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9
SKY
The stomach cramps continue,and the bleeding hasn’t stopped early the next morning. I will time to slow down until I can catch up to the situation, until Dylan comes home. I’m okay. Nothing’s happening. Should I call the doctor? Would I seem like I’m overreacting? My refusal to accept anything’s happening stops me making the call. Instead, I attempt to phone Dylan, but he doesn’t answer, and I leave a bright message asking him to call.
I stay in bed, scared to move, as if that’ll make a difference. The storm has passed, but the dark winter remains. The emptiness of our house when I’m the only person here never bothers me, but today I’m acutely aware I’m alone.Books are my comfort, and I prop myself up on the pillows and read as I wait.
Less than ten minutes after I leave Dylan a message, he calls and speaks before I have a chance to. “You okay? Sorry, I was asleep when you called.”
“Fine. How’s Jem?” I ask, unsure what I should say or how soon.
“Yeah. We had a good talk last night. It’s kinda nice we’re on our way back to normal together.”
“That’s great.” I attempt to force a light tone but it won’t come.
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Missing you.” The words are hoarse. Dylan’s miles away from me, but he can read me as easily as if I’m in the same room; he always has done.
“Sky?” Dylan’s tone switches to concern. “What happened? Lily? I knew I shouldn’t leave you alone.”
“No, not her. I don’t know. I... I don’t feel too good, Dylan.” I can’t say the words, can’t tell him over the phone.
“You sick again?”
I suck in a breath and hold back the tears. “Are you coming home today?”
“I thought about staying an extra day because you’re heading to Tara’s, but if you need me to, I’ll come back. You’re more important than Jem, you know that.”
Tara’s. Yes. This morning. I’d better pack. “Right.”
“Sky?”
“I love you, Dylan.”
The silence between us stretches as far as the distance, and my attempt to hold back the building emotion is knocked by the sudden cramps; an unsubtle reminder of what I can’t put off any longer.
“Something’s wrong. Tell me.” I bite hard on the inside of my cheek. “Sky? You’re worrying me. I’m coming back whether you tell me what’s wrong or not.”
“I’m bleeding, Dylan,” I whisper.
“What do you mean?”
“The baby. I don’t know, maybe it’s normal but—” I’m choked by the words, by not being able to look into Dylan’s face when I say this. My denial is no match for what I instinctively know is happening. The tears spill, but I suppress the sound, as if that would make any difference.
Dylan’s silence doesn’t help, and for a couple of minutes, I’m further from him than I have been in weeks. He may as well be in the States, not London, and I want him with me more than I ever have in my life.
“Call the doctor.” Dylan’s voice is flat, emotion hidden. “Now, Sky. No. Wait. I’ll call him. I’ll be an hour and a half. Two hours. Should you lie down? Will it stop?”
I grip the phone and zone out as he speaks. All I want in this moment is the comfort of his embrace and for him to hold me and tell me everything is okay. Dylan takes control of the situation and I quietly agree to every word.
Then I curl up in bed and wait for him.
* * *
DYLAN
Sky sitson the sofa of our London apartment, her pale-faced figure small against the large blue cushions. We haven’t spoken since we left the doctors. I’ve tried but Sky won’t say a word.
