The Empty Jar(51)
“But everything is okay? I mean, the baby is going to be okay?”
Dr. Stephens smiles. “I don’t see why she won’t be. Just take it easy. You’re almost there.”
At that point, for the first time since I saw the blood, I fully relax.
********
“You don’t have to carry me, Nate. I can walk into the house, for Pete’s sake.” I resist when Nate sweeps me off my feet after I step out of the car in the garage.
“I like carrying you,” he assures me, swinging us both around as he pushes the car door shut. “It always reminds me of feeding the stingrays in Grand Cayman. Remember that?”
My head is on his shoulder, but I can hear the smile in his voice. “How could I forget? Someone talked me into feeding them, even though I was afraid of getting squid juice on me and getting a stingray hickey. But still, I was dumb enough to do it.”
“The part I talked you into went fine. They warned you not to wipe your hands on any body parts. How was I supposed to know you’d brushed your leg after you fed them?”
“I didn’t mean to do it. It was just sort of habit, I guess. I mean, we were in the water. I just didn’t think about it.”
“Until a big female stingray came up to suck the smell off.”
“Yeah, I sure thought about it then!”
I smile at the memory. I’d gone completely motionless with panic when the stingray swam to my leg and turned its vacuum-like mouth on my skin. It wasn’t really painful; it was more terrifying than anything. At least to me it was. I screamed and tried to get away, but my progress was very slow in the chest-deep saltwater. That had probably only aggravated the situation. But sweet Nate, he’d been so distressed by my upset that, once we got back to shore, he’d carried me all the way to the bus stop and then on to the cruise ship and then the rest of the way to our room when we arrived back at the boat. I wasn’t actually hurt, but he was taking no chances.
After that, we’d made the most of the comical situation, and Nate had offered at every turn to strip me down and wash my leg. “You know, to make sure it doesn’t get infected,” he explained with his sexy, suggestive smile. The skin wasn’t even broken, but I always relented anyway, loving how intimate our trip became after that. We touched and laughed and kissed every few minutes for the rest of the voyage. Despite the hickey, there was no point at which I wasn’t blissfully happy.
That was just before we got married. We were young and energetic, and life was a beautiful mystery that stretched out in front of us like those stunning sunsets on the ocean—to infinity. And beyond.
If someone had told us then where we’d be now, neither of us would’ve believed them. I suppose no one really expects their life to end early or abruptly or painfully. Many fear it, but few actually expect it.
Nate gets me safely inside, and it isn’t until he deposits me in our spacious master bathroom that I feel the tears come. Even though my obstetrician gave me no reason to think that I might lose the baby over this, I feel a deep ache behind my ribs that won’t quite go away. A sense of foreboding pounds at the door of my heart, echoing through my muscles in a fine tremor that ends at my fingertips.
All alone, I shake like my bones are tectonic plates, rubbing together and threatening an earthquake.
When I finally calm, I move to the large dimpled ottoman and sit down, taking my phone from my pocket. With trembling fingers, I set it to video. I take another succession of deep, steadying breaths and wrestle back the sobs that refuse to vacate my throat.
Eventually it works.
A smile into the camera is a totally different story, though.
It takes me two tries before I can get one to stick, but when I do, I take full advantage of the moment and promptly slide my thumb over the record button.
“Hi, little Grace. It’s your momma.” As I speak, I rub my rounded belly as though I might actually comfort my child by doing so. Or that maybe my child can comfort me.
“I know today was scary, but I…I don’t want you to be frightened. If for any reason you don’t make it here to us in this world, I’ll find you in the next. You won’t be alone. I promise. If you wake up in heaven, watch for me. I’ll be there soon. I’ll find you. Then I’ll be able to hold you in my arms. I’ll rock you and…and s-sing to you. And we’ll spend all of eternity together. So don’t be afraid, little Grace. I will always be with you. Always. Just look for me. In heaven, in the dark, in the sound of the waves, in the lightning bugs. Wherever you go, I’ll be there with you. I love you, sweet baby girl. In this life and the next. Always.”
With strength reserved for my husband and my child, I hold my smile until I stop the recording. The instant the light goes dark, however, I drop my face into my waiting open hands, and I cry quiet tears of fear and helplessness. Of happiness and relief. I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel, so I feel everything—the positive and the negative, the good and the bad. The hopeful and the hopeless.
I have no idea what the future holds, even though I’m afraid that I might, but I have a nebulous chill in my bones that whispers of death. Whether mine or my baby’s I can’t possibly know, but either way, the road ahead seems bleak.
I weep in utter silence. My sobs make no sound. Their noise is smothered by the agony that chokes me. The only vibration that tickles the delicate bones inside my ears is the sound of time.