Page 39 of What Did I Miss?

Trish veered to the kerb and Makayla flew out of the car before it had come to a complete stop.

She sprinted to Warren and launched into his arms. Everything would be okay.

He’d tell his mother to quit talking, because unlike Makayla, he could say or do anything and Trish would forgive him.

Because that’s what mothers do. Makayla understood that now.

No matter how many times Eddie gave her heartburn, she never once stopped loving him.

‘Whoa, easy there,’ Warren said, almost toppling over.

Makayla nuzzled into his chest until the rotten stench of cigarettes became too much. He’d supposedly quit months ago. They’d spent a fortune on those damn patches.

‘Have you been smoking? And drinking?’ She gagged on the odour, trying to make sense of the details. The garage where he worked was nowhere near this spot. He couldn’t have walked here. ‘Where have you been?’

Warren chuckled like a five-year-old who thought he was cute enough to get away with mischief.

‘I had a couple of beers with the boys at the cricket club. We won the Premiers! First time in thirty years.’ He pulled Makayla in for a celebratory dance, slouching all over her like a drunken buffoon.

‘ We ? You’re not even on the team, Waz. You watch your mates play. That’s not something you skip an ultrasound for. I told you something didn’t feel right, and you let me go to the appointment all by myself so you could … what? Get pissed at the cricket? The local cricket? Who does that?’

In the pit of her stomach, rage swirled like a twister. Makayla screamed at him, but was robbed of a cathartic release when a truck speeding by dampened it. She choked on a trail of fumes that turned into ash on her tongue.

‘You weren’t alone. I sent Ma.’ He gestured over to Trish, who stood quietly beside them. ‘So what if I skipped one appointment? I’ve been to plenty. You’re overreacting.’

‘Overreacting? Overreacting ?’ The words bubbled in her throat. ‘Our son is … he …’ Makayla shook, unable to say it and make it real.

‘It happened again?’ Warren asked, sounding sober for the first time. ‘Nah. It can’t have. You were in the safe zone this time.’

‘This happened before?’ Trish asked Warren. ‘Why didn’t you tell me, darling?’

‘This is the third one she’s lost.’ Warren ignored Makayla’s evil eye, warning him to shut up.

‘ Lost ? I told you not to use that word. They’re not my fucking keys. I didn’t misplace the babies. They died!’ she shouted into his face, tears streaming down hers.

A ring of tension squeezed her skull, making it feel like her head would explode. She swatted away Trish’s gentle hand on her shoulder, urging her to calm down.

How could Warren choose to attend a sports game instead of supporting her?

He knew as well as she did that something was wrong.

Why did he send his mother to do his job?

And why the fuck wasn’t he crying about this?

Didn’t he care? He was the one who pestered her to keep trying to fall pregnant when she told him she wanted a break from it all.

He should be upset about this, not just standing there with a blank expression that made Makayla want to slap him.

Trish stood between them. ‘I’m going to take Makayla back to my place tonight,’ she told Warren, as if Makayla was too irrational to deal with. ‘Go home and pull yourself together. A good night’s sleep will do you both good.’

Makayla laughed at the ridiculous assumption that sleep would make her feel better.

How would she ever wake up happy without the flutter of movement inside her?

How would she ever smile at her husband, who hadn’t been there when she needed him most?

There would be no feeling better, not now or ever.

‘Fine. Let me say goodbye. Come here.’ Warren reeled Makayla in.

‘Don’t touch me. I don’t want you to touch me ever again.’

‘You don’t mean that. I’m your husband.’

Makayla looked at Warren, and it was like seeing him for the first time. Except, she wasn’t a na?ve sixteen-year-old anymore, charmed by his one-liners. Makayla was now a woman who knew what she wanted.

‘I want a divorce.’

‘I should never have named him,’ Makayla says to Beau. ‘The other two were gone before it sunk in that I was pregnant, but Eddie … I let myself get excited. I thought he’d be mine, and I imagined that … Never mind. This must sound weird.’

‘It doesn’t. What were you going to say?’ Beau pulls Makayla into his arms.

‘I imagined that he’d be tall like me and play basketball. I’d make it to every game.’

‘I can picture you on the sidelines fighting with the ref.’

‘Yeah, probably.’ Makayla laughs. She would have volunteered to be the team coach, and they both know it.

‘What else did you imagine?’

‘That he’d be a drummer, because he used to move about whenever I’d play the Foo Fighters.’

‘Eddie had excellent taste in music.’

Makayla sobs into Beau’s chest, clutching at him like a life raft.

‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.’ Beau holds her tighter.

‘No, it’s not that. I know these aren’t actual memories. Eddie isn’t real, but he was to me. Why does it hurt so much when I never met him?’

Makayla’s tears soak Beau’s shirt, which is covered in crusty make-up stains from earlier. She lays her head on his shoulder, exhausted by tonight’s purge. She’s never said these things out loud.

Beau holds Makayla in his arms while she catches her breath.

She’s grateful he’s not trying to fill the silence.

What’s there to say? She’s like a glass vase that’s been smashed into smithereens.

Even if someone tries to glue all the pieces back together, she’ll never be the same. Her edges will always be rough.

Makayla’s lips search for his, wanting that sliver of warmth they always provide. But Beau pulls away and unlaces his fingers from hers.

‘That won’t make you feel better,’ he whispers into her hair.

Beau collects her untouched cup of tea, then places her shoes neatly by the door. He retreats into the kitchen.

The kettle gurgles as Makayla sinks further under the blanket. Fresh worries swarm into her mind; something feels different between them. She can’t quite put her finger on it, but the energy has shifted. Why did he really pull away?