Harper had the urge to crawl under the covers on her mom’s bed and pretend she was ten years old again, her responsibilities at zero and an endless summer of discovery stretching to the horizon.
A contraction had her scrunching around her stomach and grabbing the doorjamb for support. The pain weakened her knees and left her trembling. Her mother brushed Harper’s hair off her sweaty forehead.
“I can’t do this,” Harper gasped in the aftermath.
“Of course you can. And you will. You have no choice but to go forward, sweets.”
If her mom’s voice had wavered or shown any weakness at all, Harper would have collapsed. But the steel in her mom’s expression sent a wave of strength through Harper. Maybe it was borrowed or even false, but it worked. A sense of inevitability, as if the outcome had been preordained, calmed her panic.
“Let’s get your bag and wake Allison up.” Her mom wrapped an arm around her waist and guided her out, knocking on Allison’s door as they passed.
Allison too was dressed. “I woke up about twenty minutes ago thinking I heard something.”
“Probably me,” Harper said.
“Grab her hospital bag and let’s go, Allison.”
Even though Allison had birthed three kids, she moved with an energy that danced on the edge of panic.
A dense mugginess characteristic of July on the beach permeated the morning air already. Noon would see the temperature hit triple digits. A replica of the day she’d met Noah.
Halfway down the sidewalk to the car, she burst into tears. She had never considered herself much of a crier, but the smallest thing set her off these days. Her mom had stopped asking because most of the time she couldn’t pinpoint a problem, which meant it was unfixable.
Her mom’s arm tightened around her midsection—her waist no longer in existence—and they plowed on. Her mom guided her to the front passenger seat.
Cars on the road were sparse, which would change as day-trippers flooded the narrow strip of land. A contraction stopped her tears. Self-pity was an extravagance she couldn’t afford at the moment.
Their arrival at the hospital was a blur. While her mom spoke to a woman behind a glass partition, a man in white came out with a wheelchair and rolled Harper straight past the check-in desk and through swinging doors he opened by hitting a button on the wall. She craned around to keep her mom in sight.
“Can we wait for my mom?” The pitifulness of her request wasn’t lost on her, but she couldn’t help it.
“I’m here.” Allison grabbed her hand and walked at her side.
Harper squeezed Allison’s hand as pain shrouded her reality.
Time was measured by her contractions, a pain-relief cycle that stole her ability to function. Allison and the nurse helped her into a hospital gown and onto the bed.
The fact that a male nurse, the only man besides Noah to ever see her naked, helped her undress didn’t even faze her. Pain obliterated any sense of modesty.
“Epidural. Now.” She clutched the nurse’s arm.
“Dr. Marks should be here any minute.” The man’s voice was low and was probably meant to be soothing. It didn’t work.
“I want a freaking epidural.” She tightened her hold.
Her ob-gyn, Dr. Adele Marks, breezed in on a cloud of light perfume. She was in her midfifties, her former life as a sought-after Virginia debutante apparent in her perfectly coiffed blond-gray bob, dress, and heels. As a regular library patron, she was a long-standing family friend with impeccable taste in books. Harper trusted her.
“Harper. As I live and breathe, I thought for sure we’d have to induce you. Legs up and let’s check baby’s progress.”
“I want a freaking epidural,” Harper repeated like a broken record, her voice scratching at the end as another contraction racked her body.
The nurse said, “Contractions are two minutes apart, Doc.”
“Oh my. Let’s see where we are.”
Harper was only distantly aware of the hands shifting her. The voices around her gained in volume and urgency, and she opened her eyes to find two more nurses—women this time—flanking her bed and pulling it apart. Adele was putting on a blue surgical-type robe and gloves. The swiftness of the situation scared Harper.
“I want my mom,” Harper said, “and an epidural.”
At first she thought no one had heard, but Adele came around the bed and took her hands. “Darlin’, it’s too late for an epidural. Baby’s crowning.”
“But … but you said, first-time births usually take forever.”
“Seems like your little boy or girl wants to blow the curve.”
“My mom. Where is she?”
“I sent for her. Paperwork can wait. This baby won’t.” Adele smiled.
“I can’t do this. Not without Noah.”
Adele’s smile wilted. “Oh, darlin’, you have to. But remember women have had to bear this burden since time began. You aren’t alone. A long line of strong women stand to support you.”
Her mom took her other hand, Allison beside her. She had lost Noah, but three strong women stood with her today. She took a deep, shuddery breath. “I’m ready.”
Adele moved to Harper’s feet, helping position them in the stirrups, and gave orders in a sweetly Southern but authoritative voice.
“Time to push, Harper dear, but softly. We don’t want baby to squirt out and shoot across the room.”
If she could have laughed, she would have, but her life was pain and pain was her life. Breathing was a success.
Her mom put an arm around her back and lifted her slightly. Harper grabbed her knees and crunched forward, pushing. Twice more she repeated the action.
“Perfect, Harper. Head’s out. Wait for the next contraction and give me another push.”
The contractions didn’t seem to end but rolled one into another, so Harper took a deep breath and pushed.
“Yes! Here come the shoulders and…”
An ebbing of the constant pain flowed over her. She dropped her head back on the pillow. A flurry of movement between her legs was taking place, but she couldn’t summon the energy to sit up and look.
A baby’s cry rang out. Harper’s emotions were in tatters, and all she could think was, Wrong, wrong, wrong. It all felt wrong without Noah. He’d been so excited.
“It’s a boy. A boy.” Tears trickled down her mom’s cheeks and curved into the grooves of her smile. “He’s beautiful. Perfect.”
Adele brought the baby to Harper. His eyes were swollen and closed. He squawked and waved an arm around, blood smearing his bald head. He was ugly. Nothing like Noah. Her arms remained at her sides.
“Go on, Harper, take your baby.” Adele shoved the baby at her, and she took him instinctively. Everyone stood around her with identical beatific smiles. Harper should be oohing and ahing and forgetting about the pain in her happiness, but it was like her heart was in a deep freeze.
A nurse took him, and all Harper felt was relief. It took another half hour before she was cleaned up and the bed was reassembled with clean sheets. In that time, the baby was measured and weighed and given a sponge bath.
The nurse slipped the baby into her arms. He wasn’t as ugly as her first impression. At least he wasn’t screaming his tiny head off. And he smelled better. His eyes were still swollen, but they blinked up at her, unfocused. Not Noah’s blue, but a shade lighter than her own. His hair was sparse and circled his head like a monk’s tonsure but also matched hers.
The nurse helped get the baby latched on to Harper’s breast; the pinch and pull of the baby’s mouth mounted an echo of a contraction in her womb.
Harper endured. She’d read all the mothering how-to books in the first months of her pregnancy with relish. She knew what she was supposed to do even if she lacked enthusiasm. At the nurse’s prodding, Harper switched the baby to the other side. The nurse smiled down at her.
What was it with that smile? She wasn’t the Madonna with Child. Harper dropped her gaze, but the vie
w of the baby going to town on her boob wasn’t any more comfortable. She closed her eyes.
“Have you picked a name yet?”
Without opening her eyes, Harper whispered, “Ben. Ben Wilcox.”
It was the name Noah had wanted. The name he’d whispered in her ear the night they had been discussing possibilities. It had seemed important to him, and she’d liked it, too.
The nurse took Ben and, after changing his diaper, laid him in a rolling bassinet next to the bed. It wasn’t even noon. The sun shined into the windows, but the abrupt change in scenery from her dark belly to the bright world didn’t seem to bother Ben, who closed his eyes and slept.
Harper turned to her side, feeling like she’d been dropped over a cliff and then hit with an anvil. She stared at Ben and waited for a miraculous connection to form. Nothing happened. No hope or enthusiasm, only a bone-tired relief the actual birth was over with. She slept and didn’t dream.
The next days followed the same pattern except she was home. She slept when Ben slept and woke with him for feedings but otherwise didn’t have a desire to hold and cuddle him. Allison went back to her family, but her reluctance was palpable. Harper had interrupted more than one whispered conversation between Allison and her mom.
Her mom pressed her to pick a date for Noah’s parents to come see their grandchild, but Harper put her off each time the subject came up. The last time she’d seen them had been at Noah’s funeral, and facing them again would bring back that awful day.
She felt detached, as if the birth had cut her tether to reality. She bathed and ate and did the minimum amount of work to keep Ben happy and growing. Her mom picked up the slack, giving Ben the cuddles and attention Harper couldn’t spare.
Adele stopped by, ostensibly for a social call, but unlike Ben, Harper hadn’t been born almost yesterday. Her mom showed Ben off to Adele, who cooed and kissed cheeks that had already grown chubbier.
After Harper put Ben down for a nap in the crib next to her bed, she lay down, too, savoring the silence. Adele knocked softly and poked her head around the door before Harper could respond or pretend to be sleeping.
She glided across the carpet with a grace that was becoming a lost art and arranged herself on the side of the bed. “Most women suffer from some level of postpartum depression, darlin’.”
“I know.” She remembered the chapter in her baby user’s manual. “That’s not what this is, though.”
Adele gazed toward Ben. “Maybe not entirely, but the hormones could be amplifying your grief. I can’t imagine what you’ve been through on top of giving birth. There’s no shame in asking for help.”
“I don’t need help.” Harper stared toward the window. “I’m tired.”
“Of course.” Adele patted her hand and slipped out the door, but not before casting a worried look over her shoulder. Harper ignored the little voice in her head that wondered if Adele was right and drifted into the only solace she had left—sleep.
Three weeks after coming home from the hospital, she was jerked from a dream about Noah by Ben’s soft mewling. It was dark outside, and she pulled a pillow over her head. Would she ever get a decent night’s sleep again?
His mewl turned into a cry. Her body responded without her moving, her breasts leaking and aching. She hated the fact that her body no longer belonged to her but to the baby. Ben’s cry ratcheted up another few decibels. Better to respond before DEFCON 1 was reached.
She scooped Ben up and settled into the rocking chair by the window. While Ben nursed, she stared into the sky, the stars bright around the sliver of a moon. If it weren’t for the exhaustion she faced in the morning, she might enjoy the peace.
Instead of putting him into a milk-induced coma like usual, the feeding energized Ben. He kicked his legs and took hold of a hank of Harper’s hair, yanking with a strength that made her yelp more out of surprise than pain.
A gummy smile crinkled Ben’s face. Harper smiled back automatically, the motion stiff as if her smile muscles had atrophied. His smile faded. It was probably gas. She made a funny sound. He smiled again, even bigger.
A warmth bloomed in her chest as her heart skipped ahead, making itself felt for the first time in weeks. Maybe it was the exhaustion or her grief or simply the shadows, but Ben had inherited something from Noah. His grin. The one that made his eyes twinkle.
The next morning, instead of handing Ben off to her mom and retreating for more sleep, she sat with him and tried to get him to smile again by making funny faces and noises. Just when she convinced herself she’d imagined it all, his gummy smile lit her up like sparklers.
She cradled him in the crook of her arm and quick-walked to the kitchen. “Mom! He smiled.”
Her mom turned from washing dishes, drying her hands on a dish towel. “Honey. He’s too young. He probably has gas.”
“That’s what I thought, too, but look.…” She chuffed like a horse and brought her nose to his. He grinned and waved his fists as if he couldn’t contain his good humor.
“Oh my goodness.” Her mom covered her mouth and stood over Harper’s shoulder.
Harper repeated her chuff and got the same response. “Do you see it, too?” she whispered.
“He looks like Noah when he smiles, doesn’t he?” Her mom put an arm around Harper’s shoulders and leaned her head to put them temple to temple.
Tears rushed to Harper’s eyes. It wasn’t an unusual state for her these days, but she’d gotten good at sandbagging her emotions. Like a river jumping its banks, she had no control this time. Sobs racked her body. She cradled Ben close to her heart. Her mom’s arms wrapped around her from behind and rocked them, a protective force.
That’s what she had to be for Ben. He would grow up without a father. The least she could do was try to be the best mother possible.
After her body was drained of tears, she cradled Ben’s head and leaned down to kiss him. He took her outburst in stride and rooted for her breast. “Will you make me an appointment with Adele?” In a whisper, she added, “I think I need help.”
Her mom gave her one more squeeze around the shoulders and went straight for the phone.
The medicine and therapy weren’t a cure-all, but instead of feeling like she was on a roller coaster spiraling constantly downward, the upswings made her grief bearable. She laughed and smiled as much as she cried, and caring for Ben was done out of joy and not duty.
The week Noah’s parents visited was difficult. Moments of happiness were interspersed equally with a heart-swallowing sadness. But she gladly promised frequent access to their grandchild, knowing how important it would be to them and to Ben in the coming years.
The days passed as if time was fluid, flowing rapidly at some points, meandering slowly at others, and marked by the milestones Ben reached. His first bite of baby food—pureed sweet potatoes, which he loved. His first word—“Mama.” His first step. His first haircut. His first birthday. Each one bittersweet because Noah wasn’t there to bear witness.
She weaned herself off the antidepressant, afraid of backsliding into soul-crushing sadness, but she felt strong, her good days outnumbering her bad. Time didn’t heal her wounds but grew scar tissue over them, and she and Ben survived.
Chapter 20
Present Day
Jack London bounded down the beach after Libby and Ryan and Ben. The surf was too cold for Harper’s blood, but the sun was out and a warm breeze ruffled her hair. She and Bennett had slipped their shoes off and rolled up their pants.
“Thanks for coming down.” Harper slipped her hand into his for a squeeze. She half-expected him to shake her off. He didn’t seem the hand-holding type, but he only linked their fingers and tightened his grip.
“I hate that I was off in the woods and you had to deal with everything by yourself.” His voice was strong and rumbly and reassuring.
She’d forgotten what it was like to have someone to lean on who wouldn’t fall. It was nice. “You were working. I’m used to handling things on my
own.”
“Yeah.” The way he drew the word out had her gaze sweeping to his face, but before she could question him he asked, “Any change in Sophie?”
“Not yet, but it’s only been three days.” Only three days. A lifetime. Every hour that ticked off without her regaining consciousness increased the grim reality of her never waking.
Libby fell to her knees next to Jack London and untied the ribbon in her hair. Ben and Ryan played tag, squealing when the cold water lapped at their legs. Jack didn’t run after the boys but stayed with Libby as if he sensed her need. She tied the pink ribbon in Jack’s fur, giving him a hornlike ponytail on top of his head.
“Jack is so good with Libby. Was he trained as a therapy dog?” Harper pulled Bennett to a stop so they wouldn’t interrupt girl and dog.
Bennett dug his toes into the sand, his gaze down. Harper turned to face him without letting go of his hand, bending down to catch his eye.
“No. I got him as a puppy at a shelter,” he said. “A SEAL friend suggested I get a dog after I got out. With everything that happened, I was having a … rough time.”
While he wasn’t throwing a door open on the past, a tiny window cracked. He was at least acknowledging something traumatic had happened. She had promised herself and him she wouldn’t push him. She planned to keep that promise no matter how many questions threatened to launch. She kept silent.
“I dismissed the idea of a dog at first. I could barely take care of myself. But then I was driving and saw a sign for a shelter. My truck ended up in the parking lot. I sat there awhile. Maybe more than a while,” he said on a small laugh.
“Eventually, I went in and almost turned around. It was overwhelming. I walked down a long row of cages stacked on top of one another and filled with dogs. At the end a big puppy was lying there with his chin on his paws. Not barking or whining. He looked at me like he knew me and was waiting for me.” His laugh bordered on uncomfortable. “That makes me sound crazy, doesn’t it?”
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