The Empty Jar

by M. Leighton

  “What is it?” His voice drips with trepidation. “What’s wrong?”

  I cast a jittery grin up at him, one meant to be reassuring. “Nothing. Just…just come and sit with me.”

  I back away from him, running my hand down his arm to his fingers, which I braid with my own. Tugging, I lead him to the settee that rests in front of the fireplace in our bedroom. I sit and urge him to do the same. He does so stiffly, apprehension evident in his every rigid muscle.

  I realize the mistake I made in how I’ve approached this. The last time I took him aside for a “serious talk,” I had to tell him I’m dying.

  Purposely, I smile broadly so he can see it’s nothing bad.

  As I move my eyes over his handsome face, the face I’ve found even more appealing as the years have worn on, I see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. My smile isn’t working. He’s trying hard to keep his anxiety from me. I love him all the more for that, but I feel horrifically guilty for causing it in the first place.

  “I’m not going to mince words. All I ask is that you let me explain after I tell you this. Deal?”

  “Deal.”

  I draw breath into my lungs, feeling supported by the air in my thorax, hoping it’s enough to hold me upright if my strength fails me. “I’m pregnant.”

  In any other situation, the cascade of emotions that flit across Nate’s features would’ve been comical. Only they aren’t funny at the moment.

  I simply watch them chase each other, one by one, over the topography of his face as he processes the bomb.

  All I can do is wait.

  When I’m certain he’s passed through shock and is in clear understanding of what I said, I calmly continue.

  “After the diagnosis, I wasn’t thinking about birth control. I mean, we’ve had so much trouble getting pregnant, I’m not sure I’d have thought it necessary even if I had happened to consider it. But…I guess I should’ve.

  “At first, I wasn’t sure what was going on. Those mornings when I was sick in Rome, I thought it was the progression of the cancer, not…not…this.” Without thought, I reach for my abdomen. Nate’s eyes fall to my hand, and he stares for a few seconds. I see his expression change, and that’s when I know. I know for sure, for a fact, how my husband is going to react.

  I feel his love swell like a tidal wave. I feel it stir the air as the whitecap whooshes toward me.

  Before I can even continue, Nate is off the couch, kneeling before me with his hands pressed to my belly. He gazes at it as though if he stares hard enough, he might be able to see through my skin and muscle and tissue to the miniscule life growing within.

  “Sweet God,” he whispers, dropping his forehead onto my lap. I thread the fingers of one hand into his hair and cover my mouth with the other. I don’t want my crying to steal this moment from him, so I remain absolutely still and silent until he raises his head and brings his misty eyes back to mine.

  “Don’t move,” I tell him preemptively. I want to record this moment.

  For me.

  For Nate.

  For our child.

  Reaching into my pocket, I drag out my phone. I flick my finger over the small camera icon on the locked screen and then switch the perspective until it shows my own face. I’ve done it dozens of times over the last six weeks, unable to keep myself from speaking to our child, from recording my exuberance for him or her to watch one day.

  I hit the video button.

  I speak clearly and happily into the lens.

  “Hello, my beautiful baby! We found out that you’re real today. Our child. You’re really real. I just told your daddy about you. He’s so, so happy. I know you won’t appreciate this until you’re older, but I wanted you to see what he did when he found out he’s going to be your father.”

  I turn the camera toward my lap, toward my husband, filling the screen with his breathtaking face. It’s as luminous on the video as it is in real life.

  “You’re our miracle,” he whispers, unable to hold back the shimmer of his voice as it quavers with emotion. He turns his attention back to me, his features full of all the love we’ve shared over the years, and he whispers, “Thank you.”

  Nate doesn’t have to explain what he means.

  I know.

  As I turn off the video, my sweet husband comes to his knees. Tenderly, adoringly, he pulls me into his arms and buries his face in the curve of my neck.

  It’s in the quiet that I hear the softness of his tears, the beauty of his happiness.

  Twelve

  Life is Beautiful

  Lena

  “Merry Christmas!”

  That’s the first thing I hear when I roll over onto my back. Before I can respond, Nate’s hand is flattened out over my stomach, a tender gesture that he does more times each day than I can count.

  I feel the rise of my nightgown and the falling away of the covers as my husband bends to press his lips to my belly.

  “Merry Christmas, little one,” he murmurs to our unborn child.

  As it has so often in the last thirty-plus hours, my throat constricts. If I lived to be a thousand years old, I can’t imagine ever being unaffected by his sweetness. I suppose whether God and I patch things up or not, I have to thank Him for Nate.

  After pulling the covers back over me, Nate settles back onto the pillow beside me, bending his arm and resting his head on his fist. Then he proceeds to ask the first of many questions. “Why did you feel like you couldn’t tell me when you found out? And when did you find out, by the way?”

  He isn’t angry; he’s simply looking for answers. There is no place for anger in our relationship anymore. When I was worrying about how he’d react, I should’ve known that. Our time is limited. Nate won’t waste a moment of it on something negative. He’s as committed to “Blaze of Glory” as I am. But more than that, he’s just an amazing person. This is just who Nate Grant is.

  Caring.

  Patient.

  Wonderful.

  “I didn’t feel like I couldn’t tell you. I just knew that it would change you as much as it did me, the instant you found out, and then if I wasn’t able to carry it…” I sigh, closing my eyes against that possibility. “I couldn’t do that to you. You’re already losing me. I didn’t want to give you a baby for a few days and then take that away, too.”

  “God, Lena,” he mutters, leaning over to kiss my temple. “You carried this by yourself for all those weeks because you were worried about me.”

  It wasn’t an accusation or a question, merely a statement. A statement of understanding. Because he would do the same thing for me.

  “Yes. And I’d do it again if I thought it would spare you even one nanosecond of pain.” I work to still my quaking chin, to calm my soul, but the dam is already cracked, already in danger of failing. “Nate, I…I worry about you being all alone. I worry about you period. And I know what you’ll say if I tell you to find someone else and be happy again. I know I probably shouldn’t even waste my time telling you those kinds of things. But I can’t help worrying about it. About all of it. About all of you. So when I saw those two pink lines…I felt like my every unspoken prayer had been answered. Well, most of them anyway,” I sniff on a bitter laugh. The healing I’d plead for felt almost like too much to ask on top of everything else. That’s why I’ll be content if I can just give him this baby. That will be enough.

  It’ll have to be.

  Nate only nods. I know he isn’t surprised. Not really. We know each other too well for that. He knows how much I love him. He knows to what lengths I will go to protect him. And I know he would do the same for me. It’s who we are.

  It’s who we are to each other.

  “Did you ever consider any other… alternatives?”

  I know he knows the answer to that as well. I just can’t decide if it’s hope I hear in his voice or merely curiosity.

  “Not for a single second. Why?” Nate shrugs, and I watch him carefully. When he doesn’t answer, I prompt,
“Nate, why do you ask?”

  “I guess I just wondered if this might make you want to live a little more. Maybe try some treatment. We could try to get pregnant again later.”

  I turn onto my side and tug at the three-day stubble on my husband’s chin. “It’s not that I didn’t want to live before the baby. I would stay with you forever if I could. But forever isn’t possible anymore. And I’m just not willing to put you through the horrors of fighting a losing battle with a terminal cancer patient. I wasn’t and I’m still not willing to do that. Nate, some things are worse than death. Even for those who aren’t sick. For those who have to watch. For those who survive, but can never outlive the memories. And I won’t do that to you. I love you too much.”

  He nods his understanding, but refuses to meet my eyes. “So, your mind is made up?”

  “It hasn’t changed,” I clarify. “I choose you and your happiness and your life over trying to keep more of mine. The cost is too high, Nate. The cost is just too high.”

  The last thing I want is for Nate to think I love this child, or even the idea of this child, more than him.

  “I just…it won’t be the same without you,” he explains, his voice not quite steady.

  My heart splinters like a dry piece of driftwood under an unforgiving heel. “I know. I know, but it’s the only way a part of me can stay. I’ll be with you for the rest of your days now. In our child.”

  I scrunch down in the bed and press my cheek to Nate’s chest, letting the tears flow between us, wetting both my skin and his.

  His next words vibrate with emotion, and I bite my lip to keep my sobs inside. “I hope it’s a girl. And she looks just like you. Because I can’t bear the thought of my life without you, Lena. I…I don’t know how—”

  He stops abruptly, and I wind my arms around him and hold on tight. We draw comfort from each other, as much as can be had, and we mourn together over what will never be.

  We lie this way, wrapped up in each other, for nearly an hour before either of us dares to move. But it’s Nate who recovers first, always the resilient one.

  “I guess we’d better get cracking if we’re gonna get this tree up today.”

  “Tree? What tree?”

  Nate slithers out of my arms, sits up, and then lobs a mischievous grin over his shoulder. “The Christmas tree, of course. You and I are going to do everything we can with the baby. And we’re going to tape it all.”

  I sit up. “We are?” I’d planned to do videos for the baby so I can share with it all the things I won’t have a lifetime to share, but this idea… I love this idea! Our child will be able to get a glimpse of what holidays and weekends and precious moments in life would’ve been like with two parents. And he or she will get to see how much it was loved by the mother who passed away.

  “We are. We’re going to decorate the Christmas tree and sing silly songs. We’re going to document everything and make a mountain of shit I can use to embarrass that kid with later in life. It’s what any responsible, loving parent would do, right?”

  “Of course,” I reply, not missing a beat, giving in to a grin that feels somehow like victory. A small victory, but a victory nonetheless. And I’ll take all I can get at this point.

  This is the Nate I love. This is the Nate I will always love, through death’s door and far beyond. He will be full of enough life for both of us, and he will be more than enough parent and caregiver for our baby.

  Not that I ever doubted him. I knew from the moment I suspected I was pregnant that my husband would be the best kind of father. Just like he is the best kind of husband. Nate doesn’t know how to fail at anything. It isn’t in his DNA.

  This—this moment, this day, this man—assures me that I made the right decision in waiting to tell him. It didn’t hurt anything, but had things gone a different way, it would’ve saved him enormous heartache. I suspected it all along, but I can see now that I was right. And I’m glad. The last thing I want to do is bring him anything except happiness.

  The sun has long since set by the time we plop down onto the couch to enjoy the flickering lights of our handiwork.

  “Go stand in front of the tree for a sec,” Nate suggests, taking my phone from the table beside him.

  Without question, I do as he asks. He turns on the camera and aims it at me, triggering the record button when he’s happy with his view. “Welcome to your first Christmas, Grant spawn,” he begins happily. He’s speaking to our child, but he’s watching me on the screen. I can see his eyes. I can feel them, too. On me. Always one me. “This is your dad. It’s Christmas day, and you’re still a polka dot in your mom’s belly.” He smiles when I raise my hands to lovingly stroke my stomach. “I wanted you to see how beautiful she is, how beautiful life is with her. See how the lights sparkle a little brighter, how the tree stands up a little taller when she’s around? That’s all because of your mother. She makes everything around her better, and I hope you get all the very best parts of her. I love her. And we both love you. Merry Christmas.”

  Nate looks beyond the screen to the real me, not just my image. He meets my eyes and brings a smile to play around the edges of my mouth. He nods to me, indicating it’s my turn to speak to the baby.

  I clear my throat and smile wider.

  “Hello, my gorgeous baby. I’d give anything to be able to hold you right now, to sit with you under the Christmas tree. Enjoy the lights and the fire. With your father by my side. But having you at all is the best Christmas gift I could ever ask for. I want you to know that you’ve made this year, this very hard year, the best of my life. You’ve made all this worth it. Kiss your daddy every day for me. And he will kiss you for me. I love you. I love you both. So much. Merry Christmas.”

  ********

  Nate

  I tap the red button to stop the recording. As I lower the phone, I wonder if I’ll ever be able to watch these films without feeling like the biggest part of me is missing.

  And never coming back.

  Thirteen

  I’d Die for You

  Lena

  Despite the jovial holiday celebration Nate and I enjoyed, I’m uneasy. I know my husband well enough to know that he feels the same way. Beneath all the laughs and cute videos and tender moments, he’s nervous. I can tell. I don’t think either of us will feel comfortable about the pregnancy until I see Dr. Taffer again.

  And today is that day.

  Although I told Nate every word spoken between Dr. Stephens and me, he wants to go to my appointments with me. And I completely understand. I wouldn’t have seen my obstetrician by myself had I not been trying to protect Nate until I had some answers. Now, there’s no way in the world I would exclude him, good news or bad. We are one hundred percent in this together.

  On the drive to the oncologist’s office, the car is filled with anxiety, and neither Nate nor I say much.

  From a professional standpoint, I have a boatload of questions to ask, but from a personal standpoint, only one of them really matters. It’s the same question I know Nate wants answered as well.

  It’s the one filling the car with the thickest of tension.

  Can I carry this baby?

  That’s the million dollar question, one only God Himself knows the answer to, but I’m willing to put enough faith in my doctors to at least ease my mind about it.

  Dr. Stephens will be consulting Dr. Taffer, my oncologist, about me so they can manage the pregnancy together. I know, however, that considering the holidays and the short time period, it’s highly unlikely they’ve exchanged calls, notes, or test results yet. If they had, I’d know. I would’ve gotten a call from Dr. Taffer. But since I haven’t, I can only assume my visit today will be the first she’s hearing about it.

  Her expertise will be extremely important. Only my oncologist will know how the cancer will affect my body, which in turn will affect the baby. That is what I’m most concerned about. That is what I want her to tell me today—that this is manageable. That my baby can survive.<
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  Nate takes my hand as we sit, side by side, in the chairs inside the small examination room at the cancer center. His grip is tight, tighter than usual. I know without a doubt that he isn’t even aware of it. It’s merely an outward sign of how frightened he is, how out of control he feels. I know that to be true because I feel exactly the same way.

  Rallying the best that I can, I muster a stiff smile for Dr. Taffer when she walks in.

  “So, how was Europe? How are you feeling?” the doctor asks right off the bat, patting the paper-covered examination table, a silent invitation for me to hop up there.

  I remain seated. I know there is going to be a lot of discussion before an actual examination takes place, and I don’t waste any time getting right to the point

  “Europe was amazing. I was sick for a few weeks right in the middle, but it wasn’t related to the cancer.”

  Lheanne Taffer’s brow pleats for only a moment before it smooths out and she rolls on her stool to be closer to me. “No? What was it, the food?”

  “No. I’m pregnant.”

  The only indication that Dr. Taffer even heard me is the two-second widening of her eyes before she brings her expression carefully under control. “Are you certain? Have you seen your obstetrician?”

  “I have. She’ll be sending you copies of everything. Probably giving you a call.” My fingers tremble within Nate’s. I feel the slight squeeze of his hand around mine, an offer of comfort, a quiet way of assuring me that it will all be okay.

  “And?”

  “I’m over nine weeks now. Nearly ten.”

  “So, it was confirmed via ultrasound?”

  “Yes.” I can’t help my smile. The baby…it’s all that matters. “Although she’s obviously concerned, she’s going to do her best to get me through this.”

  Dr. Taffer nods. “Is that what you want?”