Just one moment

by Poppy J. Anderson

  “No, I don’t. What do you mean?”

  Barbara squirmed uncomfortably, all too aware of her mother’s inquisitive gaze. “Well … on this date with Marcus,” she said hesitantly, more than reluctant to explain all this to her mother. “I … didn’t feel at ease with him because … because I kept thinking about James.”

  “Oh, honey.”

  “Which shouldn’t come as a surprise, when you think about it,” she continued quickly. “James and I were a couple for twelve years. That doesn’t just go away without a trace!”

  “It certainly doesn’t, no,” her mom agreed sympathetically. “What did you tell Marcus?”

  Barbara laughed dryly. “I told him I wasn’t ready to date again.”

  Her mother looked surprised. “Why are you laughing?”

  “Because I could hardly have told him the truth.” She scowled at the potato in her hand.

  “Which would be what?”

  Barbara couldn’t meet her mother’s eyes, but she confessed in a whisper, “The truth is that I felt like a cheater during the whole date, like I was a woman betraying her husband.”

  Her mother was silent for a moment. Then, with compassion in her voice, she murmured, “It sounds as if you’re still in love with James.”

  Confused, Barbara sniffled. “I don’t know, Mom. On the one hand … On the one hand, I want to be at his side again and forget everything that happened. But on the other hand, I’m still so furious with him that I could kill him.”

  “You shouldn’t have been so quick to get a divorce,” Eleanore said unhappily. “Maybe things would have turned out better if you’d found a therapist to see together after Elizabeth’s death. Maybe that’s what you need to do now.”

  Barbara wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “Mom, that was three years ago.”

  “Neither of you is happy, Barbara. Why don’t you sit down and talk to each other?”

  “You’re asking me?” Her bitterness was palpable now. “I wanted to talk to him, but James acted as if nothing had happened, right from the get-go. He acted as if there had never been a baby. Mom …” Her mouth twisted in misery. “When I got home from the hospital, he’d already cleared out her nursery. He’d even painted the walls! There was nothing at home to so much as remind us of the fact that we’d ever been expecting Elizabeth.”

  Her mother’s answer was a comforting embrace. “I’m so sorry, honey. If only your dad had still been alive at the time, I’m sure he would have known what—”

  “Please don’t start with Dad now,” Barbara sobbed, nestling into her mother’s embrace. “Not today, Mom.”

  “Okay.” Her mom nodded and kissed her temple, a gesture that felt intensely comforting.

  Chapter 11

  As soon as Barbara opened her eyes, she felt as weak and tired as the last time she’d woken in the sterile hospital room, where she still lay. Her limbs were completely numb, and all she could do was stare at the ceiling above while machines beeped at her bedside.

  But her mind wasn’t on the beeping, or the IV in the back of her hand, providing her with a constant flow of whatever, or even in the many flowers that decorated the room. All she wanted was sleep, for when she slept, at least she didn’t have to think about the fact that she had lost her baby and nobody had listened to her when she’d begged the doctors to do everything they could to save her little girl.

  She immediately began shivering with grief, struggling to breathe, gasping for air.

  She felt paralyzed by the memory of the ambulance ride, of the pain and the overwhelming fear when the doctors had told her they would have to perform an emergency caesarean to save her, and that things didn’t look good for the child. All of those words seemed to literally choke her. Since then, she’d woken in this bed several times with the knowledge that her daughter was dead, but that didn’t make it easier this time around. She was so unhappy she could hardly bear it.

  Her limp hand moved across her belly of its own accord. Her flesh felt strangely sponge-like with the baby gone. The baby who had grown right there, inside her, for the last seven months, already developing her own little personality. The baby whose fluttering movements had delighted Barbara to no end.

  With a lump in her throat, she realized that she didn’t even know what Elizabeth had looked like. And she never would.

  She didn’t know whether Elizabeth had possessed the dark matted hair and slightly pointed ears Hamilton and Scott had both sported right after birth. She didn’t know whether her girl had felt scared when she was brought into the world far too early, and then died within thirty minutes.

  Barbara despaired at the thought that Elizabeth had been alone when she fought for her life with lungs too small and a heart too weak for life. Barbara would have gladly given her own life if she could have held Elizabeth in her arms as she died, instead of leaving her to face it alone. Instead, she’d been under anesthesia when Elizabeth had passed.

  A mother should be there for her child, to protect her! But Barbara hadn’t been able to take care of her tiny daughter. She hadn’t been able to protect her, although she’d told the doctors she didn’t care what happened to her, if only they could save Elizabeth. If only they could have left the baby in her womb for a few more days, maybe the small lungs would have gotten stronger, and Elizabeth would have survived. Her chances would have been better if only she’d had a few more days! Barbara had wanted to take the risk, whatever the cost—and surely the doctors had respected her wish. Or they would have, if it hadn’t been for …

  If James hadn’t told them to save Barbara, to do everything they could to ensure she lived.

  Barbara stared at the ceiling.

  She felt betrayed and abandoned—by her own husband. By her best friend.

  She and James had wanted this baby so much. Just like with Hamilton and Scott, they’d been thrilled, couldn’t wait to hold the baby in their arms. They’d almost burst with joy at the news that they were having a girl. Even the nursery was ready months in advance—a powder-pink room worthy of their little princess. James had even put a small sign with her name on the door.

  But none of that had kept him from telling the doctors that they should do everything they could to save Barbara, even if that meant the baby wouldn’t make it.

  Barbara was outraged, angry, and unhappy, and she still didn’t understand how he could have said such a thing. Had he even loved Elizabeth at all? Had he thought of her? Had he thought of his wife, who would have given anything for her children? What good was her life if Elizabeth was dead?

  How could she ever look into James’s face again after hearing those words from his mouth?

  She’d barely been able to stand it over the last few days when he’d sat next to her bed and acted as if nothing had happened. She wanted to punch him in the face when he talked about everything under the sun but Elizabeth. Apparently, he’d already forgotten their child, while for Barbara, the world had stopped turning. Why wasn’t he broken like her? Why wasn’t he just as furious and shocked by the loss of their daughter? And why the hell hadn’t he apologized for what he’d done, what he’d said to the doctors?

  Still, despite everything, she wanted to share her pain with him. But how could she if he didn’t feel pain over the loss of their child?

  When the door to her room opened quietly, Barbara turned her head and, with a painful ache in her heart, saw Hamilton standing in the doorway. He was holding a sheet of paper, cautiously looking for her in the large white bed. James stood behind him with his hands on his shoulders. The alarmed expression on his face matched his son’s.

  Hamilton was frozen in the entrance of the room, looking helpless, so Barbara forced a tiny smile. “Hello, my love,” she croaked.

  “Hi, Mom,” his lovely voice answered. It sent a jolt of warmth through her aching body, and she longed to hug her oldest tight and never let him go.

  James voice was calm and collected when he broke the silence. “Hamilton wanted to visit and see
how you were doing.”

  “That was very kind of you, sweetie,” she said to her son as she labored to sit up in the bed. When she finally managed it, she patted the mattress next to her. Hamilton slowly approached the bed, studying her with fear plain in his eyes.

  Barbara understood his anxiety. After all, he’d witnessed her being taken away in an ambulance after she’d collapsed at the breakfast table. She reached out and tenderly placed her hand on her son’s cheek. “Did you bring me something?”

  Hamilton nodded shyly and turned the sheet of paper around, showing her his colorful drawing. It was filled with flowers, which Hamilton had depicted with surprising accuracy and detail.

  “Oh, that’s beautiful,” she whispered, running her thumb across his baby-soft cheek.

  “It’s supposed to make you feel better,” he murmured, giving her a look of profound sadness.

  She swallowed her tears and assured him, “Now that you’ve come to visit me, I’m feeling a lot better, honey.”

  Her wonderful boy, who only a few days ago had asked her whether he would be allowed to sometimes push the stroller once his sister was born, now whispered with tear-filled eyes, “I’m so sorry the baby died, Mom.”

  “So am I, honey.” Barbara gave him a helpless nod and immediately began to cry.

  “Hamilton,” James murmured nervously and leaned over his son. Barbara could hear his whisper despite the rushing in her ears. “We agreed not to talk about the baby so we don’t make Mom sad.”

  If Barbara had had a gun somewhere close by, she might have shot James in that moment. Instead, she pulled Hamilton close, and he started crying, too. He clung to her with desperate sorrow, and she held him in her arms while they both cried their eyes out.

  James remained where he was and didn’t say another word.

  Chapter 12

  When he rang the doorbell, James didn’t know whether Barbara would slam the door in his face, scream at him, or just glare at him, but he was willing to risk all of that.

  At least he could be sure he wouldn’t find Marcus Lindsay in her house. Only yesterday, he’d heard through the grapevine that the publisher had been seen at a concert in the company of Sandy Vanderkamp. Rumor had it that the thrice-divorced Sandy had worn a dress with a neckline all the way down to her navel, which indicated she was on the prowl yet again. Thus, James had concluded that Marcus and Barbara were no longer an item.

  He couldn’t deny that he was relieved.

  Nor could he deny that he’d come here today, in part, to see how Barbara was dealing with Marcus Lindsay already moving on with another woman. But the main reason for his visit was that today marked the three-year anniversary of the date his daughter had come into the world far too early to survive—and he had almost lost his wife.

  He didn’t want to relive the worst hours of his life, so he straightened his shoulders and waited. When she opened the door with a slice of pizza in her hand and a perplexed look in her eyes, he gave her a weak smile.

  “James? What are you doing here?”

  He took in her pajama shorts, oversized sweater, and high ponytail, and her bare feet stirred a sad nostalgia inside him. “I just wanted to see how you were doing,” he replied truthfully.

  Her eyes narrowed with suspicion while she licked a tempting dab of tomato sauce from her upper lip. “Did my mom send you here?”

  “No.” He frowned in confusion. “Why?”

  “Never mind.” She waved a dismissive hand, measured him with an indecisive look, and then sighed and gave a shrug of resignation. “Come in before my pizza gets cold.”

  James had been prepared for all manner of things, but he hadn’t expected her to invite him into the house. He could barely believe his luck as she left the door open and disappeared into the house, obviously expecting him to follow.

  It actually took him a moment to get into motion and step across the threshold. But then he was worried she might reconsider, so he quickly shut the door and followed her into the living room, where she had apparently been eating pizza and watching a movie, which she now paused.

  When he saw the DVD case, he smiled. Apparently, Barbara still had a thing for Stephen King. Somehow, it was comforting to see that at least that hadn’t changed.

  “Want a slice?” She threw the remote on the couch and sat down, tucking her legs under her. Then she grabbed another slice for herself and took a hearty bite.

  James looked at the armchair, hesitating before he sat down in it, and grabbed a piece of pizza, though he hadn’t felt hungry once today. He began chewing mechanically, wondering what the hell he was doing here—and why Barbara was offering him pizza, instead of kicking him out of the house. She hadn’t so much as asked him inside or offered him a cup of coffee even once in the last two years, though he’d been here countless times—to pick up or drop off the boys.

  Barbara had never been so calm and relaxed either. She wasn’t even glaring at him like she was after his scalp.

  As the silence between them stretched longer and longer, he swallowed the last bite of his pizza slice and asked, “You were watching Carrie?”

  She shrugged a careless shoulder and threw the crust of her last piece back into the box, the way he’d seen her do for fourteen years. “There’s only trash on TV on a Saturday night. I’d rather scrub the bathtub than watch one more episode of Keeping Up with the Kardashians.”

  Considering his Saturday night entertainment usually consisted of similarly shallow TV shows, he kept his mouth shut. “There are quite a few good movies opening this weekend.”

  He was surprised to see her smirk a little. “Are you trying to invite me to the movies, James?”

  “No. Of course not,” he said quickly, before pausing. Hesitantly, he asked, “Why? Would you come if I did?”

  His ex-wife made herself comfier on the couch. “We’ll never find out now,” she replied with mock seriousness.

  “Well.” James shrugged. “Too bad. I haven’t been to the movies in a long time.”

  “I was there just a few weeks ago. I went to see Cars with the boys and fell asleep.”

  James snorted and threw her a meaningful look. “When I talk about going to the movies, I don’t mean a matinee with a bunch of noisy kids. When I took them to see this Harry Potter knockoff a few months ago, I practically needed a tranquilizer afterwards.”

  Her giggled hit him right in the chest. “Yeah, that’s why I let you take them to that one.”

  “Thank you very much.” He rolled his eyes. “Too kind of you.”

  “Hey,” Barbara protested. “Don’t forget I chaperoned Hamilton’s field trip to that amusement park with the singing and dancing goblins. Half an hour in that place, and a migraine is guaranteed. You will never be even with me.” Suddenly, she tilted her head to one side and gave him a prompting nod. “And now you could tell me what brings you here on a Saturday night. Can’t be the boys.”

  James ran a hand through his hair. “I think you know.”

  Barbara looked delectable in her casual attire as she returned his gaze, but then she asked flatly, “I do?”

  He frowned and raised both hands. “It’s exactly three years today—”

  “But that doesn’t explain why you are here, James.”

  He bristled at the demanding tone in her voice. “I wanted to check on you, see how you were holding up. The kids aren’t here, and I didn’t think you should be alone today. Is that so hard to understand?”

  She lowered her eyes to her fidgeting hands. “Yes,” she whispered, “it’s hard to understand, James. To be quite honest, I don’t understand anything anymore.”

  He didn’t know how to reply to that, so he kept his mouth shut and simply watched Barbara, whose eyes were now staring into the distance.

  Suddenly, she murmured, “Do you know that you said Elizabeth’s name for the first time in three years during our last phone call?”

  Her words hit him like a jolt of electricity. “What?”

  “Ye
s.” Barbara nodded and met his eyes reluctantly. “I haven’t heard you say her name once in the last three years.”

  He exhaled helplessly. “What are you trying to say?”

  Barbara’s pretty face twisted into a mask of unhappiness. “I thought you’d forgotten her, until you finally said her name. Why didn’t you speak about her before?”

  Apparently, Barbara didn’t expect an answer at all, for she rose from the sofa with a jerk, grabbed the empty pizza box, and stormed off into the kitchen.

  For a brief moment, James sat paralyzed in his armchair, trying to process what Barbara had just said. Then he jumped out of his chair and ran after her.

  “Could you please tell me what you want me to say? What do you want me to do?” He felt clueless, helpless, hopeless, as he watched her throw the pizza box in the trash.

  Unable to bear her turning her back on him, he grabbed her by the shoulders and turned her around. He ignored her choked cry and lowered his face close to hers.

  “Barbara, come on, talk to me,” he demanded, breathing heavily. He stared straight into her green eyes so he’d be able to read every nuance in her gaze.

  “Please let go of me,” she whispered, but she didn’t try to pull away from him. Instead, she remained where she was, very close to him. It almost seemed as if she leaned forward, even closer.

  They probably hadn’t stood this close to each other in more than two years, James thought, all of a sudden aware of the warmth his ex-wife radiated, her delicate scent, and how amazing it felt to touch her in such a familiar, intimate way.

  While James was still pondering what they were doing, Barbara lowered her gaze to his mouth and lifted her face to tentatively offer her lips to him.

  His heart beat a wild tattoo as he looked down at her, fearing that he’d fallen victim to a mirage. But the Fata Morgana didn’t dissolve into thin air, and he longed to kiss her with every fiber of his being, so he gave in to the urge and dropped his mouth to hers.