Beyond These Walls (The Walls Duet #2)

by J. L. Berg

  She was resting on her back, her head cocked to the side. Her little hands lay high above her in a touchdown position. Seeing her like that, in such a baby-like pose, gave me hope that beyond the wires and tubes clinging to her now, I’d see her outside of here—bigger, healthier, and in my arms.

  She wasn’t even supposed to be here. We’d done everything to prevent this day from occurring. But no form of birth control could stop this little one from making her presence known. She’d come bursting into the world, like a bright white comet careening into our lives, and there was no way she could possibly be leaving as quickly as she’d arrived.

  No, she was a fighter.

  She’d fought for her place in this world, and now, she’d fight to keep it.

  The nurse helped me sit up a bit in my wheelchair and explained what to do. I was nervous. I was so afraid I’d hurt my daughter or upset her. I wanted so badly to touch her, comfort her, and feel that she was really here. The little nudger, who had been kicking me for so many months, was alive. I wasn’t awake when she’d been brought into this world, and suddenly, I felt overwhelmed by the fear that I might do something wrong.

  I could feel Jude’s soothing presence behind me, supporting me.

  “Preemies do very well with constant touch,” the nurse explained. “She can’t be held quite yet, but right now, a gentle warm hand on her stomach will let her know that you’re here, that you’re both here,” she added, looking over to Jude. “And believe me, it will do wonders.”

  I nodded, still a bit hesitant but now filled with purpose. If my touch could aid her healing, I would be here around the clock if I had to. I put my shaky hand into the plastic holes of the incubator and reached out for her.

  The moment my fingers touched the smooth skin of her belly, tears rimmed my eyes.

  My little girl.

  Every minute of my life, every second spent in this hospital, had been worth it because it’d led up to this precious moment in time. I felt Jude’s firm hand grasp my shoulder. With my free hand, I reached up and gripped his fingers.

  Now . . . now, my life was complete.

  THE ELEVATOR DINGED, and I took a brief moment before stepping off.

  I’d made my rounds over the past few days as Lailah recovered. I’d picked up pudding at the cafeteria and traded jokes with the staff. I’d even stopped by Human Resources and said hello to Margaret, who had somehow managed to graduate from wool suits to more modern attire. When I had seen the picture frame on her desk of her in the arms of a smiling man, I’d guessed the wool suits had been tossed right around the time the diamond ring on her finger appeared.

  Good for her.

  I’d visited the cardiology staff and even said hello to some of the ER staff I still knew from my days of working here before switching departments.

  Now, there was only one more place to go.

  I walked down the familiar hallway, looking left and right, as the memories assailed me. They didn’t carry the same punch as they used to, but my chest still ached from the loss. No matter how much I continued to move forward, a part of me would always remember her . . . miss her.

  That was why I had to take this journey, this moment, and spend a few minutes alone with Megan.

  I’d stopped asking a long time ago why things turned out the way they did, like why Megan’s life had ended so abruptly and Lailah’s had carried on. I stopped wondering what my life would have been like if Megan and I hadn’t gone to that party, and I hadn’t played that stupid game with her, allowing her to drive instead of me.

  Life wasn’t about regret. It was about making the most of it after the dust had settled around your feet.

  I looked down at the wooden bench, now marked with the bronze plaque I had installed years earlier.

  Life: It goes on.

  I breathed out a smile, taking a seat on the bench I’d sat in a thousand times before.

  My eyes aligned with the closed door where Megan’s last breath had been taken, where I’d thought my life ended.

  It was here where I’d begun my self-imposed imprisonment. Little had I known that it would be my road to freedom.

  “Hey, Megan,” I whispered softly as my head fell to my clasped hands. “I know it’s been a while since I was here.” A heavy sigh fell from my lips. “But I haven’t forgotten . . . about us, about this place.”

  A nurse walked briskly down the hall, nodding to me, as she passed by. I gathered my thoughts as her footfalls echoed against the floor. I looked up at the door once more.

  “I have a wife . . . a child,” I said. “Her name is Meara. She’s four days old today, and she is just so damn beautiful.” My voice cracked as the weight of my words felt heavy around my chest.

  “The moment I saw her, I knew I loved her. It was instantaneous, fierce, and staggering. I want to be her everything—her protector, her best friend, and her confidant. I want to be her hero, the one she turns to when she’s hurt and the name she cries out in the middle of the night. I felt all that and so much more in a single glance. I never knew fatherhood could be like that.”

  My hand dropped to touch the smooth wood of the bench, tracing the pattern of the grain, like I’d done so many times before.

  “Do you think our fathers felt that the first time they saw us?” I asked the silence, expecting no answer in return.

  I hoped so. I looked back to those final moments in this hallway—the battles between Megan’s father and me, the tortured pain in his eyes.

  Yes, in his world, there was no greater joy than Megan.

  And he’d lost her.

  There was a time in my life when I’d closed myself off from the world, too scared to risk the possibility of caring for anyone. After losing Megan, I couldn’t fathom the idea of putting myself out there again, only to be reduced to ashes once more.

  But now, I knew. Love and life—it was all a risk. Shut yourself away from it, and you’d never know what might be waiting for you on the other side of it all.

  I stepped into the NICU and spotted Lailah immediately, her eyes alight with warmth and tenderness, as Meara cuddled up to her chest for the first time.

  Skin-to-skin—the nurse had said it was called kangaroo care. There were no blankets. It was just flesh against flesh as the baby snuggled under the shirt of the parent. It allowed the baby to stay warm and encouraged bonding.

  For Lailah, it appeared to be the most wondrous experience in the world. My hands itched to do the same, but I knew I’d get my chance. For now, I just relished in the sight of my wife and daughter together for the first time.

  I thanked God for the many miracles he’d granted in making this possible. The sheer fact that they were allowing Meara to be held meant that she was making serious strides. I knew her hospital time wouldn’t be coming to a close for a while, but this small step meant more to us than I could put into words.

  Parents celebrated every milestone in their young child’s life, and this was just the beginning of ours.

  “Isn’t it wonderful, Jude?” Lailah said as she saw me approach.

  “One of the most amazing things I’ve ever witnessed,” I answered with sincerity, kneeling down in front of her.

  “I didn’t think she’d be able to be held with the ventilator, but the nurse offered, and—” Her voice cracked.

  “You’re a natural.”

  Lailah held her for a few more minutes, enjoying her special time with our daughter, until the nurse placed her back under the warmer. We said our good-byes. It was getting harder and harder to do so, especially knowing Lailah was about to be discharged.

  New mothers were supposed to leave with their babies.

  I knew the second we left that hospital and arrived home without Meara, things would get worse.

  And for once, I didn’t have a clue how to make it better.

  She didn’t say a single word the entire way home.

  Every time I opened my mouth to offer up something encouraging, something helpful, the words would
get caught midway, and nothing but air would spring forth.

  I felt like a failure to her, a traitor to the solid band of love and security woven around my left hand.

  I wanted to comfort her, make all her doubts and fears fall away, as I’d done in the past, but in this instance, my own fears were just as overwhelming.

  The physical pain I’d felt while walking out of that hospital without Meara consumed me, gnawed at me, until every step I’d taken away from her was like walking through quicksand—nearly impossible.

  I didn’t know how to be strong for Lailah this time because nothing about this seemed right.

  I had so much to be thankful for. Going into that hospital less than a week ago, I’d had no idea what to expect. Would my child take her first breath? Would I ever see my wife alive again?

  But somehow, we were all still here yet not fully together.

  I knew, deep down, eventually, we would have our day when pictures were taken after baby Meara finally graduated from the NICU to the real world, but for now, it was just the two of us parents returning to an empty house.

  As we pulled into the driveway, I noticed a familiar car parked along the curb. As my eyes scanned the street, I spotted another and another. The street seemed to be filled entirely by our friends and family. I looked up at the house and realized it was brightly lit rather than dark and gloomy.

  “Did you invite anyone over?” I asked, turning to Lailah.

  She hadn’t yet looked up.

  Her eyes jerked up toward the house in confusion. “No,” she answered.

  We both jumped out of the car, intrigue now a key distraction for our sadness. We walked up to the front door, finding it unlocked, and we took hesitant steps inside.

  “Surprise!” everyone yelled as Sandy bounced up to greet us.

  “What in the world?” Lailah gasped, petting her mop of a dog while trying to figure out what was going on.

  I held her steady and tried to calm the dog. She and I took a minute to look around the room. Grace, Brian, and little Zander stood by the kitchen. Molly and Marcus sat at the kitchen table beside my mom. Rounding out the group were Nash and Abigail sitting on the couch, smiling at us, as we approached.

  “We didn’t want you to feel alone,” Molly said.

  “And we thought you might need some things,” Grace added excitedly.

  “But you already threw me a shower,” Lailah protested. “Besides . . .” She looked around, the obvious missing bundle in her arms weighing heavily on her heart.

  Grace stepped forward, taking Lailah’s hand. “We know you have diapers and a breast pump and everything else you might need when Meara comes home—and she will come home, Lailah, soon.”

  Lailah nodded, a deep breath filling her lungs, as I stepped forward to wrap my arm around her waist.

  “But I thought you might need other things—for this.” Grace pointed to Lailah’s heart. “To help make the days more bearable.”

  With a tug of her hand, Grace pulled Lailah to an open spot on the couch as Sandy followed, placing himself protectively by her side. Grace motioned for me to sit down next to Lailah, so I took a spot on the floor by her feet.

  “We all came up with something. I hope you like them,” Grace said.

  My mom went first, stepping forward with a simple gift basket, accented in pink. I gave it to Lailah to disassemble. Inside was an assortment of bath products and lotions along with some sort of art kit.

  “I remember feeling very . . . well, not myself, let’s just say,” my mom explained, pointing to the bath gel. “I thought these would help you relax when you’re not at the hospital. It’s not always easy to spring back after giving birth, but a little pampering never hurts.”

  “And this?” I asked, pointing to the small art kit.

  “I had a friend whose granddaughter was in the NICU last year. She told me her daughter made a little name tag for the incubator. It helped make it feel more like home and less like a hospital, I guess. I thought it might be worth a try.”

  “Thank you, Mom,” I said, squeezing Lailah’s hand.

  I set down the basket in preparation for Grace’s gift.

  “You know how much I love scrapbooking, photo books, and so on. Well, I thought this would keep you busy for a while, gathering everything, and it’ll give you something personal to hang up in her room.” Grace stepped forward and held out a large deep frame. “It’s a shadow box. You can put everything in it that reminds you of her—announcements, hospital bracelets, pictures. When she gets older, she can look at it and see just how much she was loved from the very beginning.”

  “I love it,” Lailah replied, her fingers slowly tracing the edge of the frame. “It will be perfect in her room.”

  I heard her take a deep breath behind me, trying desperately to keep her emotions in check. I knew her struggle. I was battling the same internal war myself. With each gift, I felt the lump in my throat grow bigger and bigger.

  We’d expected to come home to an empty dark house, and instead, we’d found it full of warmth, love, and family.

  I would never be able to repay them for this.

  “We’re next,” Molly said, taking a step forward. Their gift was in a large pink gift bag with matching tissue paper streaming out the top.

  Always one to enjoy watching others open gifts more than receiving them myself, I handed it over to Lailah once again and watched her toss pink tissue paper to the floor.

  I chuckled in amusement when I saw her face contort into a mixture of horror and bewilderment as she pulled out several large balls of yarn.

  “What am I supposed to do with these?” she asked, looking at the soft pink yarn like it was on fire.

  “You’re going to learn to knit,” her mother said simply.

  “I am?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do I have a choice?” Lailah looked at the yarn with contempt.

  “Well, of course you do. But I think it will be a good hobby to pick up. It’s easy to learn and occupies the mind, and when you’re done, you’ll have a beautiful blanket to keep Meara warm.”

  I saw her expression soften slightly as she gazed down at the basic with curiosity.

  “Okay, deal. But you have to teach me.”

  “I wouldn’t want it any other way.” Molly smiled.

  Lailah set the yarn aside, and I tried not to laugh. Honestly, I couldn’t think of a better gift from her mother. It was thoughtful and caring, and it’d give Lailah a purpose during the time Meara wasn’t with us.

  A deep voice bit through the lingering laughter. “I guess it’s time for my gift,” Nash said.

  I’d barely had time to greet my old friend since seeing his face as we walked through the door. I was sad to say I hadn’t had many opportunities to see him over the last few months, but seeing him here now meant a lot.

  “You didn’t have to do this,” I said, taking the plain brown bag from him with gratitude.

  “I know, but I wanted to.”

  I peeked in the bag and found an empty glass Mason jar. Picking it up, I glanced up at him for hints.

  “Look again,” he urged.

  My eyes fell back to the bag, and there, underneath where the jar had been, was a square pad of paper. Still having no idea where he was going with this gift, I looked up for further instructions.

  “Here,” he said, pointing to the jar, “is where you will put all your hopes, one for each day she is not here in this house.” His accent grew thicker with emotion. “And when she finally comes home, you will seal it up and save it for when she’s older and needs it the most.”

  “Beautiful,” Lailah whispered, having little experience with the unwavering romanticism that was Nash Taylor.

  He’d won over the hearts of half of America with his overwhelming talent to turn words into melting chocolate with the flick of a wrist. His last stint in the hospital seemed to have tamed him slightly, and he hadn’t made a single inappropriate comment since we arrived.


  “Me! I’m next! I wanted to go last, and now, it’s my turn!” Abigail bounced off the couch and handed Lailah a wrapped present that looked much like a book.

  Their eyes met, and I could see this held special importance for Abigail. She watched every movement as Lailah pulled away the wrapping paper, exposing the pink leather below.

  She flipped it over in her hands, and her eyes met Abigail’s.

  “It’s a journal. The last time we talked, you mentioned you started writing in yours again, and I thought you could use another one, a nicer one. Also, I thought while the baby is still in the hospital, you could write her a list.”

  “A list?” Lailah asked.

  “Like yours,” Abigail said. “A Someday List. It won’t be just like yours because she’s a baby, but maybe you can add things in there that you guys can do later. I thought it would be cool if you had some things to check off right away, like take a walk on the beach or her first diaper change in her room. You know, things like that.”

  I got up from my spot on the floor and joined Lailah on the couch, her eyes already misting with fresh tears.

  “Thank you, Abigail,” she cried, her hands opening wide for the young girl. “I couldn’t have asked for a greater gift.”

  They held each other tightly before we made our rounds, going from person to person, hugging and holding one another. Soon, dinner was ordered, and laughter filled the house.

  There were no tears of sadness and no cries of loss, only the sound of hope and the promises of great things to come.

  I LOVED SITTING out on the deck early in the morning before the world woke up.

  It was quiet, new and fresh with possibilities, and the air clung to my skin, making my steaming cup of coffee taste that much better. Every morning I spent out here, watching the sun rising over the water, felt like a blessing.

  Every day felt like a blessing.

  I didn’t know if there would ever be a point in my life when that feeling would stop.

  Did I really want it to?

  Did I want to eventually fade into the rest of existence, unimpressed with life and the ways of the world?