Fear is defined as an unpleasant and often strong emotion caused by anticipation or awareness of danger. It’s both primitive and powerful. For so long, I’d convinced myself I was courageous. Skydiving. Bungee jumping. Kitesurfing. I’d lived from one adrenaline rush to the next, but irony burned like a fire’s white-hot flames. Jade taught me that wasn’t living at all. Those rushes only bandaged my pain; they didn’t help it heal.
That same fear has many faces; it’s also a liar and a cheat. It’ll whisper sweet nothings, gain your trust, and dominate to steal what’s important— your truth. Only if you let it, though.
Letting go of fear allowed me to hold onto her.
All of it was my truth and part of a lesson I learned late.
She faced fear against the demons of her past.
She faced fear by loving me.
She faced fear in the operating room that day.
Looking back at what happened during that time in our lives, Jade’s bravery exceeded my own. But I had to move forward.
The ocean roared in the distance, the sun straining to peek through the clouds on that Friday afternoon in late April. I quietly closed the screen door behind me and walked out onto the porch with cold cement greeting the soles of my feet. Charlotte’s bench quickly became my preferred place to reflect, and I talked to her often.
Alone.
Maybe not alone.
I looked down at the baby sleeping in my arms, an unbroken melody in Jade’s and my song. That little girl echoed her mother’s features, and her feisty, stubborn personality resonated from me. A perfect balance. Like us.
I couldn’t help but stare. She looked like a tiny burrito swaddled tight in a blanket covered with pink bunnies and a matching hat. It reminded me of the rabbit with the faded mustard stain that sat on a shelf next to our wedding picture. On most days ending in “y”, I told her bits and pieces of what that stuffed animal represented, hoping its history wouldn’t wash away over time. A pacifier tediously wiggled against her mouth in three-second bursts with two-second rests in-between.
I vividly remembered the first time I waited outside the doorway to the hospital’s NICU while drowning in the emptiness of Jade’s shadow. My desire to share that moment with her was so strong, that if it weren’t for what awaited, I might have reached for death. The amount of equipment overwhelmed me. Seeing the size of those tiny babies overwhelmed me. The sheer act of standing there overwhelmed me.
Alone.
Maybe not alone. I had a daughter who needed me.
That’s when I saw her for the first time. Our next chapter. The three-pound fourteen-ounce preemie in an incubator told me her story through a series of chest leads, a temperature probe, an oxygen monitor, and a feeding tube. Her theme sounded loudly, a message of love and sacrifice.
A nurse led the way to the secondary, plastic womb that had to suffice when Jade’s couldn’t protect her anymore. The first time I reached through the circular port and touched her warm skin to confirm she was real… I knew her name.
Brae Vree McCullough.
Brae. It meant “to cry out.”
Was it traditional? No. Was it her truth? Yes.
Every time I kissed her button nose. Every time I witnessed the look of adoration behind her brown eyes. Every time I touched her perfect lips. Every time I soothed her tears. Every time she gripped my thumb with her long fingers. All of it did and would serve as a reminder to be brave enough because her name demanded it. Seeing wasn’t enough. I selfishly needed to hear those reminders too— regardless of who said her name out loud.
It took a while before she graduated from the NICU. That hurt. The initial time I walked through the doorway of the house with nothing in my arms, sadness slowed me down to a near-stop. It was like syrup dripped through my veins. Breathing seemed unimportant. Colors weren’t as bright. I didn’t know how to love without Jade by my side, and I didn’t know how to be alone without her.
Alone.
Maybe not alone. I had a daughter who needed me and a supportive sister.
The screen door squeaked when it opened, and I startled from my thoughts.
Sienna walked out through the doorway and sat down next to me on the bench. “Do your arms need another break?”
“If you want to hold your niece again, just say so.”
She stuck her tongue out at me and carefully took Brae. “I need to leave for work. You said you wanted to talk, and that was two hours ago.”
“Two hours is nothing. I’ve been trying to talk to you for a few months,” I mumbled.
She repositioned the baby. “I’m listening. What’s going on?”
Listening. I winced, the word bringing back a tidal wave of memories.
“Is it about Jade?” she asked.
“No… kind of.”
“About you? Brae?”
“Everything, I guess.” I’d fumbled through the conversation fifty different ways in my head, but I struggled with saying it. “I… need you to make me a promise.”
“Don’t do that,” she said.
“Do what?”
“The thing with your face. You’re scaring me. It’s that same look, the one from when you accidentally rode your bike into Mrs. Smith’s prized rhododendron bush in fifth grade. You made me promise not to tell, and we blamed the paperboy.”
My knee bounced, and I didn’t smile.
Her eyes flicked down toward my leg and back up at my face. “Must be serious if you didn’t tell me the flower bush jumped out in front of your tire like you usually do.”
“I need you to check in if you haven’t heard from me. Twice a day. Morning and night. A text. A call. I don’t care.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Like tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow. The next day. All of the ones after that. Indefinitely.”
“Why? We already talk every day.”
“Just… do it. Please? Make sure I answer?”
“Seth McCullough. Is this a cry for help?” The muscles tensed on her face. “You’re not thinking of doing something stupid, are you?”
“No. Of course not.” I looked at Brae. “It’s just…” Much like the first time I’d tried to talk to Charlotte, I wasn’t there yet and couldn’t find the rest of what I needed to tell her about my future. “I don’t know.”
Sienna looked at her watch. “Ugh. This conversation doesn’t end here. I’ll call tonight and you can finish telling me what’s going on.”
I nodded as she handed me the baby.
She turned from halfway down the steps and pointed at me with her index finger and her sternest glare. “Tonight. I mean it, ass toboggan!”
I laughed out my nose. “Love you, too.”
Sienna got into her car and backed out of the driveway with a wave. After she’d disappeared down the street, I looked at the empty seat next to me on the bench.
Alone.
Maybe not alone. I had a daughter who needed me, a supportive sister, and the greatest gift of all.
The screen door creaked again. I looked up and saw Jade holding a towel. With no makeup and her freshly washed hair, she looked gorgeous as ever. I smiled when I noticed she wore the fluffy, gray robe I’d intended for her birthday. To anyone else, it might have looked plain, but the sentimental value ran deep— made by a clothing company called Legit Lime. It was a present I’d brought to the hospital for her to open while she recovered. No longer a possibility of “something to look forward to,” only a definite “something to look back on.” Having her meant I’d seize every opportunity I could.
“Sienna left already?” She blotted her hair.
“Yeah. She had that photo shoot in Ocean Shores.”
“Did you two talk?”
“I tried. Failed again.”
She sat dow
n next to me and laced her fingers through mine. “You didn’t fail. You may not be there yet, but what matters is you’re here now. Remember?”
“I’ve heard those words before.”
I looked down at Brae and then over at Jade. Us being there together is what counted. The series of events that happened in and after that trip through the OR played through my mind daily. Those moments I’d spent on fear could’ve cost me my wife. Jade died on that table for nearly a full minute, but she didn’t give up on us— she never did. The chance of her recovering from flatlining with her complications was less than two percent. And she beat those odds.
It didn’t matter what anyone else believed. I had no doubt in my mind Charlotte played a pivotal role in Jade’s survival. The timestamped results confirming her liver and kidneys failing came back at 12:01 a.m. It was technically the “tomorrow” Jade spoke of when she mentioned going “home.” But the home she meant wasn’t our house. Somehow, she knew the universe’s original plan and sidestepped it. The tangled spiderwebs of symbolism weren’t overlooked. 12:01 a.m. was also the same time the power went out, silencing Eagle-Eye Cherry’s Save Tonight on the radio— a warning of our song’s upcoming and abrupt end. If I didn’t open up to Charlotte at that moment, things could’ve turned out so different.
Sitting on that bench, I didn’t know how many more days I’d get. A week. A month. A year. More. Less. What I did know? I’d spend every waking moment appreciating what sat next to me and what I held.
“You okay?” Jade brushed my cheek with her knuckles.
I turned toward her. “Yeah.”
She stood up in front of me. “Good. I have a surprise for you.”
“For me?” I leaned back against the siding of the house, the corners of my mouth lifting when my eyes met hers. “What’s that?”
Jade set the towel down on the bench and carefully reached through the panels of her robe where the edges of material met. I watched as she bit her lip and lowered her black underwear before stepping out of them.
How is she mine?
She hooked them on her index finger, reached out to me, and beamed.
“What’s this?” I laughed as she let them fall into my open hand.
Jade glimpsed Brae first and then carefully leaned down until our faces were impossibly close. “We’ve got about an hour before she wakes up,” her lips seductively teased mine before they met with an intensity where our souls collided, “and I still owe you way back from Maui. NIN’s Closer is cued up on the stereo.” She stood up and gave the sash on her robe two firm tugs before walking toward the door with a coy glance over her shoulder. “That is, unless you want a raincheck?”
“Nope.” I quickly stood up. “No more rainchecks. Ever.”
After Jade walked inside, I took one more look at the empty bench.
Alone.
Maybe not alone. I had a daughter who needed me, a supportive sister, and the greatest gift of all.
A second chance.
The End
Sarah Jayne Carr is a bestselling author who is known for her unexpected plot twists, rollercoaster turns, and creating the “ugly cry” in her novels. Sarah specializes in urban fantasy and contemporary romance, building a world where suspense, humor, love, tragedy, snark, and adventure all collide.
In her spare time, she likes to read, write, splash in mud puddles, smell bookstores, and eat chocolate hummus.
Sarah Jayne Carr is represented by Sarah Davis Brandon, Publisher. You can reach Sarah Jayne Carr by email: [email protected].
Connect with Sarah:
Website: www.sarahjcarr.com
Facebook: www.facebook.com/authorsarahjcarr
Instagram: www.instagram.com/authorsarahjaynecarr
Twitter: www.twitter.com/@SarahJCarr1
Jade Page 48
