The Love Series Complete Box Set (124 page)

But then the sun rises and reality dawns.

And it’s just a pillow.

Not my husband.

In those hours of darkness, I’ve also figured out that eleven years, eleven months, three weeks and four days from now, I will have spent more days without him than I did with him.

Counting the days is just another torturous way to keep my mind occupied, but I don’t have an alternative, really. I’m existing without him, barely breathing. I find myself still talking to him, especially in the early morning hours when I’m exhausted from yet another sleepless night.

“Oh, Jimmy. I miss you so much, baby. Why . . . why . . . why . . .” My pointless questions get lost in my sobs. The heaving in my chest and the sound of my voice wakes up the baby and I feel a swooshing roll and kick at my side. “Shh, relax, baby girl. Mommy’s okay.” I rub my hand gently over my just-kicked rib cage and hug my belly through more tears.

All of these numbers play in my head like a grotesque horror film. No matter the minutes, he’s gone from my life. I’ll never have him back. When the tears subside, more out of simply not having any left rather than no longer needing to shed them, the baby kicks again. I haven’t been able to call her by her name yet. I decided on Jimmy’s top choice, but every time I move my lips to speak it, a sob chokes me at the thought he’ll never be able to say the sweetest name I’ve ever heard.

She’s kicking my ribs through the fit of tears and I find myself suddenly counting kicks instead of minutes. Focusing on the life growing inside of me, rather than the one no longer with me, gives me the tiniest bit of strength to get out of bed.

The gentle tapping on our − no, wait, scratch that, my bedroom door also forces me to throw back the comforter.

“Hey, sleepy head.” Linda smiles as she hands me a cup of tea. “Did you get any rest last night?”

“Maybe an hour or two,” I say as I shrug my shoulders, sitting up against the headboard.

For the last twelve years, Linda’s been my best friend. We met on the first day of seventh grade and have been inseparable ever since. Basically, all of the memories I have include her.

And Jimmy.

She’s been staying with me since Jimmy died.

Honestly, without her, I don’t know how I would even get through the day. I don’t have anyone else. I’m an only child of parents gone long before their time should have run out. You would think I’d be used to this kind of sadness by now, but nothing could have ever prepared me for this vast, dark emptiness that’s consuming me.

“Well, that’s better than none, like the other night.” A lame, but compassionate smile spreads across her face. She begins opening the curtains, letting in more light than my eyes can handle. I squint and flop down onto the armchair in the corner as I take a sip of my tea.

“Is today my appointment? Or is it tomorrow?” I ask as I blow on the steaming mug to try to cool it.

“It’s today at eleven thirty.” Linda sits cross-legged on the ottoman in front of me and gently squeezes my knee. “Maybe the doctor will have some good news for you.”

“Yeah, maybe.” I stare numbly out the window, thinking that good news would be that the last two weeks have been some kind of cruel joke or a nightmare from which I’ll eventually wake. But as I feel my belly tighten in a somewhat painful contraction, I realize this is not a dream.

This is my new reality. A reality that no longer includes Jimmy. A reality that will soon include a new baby.

The thought of having this baby without Jimmy at my side, causes a fresh flood of tears to stream down my cheeks. Linda is quickly squeezing into the chair next to me, hugging me tightly.

Softly stroking my hair, she tries to calm me, but it’s pointless, really. “It’s okay, Lucy. Everything will be . . .”

Before she can even get the rest of her thought out, I pry free from her grasp and yell, “No! It won’t be okay, Lin. It’s never going to be okay ever again. Don’t you get that?” My outburst takes her by surprise, at least that’s what the look on her face conveys. “He’s gone. Gone . . . How am I supposed to . . . I don’t know how to. How do I . . .” I wrap my arms around my belly but I’m in no way comforted by the rhythmic feel of the baby hiccupping inside of me.

Linda stands next to me and places her hand over mine on my belly. Lacing our fingers together, she stares out the window watching the leaves cascade to the ground with me. Resting her head on my shoulder, I feel her begin to cry; I hear her sniffle and sigh a shaky breath. “I don’t know how to move on. I don’t know, but I am here to help you figure it out. I’ll never replace Jimmy and God knows that I wish he could be here for you.” Lifting her head from my shoulder, we exchange a sad smile. “I’m here to be sad with you. And when this baby girl is born, I’m here to be happy with you too. I love you, girl.”

Somewhat calmed by her words, I exhale a deep breath and wipe my tears from my cheeks, yet again. “I love you, too. Thank you for . . .”

“You don’t have to thank me for a damned thing. There’s nowhere on Earth I’d rather be than here with you.” Glancing at the clock, she steps away from me and starts pulling some clothes out of the closet.

“Why don’t you get in the shower while I go make us something to eat? Then we can head out to your appointment.” Linda hands me an outfit—the only one that still fits—and walks toward the door.

“Okay, I’ll be down in a few minutes,” I mumble toward her retreating back. I notice the shakes that rack her small frame. Saddened by her sadness, I fall back into the over-stuffed armchair and cry, while gazing out into the morning sun.

Another contraction tightens around my belly. I’ve been having them on-and-off for the last few days, but there’s no pattern to them. They’re more uncomfortable than painful, and according to my doctor, that’s the determining factor in being able to tell if they’re “real” or not.

“How are you doing in there, baby girl?” I ask as the tightening subsides. Of course, the only answer I get is another knee to the belly. “I know it’s getting tight in there. Any day now, baby.”

Another minute clicks by and with thoughts of my daughter’s birth in my mind, for the first time in two weeks, I find myself looking forward to something.

“Of course I got the cart with the wobbly wheel,” I huff at Linda as I reach for a box of cereal on the top shelf. Monopolizing on the fact that she actually got me to shower and get out of the house, she insisted we go food shopping after my doctor’s appointment.

It’s not that I have much of an appetite. I honestly can’t remember the last time I
wanted
to eat something. But since the baby has to eat, I have to eat.

As my nine-month-pregnant belly knocks about five boxes of cereal off the shelf, Linda stifles a few giggles. “Here, let me get those.” She chuckles once more and moves to pick up the mess.

“Right, like I can bend down and get it myself?” That image just makes her laugh a little more and I can’t help but giggle at myself. “Seriously, I’m like a beached whale.”

Linda hands me a box of Cheerios to put back on the shelf and smiles softly at me. “I know, sweetie. I bet you forgot what your feet even look like.”

“Oh, shut it!” I laugh, replacing one more box that I dislodged from its shelf with my belly.

“I can’t believe the doctor said I’m still not making any progress. My due date is next week. If she’s not out in a few days, I’m going to start sending this kid eviction notices or something.” We share another laugh and I run my fingers over the well-known yellow box of Cheerios thinking about the day I’ll have to buy them for the baby.

The loud chuckle of laughter that bursts out of my mouth actually feels good.

Hell, it felt good to shower and see the light of day. I haven’t been out of the house since the funeral. If it wasn’t for Linda moving in with me after Jimmy died, I don’t think I would even get myself out of bed.

As we walk out of the cereal aisle, Linda takes the cart from me. Rounding the corner, I toss a bag of chips into the cart. She gives me the side-eye, but I notice her lips curling into a smirk.

“What?” I deflect and shrug my shoulders.

“Nothing, sweetie. It’s just nice to see you thinking about food again.”

We make our way through a few more aisles and my appetite comes back in full force. Suppressing her laughter, Linda scans the filled-to-the-brim cart. “That’s funny. I don’t remember cookies, orange sherbet, pickles and tacos being on the list.” She waves the yellow sheet of legal paper in my face. Ignoring her sarcasm completely, I toss an oversized candy bar in with the rest of my pregnancy-craving induced purchases.

“Didn’t the doctor say that spicy food could help bring on labor?” I eye the taco kit.

“Yeah. So I guess you want those for dinner then?” She bumps me with her shoulder, nearly throwing me off balance.

I take the cart from her, remembering that the doctor also said something about walking to help things progress. Apparently, somewhere in the back of my mind, I latched onto the idea that I want this baby out. Maybe it’s something about just needing to focus my attention on something happy and not sad. Maybe it’s about walking blindly into the fearful unknown while trying to ignore the pain that is currently my life.

When we make our way back to the refrigerated section to pick up a package of chopped meat, a searing band of heat flashes across my belly. I hunch over in pain, banding one arm around the baby. The other hand holds a white-knuckled grip on the handle of the cart. Linda comes up behind me and rubs my back until the pain subsides.

“You okay?” she asks when I stand upright.

Wiping the sweat from my forehead, I let out a deep breath. “Yeah, but wow, that was strong.”

By the time we make it to the front register, another contraction hits me, tightening my belly, back and groin in a blaze of scorching fire.

“Lin, I’m not so sure these are the fake ones anymore,” I grit out through a clenched jaw.

She pays the cashier and loads the last bag into the cart. “It’s okay, Luce. We’ve got plenty of time. Let’s get this stuff home and we’ll call the doctor, see what we should do. Okay?” Her word are cloyingly sweet, like golden honey, but I hear the fearful excitement hidden beneath them.

On the ten-minute drive back to the house—a house I still can’t bear to call anything else other than “ours” even though it’s really just mine now—I circle back to my thoughts about wanting something to look forward to.

When we hit a pothole, the bump causes my belly to pull and tighten. I’m no longer excited. I’m scared out of my mind. Needing some sense of not being alone, I reach for Linda’s hand that’s resting on top of the gearshift in the center console.

The feel of my fingers lacing together with hers shakes her out of whatever far-away thought she was just having. She looks over at me in the passenger’s seat like she’s seeing me for the first time, like I haven’t been in the car with her the whole time.

She squeezes my hand in return, and even though I thank God that I have her, I want no one other than Jimmy.

“I don’t know if I can do this without him,” my weak voices trembles through the pain, both physical and emotional.

Patting my hand, Linda looks over at me; a similar, but different look of pain is etched into her tired face. “Oh, sweetie, I don’t either.” She pulls into the driveway and races around to my side to help me out of my seat.

When I stand, what feels like a deluge of water crashes to the ground. Standing there, staring at my broken water, both of our mouths are agape at how quickly things are progressing

“So much for those tacos, huh?” We both laugh like hyenas at my ridiculous joke. It’s more to avoid the heavy emotional bubble descending upon us.

How is it possible to say hello to the one person you’ll love the most in your life, when you still haven’t been able to say goodbye to the other half of your soul?

“Come on.” Linda wraps her arm around my back and helps me climb the front steps. “Let’s get you changed and ready to have a baby.”

Her words scare the crap out of me and even though there’s a large part of me that wants to—no, has to—focus on the sadness and anger, I push that part down. Focusing on the joy that looking into my daughter’s eyes will bring, I decide to just let it be, at least for now.