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As she crosses the threshold, tears slip from her eyes. “It’s unbelievable that I was pregnant the last time I stood here.” The tears intensify.
I don’t try to get her to stop crying — I merely lift her, carrying her to our room. Putting her down briefly, I open the door before taking her to my bed. Harper curls into a ball of misery, curving into me when I lie beside her, holding her as she weeps.
As she lets out her grief, Harper looks at me, I’m sure seeing the tears on my cheeks too. She cries harder, and I hold her tighter.
Harper
During the next few days, Jayson seems to throw himself into the task of distracting me from the loss. When I’m physically recovered, he takes me to all my favorite places. The Museum of Modern Art fills one entire day, a visit to the New York Botanical Garden another.
The distractions do help take my mind off the miscarriage, but do nothing to help me with the dilemma of loving my husband. Loving Jayson without being able to trust him is almost as painful as losing the baby that bound us together. Jayson is so sweet and protective, hiding his own hurt to help me cope, that it’s proving impossible not to fall even more deeply in love with him.
Over lunch at Nobu, I can’t stop staring at him. He carries on the conversation easily, but the dark rings under his eyes speak of sleep deprivation, and the lines around his mouth hint at the sadness still clinging to him.
Impulsively, I put my hand over his. “Thank you.”
He quirks a brow. “For what?”
“You’ve made it your personal mission to distract me from thinking about… the loss. I know it must have been hell to rearrange your schedule so you could take more time off so soon after the vacation.”
Jayson frowns. “I have no idea. I told my assistant to cancel everything. It might have been difficult for him, but I don’t care. You’re my first priority.”
A surge of warmth melts my heart. The tears I managed to suppress that day threaten to fall. I blink them back, determined to comfort Jayson now. “I can imagine it’s been difficult for you to suppress your emotions in order to see to my needs.” My voice softens. “I know you wanted the baby very much.”
He pales slightly. “Yes.” Jayson clears his throat, but his voice still sounds thick. “I wanted a little girl who looked just like you.”
My lips tremble with the effort to hold the tears in check. “That’s funny.”
Jayson frowns. “Why?”
“I wanted a little boy with your features.” I squeeze my eyes shut to keep from crying, unable to tell him the idea had lurked in the back of my mind that if our son looked like Jayson, I would always have something to remember him by after the marriage dissolved.
“Have you given any thought to what you’ll do now?” His words express curiosity, but the tone reveals the question goes much deeper.
I shrug. “I don’t know.”
“You could stay with me.” His grip on my hand tightens almost imperceptibly. “Just for a while, even, until you figure out what you want to do.”
I hesitate, because the truth is, I have no plan. The miscarriage has consumed my thoughts to the point that I never even thought about what I’ll do now that I don’t have to stay with Jayson.
“Stay as long as you want.”
“Thank you.” It probably isn’t a wise decision. The longer I stay with him, the deeper I’ll love him, making it that much harder to leave. It’ll also hurt more. I should leave soon, unless I want to stay permanently in this crippled marriage. Jayson as he is now is too easy to love, but I still have to reconcile his previous actions with the man he appeared to be before I can decide to remain his wife.
* * *
Jayson has to return to work a couple of days later, and I immerse myself in setting up the garden and greenhouse. Choosing plants that will thrive in cooler weather by the time they mature, goes along with planting more delicate items in the greenhouse.
The simple acts of gardening prove more therapeutic than any counselor, so I ignore the referral Dr. Anderson provided. The repetitive motions and the feel of the silky soil in my hands ease the loss, and I gradually spend less time thinking about the baby and what could have been.
That leaves more time for thinking about our relationship, and I continuously rehash all my thoughts. I try to plan for the future. I make lists and consider my options, but Jayson somehow is a fixture in each scenario.
Several days later, over the spinach salads and plates of clam linguine left by the cook, I tell him, “I went to City College today.”
Jayson pauses in the act of reaching for a glass of wine. “Oh?”
I try to sound casual. “I looked at their botany department and spoke with an advisor. She gave me a packet of information. I think I’ll register for classes next week.”
Jayson nods. “That sounds like a good idea.”
