For Lucy

The sight of my wife sitting in the waiting room—alone—felt like a dull knife being forced into my chest. She lost a baby, and they sent her to the waiting room. By. Her. Self.

She managed to look strong and unfazed. Face straight. Hands absentmindedly flipping through a People Magazine … until she glanced up and saw me. Her eyes filled with tears, and she dropped the magazine, falling to pieces before I could get to her.

“I’m sorry, baby. I’m so very sorry.” My eyes burned as I wrapped my arms around her, lifting her from the chair. We stood there unmoving for a few minutes, until she lifted her tearstained face.

“Let’s go,” she whispered.

I nodded, taking her hand and leading her to the parking lot. We didn’t say a word to each other on the way home, but as soon as we pulled into the driveway, she reached over and rested her hand on my leg.

“Everyone is coming to our house tonight.”

Oh yeah. I internally cringed. We hadn’t told the kids or our families about the pregnancy. We were doing it that night. We’d invited everyone over for a barbecue. Tatum ordered a cake and T-shirts for Lucy and Austin, stating their big brother and big sister status.

“Where are the kids?”

“Andi’s. I told her I forgot about an appointment and asked if I could drop them off. There was so much blood …” Her voice cracked. “I knew something wasn’t right.”

“You should have called me.” I squeezed her hand.

She shook her head. “I didn’t want to worry you until I knew for sure.”

“Still …” I opened the door. “You should have called me. We protect the kids. With each other … we share all the burdens in life.”

I walked around the truck and opened her door. “I’ll go pick up the kids from Andi’s. What can I do for you? Are you in pain or discomfort?” I helped her out of the truck.

Glancing up at me, her forehead tensed. “I lost a baby, Emmett. I’m …”

That wasn’t what I meant, but I also knew better than to try to defend what I did mean.

“I’m sorry.” I kissed her forehead. “That’s not what I meant. And we lost a baby. Your pain is my pain.”

She shuffled her feet toward the door to the house. “Don’t get the kids. Not yet. I just need …”

When we stepped inside and shut the door, she turned toward me. My hands brushed her hair away from her face. “Anything. Just tell me what you need.”

“I need you to hold me.”

That I could do. It was my specialty. I wasn’t an expert with the right words, but I could hold my wife and try to absorb her grief like a sponge.

We decided to keep the pregnancy and miscarriage between us. No need to burden anyone else with our loss. That left us with a houseful of family that night and a very anxious Lucy wondering about the mysterious surprise. I think most of our family anticipated a baby announcement. So the fact that we dug something else out of our hat was indeed a big surprise—something we had discussed but never really made a move to go forward.

“We’re putting in a swimming pool!” Tatum managed to muster some enthusiasm, and only I could see past it to her unimaginable grief.

Explaining how an unexpected surprise like an unplanned pregnancy could cause such anxiety and grief one second then consume your world the next was hard. We loved that little peanut, and we grieved that little peanut. And if either one of us felt like fate acknowledged our unpreparedness for another child and took that child away, it was never openly expressed.

But … I thought it.

Chapter Thirteen

NOW

Two weeks later, Lucy leaves her acute care at the hospital and receives several more weeks of care at a rehabilitation facility. Tatum spends the most time with her. I work. Shower. And spend every evening with her until bedtime.

Then the day finally arrives—she comes home.

No more assigning blame.

No more breakdowns filled with “what-ifs.”

She can’t walk on her own yet, but we haven’t given up hope and neither have her doctors.

Her days will be filled with three to four hours of in-home therapy (physical and occupational) and online schooling.

“Stop,” Lucy says to Tatum.

Tatum glances into the backseat while I keep my eyes on the road. “Stop what?”

“Pouting.”

Tatum scoffs. “I’m not pouting. What on earth would I be pouting about?”

“I’m going to be at Dad’s house and not yours.”

All the bedrooms at Tatum’s house are on the second level. I offered to put a lift chair on the stairs, but Lucy said she’d rather go home. That cut Tatum deeply, but she did a fairly good job of hiding her disappointment in front of Lucy. But clearly not good enough as Lucy calls her out on it.