The World: According to Graham (24 page)

I’d like to comfort him, but my well is dry. I have nothing left to offer anyone, and I’m no more than a shell of a human being. My soul exited my body when I heard those terrible words—
no heartbeat
. I wish the world would stop turning and for time to stop so I could process today’s tragedy. I want Graham and me to mourn together. Selfishly, I don’t want the sun to shine or music to play. My baby is gone. I want the earth to cry with me.

“Caroline is on her way,” he continues.

With that news, I lift my eyes. “Caroline’s too busy. You shouldn’t have called.” My voice is flat, lifeless. There’s no fight left in me.

“Of course I should have. She loves you. . .”

“She has her own family. She doesn’t need my problems.” I pull my knees to my chest.

The silence descends over both of us like a fog. What’s there to say? Life is shitty. My heart aches for our loss. My eyes burn from all of the tears that I’ve shed today. A dull throbbing ache is present behind my left eye, and I honestly don’t know if it’s possible for me to put one foot in front of another to make it to bed.

But I’m doing well compared to Graham. Sure. From the outside, he appears fine. He looks as if he could use some sleep, and his usual bright eyes are a hazy grey. But where I look like a haggard mess, he still appears to be a model for Ralph Lauren. He’s been such a rock today. God bless him, he asked the questions that I couldn’t formulate. He made the decisions for me that I couldn’t bear to make myself, and he signed the paperwork that I couldn’t.

While I get to spend time grieving our loss, he has to put a smile on his face and entertain everyone in Phoenix that have shelled out their hard-earned dollars to see the Sons of Liberty, live. He has to keep going, and I don’t know how that’s possible.

“Let’s get you showered before Caroline arrives,” he says.

I’m too tired to respond, so I just shake my head.

“Pain? Do you need one of the pills?”

I shake my head again. “I just want to go to sleep.”

He scoops me up in his arms, and I bury myself in his chest. Emotions wash over me again and tears slide down my cheeks as he carries me to his bedroom. How it’s possible that I have any water left inside is really beyond me. These tears are not for our loss. I’m just overwhelmed with how thankful I am to have Graham here with me to deal with this. Thoughts that I could have done this alone make me feel shameful. If there was any doubt in my mind that Graham and I were more in lust than in love, they’ve vanished. This is love. This right here and right now. This man carrying me to bed without me asking because he knows that most of the time, I can walk beside him as an equal partner, but other times in a relationship that set of four footprints must become two.

He places me on the comforter while he folds the sheets back on the side of the bed that I slept on the other night. I crawl over to the pillow and slip under the blankets. I’m surrounded by the scent that is uniquely Graham, which brings a marginal degree of comfort.

“Need anything?” he asks, tucking the sheet under my chin.

Yes. I need you not to leave. I need you to hold me all night long and reassure me that one day we’re going to be okay, even though I hate the world right now. That one day that we will smile again and maybe even laugh. The sun will shine and the pain in my chest will fade with time.
Instead, I reply, “No. Go on. What time is your flight?”

“Colin booked Caroline on a private plane. I’m taking it to Phoenix,” he says this nonchalantly, but I know that Graham, Colin and Caroline have gone to herculean efforts on my behalf to make this happen. Not to mention the cost. He missed his commercial flight long ago. “And before you say anything, Colin said to tell you to shut up.”

A small smile turns up my lips. I can just hear him going into planning mode—making phone calls and barking orders. Colin isn’t doing this for me or Graham. He’s moved earth and sky for Caroline because, well, that’s just what he does.

“There’s a bit of my girl,” Graham says as he runs his pointer finger over my mouth. I’m not smiling, but the pleasant thought has caused my frown to fade. “I’m leaving right after the show and flying to Oklahoma to pick up George. Then we’ll be home. Should be back by noon on Sunday at the latest.”

“Graham . . .” I begin to protest, but he leans down, kissing me, I assume to shut me up.

“You have to promise me that you’re going to take the antibiotics and medicine if you’re in pain. Caroline is a doctor. That’s about the only reason why I’m leaving. Listen to her,” he lectures. I don’t point out that she’s an orthopedic surgeon not a gynecologist.

A doorbell chimes, and Graham leaves the bedroom to answer it. I know how busy Caroline is, and I know how hard it is for her to get away. She runs a lab, is mom to three kids, and doesn’t like to leave Colin. Her jumping on a plane and leaving all of that behind was a sacrifice, one that she made for me, and I love her desperately for it.

Caroline and Graham do a terrible job of whispering about me behind my back. I can’t make out all of their conversation, but words like “silent,” “traumatic,” “worried,” and “fragile” are clear. I want to yell at them to have the conversation in front of me, but I don’t have enough energy to pick my head up, let alone tell either one of them that I don’t appreciate their rude behavior.

Caroline walks into the bedroom looking like the angel that she is, even though I’m slightly annoyed with her. Her long hair is twisted up in some sort of messy knot on top of her head. She’s wearing a baggy maroon sweater and jeans. I’ve always admired her effortless, bohemian style. “Hey chica,” she says.

I scoot up in bed, leaning against the headboard. “Hi,” I reply, biting my lip.

Then the crazy chemistry thing happens—the one where you’ve been such a part of each other’s lives that no words need to be exchanged. It’s where you live inside each other’s head, and you’re so grateful that you have the connection so you don’t have to say the words out loud. Just a knowing look from her and I begin to sob.

She drops her suitcase and runs towards me, wrapping me in her arms. She holds me while any semblance of strength that I’ve clung to for Graham’s sake collapses. Wails that I don’t recognize as mine exit my body.

The only thing that she says is, “I’ve got you, babe.” Only my best friend would know that they’re exactly the words that I need to hear. Not “you’re going to be okay,” because right now I don’t think that I’ll ever be. Or “God, doesn’t give you more than you can handle,” because obviously, he does. She just allows me to melt and then scrapes me off the bed and later will reassemble the new version of Rachael.

At some point, I give into the exhaustion and fall asleep in her arms, surrounded by the comforting scent of Graham.

I wake the next morning—could be afternoon—to the smell of bacon. When I open my eyes, I feel happy and hopeful for about one-point-three seconds. Then, the realities of yesterday crash around me. My hand instinctively covers my pubic bone, but my baby isn’t there to protect. Instead of getting out of bed and spending time with my best friend who has dropped everything to help me through this, I roll over and go back to sleep.

The next time that I emerge from the dark abyss, Caroline is on the phone talking to someone.

“I’m sorry, but she can’t take a call at the moment. May I take your information, and she can call you back on Monday?” Caroline says.

“Wonderful. I’ll let her know.”

There’s a faint stench of bacon that lingers in the air. I roll over and look at Graham’s alarm clock. It’s almost four. Wow.
I must have needed the sleep.
Scooting out of bed, I take care of my bathroom needs, avoiding looking in the mirror, and shuffle into the living room.

Caroline has her back to me. Her laptop is open and she’s sitting at the bar, working, I guess. I don’t want to bother her, so I turn around and go back to bed.

I’m not physically tired enough to sleep, but lying in the dark room, under the warm covers, feels right. Staring at the ceiling, I intentionally force my brain to think of nothing. My mind is empty. I note that the quiet and stillness of Graham’s house has a faint ringing or maybe buzzing noise. Is it the sound that electronics make? Electricity surging through all the things that I thought that I needed before yesterday?

Now, all I want is morning sickness, a rounded abdomen, full breasts, and Graham.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?” Caroline asks, jarring me from my dark path.

“How when bad things happen, you’re reminded of what’s really important.”

She walks over and sits down on the foot of the bed, crossing her legs. I bend my knees so she has room. “You feel like eating a late lunch? I made BLT sandwiches.”

I shake my head and try to come up with something to say. “How are the kids?” That’s normal conversation.

The blinds are closed, but light is still seeping through the slats. Enough light that I can see my best friend’s face light up. “They’re great. Ainsley is preparing for her dance recital. She plays the part of a ladybug. Colin’s been working with her to ‘think like a ladybug. How does a ladybug move?’ You know me. I roll my eyes at his nonsense, but it’s very cute to see.” She smiles and shakes her head, as if admonishing the memory. “The twins are hell on wheels. Always getting banged up on something. Usually it’s falling out of a tree. They caught frogs the other day and hid them in drawers in the kitchen. Every time I opened a cabinet or drawer, something was jumping out. I must have screamed a hundred times. I yelled for Colin. I don’t think that the boys got the message that they shouldn’t do it again because he was chastising them through tears of laughter.”

My limbs relax into the pillow as Caroline regales me with stories. I know how hard Colin and she have worked to build this little slice of love and happiness. I also know all that both of them have sacrificed. It has paid off. One day, I want what they seem to have perfected.

She goes on and on, gushing about her family. I don’t have to talk, which works for me, and I get caught up on all the details of Caroline’s life. Her happiness is balm for my ragged, torn, threadbare soul.

“Okay. Enough about me. Why don’t you take a shower, and I’ll find us a good bottle of wine to drink until we’re smashed.”

That’s my best friend in a nutshell. “No wine. Let’s head straight for the tequila.”

“Like how you think,” she says, with a wink. “I’ll go raid Graham’s liquor cabinet.”

With that, she leaps off the mattress and heads out of the bedroom. Tequila has always been our drink. As I’ve told her at least a hundred times, “When the going gets tough, the tough take shots of tequila.”

After I shower, I check my phone for the first time. The missed calls from the White House don’t even spark a bit of interest. Ignoring the voicemails, I head straight for my text messages.

Graham:
Reason #10,763 that MMA is better than boxing: Fighters go to the mat in takedowns. The great ones learn to turn this into an advantage and ultimately dominate their opponent from such a vulnerable position. That’s you, Rachael. You are so strong. I love you, and I’ll be home as soon as I can.

I read his message a couple of times. I get what he’s trying to communicate, and I love him for it. But this time, I don’t know what the positive is in losing our baby. There’s nothing good that can come out of this.

Instead of responding, I toss my phone back on charge. At the moment, I don’t care whether or not I win our stupid texting game. It seems pointless anyway. But everything right now seems pointless. I’m also in no mood to talk to him. I don’t need a pep talk or sayings like “the glass is half full.” I want to get completely obliterated with my best friend.

“What the fuck?” Max growls as I walk into the hotel lobby bar, dropping my duffle next to an empty bar stool. Jazz music plays softly in the background of the dimly lit room. Jake barely looks up to acknowledge my presence and Max bounces in his seat like he’s a three-year-old that needs to go to the restroom.

“You were supposed to be here seven hours ago,” he lectures. “You do remember that you promised to return to the tour on Thursdays? I believe there was a rather loud conversation where we discussed this. Time was the ass crack of dawn.” He pauses, as if he expects me to acknowledge his statement. I don’t and decide that attempting to put holes through the thick wooden bar in front of me using only my eyes is a challenge that I’m willing to accept. “It was bad enough that you were missing today or yesterday’s—fuck, I don’t even know what time it is—meet and greet because of Rachael’s doctor’s appointment, but you also skipped our Friday night dinner with one of our biggest sponsors that you assured us you would be at.” He draws in a deep breath to continue his verbal ass-kicking. “That one was fun to explain. Yes, Mr. Corporate Sponsor, Revere will be at the tour tomorrow. We know that you give us lots of dollars, but one of our members is too busy burying his head in . . .”

My hand slaps the bar hard enough that pain shoots to my shoulder. It doesn’t bother traveling to my heart because that’s just an empty hole.

The glasses near me rattle and bar patrons reach for them to ensure that a precious drop isn’t wasted on the unclean surface as the bartender shoots me a warning look. He must assume that I’m about to start trouble. I raise my chin and nod in the universal sign that there are no problems here. Well, not problems that he has to concern himself with. He picks up a glass and runs a rag over it before placing it back on the shelf, but he doesn’t stop glaring.

In different times, I would be insulted that he didn’t offer to get me a drink, but well, today it’s probably for the best.

I guess I got Max’s attention because his mouth is open, but words have stopped vomiting out.

Jake picks his head up and looks at me as I would imagine one must stare at their alcoholic parent who once again didn’t show up for their little league baseball game.
You can’t make me feel worse.

“We lost the baby.” Like shards of glass, the words slice and cut my throat as I spit them out.