Page 6

S arah woke from a too-short sleep. She blinked. Where—? What—? Oh.

Afternoon shadows splayed across her bedroom, and she peered across to where Dan sat in the corner, on the comfy chair she’d bought for his birthday last year.

He was hunched over, head in his hands, staring at the floor, grief etched in his features.

He’d cried with her yesterday morning; she’d felt his tears in her hair and the way his body had gone rigid when she’d told him about her night.

He sat still, too still for her to think he was normal.

Which she couldn’t blame him for. This wasn’t normal.

And while the doctor might disagree, it still felt like her fault.

Oh, guilt was a game she knew only too well how to play. If only she hadn’t gotten worried, hadn’t allowed herself to stress. Would their baby have been saved?

Coupled with this was the fear that her sickness had contributed to Dan’s team being eliminated from playoff contention.

He hadn’t played; his absence had been noted; and she knew from some of the concerned texts she’d received that people were worried.

But she had no strength to reply. No strength to even formulate an answer.

And while part of her knew that shouldering responsibility for the Leafs’ loss was foolish, the fact remained that if Dan had played, they likely would’ve won.

And now she suspected there would be talk of the coach being fired, of Dan’s contract value being diminished, all because he’d insisted on being at her bedside yesterday.

But looking at him now, the strength she knew existed in him seemed far away, and she wondered just how much time Dan was going to need. Her eyes filled with fresh tears, and she tried to gulp down a fresh bubble of sorrow.

He startled, and glanced up at her. Then stood, drew near. “You’re awake.”

She tried to smile. “So are you.”

“How are you feeling?”

Her throat closed at the tenderness in his voice. She swallowed to clear the rocks. “I’ve been better.”

He clasped her hand, and she threaded her fingers through his. “Do you need anything? Tea? Food? Pain meds?”

She shook her head. “Just you.”

He finally smiled. Well, his lips lifted a little, but there was no light in his eyes. The effect was eerie.

“Your mum would like to speak to you.”

She tried to calculate the time difference. Couldn’t. Her brain was too fuzzy. “What’s the time there?”

He glanced at his phone. Probably at the world clock app. His brow wrinkled. “Nine in the morning.”

A wave of weariness washed over her. She yawned. “I’ll call her soon. What… what have you said?”

His lips tightened. “That we lost it.”

It. How awful that all their hopes and dreams could be disposed of in a detached, impersonal two-letter word. Her eyes filled, and his face crumpled as he knelt beside the bed, and wrapped her in his arms. Shuddering breaths didn’t convince her that he wasn’t crying.

Yesterday’s silent drive home from the hospital had been followed by a night of agony.

The physical pain, the cramping and bleeding wasn’t pleasant, but she’d been through months of pain and rehabilitation before, so she kind of knew her body enough to be able to recognize when she needed to sleep, and when she needed to pop another pain pill.

No, the agony had been internal, a thousand pin pricks a day that had necessitated escape.

On arrival home they’d discovered a huge bouquet of flowers ‘congratulating them on their exciting news’.

Dan’s face had gone black as he read the card.

While it was nice his parents had sent the flowers, she couldn’t look at them, and neither could he apparently.

She’d discovered the flowers in the kitchen bin this morning.

Their special secret had turned septic, into a rotten shock, and she wondered how Dan would cope with the phone calls still to be made.

He wasn’t doing well. But then, who would be?

He was always much quieter than her, but he was reverting to the shell that she’d seen before, hollowed out, as if something deep was bothering him.

Was it the past? Or was he newly aware of what their future would be?

Despite the tenderness and concern he showed, she still wondered if he did blame her, still wondered if there was something she could’ve done differently.

So many things should have been done differently.

Like the drama with his parents, which had only worsened this morning when his mom dropped in.

She’d never done so before. Sarah had listened through a fog and eventually gathered that Helen had called in to see if they’d received the flowers, and had wondered how poor Sarah was feeling.

“I was in the neighborhood, anyway. Andrew was back at work, and I spoke to Luke and Marguerite and darling Adam and little Lucy on a video call this morning. Oh, it will be wonderful to have a little grandchild nearby! With Luke living so far away I never get to see Adam and Lucy as much as I should. So, you can imagine how excited I was to hear your news.”

“Mom…”

Sarah glanced across at Dan’s tired face. Lord, please help Dan and his family cope…

His mother ignored her son, trilling about something she couldn’t resist buying this morning. Fearing the worst, Sarah forced a smile as Mrs. Walton handed her the little gift bag, opening it to discover a tiny yellow jumpsuit with matching bootees.

She’d tried to hide the tears, but her mother-in-law was too quick.

“Why, Sarah, whatever is the matter? If you don’t like it…”

Dan interrupted roughly. “We lost the baby, Mom. Sarah had a miscarriage yesterday.”

As she’d lowered her head into her hands she tried not to hear Dan’s quiet quarrel with his mom about why they didn’t let them know this piece of information either. So much for sympathy.

How many other family members were still in the dark? How many other random presents were headed their way? How could she explain—again—that she was not going to bear a child, especially when she’d only just told them she was? Oh, this was too hard.

After faintly thanking Helen, Sarah had wandered off to bed, thankful to hide away and try and escape her pain for a few more hours of sleep.

Dan now touched her hair. “So, how are you feeling?” he asked again.

It was hard to shrug with sheets and quilts tangled around her chin. “Better.”

He studied her for a moment, then nodded. “Mom said she’d inform the rest of the family. I spoke to your folks. They’re telling Bek. There’s no-one else is there?”

“Only John and Ange.”

Dan sighed. “Great. So we’ll be in for some counseling from them, too.”

“Too?”

He looked over at her again. “Your dad. Thinks the answer to everything is a sermon.”

Wow. Even if it was kind of true, it was so unlike Dan to say something like that.

He sighed. “Sorry, Princess. But I just feel like we’re at the mercy of anyone who wants to drop in, give unwanted advice, then leave.”

What was it he’d once said to her? “People care.”

“I know, but…”

There was a world between knowing something was true and experiencing the unexpected cuts and bruises of real life.

Through the bedroom’s window came a baby’s cry.

She flinched. Anger surged. She tamped it down. It wasn’t Jackie and Lincoln’s fault if that sound was like fingernails screeching down an old-fashioned blackboard, reminding her of what eluded Dan and herself.

“Man.” Dan groaned. “I don’t want to let it get to me, but Lincoln’s little baby just brings it all back. I’m starting to hate that sound.”

“I know.” She didn’t wish them harm, but what she’d give for just one child…

He thrust his hand through his hair then clasped his head. “I wish we could be elsewhere, just us, and not have to worry about who’s going to call or send flowers or drop in.”

She closed her eyes as tiredness flooded her again. “What about Muskoka?”

“Muskoka,” he repeated. “Yeah, maybe…”

Usually the drive north to Muskoka was filled with anticipation.

This was the place she’d found healing and hope, after all.

But today she felt numb. Part of her was glad to be escaping the city, and all the questions, all the guilt.

Another part just wanted to sleep, to hide, to burrow under layers of blankets and never emerge again.

She’d called her parents, sobbed her way through explanations.

She probably sounded worse than she actually was, for they’d offered to come over, but she’d refused.

She couldn’t keep asking them to disrupt their life to travel all that way and babysit her.

Besides, she had Dan, whose season was almost finished, and spending time in Muskoka meant they’d be next door to Aunt Angela, who had cared for her during that first time when she’d arrived from Australia.

She didn’t want—need—anyone else. Especially Dan’s family.

Sarah stared out the window, tears trickling down her face.

Why did she have to have the type of personality where emotion always bubbled close to the surface?

She was definitely Dan’s opposite in that regard.

But it was like her tears needed to escape, even as her heart still felt strangely protected from the ravages of grief she’d experienced before.

Trees flashed past, blurs. She swiped at the moisture on her face, but refused to make a sound to further add to Dan’s upset. He wasn’t doing well.

She peeked across. He drove, brow lowered, lips firm, a muscle throbbing in his jaw.

She knew he didn’t blame her, but it didn’t stop her guilt.

Oh, how she wished she could be the wife who was healthy and could bear the child he desperately wanted.

He might’ve known what he was signing up for when he asked her to marry him, but she suspected he hadn’t really known what that actually entailed.