Operation Baby Rescue

by Beth Cornelison

  Knowing that her grief made other people uncomfortable chafed. Since when was there a time limit on compassion for a person’s loss? But since talking about Grace was difficult anyway, she’d soon learned to avoid the topic of her daughter. Would sharing her feelings about Grace and the unfairness of her loss be any easier here?

  “We lost our baby, too.”

  Elise jerked her head up and looked at the man who sat clinging to his wife.

  The wife had her mouth pressed in a tight line as if struggling not to cry, but her eyes held Elise’s. In an even tone, the husband continued, “It’s been six months now, and while coming here—” he gestured with his head to the group “—has helped, it’s still hard, really hard, for both of us to deal with. So while I won’t pretend to know what you are feeling, because everyone grieves differently, we know at least something of what you’re going through.”

  The wife bit her bottom lip and nodded to Elise.

  “My son Sammy died fifteen years ago,” a white-haired lady next to Elise said, patting her arm, “and I still think of him every day. It gets easier with time, but a mother’s love never ends.”

  Elise swallowed hard, fighting back the stranglehold of emotion rising in her throat. If she allowed her tears to come now, she was afraid she might not be able to stop crying. Had coming here been a mistake? How could she relive the horror of that day, the crushing sense of loss over and again by coming to this group every week?

  When she scanned the faces around the circle again, her gaze met Jared Coleman’s. His dark brown eyes were locked on her, and an odd expression of guilt or uneasiness shadowed his face.

  “Do you and your husband have any other children?” Joleen asked, and it took a moment for Elise to realize the question was directed to her.

  “Oh, I…I’m not married. And no, no other children.”

  Joleen gave her a sympathetic look. “I see. Well, the loss of a child can be hard on a marriage. Divorce, sadly, is common following such a tragedy.”

  The young woman across the circle nodded. “Greg and I have promised each other to be open and honest about our feelings. This group is part of our strategy to make sure our marriage survives.”

  Elise shook her head. “No, I mean I was never married. I—” Elise stopped when the eyebrow of one of the older women across from her raised in judgment. She didn’t owe this group an explanation of her personal choices. A pulse of anger for the woman’s haughty attitude helped Elise get a handle on the burgeoning tears in her throat. Taking a deep restorative breath, she folded her arms around her midriff and sat back in her chair. She stared at the floor near her feet, second-guessing her decision to attend the meeting.

  Joleen apparently read Elise’s body language for what it was, a disinclination to say any more on the topic, and directed the next question elsewhere.

  “Jared, earlier you mentioned that you’d had an especially tough day last week. Would you like to tell us what happened?”

  Without raising her head, Elise angled her gaze up from the floor to glance at Jared Coleman. He met her eyes briefly before clearing his throat, shrugging a shoulder dismissively and shifting in his seat. “Um, I…” His gaze darted away, and he cracked the knuckles of one hand with his other.

  His restlessness and reluctance to speak intrigued Elise. Especially since his guilty furtive glances toward her told her his discomfort sharing with the group centered on her presence. She made a point of averting her gaze, hoping to make him feel less on the spot.

  “Isabel took her first steps last Wednesday,” Jared said at last.

  Around the circle, several of the women cooed.

  Elise tightened her grip on her sleeves. First steps? Clearly Isabel was a baby. About one year old.

  The same age Grace would have been had she lived.

  Like a fist to the gut, a shot of renewed grief landed a sucker punch that stole Elise’s breath. She sat very still, keeping her gaze on the floor, but she felt Jared’s eyes watching her.

  “As happy as I was about her walking,” he continued, “it just brought home to me, again, all the milestones Kelly will never see.”

  Now the women around the circle made noises of empathy and shared sadness for Jared’s revelation.

  Elise made a few mental calculations. Jared was here alone. He apparently had a one-year-old daughter. Was the absent Kelly his wife?

  He said no more about the situation, letting his feelings about the event go unspoken. In the ensuing silence, one of the older women launched into a story about missing her late husband during the holidays and family celebrations.

  Elise hazarded a glace across the circle and found Jared’s attention on her again. Instead of jerking her gaze away, as if she’d been caught peeking at something forbidden, she held his stare. More than grief over the story he’d just shared, she saw concern and guilt in his dark brown eyes. Guilt?

  She was still pondering the reason behind his odd expression half an hour later when the group dismissed for refreshments. Elise had no appetite for the cookies on the table by the exit, but her mouth was dry, and she decided to stop for a cup of lemonade before she left. Her pause at the refreshment table gave Joleen a chance to catch up with her before Elise made her escape from the awkward meeting.

  “I’m so glad you came tonight,” she said, placing a hand on Elise’s arm. “I hope you’ll come back. Talking about your experiences and your feelings gets easier with practice, and having the support of people who understand what you’re going through is invaluable.”

  How could anyone really know what she was feeling? Her grief seemed so personal.

  Elise forced a smile. “Thank you.” She made no comment on whether she’d return. The jury was still out on that. Even the little she’d said tonight had been painful to share. She drained her lemonade quickly, hoping to make a hasty exit before any other members of the group caught her in an uncomfortable conversation. Tossing her empty cup in the trash, she spun on her heel to leave…and almost collided with a broad chest belonging to a man with dark brown, soulful eyes.

  “Hi,” Jared said with a quick flash of a lopsided grin.

  “Oh, uh…hi.” Elise’s heartbeat performed a stutter-step. He was much taller than she’d expected, and this close to him, she could smell a tantalizing hint of sandalwood.

  He rubbed his palms on his jeans once before sliding his hands in his pockets. The rattle of keys told her he was fidgeting. “I’m sorry if I…made you uneasy or caused you more pain tonight.”

  She blinked at him and furrowed her brow. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected him to say, but an apology was not on the list. “Pardon?”

  “Talking about my daughter.” He gave an apologetic wince. “When the Harrisons joined the group…” He hitched his head toward the young couple still chatting with an older lady at the circle of chairs. “…Kim would get upset when I talked about Isabel. I thought, maybe, since you’d lost your baby…hearing about my daughter would be…especially difficult.” He pressed his lips in a taut line of regret. “If it was, I’m sorry.”

  Elise could only stare for a moment. His sensitivity to her pain was thoughtful and also…frustrating.

  “I, um…” She shook her head in disbelief. “Thank you, but…I don’t expect you to censor yourself to protect me. Sure, it hurts to hear about other people’s kids and think about what might have been, but…that’s not your problem.”

  He shrugged and frowned. “Maybe, but I’d hate to think you decided not to come back because my stories about Isabel upset you. Losing my wife was hard enough. I can’t imagine how hard it would be to have lost Isabel, how difficult it must be for you and the Harrisons.”

  Pain shot through her chest, and she murmured, “It’s been hell.”

  He pulled one hand out of his pocket and flipped it up in a gesture that said she’d proved his point. “And I don’t want to make it worse.”

  She nodded, swallowing hard to force down the knot of emotion that had w
orked its way up her throat. “I appreciate that. But how selfish would it be of me to expect you not to say what you needed to about your daughter, if it helped you work through your own grief for your wife?”

  He lifted his chin and cocked his head as if her comment caught him off guard.

  Before he could say anything, she raised a hand. “Besides, I get a little tired of people avoiding mention of babies, and especially Gracie, my daughter, as if pretending she never existed would be easier for me, when really it’s their own awkwardness they want to avoid.”

  She heard the bitter edge in her tone and bit the inside of her cheek. She hadn’t meant to snap at him. Her frustra tions with her coworkers and neighbors weren’t his fault. But instead of taking offense, he smiled and nodded.

  “Exactly. I get the same thing from my friends concerning my wife. As if any talk of spouses is suddenly taboo. I hate it.”

  His response surprised her. Something warm unfurled in her chest, releasing a bit of the pressure that squeezed her lungs. When was the last time someone had actually understood the tangled emotions she had over losing Grace? Even this tiny connection to Jared made her feel a little less alone. “Your wife must have died recently if Isabel is only a year old.”

  He nodded. “Nine months ago. Isabel was five months old when Kelly was killed by a drunk driver.”

  A spark of outrage fired through her. “A drunk driver. It’s bad enough to lose someone to disease or an accident, but when another person’s carelessness is to blame…that’s—” She shook her head, fumbling for the right word to voice her dismay.

  “Yeah. It is.” He gave her a bittersweet smile, telling her he understood what went unsaid.

  Empathy pricked her heart, and she felt another thread of connection form between them. His grief might be different, but they faced similar struggles.

  “I’m sorry,” she muttered, knowing how trite the words sounded. How many people had told her they were sorry for her loss? Enough that the platitude felt empty to her. Judging by his expression, he’d heard a lot of hollow phrases in the past nine months, as well. Well-meant words that did nothing to ease the ache in his heart.

  Elise groaned and raised a hand to her face. “Ugh, did I just say that? Not that I’m not sorry about your loss, but—”

  He chuckled softly and gave her an understanding look. “I’m sorry for your loss, too. There. Now we’re even on banal expressions.” He shrugged. “Although I’ve decided to cut folks a break. I don’t think I’d know what to say to any of my friends if their wives died, either. Other than, Man, that sucks.”

  They shared a wry grin. The flicker of humor in his dark eyes mesmerized her, and after a moment, she realized she was staring at him. He had the kind of face that held a woman’s attention—square jaw, full lips, straight nose. As she shook herself from her trance, her pulse fluttered.

  She adjusted the strap of her purse on her shoulder and sidled toward the door. “I should be going.”

  “Right. Well—” He offered his hand. “—It was nice to meet you, Elise.”

  “You, too.” She took his hand, and his long fingers and warm palm folded around hers in an encompassing grasp. Firm. Strong. Dependable.

  She let her hand linger in his, puzzling over the words that had sprung to mind. Thinking she could tell anything about his character from his handshake was preposterous. And of all the traits a man could be, why was his dependability what came to mind?

  “Will you come back next week?”

  His question roused her from her sidetracked thoughts.

  Would she be back? Coming tonight had taken her weeks of preparation and building her nerve. “Maybe. I, um…”

  He squeezed her hand before releasing it. “Maybe is good enough. No pressure. Just think about it.”

  And think, she did. All week. But not just about whether she’d return to the grief-support meeting. She thought about Jared Coleman. The way he’d lost his wife. His one-year-old daughter, who was walking. His dark, compassionate eyes.

  When she weighed whether she wanted to return to the support group, her reluctance to open herself to the pain of rehashing Grace’s death was tempered by a desire to see Jared again. The connection she’d felt with him had been real. Hadn’t it? But was her interest in Jared about feeling less alone in her grief or about the flutter of attraction she’d experienced when he’d held her hand? She wasn’t looking for a boyfriend, especially not one with his own baggage and a daughter who’d remind her every day of Gracie. So why did his lopsided smile keep drifting through her mind?

  “Goodbye, Princess.” Jared kissed his daughter on the top of her head as he moved toward the door the next Thursday night. “Be good for Grandma.”

  “She’s always good. Aren’t you, Isabel?” his mother asked as she helped guide Isabel’s spoon to her mouth. Which was progress. “Will you be late?”

  “Shouldn’t be. The support group never runs later than eight o’clock. You know that.” He shoved his arms in his jacket, then fumbled in his pocket for his keys.

  “What I know is that you don’t have any sort of social life,” his mother said, and Jared groaned.

  Here we go again…

  “A handsome young man like you should be dating. It’s been almost a year since Kelly died, and—”

  “It’s been nine months,” he corrected, “and I’m not ready to date again. I may never be. No one can ever replace Kelly.” He jangled the keys in his hand impatiently. How many times in the past few weeks had he had this same conversation?

  “I’m not suggesting anyone replace her. But there are plenty of other women who have merits of their own. There’s a perfectly lovely girl in my office who—”

  He huffed a sigh of exasperation. “I can find my own dates, Mom.”

  “But you don’t.” She aimed Isabel’s spoon at him to punctuate her point.

  “Because I don’t want to date. I told you it’s too soon.”

  “A young man like you has…needs. Physical needs that—”

  Jared shuddered. “Stop!” He held up a hand and marched quickly to the back door. “Do not go there.”

  He was not discussing his sex life with his mother.

  “I’m just saying—”

  “See you a little after eight, Mom. Good night!” He exited quickly and shook his head as he strolled to his car. He knew his mother meant well, but the idea of dating again stirred a sharp ache in his chest and an uneasy sense of guilt in his gut. Damn, but he missed Kelly so much some days he could barely stand it.

  As he cranked his car’s engine, he recalled the new woman who’d visited the grief-support group last week. Elise Norris. Her glossy blonde hair, bright blue eyes and sad smile had filtered through his thoughts at odd moments this past week. While he showered. While he tried to fall asleep. When he woke in the morning.

  His pulse kicked up at the prospect of seeing her again tonight, and he frowned to himself. He’d just finished telling his mother that he wasn’t ready to date. So why was he anticipating seeing Elise tonight with schoolboylike nerves?

  Okay, yes, they’d had a certain connection in the few moments they’d talked, but that was hardly reason to get all worked up. On the heels of the anxious flutter, cumbersome thoughts of Kelly rose to quash any notion of pursuing his attention to Elise. Just five years ago he’d stood at the altar and promised to forsake all others for Kelly. How could he think of another woman when Kelly hadn’t even been gone for a year?

  Raising his daughter had to be his focus now. Not finding a new wife.

  Elise had almost made up her mind to skip the next support-group meeting when she remembered the Harrisons. Knowing that they’d also lost a baby made her want to reach out to them. If anyone could understand the hole in her heart, she guessed the young couple could. And maybe she could offer them some support, as well.

  By the time she arrived at the meeting, there were only two chairs left vacant in the circle. As Joleen called a greeting to her, Eli
se headed for the chair closest to her, but before she reached it, one of the older ladies, who’d been getting a cup of coffee, took the seat. Which left one open chair. Next to Jared. She met his gaze as she approached the chair, and he flashed her the lopsided smile that had filled her thoughts throughout the week. Her stomach flip-flopped.

  “Welcome back,” he whispered to her as she settled next to him.

  The sandalwood scent she remembered from last week filled her nose and stirred a warmth in her chest.

  Joleen called the meeting to order and opened the floor to comments and discussion. Throughout the session, Elise tried to focus on what the other members were saying, tried to work up the nerve to share something that might be valuable to the conversation, but she found herself preoccupied with every movement, every sound Jared made. A grunt of sympathy for Mrs. Bagwell. A scratch of his chin. Crossing his arms over his chest. A heavy breath…of fatigue? Boredom?

  When he shifted in his chair and her pulse scrambled, she castigated herself mentally for her schoolgirl reaction to him. She couldn’t remember ever being so hyperaware of a man in her life. What was wrong with her? She’d come to the support group for help managing her grief, not to find a boyfriend!

  Elise balled her hands in frustration and made a concerted effort to pay attention to what Kim Harrison was saying. The death of this woman’s baby was the primary reason she’d returned to the support group.

  “…like Jared said last week. I think a lot about the could-have-beens. What her laugh would have sounded like, what her favorite food would have been, whether she’d have been good at sports.” Kim looked over at Elise then. “Do you ever do that? Think about what your baby might have done, who she’d have been?”

  Elise’s breath snagged. “I…yeah. A lot. Almost constantly. When I’m not wondering what went wrong, what I could have done differently during my pregnancy that might have saved her, why this happened to me when she was my one shot at being a mother.”