Two Against the Odds (14 page)

A middle-aged nurse with short brown hair and glasses on a chain around her neck entered the ward,
pushing a trolley loaded with Dixie cups of pills and a bottle of water.

“Good morning, ladies,” she said, cheerfully. “Let me help you, Mrs. Mitchell. Up you go.” She assisted the older woman back into bed then poured a glass of water for her to take her medication with.

Rafe stepped back when the nurse came to Lexie's bed. She rearranged the pillows, clucking briskly over her. “We'll do your observations then I'll take you downstairs for the sonogram.” She popped a thermometer under Lexie's tongue and strapped on the blood pressure cuff.

Hetty arrived and touched Rafe's arm. “What's happening?”

“She's going for a sonogram in a few minutes.”

An orderly arrived wheeling a gurney. He and the nurse transferred Lexie from her bed.

“Come with me,” Lexie said to Rafe and her mother as the nurse began to push the gurney.

“Of course.” Hetty took her hand.

Rafe followed, his steps lagging as they walked the long corridor to the elevator. They rode down two floors and walked along another endless corridor around so many corners he lost track of where he was. This all felt unreal to him. How had he come to be in a hospital with this woman he liked a lot but barely knew, having tests on a baby neither of them had planned on? And only one of them wanted?

This is life, buddy. Shit happens.

The sonographer, a young Asian woman with a pink barrette in her hair, pushed the transducer across Lexie's abdomen. Hetty stood at her side, keeping a death grip on her hand.

Sienna arrived and stood behind her head, her hands resting on Lexie's shoulders. “Natalie couldn't make it but she'll be in later.”

Rafe stood back, feeling out of place. Everyone was transfixed by the screen. He was watching Lexie's face. Tearstained and pale, desperately searching for that tiny pulse of light.

Of life.

Minutes passed. The tension became unbearable.

“There's the embryonic sac,” the sonographer said. She moved the scanner, pressing deeply into Lexie's abdomen. Her mouth tightened and she gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head.

“What's happening?” Lexie cried wildly. “Is the baby there? Someone tell me what's going on.”

Rafe closed his eyes briefly. A dreadful silence had fallen over the room.

The sonographer glanced at Sienna, her expression grim. “It's empty.”

“I'm so sorry, sweetie.” Sienna bent to hug Lexie.

Rafe heard Lexie give a keening cry and collapse into stifled sobs. The sonographer quietly wiped the gel off Lexie's stomach and left the room. Hetty and
Sienna gathered around Lexie, holding her, trying to soothe her. Everyone was crying.

Rafe's heart was racing, his palms sweating. It hurt him to see Lexie so distraught. He felt guilty because he wasn't more upset.

Chiefly he felt…

Relief.

An enormous burden had been lifted from his shoulders. The pressure was off. He didn't have to try to be someone he wasn't. Or do things he wasn't ready for.

He was a bastard to feel this way. Lexie was sobbing as if her own life was coming to an end. He wanted to comfort her but the women were around her, their bodies like a shield, excluding him.

Rafe slipped out the door. He had to get out of here before someone noticed he wasn't grieving.

 

L
EXIE LET
herself into her house after two days in the hospital. The living room was bathed in honey-gold afternoon light. Yin and Yang leaped off the furniture and came running to greet her, their tails straight up in the air. They twined around her legs, purring loudly.

“Hello, my darlings.” She crouched to pet them, gently butting first a cream then a chocolate head. “I hope Renita hasn't spoiled you too much. I know she feeds you canned tuna when I'm not home.”

Hetty had dropped Lexie off at home and wanted
to come in but Lexie had told her she was tired. The truth was, she needed to be alone with her pain.

But although she was long used to living alone, as she walked through the living room and into the kitchen, the house felt empty. Grief went ahead of her, permeating the atmosphere.

She was empty. Her baby was gone.

The doorbell rang.

She thought about ignoring it, pretending she wasn't home. But it might be a neighbor, someone who saw her come in. She went to open the door.

Rafe stood there. Heartbreakingly, hatefully handsome.

He'd disappeared after the ultrasound and hadn't returned to the hospital. He'd sent a card and flowers. But he hadn't come in person.

She started to shut the door. He wedged his foot between the door and the jamb. “You've got to stop doing that,” he said.

She yanked open the door and retreated to the living room. “What do you want?”

“To see you. See how you're doing.”

“How do you think I'm doing?” Right now she was struggling to hold herself together. She would have whole minutes at a time when she was fine, then she would remember she'd lost her baby and the edges of her control would fray.

“I'm sorry I ran out after the ultrasound.” He followed her, hands stuffed in his pockets. “You had
Hetty and Sienna. There was no room for a guy who—”

“Who'd never wanted to be there in the first place,” she finished for him.

“Who wasn't a father. Or husband. Or boyfriend.” His shoulders rose and fell. “I had no role. I was just a guy you'd slept with.”

She turned away so he wouldn't see her hurt. She'd never been good about hiding her feelings. Since the miscarriage she'd felt raw, her emotions an open wound. Now she wanted to lash out at him just because he was there, because only a few short months ago he'd inspired joy and creativity in her.

She walked over to the dining table, sifted through some old mail and papers. Found his check. “Here,” she said, holding it out to him. “Is this what you came for?”

He flinched, as if she'd slapped his face. “Keep it. You're going to need it.”

She let it flutter back to the table. If he was going to be that foolish, let him. She sat on the couch and pulled a flowered cushion over her lap. “Well, you've seen me. I'm alive. You've appeased your conscience. You can go now.”

Instead he lowered himself into the chintz-covered chair opposite the couch. “I also wanted to say I'm sorry for…for your loss.”

“You sound like a funeral director. It was
your
loss, too, Rafe.” She could hear the edge to her voice.
“Although I know you don't see it that way. You were probably relieved.”

“Hey, I tried to step up to the plate but you didn't want me. You kept pushing me away.”

“I wish—” She broke off. There was no point wishing. For anything.

Yang uncurled from his cushion at the end of the couch and padded over to her for a pat. Lexie shut her eyes and pressed her cheek against his soft fur. Her mood swings were no doubt from the hormones still circulating in her body but that didn't make them easier to bear.

“Did…did the doctor have any idea what caused the miscarriage?” Rafe asked.

“No. But I've seen the statistics. Women my age have a twenty-five percent chance of miscarrying.” In just two years that figure would jump to fifty percent. “I should have been resting, not working. If I'd listened to my doctor…”

“I've done some research, too. There must have been something wrong with the baby's development. It's Nature's way.”

She could feel the tears at the back of her eyes and willed them not to spill. “Don't you dare say it's probably better this way,” she whispered.

“I would never say that.” He shook his head. “Never. I know how much you wanted the baby.”

Silence filled the space between them. Yang butted her chin to stroke him. Lexie kept her eyes closed,
wishing despite everything that Rafe would cross the gap between the chair and the couch and put his arms around her; tell her everything was going to be all right.

“Okay, you're right.” Rafe got to his feet, took a few steps, then spun back. “I admit it, I
was
relieved.”

“You'd better go,” she said, shoving Yang aside more roughly than she intended. “I don't need to hear this.”

“
Listen.
You think I don't know how selfish that is? What an asshole that makes me? I'm trying to be honest here so that you'll believe me when I tell you other things.”

She waited. What else could he possibly say?

“Relief isn't the only thing I feel. I'm also sorry for your sake you lost the baby.” His dark eyes met hers. “
Desperately
sorry. You would make a great mother.”

He startled a laugh out of her, accompanied by more tears. “Me? I'll never be a mother.”

“Lexie, don't,” he pleaded. “This is what I'm trying to get at. Don't punish yourself for the rest of your life because you had an abortion when you were seventeen.”

She grabbed the pillow again and clutched it to her stomach. “How can you say that to me?”

“There isn't some cosmic conspiracy against you because you chose to terminate a pregnancy when
you were young and ill equipped to cope with a baby.”

“You've got it all wrong,” she whispered. “That's not what I think.”

“Isn't it?” He looked sad.

She got up and pushed past him, walking swiftly down the hall to her bedroom. She lay on the bed, her face pressed into the pillow, shoulders heaving with sobs.

A moment later, she heard the sound of the front door as it shut behind him.

“H
EY,
M
OM.”
As he spoke into the phone, Rafe pulled books off the shelf with his one hand and packed them into a box at his feet. His living room was half-empty, packed boxes and furniture pushed to one side, waiting to go into storage.

“Rafe, it's nice to hear from you,” Ellen exclaimed. “How is Lexie, and the baby?”

“Not good.” He paused to take a breath. “She…miscarried.”

He dropped his dictionary into a box with a thud. His relief over the miscarriage had been short-lived. He kept telling himself it had worked out for the best. But the loss of the baby had packed a wallop far greater than he'd expected. He wasn't grieving really; he was just…numb.

“I'm so sorry,” Ellen said softly. “How is Lexie taking it?”

“She's…upset.” Rafe dragged out another box and started loading his CD collection. They were practically antiques now that most of his music was on his MP3 player.

“And
you,
Rafe? You weren't happy about the prospect of being a father but…”

He stared at the CD cover in his hand, not even remembering the band or when he had bought it. “I'm not sure what I feel. Kind of empty, I guess. But then, I've also lost my job. Now I'm moving out of my house.”

“Where are you going?” In the background he could hear the familiar sounds of her cooking dinner. The soft clang of pots hitting the stove element, water running.

“I'm moving onto my boat. In fact, I'd like you and Dad to come out fishing with me.”

“Gee, I'm not sure. It's a long way to drive….”

“Come for the weekend. We can all stay on the boat.”

She didn't reply right away. He felt his eyes burning and pressed two fingers to the bridge of his nose. “Please try to make it, Mum. I'd like to take Dad fishing.”

If he couldn't be a good father, he could at least be a better son.

 

“W
ELCOME
.” Rafe greeted his parents around noon beneath the palm trees bordering the marina parking lot and led the way along the wharf to where his boat was docked.

“This is so exciting.” Ellen was dressed for the occasion in jeans, white tennis shoes and a red pullover.
She carried a large navy tote bag and a small cooler. “It's been ages since we've been to the sea.”

Rafe looked up to the clear blue sky and breathed in the salty tang on the light breeze. “It's a good day for it.”

Flags fluttered from the sterns of sailboats moored on the other side of the marina. The waterway was lively with motorboats, skiffs and sailboats heading out for the day. Fishing boats were coming in with their catch, gulls wheeling around the rear of the vessels.

“Busy place,” Darryl observed. A red baseball cap covered his sandy-colored hair and his windbreaker lay across his lap. “What do they charge you to moor here?”

“Too much,” Rafe said. “I'm thinking of moving down the bay to someplace smaller.”

He ushered them toward the makeshift ramp he'd improvised. Ellen began to assist Darryl in case his motorized wheelchair couldn't handle the steep incline.

“You go on ahead, Mum,” Rafe said, taking over. “Drinks are in the cooler.”

Ellen scurried up the ramp and onto the boat. “I brought some rolls and cold cuts and I made a banana loaf. I'll put them in the kitchen—that's the galley, right?”

Darryl sat upright in his chair, staring into the murky water rippling below the narrow ramp. “You've
got life jackets, I presume? And an inflatable raft? What happens if we sink?”

“I've seen your arms, Dad. You could outswim an Olympic champion. Of course I've got life jackets and a raft.” Rafe parked his father on the afterdeck. He took the beer bottle his mother handed him from the ice-filled cooler, twisted the cap off and gave it to his father. “Get one of these down your gullet. Relax and enjoy yourself.”

“Ooh,” Ellen said as she pulled a bottle of champagne out of the ice. “Is the sun over the yard-arm?”

“Help yourself. I know you like the bubbly.” Rafe went inside the cabin and started the engines. At the sound, Colin, the silver-haired retiree whose yacht was moored in the neighboring berth, emerged from the cabin of his motor cruiser. He'd been standing by as prearranged, to cast them off. “Thanks, mate.”

“No worries.” Colin threw the lines on board as Rafe pulled away from the dock. “You can bring me a fresh fish if you have any spare.”

Rafe motored slowly out of the marina and into open water. When they were a few miles from shore he put the engines in neutral and came down the >gangway to the broad flat deck. His father was on his second beer, he noted with satisfaction. Good. Darryl deserved to enjoy himself.

He took a couple of fishing rods from the rack in
the corner of the deck and tried to hand one to his mother.

Ellen had found a cushioned seat in the sun. She shook her head, waving away his offer of the fishing rod. “I'm happy just to relax, thank you.”

“What have you got for bait?” Darryl asked, inspecting the three-pronged hook.

Rafe heaved the lid off a built-in cooler and pulled out a bucket he had on ice. “Some squid I jigged off the pier last night.”

He slid the bucket across the deck to his father. “We'll head down the bay and anchor off the point at Summerside. The snapper are biting there. That sound good?”

Darryl threaded a piece of cut-up squid onto his hook. “You really reckon you can make a business out of this?”

“I'll run fishing charters on the weekends.” Rafe baited his hook and slotted the rod into the holder attached to the rail. “And supplement my income by doing income tax returns during the week. I've got a mini-office set up below in the master cabin. But my aim will be to gradually ease out of accounting to fish full-time.”

“It sounds terrific,” Ellen said.

Rafe made his voice deliberately casual as he asked, “What do you think, Dad?”

“I'll let you know if I catch a fish.” Sitting up in his wheelchair, he drew his arm back and cast over
the side of the boat into the sparkling blue water.

Then he lifted his pale face to the sun, the rod held loosely in his hands.

His dad had a habit of pretending to be grumpy when he was most pleased. Rafe smiled and shook his head. Today had given him an idea. He could alter the boat to accommodate wheelchairs. There must be more guys like his dad who would enjoy a day on the bay with a rod and reel.

“I'll be up on the flying bridge if anyone wants me.” Rafe went up the gangway two steps at a time. Behind the wheel, he put the boat in gear and motored slowly forward.

He heard footsteps and turned to see Ellen clinging to the rails, her wineglass clutched between her fingers as she ascended.

“What a view!” She clinked her glass with his soda can. “Congratulations, again.”

He pulled out a folded chart from a pocket beneath the instrument panel and pointed to a spot on the coastline. “This is where we're going.”

“Summerside Bay,” Ellen read the name off the chart. “Isn't that where you said Lexie lives?”

“Yeah.” Rafe directed his gaze ahead, seeking out the marker buoys.

“I don't want to pry but…”

“It's over between us.” Rafe rounded the final buoy marking the shipping channel and adjusted his course
to port. “We're back to where we started before she found out she was pregnant.”

Ellen lifted her sunglasses to look at Rafe's face. “And where is that exactly?”

“Without the baby there's nothing to hold us together.” He couldn't help the edge to his voice.

“Do you love her?”

He didn't speak for a moment. Then his mouth twisted. “It doesn't matter what I feel. She doesn't love me. She said so.”

“Are you sure she really meant it?”

A speedboat went past loaded with young people, their laughter snatched away by the breeze. Rafe gripped the steering wheel as his boat bumped over their wake.

“Why wouldn't I believe her?” he asked, glancing at his mother. “Why would she lie about that?”

“Could be all sorts of reasons.” Ellen sipped her champagne. “She's afraid of getting hurt. She's worried about the age difference. And don't forget, she's grieving for her baby. That will color how she feels about everything for a while.”

The baby. He kept trying to put the pregnancy and miscarriage out of his mind but he couldn't stop wondering—had the baby been a boy or a girl? He wished he'd never seen the heartbeat on the sonogram.

“You sound as if you want me to get back together with her,” he said.

“I want you to be happy,” Ellen said, squeezing his
arm. She let a beat go by as a plane droned overhead. “Sometimes when people miscarry they have a small ceremony to honor the loss. Did she do anything like that?”

“I—I don't know.” He glanced down at the compass and adjusted his course slightly. “I didn't think to ask.”

He wished he hadn't been so cruel in some of the things he'd said.

“It's something to consider.” Ellen patted his shoulder and went back down the gangway. “I'm going to see how your father's doing.”

A moment later Rafe heard them speaking in low tones and laughing. After all the hardships they'd been through their love had stayed strong. He envied them their relationship.

Lexie had lost her baby.

And he had lost her.

Not that he'd ever had her.

 

L
EXIE SAT
on the couch with her legs up on the cushions, skirt spread out around her, staring out the window at the light gradually changing on the leaves of the gum trees. Two weeks had passed and she hadn't painted anything new since finishing Sienna's portrait. Instead she sat for hours at a time, blank and lost.

Rafe's parting words kept coming back to her. Was she punishing herself? Was that why she'd never
married, never had children? The years had passed so fast. And she hadn't met the right guy.

There was no such thing as the “right” man.

In her heart there was only Rafe.

And he wasn't for her.

The doorbell rang. With an effort she roused herself and went to answer it.

She blinked. She'd been picturing Rafe in her mind. And there he was on her doorstep.

“I brought you something,” he said. Two small stone statues were cradled in his arms. “Can I come in?”

She stepped back, her gaze riveted on the figurines. “What are those?”

Rafe slipped off his shoes and followed her into the living room. He set the statues on the dining table. Lexie came closer to study them. They were little children with round faces and long carved stone coats. Their hands were folded in front and their slanted eyes closed. Red crocheted caps sat on their heads and they wore little red bibs around their necks.

“They're mizuko kuyo—Japanese jizo statues,” Rafe explained. “Mizuko kuyo literally means ‘water children.' Jizo is the patron saint of women, children and travelers.”

Lexie touched one smooth round stone cheek. “Where did you get them? What are they for?”

“I learned about them on the internet when I was looking up—”

She glanced up. His gaze was filled with compassion and something else…. Sadness?

“When I was looking up funeral ceremonies for miscarried babies,” he finished quietly.

“Oh, Rafe.” She touched his arm.

“Apparently the concept of mizuko is that existence flows slowly into a child and he or she gradually solidifies while growing in the womb.” He took a breath, met her gaze. “Jizo helps miscarried, still born and aborted children find another pathway into being.”

Tears filled her eyes. She couldn't speak.

“I thought we could have a ceremony. You could put them in your garden….” He trailed off.

“It's a beautiful idea. You brought two.”

“I figured you probably never had any…closure,” he said gruffly, as if uncomfortable with the term.

“Natalie said something about that the other day when I went for my checkup,” Lexie said. “She told me the hospital holds ceremonies for miscarriages and stillbirths for parents who want it but I…I wasn't ready. This is better.”

“I got a couple of pavers and stone pedestals from the garden center so they won't just sit on the grass,” Rafe said. “I'll bring them through the carport to the back yard.” Now that she'd accepted the statues he
seemed anxious to get on and do something. “Have you got a wheelbarrow? The pedestals are heavy.”

“In the carport. I'll go find a good spot.” Lexie picked up one of the figurines. It was heavy and solid, about the size of a newborn. She carried it outside and looked around. Not near the trampoline. Or her studio…

She wandered to the far corner of the yard where the red camellia tree hung over the koi pond. In early spring the red petals drifted down onto the water. The corner was sheltered from the sun and the wind and from casual observation.

That's where her water babies would live.

“Over here,” she called to Rafe.

He trundled the wheelbarrow over the bumpy ground. Lexie set the statue on the grass and went to get a shovel from the garden shed.

Rafe took it from her. “Do you want them side by side or on opposite sides of the pond?”

She studied the setting. “The tree is slightly off center. I think both of them on the left, next to each other.” Her voice softened. “It seems cozier.”

He started cutting into the turf, carefully digging out a rectangle. Lexie got her wicker basket and went through the gate in her fence to the path along the creek. There she collected wildflowers in purple, yellow and white.

By the time she returned, Rafe had positioned the paving squares at a slight angle to allow for the curving side of the pond.

“My brother Jack had a baby who died before he could be born, too,” Lexie said. “His late wife was pregnant when she was killed in a plane crash.” To herself, she added, “I should talk to him about that.” To Rafe, she said, “What made you think of this?”