by Amy Marie
“Perfect sense.”
“I’m just gonna say what I think we should do. You let me know what you think, and we’ll work out our own definition of us.” She murmurs her agreement, so I continue. “I’d like us to be exclusive. To be a couple openly, with our family and our friends—even the group—in the near future. But as far as physically? There, I’d like to stay closer to platonic than to how our kids would define dating.”
“That’s pretty much how I see things. But this ‘near future’ you mentioned—what exactly are you thinking?”
“As far as I’m concerned, we could start today. Or we could wait a bit. Alex already knows that we’ve gone out—he’s made the connection of who I am, right?” She nods. “I’d like to make that connection for my boys. And I’ve got a private session with Dr. Black next week before group. Maybe you could come by and we could talk with him together before we open up in group?”
“I think that’s a good idea.” She grins, happy and light. “Does that mean you’re my boyfriend? Are we going steady now?”
“I think it does, darlin’. I think it does.”
She takes a deep breath and smiles, closing her eyes and turning her face up to the sun.
One perfect moment.
Not long after, we clean up the picnic and go inside to select our ice cream. We sample a few flavors, eventually settling on totally different flavors—and sharing. We share more about ourselves, like we always seem to do when we’re together.
Sweet. Simple. Perfect.
We drive back to my house, hands entwined. Roxie peppers potential pet names throughout our conversation, some silly and some serious. We talk more about our kids, including Grant’s budding new relationship.
“He’s had a couple of serious girlfriends before Kat, but the last one ended around when Amelia was diagnosed. He never talked about it, so I’m not entirely sure what happened. I had always hoped that he didn’t give up on love because I shut down.”
I pause for a moment, and shame hits me. “You know, I don’t know if he talked about it or not. I was so focused on watching Amelia, then I lost myself in grief. For all I know, he did talk to me about it and I was too checked out to even realize.”
“It’s human nature to protect ourselves. I’m certainly in no position to judge you. Sometimes feeling everything that hits us is just too much, and we have to shut down a little to keep from overloading our system. To keep moving forward.”
She gives a wry chuckle. “At least you weren’t the therapist who ignored her own advice and froze everyone out for almost two decades.” She pats my arm and points me back to Grant and Kat. “So do they seem to be a good match?”
“They do. They seem to bring out the best in each other. Not everything’s perfect—she has an overprotective family. Religious. Sweet people, though—they’re actually here in Glasgow. Grant said something about a rough breakup just before she left town and moved to Nashville. I think that’s part of why they kinda smother her, not wanting her to get hurt. Grant hasn’t come out and said it, but I’m pretty sure they’re living together. I don’t care, but I think her family would, so they probably don’t want to admit it to either family. Do kids ever learn how much parents actually see?”
“But parents only see if they want to. Mine didn’t care enough to see anything. Hers care too much to let themselves see outside of their Norman Rockwell ideals. We all have blind spots. All we can do is our best in the moments we have.”
“Yep. And I don’t think this is going to be a long engagement, so they may be married before the Shannons figure it out. I just hope it doesn’t backfire on them.”
Our boys comprise most of the conversation, even after we arrive at my house. By this point, I have some of Roxie’s fancy loose-leaf teas in the cabinet alongside the coffee. I normally have an afternoon cup of coffee at the office to make it through the afternoon slump, but I decide to enjoy tea with her instead.
“I’m good with whatever tea you pick, darlin’. Would you mind starting it while I run change my shirt? I need to treat this ice cream stain.”
She waves me on. This isn’t the first time a woman besides Amelia has been in my kitchen—Kat has been here a couple of times, or it would probably steal my breath. It’s still not an easy sight, so I take my time changing to let my emotions settle.
I keep a laundry pre-treatment stick in my bathroom, so I rinse and treat the shirt while I’m at it. Before I can grab another shirt, the home phone rings. With cell phones, I only have one landline phone now, and it’s charging on the base in the kitchen.
“Can you grab that?” I call to Roxie. No sense running in there when I probably couldn’t catch it before they got voicemail. Probably a telemarketer, anyway.
I hear Roxie’s sweet voice talking. Then she calls out. “Clint? Phone call for you, dear.”
I laugh. “A little closer with that one. Did they say who it was?” I hang the shirt in the shower to dry.
“I think it’s Grant.” She knows Bryant’s voice, and Grant’s is similar. She’s heard a couple of voicemails and videos he’s sent me, so it probably is.
But calling me in the middle of the day? That’s a little unusual for him. We usually talk on weekends. I dry my hands. “Be right there.” Then it hits me—a woman answering the phone. Calling me by a pet name. “Can he hear you?” I call out, a little louder and more defensive than necessary. I cringe as I head toward her.
“Of course, he can’t hear me, sugar.” Despite my tension, I think I like that one. I walk into the room and see her face light up when she sees me. Then it heats up, along with her gaze. I realize, too late, that I never grabbed a shirt.
From the look in her eyes, maybe that’s not a bad thing.
I smile back at her wide enough to pop my dimples. They’re just at the edge of my beard, but as I’ve told the boys, the Crawford dimples are a powerful thing. I let our hands brush more than necessary as I take the phone from her.
“Hello?” My voice is rougher than it used to be.
“Dad? You sound good,” Grant replies, not able to hide the tremor in his voice.
“Grant? What’s wrong, son? Are you okay?”
He sputters out a few panicky words, including Kat’s name. I take charge, slipping back into Dad mode easily. I make him take some deep breaths until I hear him settle a bit. Then I give him simple questions instead of relying on his ability to give me a clear narrative. At first, I think he’s okay. They’re at the hospital where Kat and her roommate work. It’s just something minor with Kat and he’s overreacting, I’m sure.
Then he mentions heavy bleeding and chokes down a sob. Christ. He croaks out, “It was a miscarriage. At least twelve weeks along.”
“Oh, Grant. Oh.” My voice almost gives out. “Son. I...oh, Grant.” I suck in a noisy breath, banishing painful memories of loss after loss after we had Grant.
Amelia’s sorrow. Her guilt.
I can’t get lost down this rabbit hole of my own pain and grief. I need to hold it together for Grant.
And Kat—that sweet girl. They didn’t think she could have children—to find out this way? My heart aches for her.
I feel Roxie’s small hand take mine. No questions, just offering support. I turn to her and pull her close, drawing on her strength.
I ask Grant about Kat, but she’s still in surgery. Still bleeding—hemorrhaging. In good hands, but still.
“They gave me a laundry list of options they work through, and they’ve already tried the first several.” He pauses, voice dropping to a whisper again. “They may have to do a hysterectomy.”
My son is a good man—a strong man—but he’s at his limit. Facing the loss of the love of your life can do that to a man.
I need to be with him. “You need me to come down, son? I’d like to be with you.”
His audible relief is overwhelming. “Yeah, Dad, that would be good. Kat’s family are on their way. I haven’t given them an update since I got all the new info. Dad
, I don’t know how to tell them the rest. We didn’t know. Didn’t think it was possible. And she’s got to be okay. Dad, she has to. I don’t know how I could ever...”
He’s spiraling, and I have to shake him out of this over the phone. I revert to my commanding dad voice, inserting every ounce of authority I can muster. “Grant, don’t go there. Don’t.”
I soften my tone, shifting to gentle encouragement. “Right now, you have hope. Focus on loving her so much she has to stay. It’s not like your mom, son. She was so tired. She fought for so long. She spent the last couple of years dying, son. It’s not the same.”
I make sure that he’s not alone before we end the call. He has good friends, and so does Kat.
“I love you, son.”
“Love you, too.”
Hearing that from my son never gets old. And he will never hear it from this little one.
I hang up the phone, dropping my head to rest on Roxie’s. I take a shuddering breath, squeezing her. Absorbing the support she offers freely. I can use all I can get.
I lift my head and loosen my grip, allowing Roxie to step back so we can face one another. “Grant’s at the hospital with Kat. She’s in surgery. Hemorrhaging after a miscarriage—they thought she couldn’t have kids, so it’s apparently a surprise.” I pause. “I’m sorry. I know I’m dumping a lot of info.”
“Of course. Is there anything I can do?” Her hand is splayed across my heart. The gesture warms me despite her freezing fingers.
“I’ve got to get to Nashville to be with him. He’s had one big loss and is staring down the barrel at the possibility of another one. I don’t want him going down the same road I did.”
“How about this. You go put on a fresh shirt and pack a bag for a few nights. I’ll make you some coffee and find a travel mug or thermos. My house is a little out of the way—oh! But my office is much more convenient. You can drop me off there and I can get a car home.”
“Absolutely not. It’s only a few extra minutes. But the coffee sounds good, darlin’. I could use that for the drive.” I reach on top of the cabinets for my trusty Stanley thermos, knowing she would never find it up there. I pull her in for another hug, kissing the top of her head as I do. “I liked it when you called me sugar.”
“Then sugar it is.”
I look back at her as I head down the hallway. The sight of her in my kitchen doesn’t stir up the same whirlwind of emotions this time. This time, it’s a moment of peace in the midst of chaos.
The drive to Roxie’s house is quiet. She holds my hand, occasionally stroking my arm with her other hand. I ask her the occasional question about what to say, what to avoid. She encourages me to make myself available. To make silence or talking a comfortable option, but not allowing my discomfort to make a subject they need to discuss off limits.
She has a huge batch of monster cookies packaged to send to school with Bryant, but she sends them with me instead. Grant has some big guys for friends, so they’ll probably come in handy. The fact Roxie sent them—that she wants to help my family any way she can—touches my heart.
I find my way to the waiting room where Grant, the Shannons, and several others are gathered. A doctor enters as I greet Grant, and he gives an update.
It’s grim.
I stand behind Grant, gripping his shoulder in support.
Kat’s father, Ian, asks bluntly, “Is she out of the woods?”
The doctor hesitates, not giving anything away with his expression.
“There’s a lot riding on the next 24 hours. We stopped the hemorrhaging, but she lost a significant amount of blood and had a major operation under difficult circumstances. She coded twice during the procedure and had to be resuscitated. If she were not young and healthy—and a fighter—we could be having a very different conversation, Mr. Shannon.”
As if we are physically connected, I feel Grant’s heart drop. I tighten my grip on his shoulder, bringing his focus back to the doctor’s words as he continues with his disclaimers, aternating between worst case scenarios and cautious optimism.
He mentions the different traumas Kat has experienced, ending with the reminder that she will have to process this loss when she wakes up, recovering emotionally as well as physically.
Grant is in his head—I recognize the guilt on his face. Trying to take it all on himself like I did with Amelia.
Jamie drops his hand on Grant’s shoulder while he’s lost in thought, and if it weren’t for Joseph’s quick reflexes, Grant would have punched his future brother-in-law. He’s horrified when he realizes what almost happened, but Jamie waves it off, walking outside to talk with him instead.
I give them privacy to sort their shit out, but when Jamie returns by himself, I ask him where Grant is. I wander out to the courtyard and find him staring down at the fish as if they have all the answers in the world.
I need to tell Grant about therapy. Make sure there’s no stigma attached if I can prevent it.
I ask how he’s doing, let him vent a little. Hopefully get rid of some of the pressure so he doesn’t almost punch anyone else.
“I never told you about getting help after Thanksgiving.” I sigh, crossing my arms across my chest, shoulder to shoulder with him. “Found a therapist. Thought about rehab, but I knew it wasn’t really addiction. It was just grief. Depression. Hiding from my feelings in a bottle. I met with Dr. Black, and we talked about it.”
I fidget a bit, reminding myself I’m opening up to help Grant and Kat. “He said I was probably right, but he wanted me to kick off my therapy with an outpatient rehab he runs alongside group therapy. Dry out. Start with a clean slate, just so the alcohol wasn’t masking the feelings I needed to deal with.”
“It seems to be working for you.”
“It’s hard. Made it through the group-therapy-without-alcohol part pretty easily. The group’s made of good people. Just dealt a shit hand by life. Dr. Black asked me to stay dry a while so I didn’t fall back into bad habits. Wants me to ‘feel my feelings’ while I’m sorting through them.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. It sucks.”
Grant chuckles, and my heart soars.
“But he’s right. I started meeting with him a couple times a week plus group at first. Dropped to once a week plus group, then group weekly and every other week with him. He added a low-dose prescription, at least temporarily. Not sure if the drinking screwed with my brain chemistry, or if it’s just from the grief, but he realized my happy brain chemicals needed a boost.”
“So, it’s helping?”
“I don’t feel like I’m drowning anymore.” I look at Grant, waiting to continue until I have his full attention. “Don’t let this fester, son. For you or your Kathleen. Don’t be afraid to get help if either of you need it. Promise me.”
“I promise, Dad.”
“You saw how your mom and I were with each other. Years together, and we were still like newlyweds. Like wildfire in my veins.”
I can see he knows exactly what I mean.
“Loved her more every day I had with her. Years of being so damn sick just sucked the life out of her. Out of me, too, having to watch her.” My breathing is shaky as I fight to continue. “After I lost her, the closest I could get to that wildfire I had with your mother was the slow burn I got from bourbon. Lord knows there’s plenty of that in Kentucky.”
“Yeah, there is.”
“Stick with the wildfire, son. Even the memory of it’s better than drowning yourself in a cheap imitation.”
I think Kathleen’s mother is about to vibrate to pieces from all the stress. It may be a little selfish, but I’m glad to see the Shannons are rallying together, the most emotional ones being comforted within their ranks instead of leaning on Grant.
His strength needs to be saved for Kathleen.
She has a rough time waking, confused and in pain. Fragments of her memory start to come together and she cries, making the pain even worse. Grant calls for more pain meds. Ian, thankfully, convi
nces Colleen to give them some privacy. I make sure Grant’s okay, and he is. He just wants to be with his family right now, and I completely understand.
The Shannon family heads to Kat and her roommate Grace’s place or takes up offers of hospitality from Kat’s boss. I’ve gathered that she knew Kat and the Shannons from Glasgow, and she’s been a good friend to them. Grant’s friend Joseph invites Bryant and I to stay with him, and we gratefully take him up on his sanctuary from estrogen.
Somehow, I think Colleen looks worse this morning than yesterday. She’s ready to storm the unit and “rescue her baby” when Grace enters the waiting room in scrubs. A nurse practitioner here at the hospital, she has helped Grant navigate the medical explanations. Colleen rushes to her, clearly desperate for an update.
“I wanted to explain that you’ll have some delays this morning before you can see Kat. They’re doing post-surgical checks for Kat right now. The meds are a little different now that she’s awake, and the doctors take longer on their rounds to answer questions this first visit—especially since it was emergency surgery. It will be a while. This would be a good time to get some coffee—maybe decaf,” she says, eying Colleen with a smile and clearly hoping to break the tension.
Kat’s siblings chuckle, and Colleen gives a watery smile.
Shortly after visiting hours, Grant texts Kat’s parents and me to come to her room. Colleen makes a whimper and bolts, Ian hot on her heels. Her desperate emotions are so thick, they practically fill the room. Grant helps us navigate greeting her without causing pain.
Ian is offering his wife support—literally, since her legs look like they could give way at any moment—so I grab her a chair. I’m not sure why they summoned us, but I don’t think the atmosphere is about to get less emotional. The last thing we need is for her to collapse.
Kat tries to talk, but can’t form sentences. She finally gives up and leans on Grant.
My boy.
And he steps up to the plate. He cuts straight to the heart of the matter.