A Time to Dance/A Time to Embrace

by Karen Kingsbury

  “I knew it, Abby girl; she’s perfect. Another precious princess for the Reynolds castle.”

  She could still hear him, see him holding his tiny daughter, cooing at her, welcoming her to the world. “Only the very best princesses have the good sense to be born after a football game is over . . .” He sang to her and whispered silly nothings to her while Abby fell asleep exhausted.

  The next morning when Abby woke, there was John, long legs stretched across the hospital room, one hand on Haley Ann’s back as she lay in the bassinet beside him. Abby remembered well the feeling of joy that grew in her heart that morning, the way she’d imagined only sunshine and rainbows for all the days that lay ahead. Her mother was down from Wisconsin watching Nicole, and later that day the group held an informal birthday party for the newborn with cake and streamers and balloons and a song that Haley Ann slept right through.

  “She’s my sister, right, Mommy?” Nicole angled her head lovingly, putting her nose so close to her baby sister’s the two were almost touching.

  “Yes, she’s all yours, Nicole.”

  Abby had imagined the fun these two would have, growing up together, sharing a room and secrets and clothes and friends. They would be inseparable, not like Abby and her sister, who was four years younger and too caught up in her own life to have much of a friendship with Abby.

  Nicole and Haley Ann.

  Not long after Abby brought the newborn home, she stenciled the girls’ names on their lavender walls and bought them matching bedding. Abby closed her eyes and let the memory become real in her mind. She could see the white, swirly letters, smell the fresh paint on the walls, hear the infant cries of Haley Ann when she was hungry or needed to be held.

  Football season ended in December, and that same week they sold their two-bedroom home and moved into the house on the lake—the home where they’d lived ever since. Each day afterward brought hours of family time, leisurely evenings with John spread out on the sofa, Haley Ann bundled in the crook of one arm while Nicole cuddled into the other. He was such a wonderful dad, gentle and loving with the innate ability to make Nicole and even Haley Ann giggle at will.

  One night when the boxes were unpacked, not long after the girls had fallen asleep, John took Abby by the hand and led her outside to the pier. In the bustling activity of moving and having a newborn in the house, Abby had done little more than admire the pier from a distance. But that night, bundled in their winter coats, John wove his fingers between hers and gently turned her so she was facing him.

  “Do you hear it, Abby?”

  She listened intently, the winter night quiet like the moon across the water. John moved his hands along her arms, drawing her close, pulling her into a hug. “Close your eyes,” he whispered.

  As she did, she heard gentle sounds she hadn’t noticed before. A subtle breeze in the trees that lined the lake, the simple lapping of water against the frozen shoreline. The heartbeat of the man whose arms surrounded her. “I think so.”

  He pulled back then and stared into her eyes, and she sensed he loved her more deeply than before, if that were possible. “It’s the music of our lives, Abby.” A smile played on his lips, and he leaned toward her, kissing her in a way that made her feel safe and protected and wanted. Desirable, despite the circles under her eyes from late nights with Haley Ann. “Dance with me, Abby . . . dance with me.”

  Taking her hand carefully in his, John led her in small circles, dancing with her alone on the pier to the melody of life, while their angel girls slept inside. Never mind the areas where ice made the wood slippery, in John’s arms she was safe and secure, a ballerina being led across the grandest dance floor of all.

  It was something he did often over the next two months: swept her outside and danced with her on the pier. Something that made her forget the day’s diapers and feedings and sleepless nights. With all her heart Abby believed those days, those feelings between John and her, would never end. It wasn’t just the dancing; it was the way Nicole became tender and gentle around Haley Ann, the way they felt together as a family. Invincible, almost. As if no bad thing in all the world could touch what they shared.

  Abby blinked, trying to contain a tidal wave of sadness.

  There was nothing remarkable about February 28. Nothing during Haley Ann’s morning feeding to indicate it would be the last time Abby would hold her little girl close or stare into her eyes as the two of them held a conversation only mother and child could understand. When the baby was finished eating, Abby kissed her tenderly and lay her down on her side.

  Two hours later, about the time when Haley Ann usually woke from her morning nap, Abby was folding a load of laundry on her bed when she was pierced with a sudden sense of panic, a warning she could not explain. “Nicole?” Abby’s voice rang urgently through the house and her older daughter, nearly two that month, was quick to respond.

  “Yes, Mommy?” Her voice told Abby she was where she was supposed to be. Situated in front of the television, watching Sesame Street. “Is it lunchtime?”

  Abby tried to calm her racing heart. “No, sweetie, not yet. Mommy has to get Haley Ann up from her nap first.”

  She dropped the towel she’d been holding and hurried into the baby’s room. “Haley, sweetie, wake up. Mommy’s here.”

  The memory sent a shiver down Abby’s spine. Haley Ann was on her stomach, a position she often wound up in, but even with Abby’s singsong voice she showed no signs of movement.

  Hot tears forged a trail down Abby’s cheeks as she relived the moment, felt again the slight stiffness in her baby daughter as she swept her into her arms and saw the blue in her face and fingers.

  “Haley Ann! Wake up!” She had shouted the words, jerking the tiny baby just enough to jump-start her breathing, to waken her from the terrible sleep she had fallen into. When there was no response, no signs of life, she grabbed the phone and dialed 9-1-1.

  “Hurry, please! My baby isn’t breathing.”

  For the next ten minutes she gave Haley Ann mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, oblivious to the way Nicole sat huddled in the doorway watching, singing the alphabet song to herself over and over again.

  “A-B-C-D-E-F-G . . .”

  Abby could still hear the fear in Nicole’s voice, see the way she was whisked to another corner of the house when the paramedics arrived and one of them reached out his arms for Haley Ann.

  “Ma’am, we’ll take over now.”

  And in that moment she’d been forced to hand over her newborn, desperate to believe there was still hope but certain deep in her gut that Haley Ann was dead. A police officer took information from Abby, what time the baby went down, what she’d eaten that morning, how long she’d slept. Finally he asked about the baby’s father. “Is there a number we can call for you, Mrs. Reynolds?”

  Abby had been beside herself, barely able to breathe. But somehow she pulled the number from the recesses of her mind. Everything that happened next was a blur. The police took Nicole to a neighbor’s house, then escorted Abby to the hospital behind the ambulance. As soon as they arrived, John greeted them.

  “Honey, what is it? What’s happened?” His face—normally ruddy and full of life—was gray and washed out. Fear screamed from his eyes.

  There was nothing Abby could say. Haley Ann was gone; she was sure of it. “Haley Ann . . . she’s . . . she didn’t wake up from her nap . . . Oh, John, pray. Please, pray.”

  They were the last words Abby could say, the final moment before she collapsed against John and gave way to the sobs that tore at her heart. Together they took up their position outside the emergency room, where doctors were shooting drugs into their baby, using every possible attempt to jump-start her heart.

  But it was too late. God had taken Haley Ann home, and there was nothing anyone could do to change the fact. Before the hour was up, doctors left them alone with their baby so together they could say their good-byes. It was impossible to imagine that just four months earlier they had been celebrating at this
very hospital, welcoming her new life into their hearts and home.

  John was the first to hold her. Moving slowly, like a man trapped in quicksand, he positioned himself near the hospital bed and carefully lifted her to his chest. It was the same image Abby had seen earlier that night at the craft store, the picture of John holding his tiny, dead daughter, trying to find a way to say good-bye.

  He said little more than their baby’s name, speaking it over and over again as his tears splashed onto her cool skin. But when it was Abby’s turn to hold her, he broke down and wept. “Oh, Abby, it’s my fault. God’s punishing me. I know it.”

  Abby held Haley Ann tight and leaned into John’s shoulder, the three of them connected as they’d been so often in the previous weeks. “No, love, it isn’t anyone’s fault. No one could have known . . .”

  He shook his head, the sobs coming harder, almost violently. “I . . . I wanted her to be a son, Abby. I never told you, but deep inside . . . I hoped she’d be a . . . a boy.”

  His words caused her heart to swell with compassion, made her own tears come even harder than before. Poor John. He had loved the fact that Haley Ann was a girl, even welcomed his second daughter with open arms. But truly he’d longed for a son. And there in the hospital room . . . with Haley Ann’s body locked in their embrace, he was blaming himself for her death. “No, John, don’t do that. This was God’s choice; He called her home. Don’t you see? It has nothing to do with you wanting a son.”

  Somehow her words breathed strength into him, and though his tears continued to fall, he became the rock once more, the pillar of strength as they lay her down, fixed the blankets around her still body, and kissed her good-bye.

  They made the decision to cremate her, and two weeks later they crept out to the pier together and spread her ashes on a breeze that blew over the lake. She and John cried silent tears that night, and when Abby was unable to say anything, John bowed his head and prayed aloud.

  “Lord, we know that You are sovereign. You alone give life and You can call us home, any of us, at any time—” His voice broke, and Abby reached her arm across his shoulders. The gesture gave him the ability to continue. “Take care of our little Haley Ann, please, God. And know that our love for You, for each other, has only been strengthened because of her brief time here, her sudden passing. We dedicate our lives to You again, Lord. And beg You to bless us with more children in the years to come.”

  After thirty minutes had passed, when the ashes of their infant daughter had settled into the depths of the lake, John wrapped his arms around Abby and whispered words she would never forget in a million years.

  “She will always be a part of us, Abby. Right here. Whenever we take the time to stop and remember.”

  After losing Haley Ann, the bond between Abby and John seemed stronger than ever before. Friends and family offered condolences and words of comfort, but the only real peace, the only healing to be had, was found in each other’s presence. They were best friends who had survived a devastating blow and come out stronger on the other side.

  Because of their faith, yes. But because of each other, most of all. They needed no words, no explanations, only the way it felt to stand at the edge of the pier, hand in hand, and look out across the lake. It was a loss that seemed possible only because each had the other. As if after losing Haley Ann they could survive anything life handed them so long as they were together.

  Abby drew a deep breath that pulled her from the memory as she allowed the winter air to fill her lungs, washing away the sadness. She wiped her wet cheeks and remembered something else.

  Haley Ann’s death had been only the beginning.

  Three months later a tornado ranking four on the Fujita scale ripped through Marion, missing the Reynoldses’ house but killing 10 people and injuring 181 others. The Southridge High kicker—a lighthearted young boy responsible for a majority of locker room pranks—was among the dead, along with one of John’s coworkers, a biology teacher with a wife and two young children.

  As with losing Haley Ann, John and Abby needed no words that afternoon when the storm had passed. They left Nicole with the neighbor again, rolled up their sleeves, and worked side by side helping bandage victims in the temporary hospital ward set up in the Southridge gymnasium. Again that night they drew strength from each other, finding that together they could handle the unimaginable. In the wee hours of the morning, John drifted off to a private alcove, rested his head against a brick wall, and finally allowed the tears. Abby was instinctively at his side, covering his back with her body, telling him in a way that needed no words that she was there, she understood.

  It was no wonder they so greatly appreciated their vacation that summer, celebrating life in the aftermath of all they’d lost. And neither of them was surprised when Abby learned early that fall that she was pregnant again.

  Beauty from ashes, just like Scripture promised.

  When Kade was born in April 1983, they figured that maybe, just maybe, the trials of life were behind them. Kade was their proof that life goes on, that regardless of the future, each day was precious all by itself. Nicole was three that spring, and though she still occasionally mentioned Haley Ann, her new brother quickly filled the empty places for them all.

  “They’ll be best friends one day, Abby; I can feel it.” John had made the statement while they huddled together in the family room not long after Kade came home from the hospital. Abby appreciated the way John projected Kade’s life, assuming that their son’s days would not be cut short the way his sister’s had.

  And in the end John was right. A year later they celebrated Kade’s birthday, relieved and grateful beyond words that this baby had never stopped breathing in his sleep.

  “We’re survivors, John, you and me.” Abby had uttered the words against his chest while he held her close on the pier one evening a few weeks later. Summer had seemed to come early that year; already there were crickets singing in the background.

  “The music never changes . . .” John stared wistfully out at the lake. “But it’s up to us to keep dancing.” Then he met her gaze, and she knew she would never feel connected to anyone the way she did with him. He was a jock, a football coach given to short sentences and barked commands, but she knew another side of him, the man who could look straight into her soul. He held her gaze. “Dance with me, Abby. Don’t ever stop dancing.”

  Abby blinked and felt the memory fade into the winter wind. For all the times when John seemed utterly wrapped up in football, for the days and weeks and months when he seemed little more than a gridiron guy with no feelings beyond his drive to win, Abby knew differently. The heart of the man John Reynolds had been was deeper than the lake behind their house, deeper than anything Stan Jacobs might offer in an e-mail.

  That was especially true on June 7, 1984.

  A sigh escaped Abby, and she knew she could not truly leave the places of the past without revisiting one last memory. Along with the early summer that year came a rash of severe storms that culminated in an outbreak of tornadoes that June 7. Since most of them were developing in Wisconsin and Iowa, Abby had called her father that day, anxious for their safety.

  “Everything’s fine, honey. We’ve only had a few in our area, and they’ve all been small. Besides, your mother’s completely out of danger. She’s visiting her sister this week.”

  Abby remembered the surge of relief her father’s words had brought. Aunt Lexie lived in Barneveld, Wisconsin, at the far west end of the state. Her father was right. None of the tornadoes that day had been near Barneveld. Abby assured her father she would keep praying and, after tucking Nicole and Kade into bed, she and John watched the news until after ten o’clock.

  “Looks like it’s easing up,” John said. He flipped off the television, and together they turned in for the night. It wasn’t until her father called the next morning that she learned the devastating news.

  Just before midnight, an F-5 tornado ripped through Barneveld destroying nearly all of
the small town. Nine people were killed, nearly two hundred injured. Abby’s mother and aunt were among the dead.

  “I’m sorry, baby, I never wanted to have to tell you something like that.” Her father, longtime football coach and perennial tough guy, wept on the other end. By the end of the day, John, Abby, and the kids were at his side, helping him cope and planning a funeral for Abby’s mother.

  Looking back now Abby knew there was only one reason why she’d survived that time in her life. God, in all His mercy, had given her John. And with him at her side, she could survive anything. The ferocity of a tornado, the loss of her mother. Even the death of precious Haley Ann. With John there were no words needed. She felt comforted merely by being in his arms, basking in his presence.

  The years had brought other hard times, but nothing like the string of tragedies they survived in the early ’80s. Abby felt the tears once more and moved closer to the edge of the pier, removed her glove, and bent down so that her fingers connected with the icy water below.

  Haley Ann. I miss you, baby.

  John’s voice echoed on the breeze. “She will always be a part of us, Abby. Right here. Whenever we take the time to stop and remember . . .”

  John’s words faded into the night and silence, icy-cold and terrifying, worked its way through Abby’s veins. What if we aren’t a “we” anymore, John? Who will remember Haley Ann when we’re just two people, separate and alone?

  She removed her hand from the water and dried it on her parka before slipping it once more into the glove. As she did, she realized how deep and great and overwhelming was the loss of what they shared together. How this pier, this spot where she stood, would not only be the place where Haley Ann’s ashes lay, but also the ashes of their love, the burial ground of all they’d been together.