The Empty Jar(34)

“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.”