault at all. You need to get that out of your head right now. I won’t have you blaming yourself, not for this. It's something you had no control over. Something we couldn’t fix.”

  She doesn't listen to me, she continues to say, “It is my fault. A mother should know something is wrong. He was inside of me for god’s sake. How could I not know he was dying?”

  My heart keeps breaking. How do I make her see she had no control over what happened?

  After tucking Charli in and making sure she was somewhat okay before I left, I head downstairs again. My fury at the situation is rising, and I can't control my breathing. I'm angry, no I'm seething. Tears fall down my face as I make my way outside. Charli is falling apart, and there’s nothing I can do to help her. I just want to help her.

  The sun mocks me as it shines down on my face, letting me know that even though my world has turned into a huge, fucking fireball the world outside keeps turning.

  I sniffle, trying to stop my tears. But no matter how hard I try, they keep falling.

  "Why?" I shout out to no one really.

  My hands cover my face as I exhale. I pick up the closest thing to me and throw it across the yard.

  The lounge chair shatters into pieces, just like my heart.

  I continue to pick up and throw object after object. Before I know it, every chair in our outdoor seating area is in pieces strewn across the lawn. In pieces, just like my heart, just like my Charli.

  My breathing is labored, my anger still there. I can't seem to control what my body does. I toss the table over, making it break. I hit the wood screen hard, causing a hole Pain shoots through my hand. I continue to punch and smash anything in sight. My tears fall, and my screams call out in anger, in heartache.

  Arms wrap around me from behind. I try to break free, but they continue to hold me, taking me to the ground with them.

  I collapse against the chest between the arms.

  "Dude, calm down. Breathe," Max’s voice says in my ear.

  I try to remove his arms from around me, but he doesn't let up. He holds me down while he continues to encourage me to breathe.

  I thrash around, struggling to break free from his hold. I just need to let out my rage. He needs to let me go.

  Jensen is in front of me, grabbing my shoulders, trying to break me from my haze. He shakes me, telling me to calm down. But how can I be calm?

  I stare into his eyes and see the pain in them. He's hurting too. But he has no idea what it’s like to lose a child. One who didn't even get a chance at life. None of them understand. We had to say goodbye without ever having the chance to say hello.

  I'm in so much pain. It’s amplified knowing Charli is in agony. Why did this happen to us? Why did God take our baby?

  More voices fill the space outside, but I drown them out, knowing no matter what they say, it won't take my pain away. Like I can’t take Charli’s away.

  Someone drags me inside and puts me on the sofa. Jensen places some pills in my hand and hands me a glass of water, instructing me to take them. I have no idea what he's giving me, but I swallow them down. He takes the glass from me and adjusts me so I'm lying down. Within ten minutes, my eyes start to feel heavy. I can still hear the voices.

  I drown them all out. Then my eyes close, and the world goes dark.

  9

  Charli

  I ALWAYS HEARD THAT there’d be that one moment in my life, the one everyone has at least once in their lives. The one where I’d feel so useless and so broken that don’t think I’ll survive? Yeah, that’s how I feel right now. How I’ve felt since leaving the hospital.

  After losing Harley, our sweet, little boy, my soul was crushed. No, is crushed because I’m at the point of no return. I blame myself for his loss, and I know no matter how many people tell me it isn’t my fault, no matter how many times they tell me there was nothing I could’ve done, I feel as though I could have. I should’ve known something. I mean I was his mother how did I not know something was wrong?

  How do I move on with my life knowing the child Eli and I created together never got to live even one day in this world?

  The guilt I feel is insurmountable. I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. I haven’t left our room since we arrived home from the hospital. Except to bury our son. God that vision still haunts me. It plays over and over in my head like a movie reel.

  Seeing his tiny coffin being lowered into a hole in the ground will haunt me for the rest of my life. No mother should have to bury her child.

  A therapist, Dr. Hines, talked to me about the stages of grief and postpartum depression. I know Eli and my brother mean well, but I don’t need some stranger telling me how to feel. Because on top of the grief and guilt and pain, I feel anger, full-blown rage. I’m angry at myself. Angry at Eli. Angry at God. Why would He bless me with this baby only to take him away from me? I’m not a big believer in God but ever since Eli was shot and survived, I thought maybe God was on our side.

  Or at least my parents were. I don’t really believe in guardian angels either, but over the years I’ve felt like my parents were there watching over me, guiding me. May
be I was just imagining things.

  Would they watch over my son now? Was he up there alone? Was he scared? Tears fill my eyes, and I fight the urge to crumble to the floor.

  A soft knock raps on the door. I know it’s Eli coming to check on me again. This time I’m not sitting in our room. When I spoke to him yesterday for the first time in weeks, he was elated. He thinks I’m making progress. I on the other hand, am not so sure.

  “Baby,” his soft voice echoes through the quiet room.

  He makes his way into the nursery. I’m sitting in the rocking chair we got so I could feed Harley easier. He slips down in front of me. His hand brushes the hair from my face. I know he wants to kiss me, but I just can’t. Not right now.

  I drop my eyes from his, squeezing Harley’s teddy bear. Looking into his eyes makes me hate him even more. And I don’t want to hate him. I love him. But right now, I hate him because my body lost the child he wanted. In his heart, I know he blames me. Even though he’d tell me the opposite, I know he has to blame me. I do. That’s why I hate myself too.

  Okay, maybe I don’t quite hate him. Maybe I blame him. But I don’t know why exactly. I’m mad he doesn’t understand the depth of my pain. The logical part of my brain knows that no one can really understand what it’s like for me to lose a piece of my heart that I carried around inside of me, nurturing. But the part of me that is in agony is so damn mad. My feelings are all over the place. I don’t know which way is up and which way is down…

  He lies here and just holds me, not saying a word. I know he doesn’t know what to do with me. I think he’s scared of me. Or scared for me. I need to tell him how I feel, but I know he won't understand. I don’t really understand myself. So, instead I keep my feelings to myself.

  He finally speaks up, “I couldn’t find you in our room, so I came looking for you. I didn’t think I’d find you in here,” he says looking around at what would’ve been our son’s room.

  I don’t say anything. I can’t. It hurts too much.