And when our bodies finally merged as one, I felt the reconnection of what had once been the most important thing in my life. This love between us had made Emma, given us for a brief time a wonderful gift.
Later, Clay held me while I cried, kissed my forehead, said, “Shh, baby, it’s okay.”
I wanted him to know how happy I felt, so I bit my lip hard to stop. But the kindness in his voice only increased the stream of my tears. Because I knew it was okay. It really was.
CHAPTER NINE
THE NEXT MORNING, I woke to the delicious smell of coffee. A tray sat on the bed beside me, two cups, a French press pot and a single white rose from the bush in our front yard.
I squinted at the alarm clock. Not quite six. I dropped back onto the pillow, closed my eyes, an exquisite sense of contentment coursing through me.
The bathroom door opened, and Clay came out, a towel wrapped around his waist. He stood for a moment, looking at me. “Good morning,” he said.
“Good morning.”
This was one of the things I had once loved about being married. The cloak of intimacy that followed a night of lovemaking. The way we were at the same time bold and shy with each other.
Clay came over, sat on the side of the bed, ran the backs of his fingers across my hair. There was love in his touch, and I savored its sweetness.
He leaned in, kissed me, tasting of toothpaste, his face now clean shaven. He moved the tray to the night-stand, then joined me beneath the sheet, the towel falling to the floor.
We made love again in the early-morning light, not so hurried now, as if we finally believed we had time, that neither of us was going anywhere.
The coffee was lukewarm when we got around to pouring ourselves a cup, but I didn’t mind. We sat with our backs against the headboard, me in the curve of his arm.
The world felt so much safer here, the two of us facing it side by side.
The phone rang. I sighed and Clay said, “We could ignore it.”
“We could,” I said, but I had never been one to let a phone go unanswered, so I reached for it, propped the cordless between us and murmured hello.
“Sorry to be calling so early,” Cathy said, her voice apologetic. “But I wanted to give you as much notice as possible.”
I gripped my cup a little tighter. “What is it, Cathy?”
“The family who would like to meet Sasha,” she said. “They’ve had something come up and have to go out of town today. The only time they’ll be able to see her is this morning.”
I felt Clay stiffen beside me and realized he could hear the conversation. I put down my coffee cup and swung my legs over the side of the bed, my back to him. “Oh. Okay,” I said. “What time?”
“Is nine too early?”
“Ah, no. That’s…yes, that’s fine.”
Cathy hesitated, as if waiting for me to say something. I glanced over my shoulder at Clay, but he wasn’t looking at me, his gaze set on something in the distance. I turned away and listened as she told me a little about the family. He was a surgeon. They had three other children. All boys. They’d always wanted a girl.
I murmured acknowledgments at the appropriate times and then hung up a minute or two later, convinced that they would be a wonderful family for Sasha. And yet, I felt as if a plug had been pulled inside me, the last few drops of hope draining away. Neither Clay nor I said anything, silence heavy in the room. Finally, I stood, reached for my robe at the bottom of the bed and shrugged into it.
“I think I’ll take a shower,” I said, going into the bathroom and closing the door. I flipped on the faucet, hung my robe on the back of the door, then stepped under the streaming water. And only there with the spray drowning out the sound, did I let my tears fall.
WHEN I CAME OUT, Clay was dressed in casual clothes, his hair still wet from his own shower.
“I think I’ll work from home today,” he said.
Not sure what to think of this, I simply nodded and went downstairs where I made Sasha blueberry pancakes because she loved them. She came down in her pajamas, her ponytail barely contained in its pink rubber band. She smiled at the sight of the pancakes, ate a stack of half a dozen with barely a pause. I refilled her juice glass and keeping my voice casual, said, “A very nice man and woman are coming by this morning to meet you.”
She put down her fork, looked up at me, her face suddenly serious. I rushed on, telling her the specifics about them, laying it all out as Cathy had laid it out for me. “They sound like a wonderful family,” I added at the end, my voice unnaturally bright.
“Dah,” she said, nodding. “Yes.” She pushed her plate away then, wiped her mouth with her napkin. “I should dress.”
I stood with the orange juice pitcher in my hand, not moving for a long time after the echo of her footsteps on the stairs disappeared. It seemed so wrong, all of this, and at the same time, I realized that I needed to think of what was best for Sasha. That there was every possibility last night would not repeat itself. That Clay and I were only at the brink of finding our way back. That our healing had just begun.
Sasha had an opportunity to be a part of a whole and complete family. How could I stand in the way of that?
I couldn’t. I simply couldn’t.
THE CRAWFORDS ARRIVED at exactly nine o’clock. Bill and Marion Crawford. Both tall and blond with warm smiles and eyes only for Sasha. Clay invited them into the living room where we all took a seat.
It was so stiff as to be comical, Clay and I sitting side by side on our leather sofa while the other couple asked Sasha so many questions that I finally intervened and suggested she might want to show them the garden we had planted. She did so with enthusiasm, and they stood at the edge of the rich, dark soil with its carefully staked tomato plants, their smiles indulgent.
Mrs. Crawford looked at me and shrugged. “I can’t imagine any of our boys putting down their Game boys long enough to plant a garden.”
I felt Sasha’s gaze on me, as if she were waiting for my response. “This garden was pretty much a lost cause. I think it is one of Sasha’s gifts,” I said. “Bringing things to life again.”
“That’s wonderful,” Mrs. Crawford said, touching a hand to Sasha’s shoulder. “I can tell she’s a special little girl.”
“Yes,” I said. “She is.”
Sasha stepped closer and took my hand. I willed myself not to cry.
The Crawfords stayed for another hour or so, and I could not deny my own relief when I closed the door behind them at last.
In the kitchen, Clay and Sasha poured juice into skinny glasses. Awkwardness weighted the room, preventing us from meeting eyes.
“Do you think they liked me?” she asked.
I turned from my spot at the sink, saw that she had directed the question at Clay.
“I’m sure they did,” Clay said. “How could they not?”
“Enough to make me their daughter?”
Clay didn’t answer for a few moments and then said, “Would you like to be?”
She rubbed her thumb through the condensation on the side of her glass, looking out the kitchen window at our little garden. “I worry if I have a new mama and papa, my mama in Heaven will think I love her no more.”
Clay studied the child, emotion playing across his face. “Sometimes, I feel the same way about Emma.”
Sasha nodded. “This is why you do not want to be my papa. You are afraid Emma will think you do not love her anymore. I understand.”
Unable to listen any longer, I left the kitchen and ran up the stairs, closing myself in the bedroom and sliding down the door onto the floor. I sat with my face in my hands until I heard the downstairs door open and shut, Clay’s car start and pull away. It was cowardly, I knew, hiding here this way, when everything that had happened was my own doing. I could not blame Clay. From the beginning, I knew how he felt. I couldn’t pretend otherwise.
A knock startled me out of my misery. “Rachel?”
I jumped up, swiped my hand acros
s my eyes and opened the door. Sasha stood in the hallway, looking uncertain. “Are you all right?” she asked.
“Oh. Yes,” I said. “I’m fine. Did Clay—”
“He left just now.”
“I guess it’s too late for camp today,” I said.
Sasha nodded and then said, “Please. Do not be sad. I have so much fun here.”
I took her hands, pulled her over to the bed, where we both sat on the edge. “I wish things were different,” I said, trying hard to hold back my tears. “I wish I could make them different. You are so special, Sasha.”
She put her arms around my neck and squeezed tight. Neither of us said anything more. We didn’t need to.
SASHA AND I SPENT the rest of the day at the pool. We ate Ben & Jerry’s Phish Food ice cream until we were sure we would sink if we got back in. Sitting there in the late-afternoon sun, I thought about my old life, the one where I spent all my time working so I wouldn’t have the energy to see the truth of it.
I didn’t want that life back. Amazing how clearly I knew this.
The sun had lost its intensity when I heard the back door open and looked up to see Clay standing there. I saw the uncertainty on his face and realized that I wasn’t angry with him.
He walked over and sat down on the lounge chair beside us. His eyes were red, and I could see that he had been crying. He stared at me, quiet. My heart started to pound hard.
“I took some flowers out to Emma’s grave this morning,” he said. “And I thought about what you said, Sasha. You’re right. I have been afraid to let myself love anyone else. Afraid if I did, it would take away my love for Emma. But that’s not how love works, is it?”
Sasha bit her lip, as if she weren’t sure what to say.
Clay took my hand, then looked at Sasha and said, “Would you like to be our daughter?”
I stared at him, not sure if I had imagined what I thought he said.
“You would be my papa and Rachel would be my mama?” Sasha asked, her pretty face lighting up with hope.
Clay nodded, looking at me.
“I would like that very much,” Sasha said.
Clay stood, pulling me up beside him and then lifting Sasha into his arms. And there we were, a family-to-be. Nothing less than a miracle, really. A family.
EPILOGUE
Sasha
THEY ARE COMING for me today.
I’ve wondered a thousand times if it could really be true. Five months have seemed like a lifetime. Many days, I did not believe it would happen.
I sit on my bed, fully dressed, even though it is not yet light outside. The four other girls in my room still sleep soundly. I feel guilty at the thought of leaving, that they still have no family. But I will not forget them. And I hope that there will be someone for them.
It seems as if the sun will never rise. When it finally does, I wait for the other girls to dress, and we go downstairs for breakfast. But I cannot eat for the butterflies in my stomach and return to the room where I stand by the window, staring out at the glittering snow, my backpack held tight at my side. Christmas will come soon. Mama said we will have a big tree and that I must help to decorate it. I’ve made something for it.
I unzip my bag and pull out the angel I’ve worked on after school each day. It is for the top of the Christmas tree. I rub my finger across the words stitched along her skirt.
Emma Foster. Much missed. Forever loved.
A car pulls into the drive at the front of the building. My new mama and papa get out, both looking up at the windows, looking for me. I wave from my room. They wave back, big smiles breaking across their faces. I touch the angel’s face one more time and then put her back in my bag. I turn from the window and run down the stairs to meet them. Today, I am going home.
Everything you love about romance…
and more!
Please turn the page for Signature Select™
Bonus Features.
From Here to Maternity
I wanted to share with you some of the facts I came across during the extensive research I did while writing A Second Chance. The writing of this book—and the research—has become deeply personal to me. Quite a while ago I was contracted to write a story about a woman who becomes a mother in her forties. My brother and I are both in our forties and had both had our families, but I was interested in exploring the topic. It was almost a year later that I actually started writing the book. About that time, I got a call from my brother. He and his wife had taken surgical means—permanent birth control—to have no more children, but somehow they were expecting a baby anyway. Suddenly everything I’d read—and everything I was to read over the next weeks—became very significant to me.
Here’s the gist of it. (The same information is repeated in many sources.) In the past thirty-five years, birth rates among older women have increased steadily. According to the National Center for Health statistics, from 1978 to 2000 birth rates among women aged forty to forty-four doubled. The overall conclusion, found in most of the sources I used, is that it is quite common for women in this age bracket to have normal pregnancies and perfectly healthy babies. There are risks and I’ll get to those, but there are also many things women can do to help lessen their chances of something going amiss. Overall, your chances of having a healthy baby after forty are much greater than not. So, on to the challenges:
Decrease in fertility—it’s just a fact. Women’s fertility rates start decreasing in their thirties, so if you’re working toward an over-forty pregnancy, be patient! It might take a little (or a lot) longer. But be careful! It happens often enough that being over forty doesn’t mean you’re safe from the need for birth control if you don’t want a baby!
Increase in pregnancy loss. The chance of miscarriage doubles in women over forty. Most sources attribute this increase to genetic abnormalities that the body disposes of naturally.
Increase in the possibility of multiple births. Due to hormonal changes in a woman’s body as she gets older, stimulation of the ovaries sometimes occurs, which leads to multiple ovulations.
High blood pressure. The chances of developing high blood pressure during pregnancy increases in women over forty. This risk can be reduced with diligent prenatal care, careful diet and exercise, and need not pose a serious risk to mother or baby.
Gestational diabetes. It’s always a possibility, but the chances are greater with older women. Again, being on top of medical care, diet and exercise decreases the risk of serious complications in this area.
Premature birth. The likelihood of early delivery is only slightly higher in older women.
Longer labor, hemorrhaging, increased chance of caesarean section. Studies show that older women often experience a longer second stage labor, which can cause fetal distress. They also have more chance of hemorrhaging, due in part to premature separation of the placenta. Both of these, and other less common problems such as abnormal placement of the placenta and breech positions, contribute to the higher rate of caesarean births (which usually alleviate the problem).
Birth defects. There’s no way around this one. As women age, their eggs don’t divide as well and genetic problems can occur, but early detection is frequently possible through prenatal testing. Genetic counseling is available at most hospitals as part of prenatal care and is highly recommended. The most common birth defect, defined as a chromosomal abnormality, in women over forty is Down syndrome. Some statistics say a woman over forty has a six to eight percent chance of delivering a baby with a genetic defect. Others place women in their twenties with a 1 in 1250 chance of delivering a chromosomally abnormal child, women over forty with a 1 in 100 chance, and women at forty-five a 1 in 30 chance. There are fairly simple tests, most often amniocentesis and chorionic villus (usually called CVS), that can detect these abnormalities at an early stage of pregnancy. The American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists recommends genetic testing for pregnant women aged thirty-five and older, and states that 95 percent of the time the testing r
ules out abnormality. And in the event that a woman of any age delivers a baby with Down syndrome, the future can be a world filled with love. While this defect can cause various levels of mental retardation and sometimes other physical challenges, people with Down syndrome are universally known to be happy, loving individuals who contribute positively to the society in which they live.
A few other important points: Before you conceive, see your doctor to make sure you’re in the best possible shape before you proceed. Quit smoking. Don’t drink alcohol, and drink caffeine only in moderation, if at all. Start taking prenatal vitamins before you get pregnant. Exercise regularly, but moderately. Eat a lot of fruits and vegetables. After you conceive, be diligent about prenatal visits. Take your vitamins as prescribed. Get plenty of rest. Maintain your doctor-recommended diet. Reduce stress.
There are some advantages to later-in-life childbirth. Older parents often find themselves more realistic in coping with a new baby. In many cases, older parents appear to be more patient and more appreciative of the joy involved in raising a child. They’ve learned to take time to “smell the roses.”
One last note: My little miracle nephew, William Wright Gumser, was born six weeks premature, in June 2005, after a very quick birth that allowed his mother to be up and around in less than twenty-four hours. He was the biggest baby in the neonatal nursery, weighing in at almost six pounds. He spent less time in the hospital than predicted, learning how to suck, swallow and breathe properly. And he is now the darling center of attention at home and the proud owner of his aunt Tara’s heart. This is one pregnancy after forty that has thoroughly blessed every single person involved.
Sources:
University of Pennsylvania Health System
From Here To Maternity: A Second ChancePromoted to MomOn Angel's Wings Page 22
