These Three Words (14 page)

I could almost feel the sand beneath my feet, and hear the waves lap against the breakwalls. I could feel the strength of his embrace and his conviction that he could protect me from anything.

If I could go back, I’d tell him,
“I don’t need you to take care of me, I just need you to love me. To hold me. To talk to me.”

I realized there were splotches on the papers I held.

On the heels of that thought, I realized it was my tear. It was quickly joined by others.

I was sobbing. My chest heaved with each one. My nose ran. The crying escalated to the point that I could barely catch a breath between each new wave.

All these months, I hadn’t cried. I’d held it together. But Gray being sick was another straw, and it broke my resolve as easily as it had broken the proverbial camel’s back. I’d cried yesterday, but this was something else entirely.

I cried for what we’d once been and what we’d lost.

I cried because I might lose him forever.

I’m not sure how long I cried, but suddenly, JoAnn was there, holding me. “Oh, Addie. Is it Gray?”

I nodded. I wanted to tell her he was still alive and stable, but I couldn’t force the words out between my sobs.

She didn’t ask anything else.

She didn’t offer any hollow words. No
I’m sorry
s or
it’ll be all right
s.

She simply held me and let me cry.

I cried for Gray. For the life we thought we’d have. For the mess we’d made of everything. I cried for the son I’d wanted with every fiber of my being. The son I’d lost. We’d lost.

Slowly, my sobs subsided.

“He’s okay. Gray’s okay,” I finally said.

JoAnn looked at the papers on my lap. “You don’t have to follow through on that.”

“I know. But I don’t think we can go back. I was remembering our wedding. I was going to love him forever. He was going to take care of me. No matter how many times I told him that I didn’t need him to take care of me, I just needed him to stand with me, he didn’t get it.”

“He never left your side after . . .” She didn’t finish the sentence. She didn’t need to. That word,
after
, marked a division in my life. There was
before
, and now there was
after
.

Before, I was young and in love. I thought that my love for Gray was enough to see us through anything.

I obviously still hadn’t figured out what
after
was.

“Physically, he never left my side. But he left me. I look at him in that bed and I talk to him, like the nurses said. It doesn’t feel strange. It feels as if that’s been our relationship. Me talking for both of us.”

“Addie.” She wasn’t scolding, or denying the claim. With just my name she was saying she understood. “Tell him again when he wakes up.”

I interrupted. “They keep saying he’ll have to be careful about his blood pressure. I can’t imagine me kicking up a fuss will be good for him.”

“It’s not a fuss. Needing to be heard isn’t necessarily making a scene. Sometimes a whisper is as powerful as a scream,” JoAnn said.

I thought about Mark talking about sometimes silence being as good as a prayer.

Sometimes a whisper is as powerful as a scream.

Sometimes silence is as good as a prayer.

Three words matter—“here I am.”

The other three words were “I love you.”

It felt almost poetic. But poetic or not, I wasn’t sure it would help me and Gray. “I don’t know if I could take a chance and try to talk it through,” I admitted. “I mean, what if . . .”

“Then tell him today,” JoAnn said. “Tell him while he’s sleeping. Say all the words you need to say.”

“What good will it do if he can’t hear me?” I asked.

“Maybe it’s not just him hearing, maybe it’s you saying. Maybe that will help you.” JoAnn looked at me, her expression somewhere between sadness and frustration.

I thought about Maude, James with an S, Harriet, Siobhan, Mark, and even Alice. Talking to them had helped a bit. They were strangers who would never know the whole of my story with Gray. But telling them bits, and listening to pieces of their stories had helped me.

I hoped it had helped them, too.

But JoAnn was right, some things I needed to say to Gray. Even if he couldn’t hear me, I needed to say them.

“Talk to him,” JoAnn said again.

This time I nodded. “I will.”

Foolish or not, like Mark had said, there comes a time when the words have to be said.

“And leave the papers here. You shouldn’t be carrying them around.”

I nodded, knowing she’d think I was agreeing to leave them when actually I was just acknowledging that I shouldn’t carry them around, but knowing that I would. Somehow I felt as if I kept ahold of the divorce papers, I could hold on to Gray as well.

It was absurd and I knew it made no sense.

But when I left, I put the now-mangled envelope into my purse and drove back to the hospital.

I’d talked for both of us most of our relationship.

One more time wouldn’t hurt.

Chapter Ten

When I walked into the hospital room, I realized that nothing had changed other than Nurse Alice was gone and Gray was in a new position. He was propped facing the tiny window.

“We’re trying to avoid pressure ulcers,” the dark-haired new nurse said, answering my unasked question.

She had a sunny sort of feel about her. I don’t go spouting about auras and the like, but some people just seem to radiate happiness. She was one of those.

“Thank you,” I said as I walked back to the chair I spent the night in. I knelt down and studied Gray’s face. His color seemed better. There was a pink hue to his cheeks rather than the ghostly white they’d been since his attack. “I’m back, Gray.”

“I’m Smita,” the new nurse said as if it was nothing out of the ordinary to find a family member talking to a comatose patient. “If you need anything, just ask. I’m only responsible for Mr. Grayson and one other patient today, so I’ll be close at hand.”

“Thank you,” I said. Yesterday I’d said the words countless times by rote, but this time I meant it.

Smita checked the monitors and added, “Alice was right, his vitals are better when you’re around.”

Her pronouncement brought tears to my eyes. It felt as if my tears were lurking in the background, just looking for any excuse to fall.

“Really, just holler if you need anything,” she reiterated as she left the room.

“Thank you again,” I called after her.

I sat down in the chair. A patch of sunlight sat squarely on Gray’s face. He didn’t even squint.

I studied his face. I honestly couldn’t remember a time he wasn’t a part of my life. I knew that slight scar by his right eyebrow came from a stick that Darryl Smith hit him with. Not that anyone blamed Darryl. Gray was about eight at the time, and they’d been sword fighting.

His face had gone from five o’clock shadow to full-on stubble. Another day or so, he’d have the beginnings of a beard. I ran my fingers across his rough cheek. Gray was the sort of guy who shaved every morning and again in the evening if we were going out.

I’d always preferred him a little scruffy. But right now, I’d give anything if he could get out of this bed and go shave.

Staring at his immobile features hurt. It reminded me how sick he was. I finally had to turn, and looked out the window. From my vantage point, I could see the sky was brightening as the sun started its climb. There were giant puffy fall clouds meandering past the window, so I knew there was a light breeze.

I turned back to Gray, who hadn’t moved at all. “It’s nice to think everyone is right and my being here helps you,” I said. “I feel foolish having a conversation with you while you’re unconscious, but I promised Jo.”

I didn’t know where to start.

I reached into my purse and pulled out the envelope. I didn’t set it on the bed, but held it on my lap instead. “I came to your office yesterday to give you these. I know you can’t see them, but they’re divorce papers. There’s a line that says that we are agreeing to live apart from each other, as if we were single.”

I looked at that face again . . . I knew it so well. I had planned on looking at it every day for the rest of my life. “Gray, I don’t know if I can go back and live as if I’m single, because even when I was single, you were still the biggest part of my life.”

I admitted, softly, “I don’t know what I want.”

I walked to the window again and stared down at the cars. The sun bounced off them, flickering in my eyes. Maybe that explained why I teared up.

Maybe not.

“Since that day in December, everything I thought I knew and could depend on upended. We lost a son, Gray. Do you remember that appointment? You insisted on driving me to all of them. You’d taken me for the blood tests the week before, and that day you were with me when the nurse practitioner started her exam, then got the doctor. I knew something was wrong when he told me he wanted another ultrasound.

“Thinking something might be wrong was so much more difficult than knowing . . .”

Gray drove me to my doctor’s appointment. He’d gone to the other two, but this one was special. They were doing a sonogram and said there was a good chance they’d be able to tell the baby’s gender.

I’d worn yoga pants and a T-shirt, because I knew they’d make the test easy and I wouldn’t have to disrobe.

“I feel like a kid at Christmas,” I said as we waited for the tech to come in.

Gray didn’t respond. He hadn’t said much about the baby. We hadn’t planned on starting our family so soon, but sometimes the things we don’t see coming end up being all the sweeter. I kept reminding him of that.

“If it’s a boy—” I started, but the tech came in and interrupted the game. She had me lie back on the table, then squirted my stomach with gel and started moving the wand around silently.

I waited for her to start pointing out the baby’s features, but she worked silently.

“Can you point out what’s what?” I finally asked. I reached for Gray’s hand and he grabbed mine.

She hesitated a moment, then finally said, “I’m new to this. I’m going to get the doctor and he’ll tell you.”

She could have given Gray lessons in quietness.

She hurried out of the room and Gray said, “Hunter,” in a way that might have seemed random to someone else. But I knew we were picking up the great baby-naming debate. “Timothy,” I countered.

He shook his head. “Hunter is a strong name. It—”

The doctor came in, interrupting Gray.

I started to smile, but then saw the doctor’s expression. He wasn’t my normal doctor but one of his partners. I’d met him on earlier visits. He’d been all smiles and chatty that day, but not now. Not today. His expression told me without words that there would be no joking today.

“I’m just going to have a look,” he said.

The doctor’s movements were firm and sure as he squirted more of the lubricant on my stomach and then moved the wand until he found what he was looking for.

I didn’t watch the screen, but rather watched his face.

His expression told me everything.

I started to cry before he said the words. “I’m sorry. The baby’s heart isn’t beating.”

I gripped Gray’s hand. “What?” I asked through my tears.

The doctor wiped the goop from my stomach.

I knew what he’d said. I knew it before he said it. But maybe I was wrong. There had to be some mistake. We were young and healthy. I’d done everything right. I didn’t smoke or drink. I’d cut out coffee as soon as I’d found out I was pregnant. I took my prenatal vitamins, drank plenty of water, and did moderate exercise on a daily basis.

“You’re wrong. It was beating before,” I said. “The baby’s in an awkward position, that’s all. Tell him, Gray.”

But Gray didn’t say anything. He continued to hold my hand as I sobbed because I already knew
. . .

“Your baby is gone, Mr. and Mrs. Grayson.”

The other time I’d seen this physician he’d called me Addie as he measured and checked and we chatted. Now he rested on formality. It gave him distance that I wasn’t afforded.

I pulled my hand from Gray’s and cradled my stomach.

“He’s gone?” I whispered, feeling the weight of the words on my tongue and wishing I hadn’t said them. Wishing I could take them back. Wishing the doctor had been called away and had canceled today’s appointment.

What I wouldn’t give for one more day or hour or minute of ignorance.

One more day of dreams for this child. I’d had so many. Getting into mischief with Harmon and JoAnn’s new baby and Wills. Birthday parties. Milestones. First steps. First tooth. First day of school. First dates. First kisses.

“What happens now?” Gray asked as he stood up.

The doctor’s expression was still serious, but there was an undercurrent of sympathy as he said, “Mrs. Grayson will have a D and C. It’s a procedure that will remove any tissue and
. . .
”

I reached for Gray’s hand again, needing to feel his presence, to feel his support. He wasn’t there. He’d taken a couple of steps and stood at the window. His hands were clenched.

He was standing only a foot or so away, but it felt like more.

It felt like so much more.

I cradled my stomach and cried for my child.

How could I love so completely someone I’d never met?

How could someone I loved abandon me so completely at the moment I needed him the most?

“That moment, when the doctor told us the baby was gone, feels like the first . . .” I didn’t know first what. The first moment I pulled away from him? The first moment he’d taken a step away from me?

“We’d been so happy on the way to that appointment. We were still arguing about names. I wanted to name him Timothy and you wanted to name him Hunter. After we left, there was no reason to argue about names. There was no reason to argue at all. We couldn’t do anything for our son. He was dead. My hand rested on my stomach and I realized I’d never feel him kick. He’d never . . .”

I started to cry now, though I hadn’t cried then.

I cried for all the things our son would never do. All the dreams I’d had for him that were dashed in that one moment.

He’d never take a breath.

He’d never learn to crawl or say
Mama
.

He’d never start school, fall in love, have his heart broken, then fall in love again.

He’d never get married and have children.

All my dreams for this baby died in that examining room.

And after that first moment I hadn’t cried for him. After the shock, I’d gone numb.

Gray didn’t cry either.

He’d never said he was suffering, too.

We didn’t talk about the baby. We didn’t talk . . . period.

The next day he drove me to the hospital . . .

The nurse started an IV in my hand. “This will all be over soon,” she said. “You’re lucky you weren’t further along. We’ll give you something that will relax you. They’ll put you to sleep and before you know it, the procedure will be over and you can get back to your life.”

She left the room. And I lay there, an IV in my hand, wondering how she expected me to simply go back to my life. As if I’d never been pregnant. As if I didn’t have a room full of baby furniture, still boxed up. Still waiting to be put together for this baby.

This baby who would never be.

I wiped a hand across my cheeks. I was shocked that there were no tears there.

Gray stood next to me. His hands were clasped behind his back and his spine was ramrod straight.

The baby would never throw his arms around me and hug me. He’d never kiss me.

He’d never tell me he loved me or hear me say the words to him.

And then I realized my sorrow was for me as well. For the mother I wouldn’t have a chance to be.