Someday

by Karen Kingsbury

  “True.” He placed his hands on either side of her face and touched his lips to hers. Their kiss was slow, with a hesitancy born of the tension that had marked the recent weeks. But it kindled a passion that knew no bounds, and after a while, their breathing changed and a knowing filled her eyes.

  “I love you, Dayne.” Her whispered words betrayed the intensity of her feelings, the way her body responded to his.

  Even in the worst of times, their marriage had been marked by a physical love that seemed almost divine—a gift from the God they both believed in, the God who Dayne prayed would keep them together in the coming months when it might look easier to walk away.

  “I love you too.” He held her closer. “Don’t ever stop saying it, okay? And I won’t either.”

  Katy hesitated. “I won’t. . . . I won’t ever stop.” She kissed him again and spoke close to his ear. “Let’s go inside.”

  He swallowed and eased his fingers between hers. As they went in, as they walked past the kitchen and down the hallway toward their bedroom, Dayne still wasn’t sure about the someday they dreamed of. But for now they had something else, something that here and now maybe mattered more.

  They had four weeks.

  Ashley Baxter Blake held tight to Landon’s hand as they stepped into the sunlight and felt the automated hospital doors slide together behind them. It seemed like a week since Landon had rushed her here, since she was hurried into labor and delivery. But the wonderful, terrible moments that surrounded their daughter’s life and death had happened only the day before.

  The August sun was hot on her face, but Ashley began to shiver. “It hurts, Landon . . . too much.”

  Landon tightened the hold he had around her waist, but he didn’t ask her to explain herself. He had to be feeling the same way.

  Ashley tried to summon her resolve, but she felt like dropping to the sidewalk and weeping. She was about to ask Landon how they were supposed to do this, how they might make the walk to their truck with arms so empty they ached, when a small four-door car pulled up.

  Before Ashley could move or blink or take a breath, the guy behind the wheel jumped out, running around the front of his car and into the hospital foyer. Ashley and Landon watched him, and as they did, they saw the clear reason for the man’s rush. Waiting just inside the glass double doors was a young woman in a wheelchair, her entire face lit up in a smile. Cradled close to her was a small bundle wrapped in pastel blankets.

  A newborn, making that precious first trip home. The way Ashley and Landon’s baby Sarah should’ve been making her first trip home. Ashley couldn’t turn away. She watched the man take hold of a cart loaded with pink flowers and “It’s a Girl” balloons and assorted gift bags. Watched the nurse push the wheelchair through the doors, chatting with the young couple, the three of them all smiles.

  The man gently took the baby in his arms and carried her the few feet to the waiting car. He worked with great care, setting the baby in her car seat and gingerly lifting the buckle and straps over her head. The nurse helped the woman to her feet, and the new family, oblivious to Ashley or Landon or anyone but their precious baby girl, found their places in the car.

  Ashley felt the tears before the family drove away. Her eyes blurred as Landon led her across the parking lot, up the ramp, and past two rows of cars to the Dodge truck they’d bought a week before the baby was born. Landon told her the truck was a way of looking past the impending birth and death of their daughter, a way of believing in the campouts and fishing trips that lay ahead with a household of boys.

  But dreams of tomorrow didn’t shine even a single ray of light on how Ashley felt now. She leaned her head back, closed her eyes, and felt a stream of hot tears slip down her face. Bloomington wasn’t such a large place. If Sarah had lived, she might’ve wound up in the same kindergarten class as the baby girl they’d just seen. The girls might’ve played soccer together or been on the same cheerleading squad. They might’ve been best friends.

  Ashley’s heart hurt, and she pulled her arms in close around her middle. She hadn’t gained much weight with Sarah, and her relatively flat stomach only made her feel worse. She slid down the bench seat and leaned against Landon. “I miss her so much.” Her voice cracked. “I only held her for a few hours.” She held her arms out from her body, remembering the feel of her infant daughter there just yesterday.

  “God’s so good.” Landon’s voice was thick. He hadn’t said much but only because he was clearly struggling too. “She only had a few hours, but no baby was ever loved more in so short a time.”

  A smile lifted Ashley’s lips even as more tears filled her eyes. “It was a miracle, how she looked so healthy, how everyone was there, surrounding us.” She sniffed. “I’ll always remember it.”

  “And God will use her life. We have to believe that.”

  Ashley nodded. She believed. No matter how great the heartache of losing Sarah, Ashley didn’t doubt God. On several occasions during her pregnancy the Lord had reminded her to look for Him in the quiet whispers. And then in Sarah’s final hour, there was her firstborn son, Cole, whispering to her about the picture he colored of Ashley’s mother somewhere in heaven, holding tight to baby Sarah.

  Even this morning, before Landon came to pick her up, Ashley could feel the Lord speaking to her. Sadder than she’d been since the death of her mother, she had taken her Bible from the hospital nightstand and flipped to Psalm 46. Partway through she stumbled onto a verse that had helped her a number of times, a verse she hadn’t read in a long while. “Be still, and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth.”

  In moments like this God wasn’t asking Ashley to be victorious or walk through the door smiling. He was asking her only to stand, to be still, and to know that she didn’t have to have the answers, because the Lord already had them figured out. “Be still, and know that I am God. . . .” Yes, she still believed.

  “Ash . . .” Landon’s voice was unrushed and gentle. “We should get going. Cole and Devin are back at the house with your dad.” He kissed the top of her head. “You okay?”

  She nodded and used the backs of her hands to wipe her face. She straightened, and with what little energy she had, she pulled the seat belt across and snapped it into place. “When Mom needs a break from holding Sarah—” Ashley turned her wet eyes toward the man she loved so deeply—“you know who’ll hold her.”

  “Who?” He slid the key into the ignition and waited.

  “Irvel.” Ashley smiled at the memory of the dear, sweet woman from the Sunset Hills Adult Care Home, Ashley’s friend when she worked there.

  Landon’s grin lightened his expression. “You think so?”

  “I do.” She sniffed again. “Irvel and Mom’ll share a cup of peppermint tea, and Sarah will be right there.”

  It was a comforting picture, and Ashley and Landon let the image stay between them, their linked hands all the communication they needed.

  Ashley’s dad must’ve known how difficult the ride home would be, because when they walked through the front door, the house was quiet.

  Cole peeked around the corner of the kitchen and gave them a tentative smile and a halfhearted wave. “Hi.” He stepped into view. “Papa put Devin down for a nap. He said that might be best. Plus, Devin was tired.”

  “How are you, Coley?” Ashley held out her arms. Silently she said a prayer that lasted only as long as it took for her to draw a breath, thanking God that her sons hadn’t had anencephaly, that they were here and whole and healthy.

  Cole came to her, a little slower than usual. He looked at Landon. “Is Mom okay? To hug, I mean?”

  Landon uttered a soft chuckle. “She’s fine. You can hug her, buddy.” As he said the words, he looked at Ashley and a knowing passed between them. She wasn’t fine, and neither was he. Maybe someday, but for now it would be a very long time before they could use that word and mean it. Still, it was important to get things back to normal for their boy
s, especially Cole, with his great sense of perception and concern for the people in his family.

  Cole smiled, relieved. He put his arms around Ashley longer than usual. “Your tummy’s almost flat again.”

  “Yes. Almost.” Ashley smiled and ran her hand along the back of Cole’s head. He hadn’t been a baby for many years, but as he hugged her, she could remember what it felt like to hold him when he was. The feeling brought her some relief from the ache that had been with her all morning.

  Landon moved closer and put his arm around Cole’s shoulders. “Have you been sad today?”

  “A little.” Cole squinted up at Landon and then Ashley. “Sarah shoulda had a party today, and I was gonna be in charge of her so Devin wouldn’t be too rough. I wanted to teach him how to be a big brother.” He thought for a few seconds. “Babies are too young for heaven—don’t you think?”

  Ashley felt a lump in her throat, and with her free hand she massaged it. “I do. Much too young.”

  “But—” Landon grinned despite the sadness in his eyes—“I bet you did a good job of being in charge of Devin this morning.”

  They heard steps from the family room, and Ashley’s father came quietly around the corner. “He did a great job.”

  Cole lit up at the sight of his grandpa. “Tell ’em how me and Devin played with those giant LEGOs and built the biggest bridge ever!”

  “Definitely the biggest.”

  “It was so big Devin wanted to climb on it, but I told him LEGO bridges didn’t work like that.” Cole stepped away from Ashley and grinned at his papa. “Right?”

  “Right. You told him.” Ashley’s dad mussed up Cole’s blond hair and cast a concerned look at Ashley and Landon.

  “Hey!” An idea seemed to pop into Cole’s head. “I’ll go check on the bridge before Mom and Dad come see it.” He darted off and ran halfway through the dining room before he stopped and quieted his footsteps, probably remembering that Devin was still asleep. “That was loud,” he whispered. “Sorry!”

  When Cole was out of earshot, Ashley’s dad put a hand on her shoulder and then Landon’s. “I won’t stay. You need your family time.” He leaned close and kissed her cheek. Then he turned to Landon. “You can do this. Your faith will get you through.”

  Landon nodded. “And I have a feeling family’s going to help a whole lot too.”

  When Ashley’s dad was gone, Landon wrapped his arms around her and held her for a long while. They could hear Cole in the distant playroom, shuffling about, probably making sure every LEGO connection was firm and in place.

  Ashley rested her head against Landon’s chest. She was still so tired. In two days they’d have a small, private funeral, but right now even the thought of so much sadness seemed overwhelming. “Think he’ll remember her?” She looked up. “A year from now? . . . Five years?”

  “I don’t know.” Landon’s eyes were deep, thoughtful. “But that little girl will stay with us, between us . . . a part of us until we see her again.”

  “Right there next to my mom.”

  “And Irvel.”

  Ashley smiled, and with that they followed the sound of Cole and spent the next ten minutes marveling at the bridge, which was bigger than Cole and Devin combined. Landon grabbed the camera and took half a dozen photos. Not long after, Devin woke and the four of them sat cross-legged on the playroom floor, taking apart the bridge and using the blocks to build a tower instead.

  Every now and then, Ashley was painfully aware that amid the happy sounds of her family, one was most definitely missing.

  The soft, precious cries of her newborn daughter.

  The funeral service was brief and poignant—much like little Sarah’s life. Ashley sat with Landon and the boys in the front row of the church, and the rest of the Baxter family surrounded them. Only Ashley’s father spoke, quoting from Psalm 139—the verses that talked about God knowing a baby before she was born and how He alone could knit a child in the womb of her mother. He also referred to Jeremiah 29:11, about God having good plans for His people.

  “His good plans for Sarah will go far beyond this life.” Her dad looked at the faces in the first few pews. His eyes glistened, but he smiled anyway. “We look forward to that glorious day when we are all together, at home in heaven, and we can see for ourselves the plans God had for our precious baby girl.”

  Ashley turned her eyes to the small white casket, covered in a spray of white roses and baby’s breath. The delicately etched box was so small, so pitifully little. For the slightest, craziest moment, Ashley longed to cross the front of the church, lift the lid, and take her daughter into her arms one more time. She closed her eyes. Sarah’s not in there. I know she’s not, she told herself. Help me, God. . . . Let me see her in Mom’s arms the way Cole saw her.

  Ashley looked back at her dad. He was finishing, talking about God’s mercies being new every morning. Then he stepped down from the podium and returned to his spot beside Elaine.

  The church pianist played “Great Is Thy Faithfulness,” and afterwards, when the funeral was over, everyone drove to the cemetery. The burial service took only a few minutes, and then—after hugs and quiet tears—the others left for their separate homes. Ashley had decided she didn’t have energy for a dinner back at their house. The funeral was as much as she could handle.

  Finally it was just Ashley, Landon, and the boys, standing near Sarah’s casket. Landon had Devin in his arms, and without saying a word, he reached out and touched the edge of the wooden box. “Good-bye, Sarah,” he whispered. Then he carefully took one white rose from the bouquet and brought it close to his face. For a moment he closed his eyes, and pain darkened his expression.

  Ashley, too, took a rose and opened her other hand gently against the smooth casket top. “Someday, baby . . . someday we’ll see you again.” Ashley felt the tears on her cheeks, but otherwise her heart was numb. She wanted only to be home with her family, away from this terribly sad place.

  Cole had been watching them, making circles in the grass with the toe of his shoe as if he wasn’t sure what to do or say. But now he moved to the headstone adjacent to Sarah’s plot. “This is where Grandma’s buried, right? It says Elizabeth Baxter.”

  “Yes, Coley.” Ashley touched his shoulder. “They’ll be together here.”

  Cole nodded. He stared at the gravestone for a few seconds, then touched the lettering with his fingers. “Together, like in heaven.”

  “That’s right.”

  Landon prayed, and the four of them stayed a few minutes longer. After that, they returned to the new truck and drove home.

  Ashley didn’t make her way to the nursery until after Landon and the boys were asleep. Earlier, Landon had urged her to take a nap, and she’d managed to get a few hours. But now she couldn’t sleep. How different this night might have been, the hours spent rocking Sarah and laughing about their lack of sleep.

  Ashley tiptoed down the hallway past Devin’s room. Before Sarah’s diagnosis, they had tossed around a couple of options for the baby’s room. They could move Devin in with Cole—something both boys were in favor of. But the house was older, the rooms barely big enough for a twin bed and a dresser. Even bunk beds would’ve caused the boys to be crowded in one room.

  Instead, they settled on turning Ashley’s art room into a nursery. She usually painted at her dad’s house, and she could move her paintings there. That way each of the kids would have their own space. Before she completed her third month of pregnancy, Ashley had pulled the bassinet from the garage and cleaned it, found the sheets and pastel skirt that her mother had given her when Cole was born. She boxed up her paints and put her easel in the closet and dreamed about whether the room would be blue or pink themed.

  But after the news about her baby’s birth defect—even when she told herself month after month that it was a mistake or that God would give her a miracle—Ashley couldn’t bring herself to work on the nursery. As if some small part of her subconscious knew better. There were times w
hen she went by the room and stopped, her eyes locked on the sight of the pretty bedding, her heart hoping beyond hope that her daughter would sleep there. When the truth about Sarah became painfully clear, neither she nor Landon found the strength to take down the bassinet.

  The house was quiet. Still weary from the emotional cost of the day, Ashley entered the room and leaned against the inside wall. They’d planned to move the rocking chair from Devin’s room into this one, since he could use the extra space for his toys. But that never happened, and now the room looked sparse and cold and lonely—all except for the bassinet.

  Ashley went to it and rested her fingers on the frilly hood. Sorrow welled up inside her, and she slid her fingers down to the soft flannel sheets that covered the thin mattress. The spot where Sarah should’ve been sleeping this very moment.

  I hardly knew her, God. Ashley stared at the empty little bed. But . . . but I miss her so much. . . .

  Ashley closed her eyes, and her daughter’s face came into view—her delicate features, her big blue eyes, her sweet baby lips. How long would it be before the brief image of Sarah, the one-day memory of her, faded into little more than a distant dream? She held her breath, and for a moment she could almost smell her daughter, feel her velvety soft skin.

  I trust You, God; I do. But why her? Why Sarah?

  The heartache tore at her because there was no way to bridge the distance between her and Sarah, not in this life.

  Ashley gripped the side of the bassinet with both hands, and as she did, a voice sounded, clear and calm, like an intercom to every room of her heart. Be still, My daughter, and know that I am God. . . .

  Relief flooded Ashley’s soul, and with it came more tears. Yes, Father, help me be still. Help me understand. . . .

  Again the response was distinct. My daughter, I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth.

  Ashley let the words wash over her, stirring her thoughts and bringing a dawning of new understanding. She hadn’t really focused on the last part of the verse, just the beginning, because what more did she need at a time like this than to know that she had only to stand, that God would be God, and that she was only responsible to be still?