“Bryson.”
He was sitting at one of the smaller tables with his back to the wall. His golden blond hair was slicked back off his face and shorter than it had been in school, hitting just below his ear. His scruff was now perfectly groomed. I could tell he took time with his appearance but not an overly obnoxious amount.
The way his dark silvery gray dress shirt molded to his upper body, it had to have been tailor made for him. I couldn’t see his pants under the table but they were probably black. Black pants would look great with that shirt and tie. With the matching gray tie and large silver watch poking out from under his sleeve, Hart Mitchell could have been a GQ cover model.
“Bryson, any thoughts?”
His white teeth and deep dimples kept making appearances as he talked and smiled at the head of blond curls sitting across from him. They didn’t appear to be touching. At least I couldn’t detect touching. For some reason I didn’t want them to be touching.
“Bryson!”
The sharp tone of Will’s mom pierced my ears, ripping my eyes away from Hart.
“I’m sorry. What?”
She exchanged an annoyed look with hipster guy.
Rolling his hipster eyes, the guy huffed. “Uh . . . the water feature?”
My gaze swung between the two as they stared at me, awaiting my answer. “I think you’re spot on with that.”
Hipster guy breathed a sigh of relief as he escorted Will’s mom away, rattling on about his vision.
Hoping to get a glimpse of the swagger, I turned back toward Hart’s table but he was gone. My gaze quickly searched the crowd with no sign of him. I’d looked away only for a brief moment. Where could he have disappeared to so fast? I was about to fan out and go looking for him. I thought it would be fun to catch up on our lives. I stopped myself. There was no point in chasing after Hart. He never made an effort for me during our senior year, even after the moment we shared.
Building the house took four months longer than expected. Will was meticulous with every single detail, from the earth-tone stones used for the exterior to the nails. Extra special attention was paid to the entrance. My mother-in-law schooled me on the importance of having a proper southern porch. Not everyone will make it past your front door but everyone will see your front porch. It was crucial in her eyes that our porch properly showcased her son’s status in the community.
Three deep stone steps led guests up to the large wraparound porch with the intricately carved dark wood door. An Original Charleston bed swing hung at one end while two black lacquered high back rockers were positioned at the other. The furniture popped well against the natural browns, creams, and rusts of the stone exterior. The big front yard was filled with rows of azalea bushes and several moss-covered old oaks. It was a picture right out of a southern fairy tale.
Will had definite ideas and input for the inside but for the most part he left the interior decorating to me. I chose to go with a neutral gray palate for the walls with pops of color coming from the furniture and accent pieces. Dark cherry wood floors covered the downstairs while the upstairs was covered in soft plush heather-gray carpet. Will made good on his promise of giving me the ultimate kitchen. The mixture of browns, blacks, and beiges in the granite countertops and back-splash offset the stainless steel appliances, giving the room a warm cozy feel.
Turned out Will was right about me not having a lot of time once the build on the house got started. The idea of culinary school lingered in the background for the time being as I zeroed in on making us a home and a family.
“How much longer?” Will shifted from one foot to the other with excitement.
“One minute.” I flashed a quick smile up at him.
I was sitting at the vanity in our bathroom while Will hovered close by. The past few weeks I hadn’t been feeling well. At first I thought it was due to the stress of finishing up the house. But we’d been settled in for more than a month and I still wasn’t feeling like myself. The plan had always been to move into our house and then start a family. In my mind that meant live in the house for six months to a year and then start trying. Apparently, the powers that be had other plans.
Two months after Will and I started dating, I knew in my heart and mind that he was the one, so I got on the pill. Will continued to wear condoms until three years ago. He hated them. Since I was on the pill and we were going to be married anyway, I was fine with him not wearing them anymore. Besides, I liked the way he felt not all covered up. I was religious when it came to taking my pill and my period was like clockwork. With all the stress and activity of moving, I may have lost track of a few things.
The alarm on Will’s phone beeped indicating the minute was up.
Taking in a deep breath, I reached for the pregnancy test.
I stood in front of Will, trying to keep my expression neutral. “Daddy . . .”
“Are you telling me we’re having a baby or are you trying to turn me on?”
“We’re gonna have a baby!”
Leaping into Will’s outstretched arms, I squealed as he spun me around.
I slid down his body until my feet hit the floor. Cupping my face, Will brought our foreheads together. “Thank you.”
“Thank you. I couldn’t have done it without you.”
Will stared down and ran his hand over my stomach. My heart skipped a beat at his gentle touch and the look of wonderment covering his face. It was rare for him to be speechless and even rarer for him to show much emotion. To anyone else, he looked calm and unaffected. But I could feel the excitement and gratitude radiate off his body.
“It’s all coming together. Work, the house, and now the baby.” He placed a soft kiss on my lips.
“Are you happy?”
“I’m beyond happy. I wouldn’t have this life without you. I love you, Bryson.”
“I love you . . . for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part.”
We stood there in the bathroom, in silence, holding each other for a long time. Neither of us made an attempt to pull away. Finding out that we were pregnant with our first child was a moment we’d never experience again. We wanted to hold on to it for as long as possible. Once we walked out of this room, we both realized life as we knew it would be forever changed.
Over the next few weeks, I spent a lot of time getting used to the changes in my body. During my second trimester the fatigue and nausea were the most difficult. But each time I looked in the mirror at my barely there baby bump, I felt like a complete woman and wife, and it made it all worth it. Will was enjoying that my boobs were growing by leaps and bounds. He swore they got bigger from the time he went to work to the time he got home in the evening.
Although I had no idea whether we’d be welcoming a boy or a girl into our lives, I couldn’t help shopping for things all babies needed. The bedroom right next to our room was designated as the nursery. I promised myself I wouldn’t decorate until we knew the sex but that didn’t stop me from plastering inspiration pictures all over the walls of the room. Will went with me to as many doctor appointments as he could and understood when I was too tired to cook or do anything else. He teased me a lot about buying toys for the baby but I caught him several times sneaking in a stuffed animal or two. With my head in the clouds, I was gliding along living the perfect life. If I’d only looked down maybe I could have avoided the first misstep.
My eyes shot open as a sharp pain stabbed me in the middle of my back. Before the sleepy fog lifted, another piercing sensation took over, causing a loud groan to escape.
Struggling, I rolled over and reached across the bed for Will and found cold empty sheets. The clock on the nightstand read 3:30 a.m.
Another jolt of pain hit me. “Will!”
I swung my legs over the side of the bed, gripped the edge of the mattress, and pushed up on trembling legs. With my palms flat against the wall, I made my way out into the hallway. Taking a firm hold of the banister, I headed downstairs. Halfway down I noticed light co
ming from underneath Will’s office door. Lately, he had been experiencing bouts of sleepless nights. He tried to hide it but I knew he was feeling pressure with more responsibilities at work and the baby coming.
Cradling my stomach, I got to the bottom of the stairs and yelled, “Will!”
The sharp pains had morphed into a dull constant ache. Each time I breathed in it felt as if my throat was closing up. I squeezed my eyes shut as tears filled them.
Where was Will?
My trembling hand let go of the banister and I shuffled across the entryway toward Will’s office. Halfway there I noticed my panties felt wet. Looking down, I saw a trail of blood drops.
As I crumbled to the floor, all the air left my body along with a blood-curdling scream. “Will!”
A couple of loud thuds and several footsteps later Will bolted out of the room.
“God, Bryson!” He rushed over, gathering me in his arms.
“I have to get to the hospital.” I hiccupped the words as my body convulsed with sobs.
“Okay, baby. Don’t move. I’m going to grab my keys and get you in the car.”
I clutched his arm. “Will, I’m scared . . . the baby.”
Looking straight into my eyes, he said, “Don’t panic. I’m here. We’re going to the hospital and get you and the baby checked out. Everything’s going to be alright. Trust me?”
I nodded and watched through blurry eyes as he ran away.
Eight hours later, Will and I walked through the front door of a place we once called our dream home. In less than a day this house had transformed from a home to the place where I lost my baby. With one arm around my waist, Will guided me past the dried blood on the floor, up the stairs, and into our bedroom.
“Bry, let me help you get into bed.”
The second my gaze landed on the bed my pulse raced and I suddenly felt claustrophobic in the large room. “I can’t lie on those sheets.”
“I’ll change them,” Will said in a low voice.
I froze at the foot of the bed as he stripped off the comforter and sheets. With each layer removed, my muscles tensed. I forced myself to focus on the stiff tightness, hoping it would distract from the hollow feeling inside. Will balled up the sheets and stuck them on the chair in the corner.
“Get them out of here.” I ordered.
“What?”
“I want them out of this room. Out of this house.”
Without a word he gathered the mound of material and tossed it in the hallway.
“I need to get out of this nightgown.”
Will helped me out of his navy blue hoodie he’d covered me up with before going to the hospital. Taking my hand, he led me into the bathroom, leaving me at the vanity while he turned on the shower. He stood in front of me and gently lifted my pale pink nightgown over my head. I closed my eyes, humiliation washing over me as he peeled back the tabs on the adult diaper the hospital had put me in. It seemed appropriate since I felt like a helpless child at the moment. When I opened my eyes, I saw Will tossing the diaper into the trash can. Holding my hand, he guided me to the shower, reaching in to check the water temperature. He kicked off his sneakers and stripped out of his clothes.
My body jumped at the sound of Will clearing his throat. “I’m sorry.” He paused for a second. “A shower will make you feel better.”
I didn’t feel the warm water wash over me or the touch of Will’s hands. Every part of me felt dead. But for Will’s sake, I pretended it was all helping. Grabbing the body wash, he poured a drop into the middle of his trembling palm. His hand glided over my body as if he were touching a delicate piece of glass. The air was still and silent except for the splashing of the water against the tiles.
“Do you want me to wash your hair?”
“Yes, please,” I whispered.
As his soapy fingers twisted in my hair, I closed my eyes and drifted back into pretend mode. I knew it was important for him to keep focused on an activity. That’s how Will handled things. He kept moving.
The sound of running water stopped, replaced by the glass shower door sliding on its track. Will reached out, grabbing a large fluffy towel, and bundled me up in it. He then took a smaller towel and wrapped it around my wet hair.
Helping me out of the shower, he said, “I’m going to take a quick shower while you dry off, okay?”
“Okay.”
I sat staring into the vanity mirror covered in towels, thinking the answer might miraculously appear in front of me as to why this happened. After his shower, Will wrapped a towel around his waist and headed into the bedroom. I finally finished towel drying my hair and put on a tank top and pair of lounge pants I had hanging on the back of the bathroom door. By the time I walked in the bedroom, Will was smoothing out the fresh comforter and sheets he’d put on the bed. He was also wearing his work clothes.
My brows squished together as I narrowed my eyes at him. “What are you doing?”
“Finishing making the bed.”
“I don’t mean that. Why are you dressed?”
He continued smoothing out the comforter, not looking at me. “It’s a workday.”
“You’re going to work?”
He turned in my direction but our eyes didn’t meet.
“I have to.”
“But you didn’t get any sleep last night.”
And we just lost our baby.
“I’ll down some coffee with a Red Bull chaser.” He took my hand. “Let me help you into bed.” He pulled the covers up over me. “I called your mom. She’s coming over to be with you today.”
He placed a soft kiss on my forehead before walking toward the door.
Clutching the covers to my chest, I said, “Will?”
He faced me but still didn’t meet my gaze. “Yeah?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me too.” He turned and left without another word.
I don’t know how long I sat there staring at the door, thinking and hoping Will would walk back through it. We were both in shock that in a matter of hours our little family had been destroyed. Will may have been able to grieve by himself but I needed my husband. The one person who understood exactly how I was feeling.
He didn’t even wait for my mom to get here.
Each second that ticked by, my throat thickened with tears. I lay back, pulling the comforter over my head, and let the loneliness consume me.
As days turned into weeks my relationship with Will shifted. He’d been given a lot more responsibility at work and put in charge of a large project. I was proud of him and glad he was thriving at work. But I had my suspicions that he had pushed for the new project in order to keep him at work later. When he did come home at a reasonable time, we’d eat dinner, saying very little, and then he’d head into his office. Many times I didn’t see him again until the next day. While Will was apparently moving on, I couldn’t get past the night we lost the baby and our connection.
After being together for almost ten years I thought our relationship had a stronger foundation. But it dawned on me one day that until the miscarriage our relationship hadn’t been tested, not in any real way. I never wondered how Will and I would handle a difficult time. I assumed we’d tackle it together.
Time seemed to come to a grinding halt after the miscarriage for me. The days bled seamlessly into nights. My doctor gave no real explanation as to why I’d lost my baby other than to say that 10 to 20 percent of pregnancies end in miscarriage with the cause being undetermined. She assured me that there was no medical reason why I couldn’t get pregnant again and carry to term. But once you lose a child, a little voice takes up residence in your head saying you’re damaged goods.
After three months, I finally forced myself to go into what would have been the nursery to remove the inspiration pictures that lined the walls. I studied the details of each picture until I had committed them to memory. I was so caught up in what could have been I didn’t realize Will was standing in the doorway.
“What are you doing?
” There was a sternness to his tone.
Not looking at him, I said, “I figured I might as well take the pictures down.”
“I’m going to take a quick shower.”
“Do you blame me?” The question had been stuck in my throat since the morning we came home from the hospital.
“No. I think the pictures needed to come down.”
“I’m not talking about the stupid pictures.”
“I have a business dinner tonight.”
I whipped around, grabbing his gaze. “Really, Will? Is this how we’re going to deal with the first traumatic event in our lives?”
His brown eyes appeared darker than usual. “What do you want me to say?”
“Anything. I want you to look at me for more than a second and say anything.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve been swamped at work and . . .”
“Bullshit! You blame me for fucking up our well-planned-out perfect life.”
“I don’t have time for this.” He stomped into our bedroom.
I followed, calling out behind him. “Then when will you have time? I’d like to be put on your busy schedule.”
Will ripped off his shirt and pants, standing in the middle of our room in only his boxers.
“I’ve racked my brain trying to figure out what I did wrong. Was it something I ate, did I twist my body a certain way, or am I being punished for something I did in the past?”
“Nothing I can do or say will erase what happened,” he said, sounding defeated.
“I know that. I don’t expect you to perform some miracle. But I need you. I don’t know how to move on from this without you.”
“I . . . um . . . I . . .”
I stepped toward him and took his hand in mine. “We can go see a counselor to help us.”
He shook his head. “No. I’ll do better.”
I wanted to believe Will but I had a feeling he was only saying the words he thought I wanted to hear. He caught my gaze for a brief moment and let go of my hand before retreating into the bathroom.
the Dance Page 5
