by Loretta Lost
“Will you please let me see her?” I beg, thrusting out my bouquet of flowers. “I come bearing emotional medicine. These are Carmen’s favorite, and I’m sure they’ll brighten her day. I also have this handsome teddy bear. And of course, my own boyish charm and devilish good looks.”
When Karen Robinson smiles, I know that I’ve won.
But her smile immediately disappears. “Owen, you know I can’t allow you to see her. I can bring the flowers in to her room…”
“I’m the baby’s father!” I blurt out quickly. My own eyes grow wide. I can’t believe I actually just said that. My cheeks blush violently red at this lie, and heat spreads through my chest. I clear my throat as I try to make my lie less terribly obvious. “What can I say, Karen? We were having a torrid affair. It was very scandalous, and her husband obviously wasn’t very happy about it. But Carmen and I are very much in love, and I know that it will make her feel better to see me.”
Karen Robinson sighs and rips her glasses off, polishing them slowly while sending me a look of disapproval. “For god’s sake, Owen! Couldn’t you just keep it in your pants?”
I shrug sheepishly, still blushing the color of cherry tomatoes.
“Foolish young men like you will be the death of me,” the doctor says, shaking her head. “I swear! My goodness, you’re just like my idiot sons.”
Clearing my throat, I lower my chin bashfully. “Please, ma’am. I only have a few minutes before I have to rush to work at my own hospital. Will you let me see her?”
“Alright,” she says finally, dropping her pen onto her clipboard with surrender. “Come this way, Owen. Carmen’s sleeping due to the medication we had to give her, but you can have a few minutes.”
“Thank you, Karen,” I say with relief. When she glares at me, I gulp. “I mean, Dr. Robinson.”
I follow her brisk steps through the halls until I arrive at Carmen’s room. It feels like the hospital corridor stretches on for miles, even though I’m sure that it only takes us a minute to reach our destination. My chest feels suddenly very constricted as I observe the girl lying there in the bed. She looks so frail and fragile. Even though I recently saw Carmen’s sister in a similar position, I had ultimate faith that Helen would get better no matter what. Being friends with that girl, I know that there is no obstacle she can’t conquer. Helen is one tough cookie.
With Carmen, I’m not so sure.
Could she survive losing her baby? I stare at her heart monitors, and my own heart feels like it’s struggling. I am clutching the vase of roses against my chest so tightly that I feel it might shatter.
A hand rests gently on my arm, and my head snaps to the side to look at Dr. Robinson with surprise. I had forgotten she was still standing beside me.
“I’ll leave you alone with her, Owen,” she says softly. “I promise you—my team will do everything we can to try to save your daughter. I’ll tell the other doctors that the baby’s father is my friend, and that they better give 150% of their effort to this one—if they value their jobs.”
Tears spring to my eyes. I’m not sure why, but my phony fatherhood is managing to get me all emotional. I reach out with my teddy-bear arm and give Dr. Robinson a hug. “Thank you,” I tell her in a choked-up voice.
She gives me a motherly smile. “Anything for one of my favorite students. You’re going to make a great dad, Owen. If not today, then someday.”
As I watch Karen walk away, my tears finally do fall. I realize that this playacting is the closest thing I might ever get to really being a father. I might never get to experience seeing the woman I love giving birth to my baby. Caroline said that she might want to adopt, but it’s not the same.
It would mean skipping this part. Skipping the most meaningful part.
Moving into Carmen’s room, I wipe my wet face on my sleeve and clear my throat. I really am just a sentimental mess right now. I place the flowers on her bedside table and smile down at her through my tears.
“Hey, pretty lady,” I say cheerfully as I take her hand. “Heard you had a bit of a tummyache.” Her fingers are cold and limp, and it scares me. I tuck the teddy bear between her arm and her side, hoping that it will stand guard over her like a pint-sized sentinel. “I wish I could stay with you, Carm, but I am being called away to work. This little guy will take care of you while I’m away—but don’t let him get fresh with you. He seems like a bit of a pervy bear, the way his t-shirt is hiked up over his bellybutton like that…”
Sniffling, I lean down to press a kiss against her forehead. “You’re going to be just fine, Carmen Sandiego. And little Grace, too. I promise.”
Looking down at her swollen abdomen, I reach out tentatively to place a feather-light touch against the tender swell. A small shiver touches my shoulders. I swear that I can feel the life and possibility traveling through my arm like phantom electricity.
No.
Nothing bad can happen to this woman and her unborn child. I don’t care. I won’t allow it. Carmen might not be mine, but that doesn’t mean I can’t protect her. I have all this excess love and devotion that has been accumulating in my chest, threatening to spill over. I have nowhere to put it. I just want to take care of her, and invest all my energy into making her feel better again. I want to make it the point of my entire existence.
Is that wrong? Is that insane? Is it improper to care so much about a woman I barely know?
I don’t care.
Reaching up to my neck, I pull my yellow scarf out from under my collar. I stare down at the little patterns of ducklings following their mother, until they grow blurry in my teary vision. Only Caroline would buy such an infernally adorable piece of fabric. Somehow, it’s perfect for the moment. Reaching out, I lay the scarf over Carmen’s stomach affectionately.
“This is for you, Grace,” I tell her unborn baby softly. “Soon you’ll hatch into a little duckling too, with fuzzy yellow feathers, just like your mom. Unless she isn’t a natural blonde—then I have no idea what you’ll look like.” I smile, and my voice lowers to a whisper. “I guess you’ll just have to grow up into a lovely young woman and show me. Can you do that for me? I promise to buy you unlimited rounds of laser tag—and all the ice cream you can eat!”
Another text message in my pocket alerts me to the fact that I really need to get going. Leaning down, I press another desperate kiss against Carmen’s cheek. “Just be okay,” I tell her sleeping form. “I’ll be back soon. I just need to work for a few hours, and then I won’t leave your side again. Not until you’re better.” On an impulse, I find myself squeezing her hand tightly. “I wish that I never had to leave your side, Carmen. But that’s just selfish and stupid. I’m such a selfish and stupid man, aren’t I?” I take a deep breath and lower my chin to my chest. “And you’re perfect. I don’t deserve someone like you. I’m a world-class loser, Carm. I wouldn’t blame you if you hated me.”
Chapter Five
Carmen Winters
I think I remember holding my baby.
Was that real? I don’t know what’s real anymore.
I remember crying. I remember pain. Unbearable pain. I remember emptiness.
I remember screaming.
But now it’s all quiet. My senses are slowly returning, and as my eyelids flutter open, I behold a bouquet of blue roses. I find myself getting lost in the velvety petals. They are perfect and peaceful, and they steal me away from the darkness of the images in my mind.
I remember drugs. Lots of medical words I didn’t understand. Demerol, epidural, oxytocin. I remember her tiny body, covered in bruises.
Was it just a nightmare? Sometimes I have really realistic dreams of losing my teeth, but I wake up to find them all still firmly planted in my gums. I run my tongue over each molar with shock and new appreciation for their resilience. Is this like that? Am I just having a bad string of nightmares about losing my baby, but I’ll wake up every time to find that she’s perfectly fine?
As I slide my hands down to my stomach, I grow awa
re of the fact that this is not the case. Something is definitely different. I don’t feel her anymore. And I have no idea where she is. Is she dead or alive? Is she with someone I trust?
Yes, my husband’s voice whispers to me. She’s with me now, Carmen. I told you I would take her.
I blink away tears as I stare at the blue roses.
This is worse than a nightmare about having each of my teeth slowly ripped out—and then waking up to find that it was real. How can I deal with having my baby stolen away from me like this? I don’t even know if I got a chance to hold her in my arms. And if I did, it was for a fleeting moment, while I was heavily drugged. I never got a chance to memorize the way she looked and felt. I don’t know the color of her eyes, or the texture of her skin. I never got to experience that amazing feeling people describe when they hold their first child. That magical moment when parenthood becomes real. That sense of pride in having endured the pain and accomplished something wonderful. Shifting groggily in the bed, I try to lift myself up a little.
Who could have brought me roses?
There is also an adorable teddy bear in a festive hat sitting at the bottom of the vase. Leaning forward, I try to reach the bouquet to check for a card, but I am in too much pain to stretch that far. However, I am barely able to access the corner of my bedside table, and my phone is sitting on the edge. Greedily grabbing the little piece of technology, I open it up to check for calls or messages. I could almost cry when I see that there is nothing from my father. Does he even know that I’m here? However, there are a few missed calls and voicemails from Brad and The Phenomenal Owen. Sighing, I let my hand hang limply at my side. I don’t know if I’m in the mood for this right now. Dealing with these men feels so petty and frustrating sometimes, and I don’t think I have the energy for any more garbage. I am tired of letting people put me through shit. I am tired of letting myself take it.
If I hadn’t been such a weak, soft pushover, I wouldn’t be here right now. I wouldn’t have ended up with Grayson, and let him get me pregnant before I was completely sure about him. I wouldn’t have screwed up and put myself in this position. I am usually quite strong and hardheaded, but when it comes to the men in my life, I can magically morph into a tenderhearted doormat. I used to hate myself for this, and punish myself to try to change and grow stronger, but now I know that it is just a part of who I am. I need to accept it.
The hard parts of me are strong, self-protecting, capable, and badass. But it’s the soft parts of me that let someone get close, and really wanted to experience being a mother and holding my baby. I was so close. I was so close to having something that I’ve dreamed of all my life.
Is there even a chance that she could still be alive? As I ruminate over the possibilities, I decide that if I ever get pregnant again, I will never allow them to give me drugs. Not for any amount of pain. I despise the feeling of not knowing what could have happened to my child. I could have had a few moments with her, but my hazy mental state has stolen all those moments from my mind, possibly permanently.
I don’t think I can bear losing any more precious moments.
I feel so alone. I don’t know how I can miss someone I’ve never met, but I miss my child. I miss the comforting weight of her in my abdomen, pressing against all my organs like a small sack of potatoes. I don’t know how something so uncomfortable can be comforting, but she was. And now, she’s gone too. My eyes close and my breathing quickens as this begins to sink in. I find myself hyperventilating, as a few tears slide out of my cheeks.
This can’t be happening. Is this really happening? I just want to hold her. I just need someone.
Where is everyone I love? Where’s Dad and Helen? Is there anyone coming here to hold me and tell me things are going to be okay?
I know that this is the day that I was supposed to be a new mother, but I feel like a child again. I want my own mother. I wish she was here to hold my hand. I wish she could tell me what it was like for her. I wish she could tell me that it gets easier, and that’s worth all the pain in the end. I try to imagine her telling me these things, but I can’t even remember the sound of her voice.
This thought causes sobs to rip through my chest. I hug my arms around my middle as I begin to cry pathetically. I can’t seem to make myself stop, and it’s embarrassing. I need something. I need some form of comfort.
Dragging my phone up to my face, I unlock the screen. Without really thinking about what I’m doing, I find myself going to the photo albums, and checking out my latest photos. It’s still unsettling to see my husband’s dead body, and I stare breathlessly at the haunting image. I am so glad I took this damn photo so that I could remember this. Otherwise, I am almost certain that my mind would have found a way to lock the disturbing memory away somewhere safe so that it could no longer hurt me. That’s what my sister needed to do. Dragging the phone closer to my face, I drink in the disturbing sight. I am filled with so much hate toward him, and longing at the same time.
“How could you do this to me, Gray?” I whisper to the photo. “Look at what you’ve done. You hurt me. You hurt our baby. This is your fault. This is all your fault! I was fine. I was doing better. I was healthy.”
I am almost expecting the voices in my head to respond, but they don’t. It seems like they are just trying to spite me, and staying away when I need them most. Lowering myself to the soft pillow brokenly, I hold the picture close so that I can imagine my husband is still here, beside me. I have better photos of him, but I want to remember him like this. I want to remember him as he really was. I want this picture of his weakness and failure to override every good memory I ever made with him. I want the truth.
It’s not working. I can imagine his vibrant face and strong body so clearly that it feels like the photo was staged. He must be alive and well somewhere—somewhere close. I remember everything I loved about him. I can imagine his warmth, which I desperately need as I shiver under the thin blankets in the hospital bed. I can imagine that he is coming to hold me at any moment.
“I need you here,” I tell the photo miserably. My voice builds to a hiss. “You should be here! This isn’t fair. I need you, Gray. Talk to me.” Even though I am crying, the tears are no longer falling from my eyes. I think I might be severely dehydrated, even though there is an IV drip in my arm. I am also having trouble breathing. “Talk to me,” I whisper into my phone. Hearing nothing, I find myself screaming, “Talk to me!” Finally, in a moment of absolute desperation, I stop gazing at the morbid image and use my thumb to flip to my contacts. I call Grayson. I haven’t had his phone disconnected or anything, so it begins ringing. I listen to the dial tone with bated breath, almost expecting him to answer.
“You have reached Grayson Scott. I am currently unable to take your call. If you leave a message…”
I close my eyes tightly, letting the phone tumble from my hand to the pillow. Talk to me. Please talk to me. I need you. My body writhes in pain and discomfort. I feel like the cessation of the voices in my head is a second abandonment by my husband. Reaching down, I place both of my hands on my aching, empty abdomen. I am suddenly aware enough to notice a texture that is slightly different from the bland hospital blankets. My fingers move against the silky material curiously, and I bunch it up in my hands. It seems lightweight and soft, and I bring it closer to my face.
I am confused at the sight of a yellow piece of fabric, covered in little ducklings. I stare at it for a moment, before it is finally able to make me smile, even through my tears. Was this a gift from someone? Is someone I know here, watching over me? That thought is comforting. Is there a chance that Grace might have survived? I don’t think anyone would have brought me a celebratory baby blanket if there wasn’t something to celebrate. Dragging the material against my neck and chest, I nuzzle it lovingly. There is a familiar scent on the fabric, but I can’t quite remember who it might be. Before I can process any more information, I find my eyes drooping closed again.
Dammit. I hate being so weak.
I want to be awake. I want to know what happened.
But my body has other plans, and it is shutting down for rest without my permission. I guess, at least when I’m sleeping I can be at peace. I can dream of my husband, and my baby, and the life we were supposed to have. I won’t feel nearly so alone. Staring at the blue roses, I smile as I drift off to sleep. My last thought is to be thankful to whoever brought me the bouquet. They really are my favorite flower, and it was tremendously soothing to wake up and gaze at them. At least there must be someone who cares enough to do that. But for the life of me, I can’t remember the name or face of anyone who loves me. There must be someone, right?
The flowers are evidence that I’m not completely alone.
Chapter Six
“Carmen?” says a tender voice, and there is a hand on my shoulder. “Are you awake yet, honey?”
My eyelids drift open again, and I am surprised to find that my vision is fairly clear. I feel conscious and aware, so the drugs must have worn off. Looking around at the hospital room to properly assess my surroundings, I take a moment to orient myself before looking at my visitor. I recognize his snazzy suit and Ralph Lauren tie before I have even looked at his face.
“Brad,” I say in a hoarse voice. “Where’s my baby?”
“I’m sorry, Carmen,” he tells me softly. There is a heavy look in his dark eyes. “The doctors say that there was nothing they could do to save her.”
“What?” I whisper in disbelief. My hands tightly clench the duckling-covered blanket that I had been holding as I slept. “No. That can’t be right. Please, Brad, I’m not in the mood for jokes. Where is my daughter? Can I see her?”
“Carmen… I don’t know how to tell you this.” He takes a deep breath and leans close to me, squeezing my arm with gentle pressure. “Your daughter has already been dead for hours. They got rid of the body.”
“No. No!” I exclaim. “They wouldn’t even let me see her body?”
