The O'Conners: A Made for Love Novella (21 page)

Brenna:
I know she wasn
’
t feeling well last night
…

Me:
She
’
ll be okay. She just needs some time.

Just typing the words feels like betrayal, like I
’
m sweeping death under the rug
—
but I can
’
t, I can
’
t tell her
…

Brenna:
Okay
…
I hope she feels better soon! Tell her not to worry about the group. If you need anything, just let us know!

Me:
Thanks

I
’
m relieved to toss her phone aside. I
’
m placated only for a moment, then it sets in that while we grieve, there are fewer than a handful of people who will even know
why
. How are we supposed to get through this, how are we supposed to exist in a community of people who know nothing about the joy that was given and then snatched away before we got a chance to truly appreciate it? How in the hell am I going to manage telling lies by omission when I make excuses for Avery
’
s current condition?

As I sink down onto the bed, I bite my tongue in an attempt to stop myself from cursing at God again. I
’
ve done that already today and it didn
’
t help. It certainly won
’
t change anything. Not to mention, somewhere in the back of my head, I remember that He does all things for the good of those who love Him.

My chest tightens, suddenly questioning how that could possibly be true right now for Ave and me. Do we not love Him enough?

Sure that I will talk myself into an even darker place if I let my mind travel along this line of thinking, I pull up the contacts on my phone and dial Beckham before I can change my mind. I
’
m running low on faith right now and if there is anyone I know with faith to spare, it
’
s my best friend and brother-in-law.

The phone rings four times and I
’
m afraid it
’
s going to kick me into his voicemail before he finally answers.
“
Hey, Gray. What
’
s up?
”

“Do you have a minute?
”
I manage.
“
Is now a good time?
”

“Whoa
—
is everything alright? You sound a little
…”
His voice trails off and I reach up to grab a fistful of hair, needing something to remind me that this nightmare is real, that this is my life, that there is no escaping the truth.

“We lost the baby, Beck,
”
I mutter, just loud enough to be heard.
“
This morning
…
Avery miscarried.
”

“Oh, no. Grayson
—
man, I
’
m so sorry.
”
A beat of silence passes between us.
“
How is she?
”

I huff out a breath in an attempt to blow out the knot in my throat. It doesn
’
t help.
“
She
’
s in pain. And she
’
s so upset, she can
’
t even
…
she won
’
t look at me. I don
’
t
…
Beck, tell me how? How could God do this? Why would He allow this much pain and suffering? Why? It
’
s Avery, for crying out loud! She
’
s perfect
—
she
’
s
…
perfect
.
”

“Gray.
”
He pauses before he continues.
“
You know it doesn
’
t work like that. Avery is amazing, but she
’
s not exempt from the darkness that fills the world. Bad things happen to good people and that
’
s not a reflection of God or who He is
—
it
’
s just the reality of the world.
”

“We didn
’
t ask for this,
”
I bite, his words stirring my fury.
“
We didn
’
t ask Him to give us a baby, He just did. So why,
why
would He then take it away!?
”

“Man, I wish I knew. I wish I could explain
—
but you know as well as I do that we don
’
t always get to know
why
. We just have to trust Him.
”

I choke out a humorless laugh.
“
I
’
m sure it
’
s not hard for you to imagine why that would be a bit of a challenge for me right now.
”

“Yeah, I know. I don
’
t blame you, either. But you have to remember that God is good. He
’
s always good, no matter what. And He loves you
—
both of you. He may have allowed this to happen, but you can find peace in the knowledge that He hasn
’
t abandoned you. Not you or your child. It
’
s just like you said, He gave and He took
—
your baby is not forgotten.

“God is in control here, Gray. You might not be able to understand why, maybe not ever, but rest in the hope that is God. He
’
s right there with you, even if it doesn
’
t feel like it. God knows, better than anyone, what it
’
s like to lose a child. He understands your pain.
”

The knot in my throat strikes again and wins, completely clogging my airway with a sob that I cannot escape. I called Beckham knowing I needed to hear exactly what he just told me, but hearing it doesn
’
t make any of this any easier.

“I
’
m not trying to feed you Christian garble, I hope you know that. You
’
re my brother, and I love you, and I
’
m
so sorry
for your loss. I know it hurts and I know it
’
s hard. I wish this was easier to understand, but something tells me that having the answers wouldn
’
t lessen the pain, either.
”

It takes me a few minutes to get ahold of myself. Beckham stays on the line, not saying anything. I know that if he was here, he
’
d sit up with me for as long as I needed
—
and he
’
ll do the same now. I don
’
t wish to keep him, though. When I find my voice, I ask that he makes sure that Addie waits for Avery to call. I know that when the two of them speak, Avery
’
s heart will break in a whole new way, as she
’
ll feel the pain of her other half, too. It
’
s how they work. Beckham understands this as well as I do and promises me that he
’
ll do his best to convince Addie to give Avery time.

When we
’
ve said our goodbyes, I go to check on Avery. She sitting up, staring at my feet as I approach.

“Everybody knows now?
”
she mumbles, her voice husky with sleep and sadness.

“Everybody knows now,
”
I reply, reaching out to touch her cheek. She turns her face away from me, tucking her chin against her shoulder.

“Will you go to the store? I need a heating pad or something for my back.
”

“Yeah,
”
I answer, trying not to read too much into her reluctance to let me touch her.
“
Do you need anything else?
”

“No.
”

“Try and eat while I
’
m gone, okay?
”
I kiss the top of her head before she curls back up on her side. I can
’
t say for sure whether or not she heard me, but she makes no attempt to reach for the half a sandwich I
’
ve laid aside for her.

I don
’
t press, willing to give her a little more time.

Time
.

I wonder how much time will pass before this doesn
’
t hurt so damn much.
 

I close my eyes while I let the sound of my cello wash over me. I hardly notice the ebb and flow of my body
’
s movements as I dance my bow across the strings. Bach, cello solo no. 6 in D Major is the composition that seems to lift my spirit just a little higher in this moment. Over the last couple of weeks, it
’
s almost the only thing I
’
ll play as I try and memorize every note. The act of memorization helps me to think about something else
—
even if only for a while.

I
’
m not sure how long I
’
ve been playing. Most of the day, maybe? The clock is the last thing on my mind on days like this one. Sunrise to sunset, that
’
s all I
’
m concerned about
—
keeping myself together from sunrise to sunset. Some days are easier than others. Today is an
other
day.

I skipped class again. I can
’
t bring myself to feel guilty about it because I
’
m already filled to the brim with guilt. I have no more room to worry about the repercussions of my daily decisions. So I skipped two classes this week, it
’
s not really the end of the world. It means nothing in comparison to the choices I made that
—

I play a wrong note, and then another and another as my mind begins to spiral out of my control. I stop, dropping my hands as I  drag in a deep breath, wondering just when I grew short of it. As I concentrate on my breathing, I will myself not to cry. I must be able to go one day without crying, right? Is there a reason why that day can
’
t be today?