The Songs of You and Me

by Mylissa Demeyere

  “It’s okay,” she reassured me.

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “I’m slowly figuring out that you’re still the same Jackson. My Jackson.” Her words warmed me from the inside out and gave me the strength to start.

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” I met her gaze, and started where it all fell apart.

  Two Years Earlier

  Demons– Imagine Dragons

  JACKSON

  “I’m home,” I called out. Ainsley was twenty-one weeks pregnant, and we were both looking forward to becoming parents.

  Her first trimester was awful. She threw up almost nonstop and was emotional, a real mess. Finally, she was back to her normal self and looked like she was pregnant, with a small, protruding belly.

  I was trying, really trying, to make us work. We both knew that this baby was what kept us trying.

  “Ains, you here?” I hollered, not finding her downstairs. Running up the stairs, I went to the bedroom.

  “What’s going on?” I ran to her curled up form lying on the bathroom floor.

  “It hurts.” Her words came out strained as she huddled up even more and grunted in pain.

  “Hey, Ainsley.” I tried to get her to look at me, figure out what was going on. She didn’t respond but kept groaning in pain. I scooped her up and carried her downstairs. Settling her in the car, I noticed a dark red stain on my sleeve.

  I rushed to the hospital.

  “I’m so sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Wright,” the ER doctor addressed us. “We can’t detect a heartbeat. The baby’s gone.”

  Ainsley wailed, interrupting the man.

  “Your wife is in premature labor. We are going to have to deliver this baby.”

  Ainsley was clinging to me, sobbing inconsolably. I remained standing, trying to be strong for Ainsley, but inside something switched off. My baby died. A part of me was gone.

  “What happens now?” I had leafed through some of the pregnancy books Ainsley had lying around, so I was familiar with the concept of labor and delivery, but not in this situation. Nothing could have prepared me for this. I swallowed the pain and felt the tears rise.

  “We’ll get through this,” I choked. She stared in front of her, the tears falling steadily. She didn’t bother to dry them.

  After the baby was delivered—a tiny little girl named Leah, weighing 12.5 ounces—we were given some time to spend with her. Those moments were some of the hardest and most precious memories of my life.

  Ainsley took the loss extra hard. She fell into a depression, stopped eating, cried almost constantly. Basically couldn’t deal with the pain and loss. And nothing I did or said seemed to help. But I tried. I kept trying.

  Burying the baby was a small and private affair, just Ainsley, me, and the funeral director. Ainsley wasn’t up to facing people, and I wanted a private moment to say good-bye to my baby girl. We decided to surprise my parents with the news of Ainsley’s pregnancy, but now there wouldn’t be anything to share.

  “I’m headed back into work tomorrow,” I announced, trying to get through to her. She was seated, staring at nothing, rocking herself. She was wearing the same yoga pants and sweater she’d put on two days ago when I forced her to have a shower, her hair still a tangled mess from not brushing it after washing it.

  “Do you need me to fix you something to eat?” I asked her, staring at her untouched lunch from earlier. She didn’t eat much, if anything, since getting back from the hospital almost two weeks ago.

  “No,” she answered.

  “Ainsley.” I sat down next to her on the sofa. I pulled her to me, cradling her in my arms.

  “Talk to me,” I urged. Anything would be better than this silence.

  “It’s all my fault,” she cried, a sob shaking her whole frame.

  “Don’t say that.” I pushed her hair from her face.

  “It is.” Her voice picked up, and she pulled back. “You don’t understand.”

  “Ains, these things happen. You heard the doctor.” I reminded her of his words of comfort.

  “It serves me right for what I did.” I couldn’t imagine what was causing her to feel this kind of guilt, but grief does funny things to people.

  “Shhh.” I pulled her closer and rubbed her back.

  “Stop!” she howled. “I can’t bear it, looking at you, knowing what I did.“ She got up and started pacing. “It’s all my fault.” She held on to her sides, her pace increasing in speed. She wasn’t making any sense.

  “What are you talking about?” I sat up straighter.

  “I don’t even know if the baby was yours,” she blurted, looking relieved to finally say the words. I, on the other hand, felt like she took a knife and stabbed me, killed everything I ever loved.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” I stood up, facing her, the room suddenly feeling too small to contain my building emotions.

  “I’m saying,” her voice rose once more, “I cheated on you. I was never sure if the baby was yours. The guilt was eating away at me. So I caused this.” Tears formed in her eyes again.

  “Cheated? And you never told me? You let me believe the baby was mine?”

  “I didn’t know whose it was!” she screamed, getting frantic.

  “What would you have done if we didn’t lose the baby?” I asked.

  Her silence was answer enough. She would have never told me, and I might have ended up raising a child I wasn’t even sure was mine.

  “And how in the world did you cause this?” I grilled her.

  “It was my fault. If I would’ve never messed up like that, this would’ve never happened.” She moaned, and my heart squeezed in my chest. I felt like reaching out to her, like I did so often in the past two weeks to comfort her, but my own pain held me back.

  “So while I held that precious little baby girl in my hand, cried my heart out, mourned with you, all you felt was guilt?” I was seething.

  “It wasn’t like that.” She moved toward me, but my defenses held me back.

  “I sat there with you, buried our child, and you tell me you don’t even know if she was mine? What the hell, Ainsley!”

  “I made a mistake.” she cried, pleading with me to understand.

  “You’re damn right you made a mistake!” I hissed. I couldn’t stand the sight of her.

  “You and me, Ainsley, we’re through. I’m done, so done!” All I thought I ever wanted in life was ripped to pieces by the one person that was supposed to be everything to me.

  Present Day

  Walking The Wire – Imagine Dragons

  JANE

  Jackson finished talking, and for the first time since seeing him again, he appeared older. Like the grief etched years into his face, all of a sudden. Maybe this change was always there. I just wasn’t able to pinpoint it. Knowing the grief he carried around with him each day made my heart genuinely hurt. I could feel it wash over me, my chest sucking the air right out of me.

  “I had no idea,” I consoled, at a loss for adequate words.

  “Yeah, not something you throw out in general conversation.” He chuckled bitterly.

  I loosened my grip on his hand and wrapped my arms around him. My forehead rested on his instinctively, seeking him out. His warmth, his skin on mine, offered comfort.

  “I’m so sorry you had to go through that,” I whispered, staring into his blue eyes. The hurt was visible, but I read trust there. Trust that led him to share his pain.

  “I lost everything that day. But today, when I thought I lost you…” Jackson shuddered.

  I quieted him by pressing my lips to his.

  He responded and wrapped his arms around me, deepening the kiss as I opened up to him. As our tongues tangled, we melded into each other, not sure where he began and I ended.

  “I swear, nothing happened with her,” he exhaled, still under the spell of our kiss.

  “I know. I’m learning that I can trust you, Jackson.” I pressed my lips to his for a quick kiss, relishing the comfo
rt I felt from the hope he gave me.

  “So we’re still doing this?” His boyish grin was back, and my body responded. He ran his hand over my cheekbone, a thousand fireworks exploding under his touch.

  “We most definitely are.”

  This time, his lips were on mine before I could get the last word out, showing me exactly how we were doing this.

  JACKSON

  Finding out Ainsley confronted Jane today brought back a wave of horrible memories. That woman had caused enough havoc in my life. No way in hell was I letting her get her claws on what I had now.

  Opening up to Jane had been hard. Whenever I even thought of Leah, my body hurt. But feeling Jane’s love and trust made it bearable to share this part of myself with her. Now she knew how broken I really was.

  “How about we pick up Emma and we get an early dinner?” I offered. “I don’t know about you, but I skipped lunch, and I’m hungry.” Now that the tension was gone, my body reminded me how hungry I really was.

  “Sounds perfect.” Jane cradled my face before pressing her lips to mine and getting up. I could get used to this.

  “What movie are we watching tonight, kid?” I settled in the sofa with a bowl of popcorn and tousled Emma’s blonde curls before turning my attention to the TV.

  “Harry Potter.” She squealed, jumping up and down on the seat before dropping down next to me. My arms curled around her.

  “Didn’t we watch that last time?” I could have sworn we did.

  “Sure, but that was the first, now we move on to the second. Duh!” She cocked her head to the side. That cute, adorable sass of hers made an appearance, reminding me of a young Jane.

  “Okay, my bad. So how many of these are there?” I asked, adding a little bit of attitude to my question.

  “Seven.”

  “Seven?” I blurted.

  “Well, seven books.” She rolled her eyes, like I was completely clueless. “Eight movies, of course. They always make two movies out of the last book. Everybody knows that.” She shook her head at my ignorance.

  “Of course, everybody knows that.” I laughed at her attempt at maturity.

  “But Mom won’t let me watch the last ones until I’m older. Boo!” She scrunched up her cute little face and folded her arms.

  “What, baby girl?” Jane walked in with our drinks and sat down on my other side. Thank goodness we didn’t have to go through the whole debacle like last time. She remembered.

  “Just educating Jackson.” She exhaled.

  “Okay.” Jane chuckled, taking in my perplexed state. That kid sure was a handful, a cute handful, but a handful.

  “Pssttt…” Emma pulled me to her, not being discreet at all. “You told her yet?” she whisper-yelled in my ear.

  “I did.” I used the same volume level as I leaned into her ear.

  A broad smile erupted on her face. “Good!” she exclaimed.

  “Do I even want to know?” Jane leaned against me and whispered.

  “Oh, no.” I fought a grin.

  Emma winked at me, catching our exchange. She stuck her pinkie out to me, and without being told this time, mine curled around hers. She gave me another broad grin and shook our crooked fingers before winking and releasing my finger.

  “Let’s play the movie.” Jane gave us a funny look but pressed the play button.

  “Oh, Mom,” Emma yelled out over the intro. “Can Jackson put me to bed tonight?”

  Our eyes met, reading the underlying meaning. Me putting Emma to bed, Jane letting me, making myself a fixed part of their lives meant there was no going back. Her eyes held mine as she read all I was communicating there. How I wanted this, wanted them, wanted it all.

  “Sure, baby girl.”

  I pulled her close and kissed the top of her head.

  “Yeah!” she howled. “I love you, Jackson,” she added silently, for only me to hear. My heart squeezed. I was stunned at how easily she offered me her devotion. But I felt the same way.

  “Love you, too, kid.” I gave her another squeeze.

  Two Years Earlier

  Home – Dotan

  JACKSON

  What was the pounding sound? Was it in my head? I rolled over, cursing myself for downing the last of that bottle last night and passing out on the couch. The pounding didn’t ease up, a steady beat in my throbbing head. Maybe it wasn’t the remaining alcohol causing the clobbering in there.

  Getting up, I followed the sound to the front door. I swore when I looked through the peep hole.

  “I know you’re in there!” my baby sister yelled through the door of my one-bedroom flat, probably waking up my next-door neighbors.

  I’d lived in this apartment in Boston since moving out of the home I’d shared with my soon-to-be ex-wife.

  “Go away, Sarah!” I called back, tripping over empty bottles of booze and takeout containers.

  “Jackson Paul Wright, you open this door right now!” she growled through the door, unfazed by the other tenants’ cries to keep the noise down. Begrudgingly, I opened up, willing her to keep the volume down.

  “You look like crap.” She stormed inside, after taking a long, hard look at me. The mess didn’t stop her. She walked in like she owned the place and turned on her heel to face me once she took in the worst of it in the living room.

  “What’s going on with you?” She placed her hands on her hips and gave me another one of her steely stares.

  “Nothing. I’m fine,” I grumbled, feeling like a petulant child.

  “Well, you look like hell.” She shook her head and huffed.

  “What happened, Jackson?” Her voice turned soft, her eyes blinking back the tears. As hard as it was for me to have her see me like this, it probably was even harder on her.

  “I don’t even know where to start.”

  “How about you go and have a shower and fix that face of yours.” She was eyeing my beard. I hadn’t bothered much with my appearance since the day Ainsley dropped the bomb on me. “And I’ll try to make a start on this here.” She indicated the dump that was my place and pushed me in the direction of the bathroom.

  The hot water felt good on my skin, clearing out some of the fog in my head the alcohol left there last night. The downside of being aware of my surroundings was feeling. The hurt, the pain, the image of Leah, Ainsley’s face when I left her still broken and recovering. I couldn’t shake it, as hard as I tried. Only when I drank and passed out did the pain and images go away. Luckily, I didn’t screw up on the job. There, it was easy to stay focused and keep my head in the game, but at night, alone, I fought the demons that haunted me.

  Staring in the mirror, I didn’t recognize the guy in front of me. From the dark circles under my eyes to the set jaw covered in dark stubble, that guy had become a stranger. Even my hair was longer than it ever was.

  “You look a lot better,” Sarah greeted me, taking in my shaved jawline and clean clothes. I probably smelled a lot better, too.

  “Thanks for this.” I looked at the place. Already one trash bag was filled at the front door with all the mess that was lying around. Sarah was wearing rubber gloves, scrubbing down the kitchen, determination pushing her forward.

  “Once we get this place cleaned, you and I are going to have a sit-down and talk about why you weren’t returning my calls.”

  I eyed her, shame washing over me.

  “And what all of this mess is about. You call us, tell us you and Ainsley are getting a divorce, and you’re moving out. Then you almost disappear off the face of the earth.” Her voice broke as she scrubbed the surface she already tackled.

  “Okay.” I swallowed, knowing this was a long time coming.

  I stuffed the last bite of Sarah’s pot pie in my mouth and set my fork down. It had been a long, long time since I ate a home-cooked meal.

  “That was amazing, as usual, lil sis.” I rubbed my belly, content to feel it loaded with a hot meal.

  “I’m glad you enjoyed it.” Sarah’s eyes were trained on me, her
own food hardly touched. She had that intent gaze, the one that told me she was deep in thought.

  “Let me put these away.” I stood and collected the dirty dishes, happy to keep my hands busy to avoid her penetrating glare.

  “You know we’re going to talk about all of this.” She followed me in the kitchen, which actually looked like one again thanks to her intervention today. “You can’t keep avoiding the subject.”

  “I know.” I exhaled, my back to her, setting the plates in the sink. My shoulders hunched, feeling the gravity of the situation I was in pushing down on them.

  “I don’t even know where to start.” I turned around and faced her, running my hands through my longer hair and tugging on the ends.

  “How about at the beginning?” she coaxed.

  I knew this wouldn’t be easy, but I met her gaze and saw my sister. The one person who always cheered me on, no matter what. The person who had my back every single time. Like when I played with matches when I was eight, and she backed me up when I lied and told our parents I burned my finger on the stove instead of playing with fire. Or the time I got picked on by a bully and she stuck up for me even though we both ended up running to avoid a beating. Or how she stood by me when Jane dated and married David. Knowing I could trust her no matter what, I opened up and told her everything.

  I started from the beginning and shared how my life shattered that night we lost baby Leah, how my heart broke having to lay her cold body in the ground. I shared how Ainsley ripped me to pieces by her betrayal and how I lost all I held dear that night. And most of all, I spoke of my guilt. How I hated myself for walking out on her, not being able to look at her without feeling hatred toward her. How that ate me up from the inside out. How I loved that child that was now gone, and might not have even been mine. I poured it all out, in a frantic eruption, still reeling after all this time.