Page 25 of Muskoka Miracle (Muskoka Shores #7)

D an paused, the sounds of the piano trickling outside to where he was cleaning his fishing gear.

Sarah’s song was sounding a lot more polished now, which meant it was probably time to talk about the possibility of a Heartsong tour again.

Not that he wanted her to leave him for weeks again.

But she had to follow God’s call on her life, just as he needed to as well.

Which was what? Hockey? He still needed his agent to call and confirm if a new deal had been offered.

But even so, he didn’t want to do this forever.

But then what would he do? Study? Run a campsite?

He scoffed at himself. He wasn’t such a people-person that he’d be great at that.

Sarah was definitely the friendlier of the two of them.

And while she might thrive on doing something like that, he could see that slowly killing him. Which left what? Lord?

He grimaced. So many things to talk about, not least of which was the ramifications of not telling their friends about their troubles getting pregnant.

Boyd wasn’t the only one who’d be upset.

His friends in the online Bible study group, men he regarded as brothers who played in other Original Six teams, he needed to share this with them too.

Most of them might have families now, but he could count on them to pray, that they’d care, they’d be sensitive.

Poor Boyd. He probably hadn’t meant to sledgehammer his way through the conversation.

But that was the price of not telling people.

People then couldn’t know what topics of conversation could hurt.

And the fact that something so life-changing, so huge, remained off-limits, or was taboo—he’d never heard the topic of miscarriage come up in one of Pastor Josiah Abraham’s Bible talks—meant it continued to hurt more people than those directly affected.

Which was perhaps what Sarah had been trying to explain when she’d suggested talking about it on her podcast.

“Dude.”

He glanced up. Sam stood, dressed and ready for his important interview today. “Well, look who’s trying to make a good impression.”

Sam looked shamefaced. “A man’s gotta try, right?”

“Absolutely he does. Especially when he’s in the wrong.”

Sam winced. “I was just figuring myself out.”

“And you’re all figured out now?”

His brother shrugged. “I’m more figured, but whether she thinks I’m figured out enough remains to be seen.”

That it did. Alexa Reddick was Dan and Sarah’s wedding photographer, who Sam had bumped into at a Muskoka Shores pumpkin festival a few years ago.

She’d ended up coming to a Christmas meal at his parents’, then going to the Philippines with Sam to take photos for Mission Possible for Future Generations, before her burgeoning career had taken her overseas.

A Google stalk had revealed she was back in town for the Canada Day celebrations, which meant Sam might have a chance to finally make amends.

“I’m praying for you,” Dan offered.

“Thanks. I have a feeling I’ll need it.”

“Don’t we all?”

And that was the truth. In not telling people, people had been deprived of the chance to pray, and to trust God for something beyond themselves.

Sarah’s music started again, which tugged Dan’s attention again. They really needed to talk. He nodded to his brother. “Well, hope it all goes well.”

“Thanks.”

Dan finished cleaning up, then walked up the steps to the back deck where the piano music had stopped, and Sarah was now talking on the phone. He paused at the open door.

It might be a public holiday here, but it wasn’t everywhere in the world, and her juggle with time zones, not just with family but with the other Heartsong Collective songwriters and collaborators, meant constant awareness of hours in various places.

She nodded, her head away from him. “I know, but I’ll talk with him today. I was waiting on a doctor’s report, and it’s just arrived, so I will talk to him.”

Hurt creased his heart. She’d gotten the doctor’s report? Why hadn’t she told him? Hadn’t they agreed to be open and honest about things? Unless she thought the news too devastating to admit to. Her voice sounded a little tense but not too upset, so maybe it was good news.

Hope flickered, a fickle flame. Please, Lord . He stepped inside. Sarah looked around, her face brightening. That was something. She wouldn’t look like that if she was trying to hide something.

“Mm hm. I need to go. I’ll be in contact soon. Thanks, bye.” Sarah put her phone down on top of the piano and moved to hug him. He wrapped his arms around her, and they held each other.

He rested his cheek against her hair. “You got the doctor’s report?”

She nodded. “It just came in.”

“On a public holiday?”

“I think it was sent yesterday, but automated delivery meant it was delayed until now.”

“What did it say?”

She pulled back. “I haven’t read it. I was waiting for you to return so we could find out together.” Her lips twisted wryly. “I might have courage sometimes, but I’m not brave enough for that just yet.”

“It might be good news.”

“I hope so.”

“So do I.” He kissed her cheek, then held her a long moment. How would they cope if it wasn’t? Probably as they did already. Not very well, imperfectly, as she’d said to Boyd the other day, but trying to trust God.

He exhaled. “We should probably go check, right?”

She nodded. “At least that way we’ll know instead of having this question mark hang over us.”

“Rip off the band-aid?”

“Then we know what we’re dealing with.”

“Right.”

They moved to the sofa, and he tucked her in his arms as she opened the email app on her phone. “You ready for this?”

Nope. “Sure.” Please Lord . “Whatever the result, I love you.”

She pressed a quick kiss to his lips. “I love you too. And God loves us as well.”

He did. Dan needed to remember that.

He watched over her shoulder as she scrolled to her emails and opened the one from Dr. McKinnon. Held his breath as she tapped on the screen and enlarged the font so he could read the words more easily.

The words that said, according to the blood tests, their chromosomes compatibility was very low, and their chances of having a live birth, let alone a healthy baby, was negligible, not a viable option. That any child that might survive would likely have—“brain damage.”

Sarah gasped, and he felt himself stiffen. Then his arm clutched her strongly. And she burrowed into his chest.

“I love you, Princess.” He stroked her hair as she sobbed next to his heart.

His battered, near-broken heart. His own tears escaped, and he thumbed them away.

She didn’t need to see his tears. He had to be strong, even as his doubts assailed.

How could God do this to them? Why could other people fall pregnant and then abort their child, while they desperately wanted one and couldn’t?

Well, according to this report, they could fall pregnant, but the likelihood of reaching full term was incredibly low.

He might love this woman, they might be a perfect match in so many ways, but it seemed they were incompatible in one of the most fundamental ways, and couldn’t have a child together.

Her tears eased, and she hiccupped and then lay her cheek on his chest. He shifted, and they lay on the sofa, her in his arms, as the news sank in.

He wouldn’t be a dad. Wouldn’t get the chance to make up for the past. And that was something he’d thought he’d dealt with, but life had a way of prodding to see if that wound was truly healed.

And God might be Jehovah Rapha, the Lord who healed, but healing wasn’t always an easy or quick thing.

This would take time to process, time to recover from.

“I love you,” he whispered.

She nodded, kissed his hand. “I love you too.”

“I’m sorry this isn’t what you wanted to hear.”

“It’s not what either of us wanted.”

“But God is still good, right?”

Her voice came as a whisper. “Right.”

“And God can still do miracles.”

“He can.”

It was funny. His heart was bowed, battered, and bruised, yet he sensed these words needed to be said, that their ears, the very atmosphere in this room, needed to be filled with words of faith. “And God still loves us, still has good plans for us.”

“Amen.”

Amen. He placed a hand over her abdomen. “Lord, heal us.”

“Amen.”

Rest in me , echoed across his soul. And they slept.

When he woke, it was to empty arms and the sound of a kettle switching off. “Sar?”

“I’m in the kitchen.”

He padded out, found her staring out the window, hands clasped around a mug of tea. “How long have you been up?”

“Long enough to realize it’s still a beautiful day.”

It was. Muskoka shone in all of God’s beauty. “Did you want to go into town? See anyone?”

“No.”

Silly question. “Did Jackie or Staci or anyone have plans?”

“They mentioned something about watching the fireworks tonight, but,” she faced him. “I think I’d rather stay here.”

“Did you want to invite John and Ange over?”

“No.” Her head tilted. “And I think I’d like to tell Sam not to come over either.”

His heart lifted. “And why might that be?”

“Because I might want to spend some quality time with my husband.”

“I like how this is going.”

“I thought you might.”

“You want to create our own fireworks?”

“Yes.” She placed her mug down then slid her hands around his neck. “We might not have received the result we wanted, but that doesn’t mean we can’t still enjoy trying.”

“I like the idea of trying.”

Some of the light faded from her features, as her gaze turned pensive. “Even if it means we have another miscarriage?”

“Even if it means that.”

“Even if we had a child who might have ‘limited health outcomes’?” she quoted the report.

“Even that.” He pecked her cheeks. “God is still able to do exceedingly abundantly above all we can ask or imagine, right?”

“Right.”

“So the doctor’s report is just that. A report on what he sees now. Not on what God might be able to do in the future.”

“Mm, I like that way of thinking.”