I miscarried at eight weeks. Five days after I heard my baby’s heartbeat.
Four weeks after I found out I was pregnant.
Three weeks after my parents died.
Two weeks before Carter left.
Saying that the end of May and the beginning of June were shit for me would be true, sort of, but shit isn’t scary.
Everyone can do shit.
Those weeks were a hell of a lot scarier than shit.
Before June 11th, I thought nothing could be scarier than learning my parents were gone and I was supposed to see Harry, Mattie, and Emmett into adulthood as their guardian. But waking up on that Monday morning in blood-soaked pajama bottoms and that unmistakable, deep inside cramping was the most terrifying free-fall-into-despair feeling I have ever, ever known.
I knew. Even before I was fully awake, I knew I was losing the baby. But I woke Carter, screaming that I needed to go to the hospital, unable to accept what was happening.
Aunt Pru was still with us then. She was already up and making coffee when she heard me. I’ll never forget the look on her face when she saw the bed sheets, my legs. The grim sorrow I saw in her eyes was unbearable. I knew that pain and more was waiting for me, and I couldn’t face it. I had to look away.
She stayed at the house with the kids while Carter took me to Lafayette General. We didn’t have to wait. They took us right through. Carter held me while the ultrasound tech searched and searched for that rapidpow-pow-pow-powwe’d heard just days before.
And then Carter had held me the rest of the day as I lay in my bed, grieving in triplicate. Mother. Father. Child. Grieving for generations.
But even as he held me, he was comfortingme.He wasn’t devastated. He kept sayingI’m sorry… I’m so sorry, Mil.Just like he’d said over and over about my parents. Like it wasn’t also his loss. His baby.
He never said,Maybe it’s for the best.Thank God. I might have killed him if he had.
But looking back, a part of me already knew I was losing him too. Carter couldn’t take it. The instant family. The endless responsibility. Those were his exact words.“I can’t take it, Mil. I can’t deal. This is too much to ask of me.”
I hadn’t asked. We’d been together less than a year. But it had been good. I’d believed my love meant as much to him as his did to me. I was wrong.
And now? This place in my life? This new position at the helm of my family? Navigating through yet deeper seas of grief?
I was in it alone.
And holy fuck, why would the look on Luc Valencia’s face after I pushed him away make me think of all that?
My pulse has slowed. The sweat on my skin has cooled so much it’s making me shiver. I should just pull the covers up again and try to go back to sleep, but who am I kidding?
Sleep isn’t coming back for me tonight.
Clarence is propped up on his paws, sphinxlike, watching me.
“Wanna go outside?” I whisper.
His ears perk and he does a kind of canine double-take. This usually isn’t an offer I make in the middle of the night.
“C’mon,” I say, sliding my feet off the bed. Hesitation gone, he jumps down and watches, wagging patiently while I put on fuzzy socks, slippers, and wrap up in my robe. I’m already cold to the bone.
Downstairs, the house is hushed behind the quiet hum of the heater. The only lights are the ones from the porch and the street lamps shining through the windows, making tall shadows on the floor. Passing through the living room, I go to the French doors that lead to the back porch, disarm the alarm, and head outside with Clarence.
The night is cold, sharp against my skin. Clarence lopes down the porch steps and into the shadows of the back yard. His white coat makes him visible even behind the ligustrums that line the back edge. I know his routine. He’ll do a perimeter sweep, lifting a leg here and there, before deciding his territory is secure and he can go back inside. This will take a few minutes, so I sit on the cushioned outdoor settee and wait.
I concentrate on the cold air against my face, seeping through my clothes, filling my lungs. When I do that, it’s easier to keep at bay the thoughts that drove me outside. And it works.
For a few minutes.
But when Clarence has finished his business and we go back in, I see his paws are damp. Little pieces of leaf debris and dirt speckle his white feet. I tell him to stay, and head for the laundry room in search of a towel.
