by Liz Crowe
She shook her head. “No, no. It’s not about me. We wanted to make sure you were aware of the memorial we’re having. Next weekend.
Craig took a breath. “Jesus. It’s been two years hasn’t it?” He ran a hand across his face. Exhaustion permeated his every pore. “Come on up.”
They ascended in silence. He headed for a shower, leaving Sara to her own devices. By the time he came back out, she’d made coffee, found some fruit and cheese, and sat reading a magazine at his kitchen table. He leaned on the doorway, rubbing his hair with a towel.
“You look good,” he said, meaning it. He was one hundred percent over her, he knew. But it felt nice having her in his space as a friend.
She looked up at him, a smile spreading across her face. “Thanks. I’m feeling better.” He slumped into the chair across from her, but pushed the steaming cup of coffee away.
“I can’t drink another drop of this stuff. Double shift.” He shrugged, accepting the grape, then piece of cheese she held to his lips. “How’s Katie? Brandis? Your life? I never see you anymore.”
She ticked off her fingers as she spoke. “A smart mouth. A handful, when he’s not a bottomless pit. Not too bad. I know.”
He laughed at her irreverence, put a hand on her arm. “I’m a wreck, sorry.”
“I heard.” She patted his check, ate more fruit.
He narrowed his eyes. “You heard what, exactly?”
“Things with Suzanne, on the outs again. What’s up with her anyway? You’re a great guy.”
She had the decency to blush when he nearly fell out his chair laughing. “Jesus,” he sputtered. “I guess you’d know. You let me go too, remember?” He stood, downed a huge glass of water, trying not to let his emotions get the best of him. “I gotta get some sleep.” He kept his eyes on the sink.
“Want me to talk to her?”
“No. Thanks. It’s over. Nothing to salvage.” His chest constricted, but he blew out a breath. He had to let it go.
“Well, anyway.” She hugged him from behind, kissed his shoulder and grabbed her keys from the counter. “Can you come? It would be really great. I mean, if you guys can….”
“I’ll be there. Probably not with her, but I'll be there.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The Memorial
Suzanne wished she could be anywhere, absolutely anywhere, on the planet but here right now. Watching the little kids gather around Rob, sending their small boats out onto Lake Michigan, memorializing a man they had all lost, a light the world had lost, just two years ago.
Craig stood a few feet from her, sipping water, staring out over the water. He looked thinner. She sighed, sipped her ginger ale, trying to hold down the ever-present nausea. At that second he
When she couldn’t take his scrutiny anymore she walked over to Rob and put her hand on his shoulder. He stayed crouched on the lake shore, then looked up at her, his eyes bright with tears. She pulled him to his feet and let him fold her into a huge hug, absorbing her sobs. They stood like that a while. Then she took a breath and he put a hand to her face.
“Don’t let him go,” he whispered. She shuddered. Remembering Blake’s last words to her. Rob kissed her forehead, and then tucked Lila under his other arm. Suzanne saw the swell of the other woman’s belly. But instead of her usual quick spike of jealousy or resentment, she felt nothing but happiness for her friend. Rob reached into a cooler and grabbed some bottles of Blake’s Brew, handed them out and raised his bottle.
She’d never felt more alone. Not after Mitchell’s death. Not even when she’d forced Blake out of her life. She looked up through a haze of tears into Craig’s dark brown eyes. He tugged her close and kissed her forehead as they raised their bottles.
The smell of the extra hoppy brew settled her stomach for a split second. Then, when it hit her palate she had to hold back a gag. Putting a hand over her mouth she stumbled towards the steps. Craig grabbed the bottle from her before she dropped it. “Sorry,” she whispered, and ran up the steps and the rest of the group said their good byes.
She held onto the toilet, waited for her poor, overworked stomach to settle. She jumped at the sound of footsteps behind her. “
Lila stood, handing her a bottle of water. “Does he know?”
Suzanne wiped her lips, splashed water on her face. “Does who know what?” She groaned and closed the toilet lid to take a seat since there was no way she could stay on her feet. Lila crouched next to her and put a hand on her knee.
“Craig. Does he know you’re pregnant?”
Suzanne frowned at the other woman. She’d blurted that very thing out to Craig’s brother and sister-in-law, but the problem was her period had always been wonky. Not to mention that she was forty years old. She figured it was peri-menopause combined with the damage Mitchell had inflicted on her. Her mother's had hit early.
Her head pounded, which brought on another bout of nausea. She gripped Lila’s hand. Stared into the woman’s dark eyes. “I can’t be.”
Lila squeezed her knee and handed the water over. “I’ll bring you some sliced lemon. It’s the only thing that helps me.”
Suzanne stared at her departing back. Her brain refused to process the possibility. She remembered the last time she and Craig had sex. In the pool. Nearly two months ago. She grabbed the wall to keep herself steady.
Lila came back and handed Suzanne a sliced lemon. “Smell it. Trust me.”
Suzanne stared at it. Put it to her nose, took a long breath, then a sip of water. She felt Lila’s eyes on her. She did it again. For the first time in weeks she didn’t feel mortally ill simply by standing and breathing air. “Oh God. That is amazing.”
“Yeah. So, you gonna tell him, or what?”
Her eyes welled, again. She brushed the tears away. She was angry, frustrated at her too little too late, pregnant, in her forties and alone self.
“Why? He doesn’t want me anymore.”
Lila let her sob it out, then looked at her. “Tell him.”
“Tell him what?” Suzanne yelped at the sound of Craig’s voice. Lila patted her cheek, then walked out. Suzanne stared at him. His dark stare, handsome face, so close. Yet so far from her.
“Nothing.” She brushed past him.
But he grabbed her arm. “Talk to me.”
The house was empty. She could hear childish laughter, lower adult voices, subdued but yet somehow celebratory, as it should be. She sank to the saggy couch, her face in her hands. Craig stood quiet. Terror grabbed her heart, made her breathless. The nausea rose again. She gripped her lemon, never more unsure of herself.
A baby. Holy shit.
But she must have waited too long.
“Never mind.” He walked out and she heard his motorcycle fire up. The squeal of tires signaled something final. She sighed, stood, stared around the empty room and found a picture of Blake on the mantel. Her heart caught in her throat. She took it down, ran her finger over the image of his eyes, so green and expressive. His laughing face, caught in a candid happy moment, on one side of Lila, Rob on the other. She barely choked back a sob, sank to the couch and let the sounds of her friends, and the laughter of children lulling her into an exhausted sleep.
She woke with a start, disoriented and dry mouthed. The room was pitch black. But the distinct sound of an unhappy toddler broke the silence.
She wandered into the hall and saw Brandis, Jack and Sara’s near three-year-old son standing in the hall, whimpering, thumb stuck firmly in his mouth. Suzanne knelt down, and he leapt into her arms, nearly knocking her over.
“Sh…it’s okay.” She patted his back, stuck her nose into his neck and sucked in a breath of his little boy scent. He calmed, but kept his arms wrapped around her neck. She sunk onto the couch making soothing noises as he hiccupped himself to sleep. She sat long into the night pondering options and possibilities, his little boy warmth soothing her.
By the time Jack wandered out of his room and pulled a quilt over the two of them, she’d wok
en, smiled at him then fallen back asleep. The little boy curled himself into her, keeping one arm wrapped tight around her neck.
Her dreams were a tangle of babies, and Craig. She woke when Brandis climbed across her and dropped to the floor calling for his mommy. She sat, and did her pilgrimage to the bathroom, losing what few cookies she had, but suddenly, not really minding.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Craig glanced at his watch and grabbed a coat and tie, hoping he wasn’t too late. Rob and Lila were getting married. He’d been invited. The main reason he was going was because he knew Suzanne would be there.
He’d spent the last month in complete turmoil. Going from work to home to the pool to bed, then repeating the process. Avoiding everyone and everything that would remind him he was human. He felt like a goddamned robot. But it was all he could do. Anything else implied he’d allow himself to admit what he suspected about Suzanne.
He pulled up to the small chapel on the University of Michigan campus. Snagging Katie when she dashed by in full fancy wedding sundress playing tag with her brother and cousins, he gave her a huge hug.
He approached Jack and Evan, subconsciously looking around for Suzanne’s red-headed presence. His heart pounded. He was sweaty, nervous. Not himself at all. He shook Jack’s hand, greeted Evan and one of the daughters who clung to him. Damn place was like a daycare center there so many kids.
“Thought I was late.” He turned, then nearly choked on his own spit when he saw her, slipping out from a side door of the chapel.
Her face was flushed, her hair blowing around in the light breeze. It lifted the edge of her light blue sundress when she slid her sunglasses down her nose. He nearly ducked out of sight, wanting to just watch from a distance without her seeing him. Jack leaned into his ear nearly making him jump a mile.
“There was a time when I had to be told to get the fuck over myself to get what I wanted.” Craig never took his eyes off the woman he loved. “Go, doc. Go to her. Cut the shit and man-the-fuck up. She needs you. More than ever.”
He turned, but Jack nodded towards the red headed woman still standing in the shadow of the chapel. She stepped out onto the grass. Her body seemed fuller than usual. Her face looked different. She put a hand on her stomach, a gesture that twanged every single one of his nerve endings. He swallowed hard. Told himself to move, to put one foot in front of the other, forward motion. Towards her.
She still hadn’t seen him. He moved fast, caught her in his arms and tugged her back into the shadows.
“Hey!” She struggled for a second, and then looked up into his eyes. At that moment he knew.
He put a hand on her belly. She was so slight, he already felt the subtle change there. His ears buzzed, but he tried to keep cool. She squirmed, looked away.
“Suzanne,” he whispered, brushed his lips over hers, relishing everything about her. Fear of the facts—an older woman, already medically compromised, carrying a child. His child. He held onto her, forcing terror at her undoubtedly tenuous condition down under a solid layer of longing. She clung to him, went up on her tiptoes, and kissed him before he could say anything else.
She broke away, cradled his face in her hands. “Marry me?” she asked. “Please?” Her voice shook. Her entire body trembled. “I love you. I need you. I…” She put her hand over the one he had pressed to her stomach.
He stepped back, stared hard at her. “This is you, asking me, huh?”
She nodded. He looked up, studied the annoyingly movie-set blue sky. “I really like the idea of that Suzanne.” He began. “But….”
She put fingers over his lips, making him wince with the effort to not kiss her again. “You know this,” she touched her stomach. “This is not a good idea. You know it even better than I do.”
He shoved his hands in his pockets recalling stats and facts about the danger of having a child late in life, wondering how stable she would possibly be during a pregnancy. But he lifted his chin. “What are you saying? You want me to make some kind of choice for you? As your doctor?” He let the unsaid words drift between them. “As the baby’s father?” die on his lips.
She stiffened, took a step back. He knew the look that dropped into her eyes veiling her seemingly newfound openness. The withdrawal had begun.
He tried not to let anger fill the space in his chest that she’d created months ago by rejecting him. But then, something happened. She swallowed, and her eyes filled with tears. The strong-as-steel, petite, beer-selling dynamo seemed to crumple right in front of him. “Craig, I’m s-s-s-scared.”
He took a step towards her, needing to have her in his arms so badly he had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself.
“Don’t be. Nothing bad will happen.” He tried to summon his best doctor voice. He ran a finger down her wet cheek. When he spoke, his voice broke. “I won’t let it. I promise. I won’t let anything bad happen to you—ever.” He held her, kissed her hair. “And yes, I will marry you Suzanne.”
Six Months Later
Craig stared at the monitor and steeled himself. “Honey.” He put her freezing cold hand to his lips. “We have to take her.”
“No.” Suzanne shook her head, her damp hair whipping around her face. She sucked in a breath when another contraction gripped her. “Ow. You promised, me, Craig. You told me it would be okay.”
He shoved down the urge to yell, knowing he had to stay calm, that he only had a few minutes to save his daughter’s life. Suzanne had been so irrational about this option for a week, and it was about to cost him his child.
“It will, my love.” He brushed her hair off her forehead. Kissed her, then motioned for the nurse. “Get Doctor Lane. Now.”
He pulled Suzanne close, held onto her while the team around them leapt to action, draping her lower body with blue paper. The last few months had been a blur, simultaneously exciting, horrific and terrifying. While most of him was glad she’d be getting the child she wanted so badly, he spent a lot of time furious with himself for letting it get this far.
Between gestational diabetes and pre-eclampsia, she’d spent the bulk of the time flat on her back, anxious and antsy and making everyone’s life miserable. Which turned him into a walking, talking man-shaped bundle of tension and worry. They’d made it about four weeks past their small wedding before it all went bad and her body starting rejecting the pregnancy.
“Ow!” she yelped. His heart pounded but he put a soothing hand to her face. “It hurts,” she said, her voice hoarse. “She’s okay, right? Promise me?”
“Sh…” he soothed, and looked up. The head of the hospital’s OB department had been with them from the start. The guy was good, better than good and right now his eyes were serious and trained down onto the job at hand.
A neonatal incubator was rolled in and prepped. The baby, a daughter, they knew, would be eight weeks premature, but her heart had almost stopped this morning while Suzanne groaned her way through yet more early contractions. So despite all the risks, he agreed with the OB and the chief pediatrics resident. They had to get her out, now.
He closed his eyes, willing the nightmare away. “Oh,” he heard Suzanne’s voice, breathy and a little nervous. He looked up and saw Dr. Lane holding the tiny, scarily quiet infant in his hands.
The nurse took her and tucked her into the incubator, hooking her up to a million leads, giving her all the usual checks and shots. Craig’s throat contracted at the look in the man’s eyes as he closed. The peds guy rushed in and gave the impossibly small baby a once over.
“Craig. Talk to me.” Suzanne hadn’t let go of him. He looked down at their clenched hands. Their wedding rings glinted in the bright operating room light. “Can I see her? Please?”
“Hang on.” He kissed her, pried his fingers away and took a couple of shaky steps to the plastic unit. His daughter stared up at him, her fists clenched her mouth open, yelling silently, her skin getting a nice healthy pink as she sucked air into her small lungs. He gulped, put a hand on the top of
the plastic. “Please,” he croaked, and felt a tear slip down his face. “Lillian Grace. Please be okay.”
The pediatric team was fussing around on the other side of the baby’s unit. The department chief put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s amazing Craig. She’s in great shape. We’ll keep her in this, of course, and use the feeding tube for a day or two. But, have Suzanne use the breast pump. The baby needs mama’s milk to keep her strength up.”
“Can I…can she hold her?” He put both shaking hands on the incubator itching with the need to hold her.
The guy shrugged. “She’s pretty stable. I don’t see why not.” The nurse rolled the incubator close to Suzanne’s bed, wrapped the girl in a blanket and put her in his arms.
When Craig handed their small, beautiful girl baby to his wife, her eyes were dry. But his most definitely were not.
Epilogue
Fifteen Years Later
Suzanne stretched out in the lounge chair, hiding behind a giant hat, sunglasses, and tons of sunscreen. She studied the amazing array of children that splashed in Lake Michigan. Sara stood beside chair, bearing Bloody Mary’s for everyone. Jack ran by, kicking a soccer ball along the beach, followed by Rob and a group of adults and kids ranging in age, from seven to nearly twenty-three.
“Quite the crowd, isn’t it?” Sara yelped when her husband smacked her ass on the way past. She sat, sipped and held out a hand. Suzanne took it, held on tight. Craig ran up with a little boy on his shoulders. The child had a shock of stark black hair and deep olive skin, and a smile that never seemed to fade.
Maureen, Jack’s sister, joined the women. “You need more sunscreen, mister.” She shielded her eyes up at the little boy who squealed when Craig dumped him onto the chair. Suzanne watched as he snuggled into his mother’s arms. Blake, the youngest addition to their merry group, a seven-year-old miracle child most claimed, named by Jack’s sister in honor of the one they had all lost. Everyone from adults to teenagers doted on him.
