Christmas Miracles

by MacLean, Julianne

  My head drew back in disbelief as I followed Wes from the living room to the bedroom, because I couldn’t see how his career choice and teenage conflicts with his father had anything to do with our struggles to have a child today.

  “He was always controlling,” Wes continued, “and you don’t know how much pleasure he’ll take when we go to him asking for money. He’ll finally be able to say, ‘See? You should have listened to me, boy. If you had done more with your life, you’d be able to afford this on your own.’”

  Wes strode to the closet and rifled through his shirts and jackets. I knew what he was looking for. Even though it was early January, he wanted to go for a late-night run over jagged ice and snow in sub-zero temperatures.

  He found a running jacket and slipped it on, over his head.

  “So it’s your pride that’s stopping you,” I said.

  Wes glared at me for not backing off when perhaps I should have.

  “Here’s the truth, Claire,” he said. “The cold hard truth, so you might want to brace yourself. None of this would be happening if you hadn’t fallen off that stupid horse when you were fourteen.” He exhaled sharply. “Fast forward almost twenty years. Now we need expensive medical treatments to fix your problem. But it’s not my problem! I’m fine. I can have a kid whenever I damn well please—for free!” He shook his head at me. “I’m not going to let you drag me into a bottomless pit of debt, and humiliate me in front of my family. I’m not going to ask my father to give me money to pay for IVF, and that’s that.”

  I followed him to the front door. “Then we can just get a line of credit,” I suggested. “Or take a second mortgage on the house. He wouldn’t even have to know. We’d just show up one day and tell them that we’re pregnant. Easy as pie.”

  Wes sat down on the bench by the front door to pull on his sneakers. “You would say something like that. But nothing’s easy about this. And you’re missing the point again.”

  “Am I?” I felt a sudden rush of anger. “I don’t think so. And I have news for you, Wes. Life is tough, and sometimes things don’t work out exactly the way you want them to. Sometimes you get pushed down a hill, but you adapt, and you figure out a way to get what you want, even if it means making a few sacrifices.”

  I paused as he stood up and dug through the front hall basket for a baseball cap.

  “Honestly, I don’t care how we make it happen,” I added. “I’d be perfectly willing to adopt a child if you don’t want to pay for IVF. I just want to have a child with you and go back to being happy.”

  Wes glared at me. “It would take years to adopt, Claire. And you know I’ve always wanted to have lots of kids. If we have to pay a fortune every time, we’ll be in debt up to our eyeballs. Besides, I’m not raising someone else’s kid.”

  I blinked at him in disbelief. “It would be our child, and we would love him or her, no matter what.”

  “Speak for yourself.” Wes whipped open the front door, went outside into the cold winter night, and jogged down the front steps. He stopped on the shoveled walk and turned to face me.

  “I do want a kid of my own,” he said harshly, looking up at me under the bluish, foggy light of the fluorescent porch lamp. “But I don’t want to spend a fortune on IVF when I’m not even sure I want to start a family with you, Claire.”

  I stood frozen, stunned and beginning to shake. “What do you mean?”

  He spread his gloved hands wide. “Look, I’ve already said it. Don’t make me say it again.” He began to jog on the spot, his breaths puffing out of his mouth like little bursts of smoke. I felt sick to my stomach.

  “I think we both need to accept it,” he added. “This isn’t what we thought it would be, so maybe we should just cut our losses and go our separate ways before we waste any more time or energy trying to make this work—because you’re not what I want.”

  I shivered in the cold air as my once-loving husband turned and jogged away from me, down the dark, snow-covered street. Then I went inside and sat down on the sofa in a numb and sickening state of shock.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Feeling desperate, I tried calling Angie at home, but there was no answer. I then tried her cell phone, and thankfully she answered.

  “Hey Claire, what’s up?”

  By this time, I was pacing back and forth in my kitchen, feeling lightheaded as I raked my fingers through my hair.

  “You’re not going to believe what just happened. Wes and I had a terrible fight. I can’t believe the things he just said to me.”

  “What did he say?”

  I shut my eyes, not even sure I could repeat the words without falling apart completely. Swallowing hard, I steeled myself. “He said he didn’t want to pay for IVF, and that he didn’t think he even wanted to have children with me at all.”

  There was a long silence. “Oh my God, Claire. Where are you?”

  “I’m at home. He just went for a run. Where are you?”

  “I’m at The Bicycle Thief having dinner with Scott. But do you want me to come over?”

  “No, it’s okay,” I replied, not wanting to spoil their evening. “I just need to talk to someone. I’m in shock. I can’t believe he said those things, and that he feels that way. I mean…I knew we were having some problems, but I didn’t think it was that bad.”

  “I don’t blame you,” she replied. “And I can’t believe it either. Everything seemed fine on New Year’s Eve.”

  I continued to pace. “I don’t know what to do, Angie. I don’t want my marriage to end. I still love him, and I always imagined that he’d be the father of my children. I don’t understand this. How could he just turn on a dime? It was so sudden. It came out of nowhere. This time last year, everything was perfect. We were so in love.”

  She was quiet for a moment. “Tell me again… What started the fight?”

  “I brought up IVF and suggested that we ask his parents to help us pay for it, and that’s what set him off. He didn’t want to ask them for money, and it’s complicated because he has some issues with his dad. I suggested that we get a line of credit and pay for it ourselves, but he refused that, too. He said the most awful things to me… That it wasn’t his problem that I fell off a horse, and that he could have a child anytime he wanted, for free—so basically…why should he have to pay a fortune to have one with me?”

  I couldn’t hold it in any longer. I sank onto a kitchen chair, covered my face with my hand, and quietly wept while I held the phone a distance away, so that Angie wouldn’t hear me.

  “I should come over,” she said. “Really, it’s no problem. Scott will understand. He can bring me a doggy bag.”

  I pulled myself together and managed to speak without falling apart all over again.

  “No, stay there and finish your dinner, because Wes usually only runs for half an hour when it’s cold outside. He’ll probably be back soon, and maybe he’ll regret what he said. Either way, we’re going to need to talk this through.”

  “Okay,” Angie said, “but call if you need me. And Claire, everything’s going to be fine. He loves you. This is just a hiccup. All marriages have them. Scott and I have had our share. I’m sure Wes will walk in the door any minute, fall at your feet, and apologize for everything.”

  I wiped my cheek. “I don’t know. This feels like more than a hiccup. But thanks Angie.”

  She was quiet for a moment, and I found myself listening in a stupor to the sounds of the restaurant—the music, the clinking of silverware, and the laughter of people at a nearby table. I wished I was among them, that Wes and I were together, enjoying a night out instead of fighting about money and our marriage, and my infertility.

  I hung up the phone and went into the bathroom to blow my nose and clean up my face, because I’d made a mess of myself, crying so hard in the kitchen.

  Then I poured myself a glass of wine and went into the living room to wait for Wes to return—all the while praying that Angie was right, and that my husband would walk through the do
or any minute and apologize for what he had said.

  I sat down, and waited.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Wes did not come home after we fought that night. Instead, he ran to a friend’s house—a former teacher at the school whom I had never met. At least Wes texted me to let me know where he was, because I grew worried after an hour when he didn’t come home. It was below freezing outside.

  In the text, he briefly apologized for his behavior, but said he needed some space.

  I had no more tears left to shed at that point and felt almost dead inside. At the same time, anger was starting to boil in my veins. I texted him back and said, “Fine. Let’s talk tomorrow.”

  I texted Angie to let her know that he hadn’t come home and he was staying with a friend. Despite my objections, she came straight home from the restaurant and knocked on my door with her overnight bag.

  “In the mood for a sleepover?” she asked, holding up a bottle of bourbon.

  I laughed miserably and invited her in.

  We got into our pajamas and stayed up until past midnight. She slept in Wes’s spot in our bedroom and handed me tissues when I cried, and told me about all the terrible arguments she and Scott had had over the years, and how they’d always come back to each other with regret, their love stronger than before.

  The following morning, she cooked breakfast for me and drove me to school, where I knew I would see Wes.

  Angie told me to be strong and not to give up.

  “He loves you,” she said. “He just needs time to realize that, and to think about what he’d be giving up if he lost you. I’m sure he hasn’t really considered the reality of living without you. When he does, he’ll be back, and everything will be fine.”

  I thanked her and hugged her, then I got out of her car and walked into the school.

  * * *

  Imagine my surprise when I learned that Wes had called in sick and there was a substitute teacher in his place, running drills with the sixth graders.

  As I backed out of the gymnasium—where I had gone searching for him, hoping to gain some clarity—I felt sick to my stomach all over again. I was so angry with him for his cowardice, because obviously, he was afraid to face me.

  As the day progressed, it became more and more clear to me that Wes would not be coming home to grovel for my forgiveness. I couldn’t help but read the writing on the wall: My husband didn’t love me anymore, and my marriage might already be over.

  How foolish and blind I had been over the holidays, believing it was the best Christmas ever, and that hope had been restored. I had truly believed that this would be the year we would make a baby, and that next Christmas would be our first, as new parents.

  Now my sister—who wasn’t even married or in a committed relationship—was pregnant, and all I saw in my immediate future was continued frustration, loneliness and heartbreak—and a very painful divorce from the man I still loved.

  * * *

  Things only got worse when I arrived home that night to an empty house. There were still no messages from Wes. I tried calling his cell because I wanted to face this head on and find out where we stood.

  Was it truly over, or was there still a chance he might come around? I loved him and I wanted my marriage to work. Maybe he just needed some time. And I would have been perfectly willing to go to marriage counseling if he would agree to it. But he refused to answer my calls. They went straight to voicemail, as if he had turned off his phone.

  Eventually, I called the friend who had offered his sofa to Wes the night before—which took some detective work on my part, because I didn’t have the guy’s phone number. All I knew was that his first name was Dave. Thankfully, one of my colleagues at school was able to help me.

  At least Dave had the courage to answer his phone, but he was cryptic and sounded uneasy talking to me, as if I were asking him to betray Wes’s confidence. I didn’t know how much of it was true, but Dave informed me that Wes was not there, and that he had no idea where he had gone.

  I thought about calling Bev, but I decided to call Angie instead because she had become something of a marriage counselor for me, always willing to listen and offer insight and advice, because she understood the effects of infertility on a marriage.

  First I tried calling her cell, but she didn’t answer, so I called her at home.

  It was Scott who picked up the phone after a number of rings. His tone was not friendly.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Hi Scott,” I said, feeling instantly ill at ease. “Is Angie there?”

  There was a long pause. “No, she’s not here.”

  I cleared my throat and wondered if I had interrupted him in the middle of something. “Do you know when she’ll be back? I tried calling her cell just now, but she didn’t answer.”

  Again, he paused, and my heart began to pound heavily with dread.

  At last he spoke, more gently this time. “Are you at home right now, Claire?”

  Feelings of angst and apprehension came at me from all angles, but I didn’t understand why. I suppose some basic instinct was warning me that something was terribly, terribly wrong.

  “Yes,” I replied.

  “Then you should probably come over here. Or I should come over there.”

  I blinked a few times and glanced around at the magazine clutter on the kitchen table and the dirty dishes in the sink, both of which I was in no mood to deal with.

  “I’ll come over there,” I said. “Right now?”

  “Yes,” he replied. “I’ll be here.”

  We ended the call, and I covered my face with both hands because I knew something must have happened.

  Five minutes later, I rang his doorbell.

  * * *

  “Come in,” Scott said as he stepped aside and invited me in.

  He was dressed in a light blue linen shirt, untucked over faded blue jeans and Birkenstocks—which he wore almost every day of the year, even when it was below freezing outside.

  He took my coat and invited me into the living room, where I noticed a half-empty bottle of red wine on the coffee table and a single glass.

  “Let me pour you one,” he said, taking note of the fact that I had fixed my eyes on it.

  I didn’t argue.

  While he moved into the kitchen to fetch a glass, I sat down on the white leather sofa. He didn’t speak as he returned and poured my wine. He handed it to me, and I accepted it.

  “When you called,” he said, “I thought you wanted to talk to Angie about Wes.”

  Scott sat down on the opposite end of the sofa and rested his elbows on his knees. He wove his fingers together while he waited for me to respond.

  I took a giant gulp of the wine, set it down on the coffee table, and nodded. “She probably told you about all my marriage woes. I’m sorry, Scott. I’m embarrassed, and I apologize for spoiling your dinner last night. You must have been annoyed with me for stealing Angie away all night.”

  He bowed his head and shook it. “Don’t be embarrassed, Claire. And I wasn’t annoyed.”

  I sucked in a breath and let it out, while waiting for him to explain why he had invited me over. Finally, his eyes lifted.

  “I don’t know how to tell you this,” he said, “but Wes and Angie are on their way to Toronto right now.”

  I sat back, as if he’d swung a punch at me. “I beg your pardon?”

  Scott bowed his head again and squeezed his hands together. “This is difficult.” He didn’t look at me this time. “There’s no easy way to put this. Your husband and my wife have run off together. They’ve been having an affair since the fall.”

  A hot fireball of anxiety exploded in my stomach, and I immediately launched into a position of denial. “That can’t be true.”

  “I wish it weren’t.”

  I stared at him in horror and stood up quickly. “That’s insane, Scott. If my husband was sleeping with another woman—my best friend—I would have suspected something.”

 
I stormed out from behind the coffee table to the space on the white shag carpet, directly in front of the stone fireplace, where I paced back and forth.

  Just last night, Angie had come to my door offering comfort and a shoulder to cry on, and she had encouraged me not to lose hope.

  He loves you, she had said, many times. Everything will be fine…

  Was she that good of an actress?

  No, it couldn’t be true.

  “What in the world would make you think something like that?” I asked Scott. “Do you have any proof? And are you sure Wes is with her? He never mentioned anything to me, and he wouldn’t just leave the province without a single word. He never even packed a bag.”

  Scott watched me with a look of sympathy and pity, which made me want to scream.

  “Angie called me from New Brunswick to tell me what was happening,” he explained.

  “When?”

  “An hour ago. They took the Audi.”

  I stared at him with wide eyes. “And you’re sure Wes was with her? She actually said that?”

  Oh God… Maybe Wes had packed a bag. I hadn’t checked the closet where we keep our suitcases, or his drawers. He could have packed it days ago and removed it from the house when I wasn’t at home.

  Scott nodded, and I paced some more.

  “She spent the night at my house last night,” I argued. “She stayed up with me, watching me cry over Wes, handing me tissues and telling me everything was going to be okay. She was such a good friend to me. I can’t believe she could be that deceiving. That much of a backstabber.”