The words stopped. A heavy shudder shook her frame. “At 10:02 p.m. on Wednesday, December 10, I prayed, and God didn’t answer, and my baby didn’t breathe.”
Oh, God. How could You crush someone’s faith so callously? Of all the ways the baby could have died, why did you destroy Jennifer’s faith in the process? Scott had never felt such anger before in his entire life. Never at a person. Never at his God. But it erupted full blown as he heard what Jennifer said.
“What was her name, Jennifer? What was your daughter’s name?”
“Colleen.” She said it on a whisper. “Colleen Marie St. James.”
He didn’t often call his sister in the middle of the night, but Scott picked up the phone at 2:00 a.m. when he got back from taking Jennifer home and dialed Heather’s number. He had to talk to someone. She answered the phone on the third ring. “Twig.”
“What’s wrong, Scott? Mom?” There was alarm in her voice.
“No, all the family is fine. I need to talk about Jennifer.”
There was silence for a minute as she woke up and regrouped. “What’s wrong, Scott?”
“I just found out Jennifer lost a baby girl, Twig.” He drew a deep, shaky breath. “I was okay when she told me, now I feel like I’m falling apart. I don’t know what to do. She’s been bleeding inside with grief because she lost a daughter.”
“Oh, Scott. If I’d only known. I spent the evening talking about my pregnancy, showing her the nursery.”
“You didn’t know. Neither of us did. I should have put the pieces together earlier.” He took another deep breath, fighting to stop the tears that wanted to come from deep in his gut. “Jennifer was pregnant when Jerry died. Did her best to keep herself together for the baby’s sake. But the strain was too much, Colleen was born over two months premature. She beat the odds and made it through the first few days, apparently began to improve rapidly, after two months there was talk of letting her go home. Then she got sick and took a turn for the worse. She was three months old when she died.
“Jennifer has been blaming herself for the child’s death, that it was her fault the child was premature. She could barely talk tonight, she was hurting so much.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know how to help her, Twig.”
“Give her time, Scott. At least she’s grieving. That’s better than denying the pain of what happened.”
“Without meaning to, I could really hurt her right now. Should I talk about it now that I know? Try not to talk about it?”
“Does she have any family in the area?”
“Her brother and his wife. Jennifer seems close to both Peter and Rachel.”
“Then let her set the pace, Scott. From what you said, she’s been fairly open about her late husband.”
“Yes.”
“She’ll reach the point she can talk about Colleen the same way. It will just take time.”
“Thank you, Twig. I’m sorry I had to wake you up.”
“That’s okay, Scott. I’ll pray for you both. You can handle this. Please, try not to worry tonight. Try to get some sleep.”
“I’ll try.”
He put the phone down slowly after saying good-night. Time. His concept of how long he thought she needed had just been overtaken by a new reality. “Jennifer, I’ll give you all the time you need. I promise you that,” he whispered. “But I’m not going to let you retreat back into a shell now. Not after you have finally begun to face the pain. We’ll get through this together. I’m not going to let you be alone in your grief anymore.”
He lay awake for hours that night, fighting God over the senseless way Colleen had died, angry at the pain, angry at the brutal fact such a simple heartfelt prayer had not been answered. The anger did not change the circumstances, but he found in himself an intense willingness to go toe to toe with God to at least ensure Jennifer got an answer to the question of Why. She was going to be his wife. His God could not leave her like this. He had to at least heal the pain.
You’ve left her torn apart for three years, God. That makes no sense. I know You. You don’t act this way. You don’t rip apart and walk away. Why haven’t You helped her? Why haven’t You intervened? This isn’t like You. You have to get back in this game and ease her pain. Is not one of Your names Comfort? I don’t see love here, or comfort. Does it give You pleasure to leave her trapped in grief? How could You do this to the woman I love?
“Hi,” Scott said quietly when she opened the door. He wished he had worn his sunglasses, taken more than the three aspirins, done something more to ease the pain radiating behind his eyes. He was at her door as early as he thought safe. He didn’t want to have their first conversation be over a phone. He knew how the grief was going to hit her, and the last thing he wanted was distance between them when they talked. She looked awful but he didn’t care. He felt as bad as she did.
“Hi,” Jennifer replied softly, not meeting his eyes. She opened the door for him and Scott stepped inside. She felt very self-conscious this morning. She didn’t know what to say after last night. She knew she looked a mess, and that didn’t help any.
“I brought these for you.” He took a ribbon-tied set of three roses from behind his back, one red, one peach, one white.
“Thank you, Scott,” she said, fighting tears. Why did he have to be so nice? “They are beautiful.”
Scott watched her as she carried the flowers into the living room and added them to the vase on the end table. He frowned. “Jennifer, did you sleep at all last night?”
She brushed away a tear as she wearily shook her head. “I thought I was over these crying jags months ago, Scott. Last night, every time I closed my eyes I was back in that hospital lounge, waiting for word about Colleen, or wearing that awful green gown I always had to wear when I was around her, trying to hold her despite all the machines around her”—she grimaced—“remembering what it was like when she died.”
Scott crossed over to join her, his hands lightly touching her shoulders, turning her toward him. “Look at me, honey.”
She finally did.
He hated the look in her eyes. They were dying again. “I am glad you told me. I know how hard it was. I’m angry with God for how Colleen died. She was your daughter, and you shouldn’t have had to suffer the loss of both your husband and your daughter. But you have to deal with the grief and get beyond this, Jennifer. You’ve got no choice. You will have other children someday.” It was the only thing promising that he had been able to find last night. She would have other children. God willing, they would be his. She was afraid of the idea right now, afraid of having more children, he knew it, he could feel it, but given time, her grief would eventually heal.
Jennifer didn’t say anything. She blinked a couple of times, and he couldn’t tell if she’d even heard him. She turned away to walk to the window, wearily rubbed the back of her neck, and he wondered how bad her headache was. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” she said. “Several times I have wanted to talk about her, but I could never find the right words.”
The wall he had feared was up between them. He wasn’t going to be getting close to her grief today. She had pushed it and the pain too far down to be touched. Scott closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Now was not the time to push. She desperately needed a break. The crisis the morning he had met her was nothing compared to the crisis that was coming, unless she got some help. She wasn’t going to make it through this pain. She hadn’t slept, and her emotions were becoming deadened. Mentally, physically, she didn’t have the reserves to deal with what had happened. And if he wasn’t careful, she was going to see his presence as adding to her pain. He knew about the prayer, he knew the details of her crisis of faith. And her brother, Peter, didn’t. He had realized that sometime during the night. She had never told Peter and Rachel about praying for Colleen to breathe. It had remained her private battle with God. The fact he knew made him dangerous to her now. If he wasn’t careful, she was going to push him away, just as she was trying to push
away the pain.
In an insight that seemed to come directly from the Lord, he asked, “Would you like to go out on the lake for a couple of hours? It’s promising to be a relatively warm, sunny day. We could even do a little fishing if you like. It’s peaceful out on the water and you don’t have to think about anything, just watch your bobber. It might help you sleep. The wind and water always have that effect on me.”
She turned to look at him—the quiet, calm, studying look she’d given on the pier the morning she had come back to the beach. It was radiating out from the strength inside, reserves he’d seen her tap that very first morning when she’d been so tired it had been hard for her to walk a straight line. “You’re taking the day off work?”
“I figured you might like some company.”
It earned him a soft real smile. It disappeared too quickly, but it gave him hope. She crossed back to his side, squeezed his hand. “Thank you, Scott. I really appreciate that. Yes, let’s go out on the lake for a bit. I like to fish. Should I pack us a lunch?”
“I’ll pack a cooler with drinks to take along. If we catch anything, we can fix them for lunch. If not, there is a restaurant built out on the lake down at the harbor. We can eat there,” Scott replied, improvising everything.
She seemed willing to let him. “I’ll just get changed and be back in a minute.”
Jennifer changed clothes, her movements heavy and forced. Her reserves were gone, she was weary beyond words. She had already decided she was going to lean on Scott to the literal extent he would allow her. She was tired of fighting God. Tired of caring. Tired of coping. Today she was going to leave all the misery here at the house and ignore it all for as long as she could. It had been such a long, painful night. There were no more tears to shed. She had ended up standing in the doorway to the room that had once been prepared as her daughter’s nursery, and she had sobbed there until she’d thought her heart would break. But her heart had stayed intact, and the hours had passed, and she’d eventually, wearily, headed to the kitchen to fix coffee and toast as the sun rose.
They left the house, Scott carrying her windbreaker for her, and he carefully made sure her seat belt was fastened once she was seated in the passenger seat. Jennifer leaned her head back against the headrest and closed her eyes and listened to the music Scott had turned on. She was almost dozing when they reached his house.
Jennifer looked over at Scott as they walked down to the pier together, her hand tucked firmly in his, and was incredibly grateful to no longer be alone. When she saw the boat she smiled. It had been designed for one specific thing, fishing, and the sight of it brought back ancient memories from her past, and she was glad she had come.
“Watch your step.” Scott offered a hand to help her down into the boat.
The boat was designed to seat four. Jennifer moved forward to the middle seat.
Scott handed her a life jacket.
Once the cooler and the towels were stashed, Scott took his seat. He slipped the key into the ignition. The outboard motor started instantly. Leaving the motor idling, he got up to untie the mooring lines. “I’ll run us over to the Harbor Stop to fill up the gas tank, get bait, then we’ll head out to Westminster Bridge.”
Jennifer nodded.
Once they cleared the No Wake zone, Scott opened the motor up, giving enough speed to lift the bow out of the water. Jennifer deliberately left last night at the pier and forced herself into beginning to relax. And unexpectedly she found her spirits beginning to lift as the bright sun and sky replaced her sense of darkness with the vividness of a beautiful day.
After close to five minutes of running, they passed Courtline Point and were out on the open water. The wind picked up.
Jennifer swiveled around to face Scott.
“Do you need me to slow down?”
Jennifer shook her head. “You’re fine. The spray is cold even with the jacket.”
“We’ll be at The Harbor Stop in another four to five minutes.”
Scott cut the speed down to comply with the No Wake rule as they entered the protected cove. Jennifer turned back to the front, impatiently brushing her hands through her hair to get it out of her eyes. She should have tied it back before she left. It was going to take twenty minutes with a brush to get her hair untangled.
The Harbor Stop turned out to be a supply store built out on the water, floating on pontoons at the lake level. A series of docks had slips to hold fifty boats. Scott piloted the boat to the east side of the store so he could moor within reach of the gas pumps. Intent on watching his distance, Scott didn’t realize Jennifer had the forward mooring line in her hands, until, as the boat touched the dock with a gentle bump, she flipped the line over the tie point and brought the boat in snug to the dock. “Okay, Scott, you can cut the engine.” She gave the line four figure-eights around the north-south prongs of the tie point, adding an extra turn to each loop. The line would not slip.
“Thanks.”
“Sure.” She looked around the boat. “Do you have a bait bucket for the minnows?”
“Behind you on the left. It’s in the live well.” Scott replied. He stepped out of the boat onto the dock. He had missed something. The bow moor line she had tied was a duplicate of the stern line he had tied. Jennifer was not a novice to boats.
Scott took the minnow bucket and offered her a hand out of the boat. She took his hand without hesitation. “Thanks.”
Following Scott’s example she dropped her life jacket back on her seat. “Gas first or bait?”
“Bait,” Scott decided.
Leaving Scott to get the minnows, Jennifer wandered around to check out the store. There was a collection of paperbacks on the back wall. She paged through a mystery she recognized.
“Jennifer.”
She turned, surprised to find Scott beside her.
“Try these on.” He was holding a pair of sunglasses.
“Scott, I don’t need—”
He cut her off with a smile. “Try them on.”
Jennifer tried them on.
“What do you think? Do they fit all right?”
She smiled. “You made a good choice, Scott. They fit fine.”
“Good.”
He took the glasses. “Do me a favor and see if they have any chocolate cookies.”
Jennifer laughed. “Okay.” Her hands gently pushed his chest. “You’re suppose to be buying the bait, Scott.”
“Okay, okay.”
Ten minutes later, Scott offered Jennifer a hand back into the boat.
“How far is Westminster Bridge?”
“About ten minutes west of here,” he replied, stowing the minnow bucket where it would not shift. Jennifer clipped on her life jacket. She leaned forward to untie the bow moor line.
Scott started the engine. “Okay, Jennifer.”
She released the line and pushed them away from the dock. Once they cleared the No Wake zone, he opened the motor up, sending the boat skimming across the open water. Jennifer slipped on her new sunglasses. It had been a long time since she had spent a day on the water. She was determined to enjoy this.
The lake was long, constantly branching, with a multitude of coves and inlets. Scott eventually turned into one of the side branches of the lake. The inlet was over three hundred feet wide at the opening, narrowing as it went back. Westminster Bridge was a railroad crossing, the concrete pillars farther down the inlet. “We’ll start in on this side and make the half circle of the inlet,” Scott explained, slowing the engine as he took the boat in toward the shoreline.
Jennifer nodded. There were fallen trees in the water beneath them, their massive root structures visible on the bank and the trees angling out into the water. The banks, however, appeared to drop off very quickly; there was no evidence to suggest they were actually floating over old trees the lake had swallowed up.
Scott dropped anchor once they were about fifteen feet from the shore. Jennifer slipped off her life jacket, draping it across the seat in front of her.
Scott tossed his life jacket up front beside hers. Finding the right key, he unlocked the storage compartment where the tackle was stored. There were a dozen different rods, different makes, different reels. “Take your pick, Jennifer,” he offered.
“The blue one with the open-face reel.”
Scott lifted the rod out for her. He brought out the gray rod and open-face reel for himself, his birthday present from his dad.
Jennifer took a look at the rod. It had a swivel, hook and weight already. All she needed was a bobber. “Can you reach the tackle box?”
He passed it forward.
“Thanks.” Humming softly, Jennifer found what she needed. Looping the line around the bobber, she slipped the metal spring back over the line to hold it in place.
She swiveled around to reach the minnow bucket. Jennifer closed her hand around one of larger ones. Smooth and slippery, it struggled to get free. She slipped the hook through the minnow’s back behind its front fin. Studying the shoreline for a moment, she shifted around. Her cast sent the minnow and the bobber out parallel to the shore.
Watching her, Scott nodded his approval. She was not a novice at this by any means. She would get the best coverage of the territory by going parallel to the shore, rather than toward the shore. With a smile, Scott sent his line sailing out the other direction.
They followed the south bank, making their way toward the concrete pillars of Westminster Bridge. Scott was pleased to see the strain from last night beginning to fade from Jennifer’s eyes. She was a born fisherman. She had a good eye for the water, a smooth cast, patience. She was clearly enjoying herself. She was also beating him hands down in terms of success. She had caught four bass, three of which were large enough to keep and dress.
The Marriage Wish Page 10
