The O'Conners: A Made for Love Novella (19 page)

Saying the words out loud makes me sick. Suddenly, I have no words. None. All I have to give is my next breath, which barely escapes the clutches of my anguish.

My baby
—
was it just last night that we decided on a name? Was it just a few more days before we started telling our friends?

My sweetheart
—
oh, God, why? God, why would You do this to her? How? How is she going to get over this? She
’
s been so scared and so worried
—
and just when she was starting to get excited
—

“
Grayson, honey, talk to me.
”
Shannon
’
s voice breaks through my thoughts and I manage to drag in another breath.
“
Where
’
s Avery?
”

“Um,
”
my voice comes out shakily, which startles me. It isn
’
t until I scrape my hand down my face that I realize I
’
m trembling.
“
She
’
s in surgery. God, mom, she was in so much pain
—
and there was so much blood.
”

She proceeds to ask me a few more questions, all of which I don
’
t have the answers to. It makes me feel even worse. My disposition is one that she catches onto quickly and she tells me that they
’
re going to let me go, but that I should call them as soon as Avery is out of surgery. I promise them that I will, then hope that I have half a mind to remember. Right now, all I want to do is hold my girl and make sure that she
’
s going to be alright
—
that
we
’
re
going to be alright.

I wake up crying. Or at least, that
’
s what it feels like. It
’
s entirely possible that the reality of my barrenness coaxed me out of my sleep and stabbed me in the heart while I was in that in-between space
—
that special place when you
’
re not awake but not asleep; that place where your dreams still feel tangible; that place where your waking nightmare seems escapable. Though I know, looking into Grayson
’
s tired, sad, and anxious eyes
…
I know my nightmare is only beginning.

Our baby is gone. Just
…
gone.

I can
’
t stop my tears. I have neither the energy, nor the desire to combat my sobs. I weep, my physical pain an inexcusable joke in comparison to the anguish caused by my broken heart. I cry so hard I can hardly breathe. When Grayson crawls into the hospital bed with me, wrapping me in his arms, I allow myself to cling to him, though I know I don
’
t deserve his comfort.

I failed him. I failed them both.

“Breathe, Avery,
”
he murmurs, his lips pressed against my hair at the crown of my head. I can tell, without even looking at his face, that he
’
s got tears in his eyes. The strain in his voice crushes me even more.
“
We
’
re going to get through this, sweetheart. I
’
m right here. Just try and take a deep breath.
”

His kindness destroys me and I wish that I could disappear. Instead, I take the cowardly way out and I melt into him
—
needing his warmth; needing his comfort; needing his strength; needing
him
—
the very air that I breathe.
I
’
m not nearly brave enough to push him away or to even speak the words that clog my airway.

I
’
m sorry
…

My sobs dissipate as the anesthesia wears off. I ache, the physical aftermath of my body
’
s loss hardly tolerable. I don
’
t know or care what time it is. All I know for sure is that when Sonny tells me my mother is on the phone, the sun is rising. I refuse to speak to her, of course, as I have no words to offer her. I also know that hearing her sweet voice will rip apart the microscopically thin veil shielding the world from the torment that rages on inside of me.

When I am discharged, I hardly hear a word of my doctor
’
s instructions. As I am handed my prescription for pain meds, all I can think about is how, just a few hours ago, I wouldn
’
t have been allowed these drugs. Now that my baby is
…
my baby is
…

Gone. Just gone.

I don
’
t realize that my cheeks are soaked until Grayson buckles me into the car and then reaches to dry my face with gentle hands.
“
We
’
re going to get through this, Shorty,
”
he says soothingly.
“
I promise.
”

My eyes stare into his green ones and I wonder what color our baby
’
s eyes were going to be? I wonder what color hair he would have? Or if she
’
d have freckles sprinkled across her nose like her daddy? None of my questions are new, but now I know that I will never know the answers.

I choke on a gasp, pulling my gaze away from his. In this very moment, I wonder if his promise is true
—
if we
’
ll really get through this. Right now, I can
’
t see past my pain. Right now, my mind is a haunted place where every vision of our family of three seems to be vanishing before I can even take a moment and savor them.

I feel so powerless. So helpless. So out of control. I want to crawl out of my skin
—
out of my lame body, the body that wasn
’
t good enough to keep my baby safe, and healthy, and
alive
. I want to
scream
—
throwing my voice toward heaven in an attempt to plead for answers. I want to know why? Why God would give me life and then take it away?

I know this is my fault. Deep down, no matter what anyone tells me, I know this is my fault. I wished that I wasn
’
t pregnant. In the beginning, I was scared and stupid and I wished that I wasn
’
t pregnant
—
but I changed my mind! Maybe it was too late
…
maybe God had already decided?

Oh, God
—
why? You know my heart!

“Hey. We
’
re home, sweetheart. Come on.
”

I
’
m startled out of my thoughts at the feel of Sonny
’
s fingers as he sweeps my hair behind one of my ears. I can
’
t help but notice how calm he is. For a second, I wonder what he
’
s thinking, what he
’
s feeling
—
and then I realize I can
’
t carry his thoughts or his pain. The weight of my guilt is too heavy already. Instead, I allow him to lift me from the car and carry me to our apartment. He sets me down on my bare feet once we
’
re inside and I hold his hand, leaning into him as he escorts me to our bedroom.

My knees buckle when we reach the threshold and I see
death
in our bed. I wail as I begin to go down, the sight shoving aside every ounce of strength I had to spare. Sonny catches me in his arms, murmuring into my ear
—
but I can
’
t hear him. I won
’
t! His sympathy, his tenderness, his love
—
I can
’
t take it anymore.

“Don
’
t!
”
I manage, pushing his arms from around me.
“
Don
’
t!
”
I sputter as I stumble away from him.

“Ave
—”

I ignore him as I close myself into the bathroom, pressing myself against the door as I sink to the floor.

“Ave
—
Avery, please?
”
I rest my forehead against the door, pleading with her to let me in. She refuses, locking me out for good measure. I feel like such an asshole
—
how could I forget? How could I bring her home and into our bedroom and forget?

I want to punch something. The fury I feel rattles my bones. I
’
m mad at myself, for my thoughtless actions. I
’
m mad at God, for allowing this to happen. I
’
m just
…
mad!
Seeing her like this is ripping me apart, compounding the pain that comes with the death of our baby
—
of everything we
’
ve been preparing for as we
’
ve anticipated new life. It
’
s all been stolen.

I stride into our bedroom with purpose and rip the sheets from off of our bed. The evidence of our tragedy has soaked into the mattress. I feel something inside of me snap and I take the whole thing and head for the door. I lug it all the way to the dumpster, completely uncaring as to whether or not this is the way to dispose of the thing. It
’
s no longer our safe place; it
’
s no longer our marriage bed; it
’
s been marred by death.

As I make my way up the stairs, I rehear it
—
the scream that yanked me out of sleep
—
and my knees grow weak. I drop down and sit on a step, raking my fingers through my hair before grabbing two fistfuls. I promised her that we would get through this, but the hollowness I feel makes me question how in the hell we
’
re going to manage it. How do I pull her from her dark place when I
’
m still roaming in mine? How do I comfort her if she won
’
t let me? She can hardly look at me.

What the fuck, God? What the fuck?

As soon as I think the words, my spirit crumbles and I let out a cry. My heart knows
—
my heart
knows
that I
’
m not going to get through this without God; that I
’
m not going to get through this without His peace; that I
’
m not going to get through this without His hope. I
’
m humbled knowing that I don
’
t have the strength to overcome this, but He does. And yet
—
I
’
m so angry at Him that I don
’
t want to call for Him. Instead, I
’
m sitting here cursing and questioning Him. The worst part is, it doesn
’
t make me feel any better.