Callan could hardly bear the quiet of the empty house. Being alone with herself and her thoughts was a form of miserable torture she felt ill prepared to face.
After doing laundry, cleaning the house, putting a pork roast in the slow cooker, and making cookies, she didn’t know what else to do. In her office, she glanced through her day planner, relieved she didn’t have any events for the next two weeks. She needed time with Clay to try to work through their problems.
She felt very thankful to Aunt Julie for coming yesterday and saying the things she said. Callan finally realized she had to move past the horrible things her mother had conditioned her to believe and work on living what was true.
Aunt Julie had promised to bring her some books to read that would help her get started down the road to self-improvement and had brought them by that morning. She stayed around for a while to talk, but Callan needed time to think.
It would be hard to silence the negative commentary that ran non-stop in her head, but she knew she had to try. For her sake and for Clay’s.
Tears came afresh as she thought about Clay and the look on his face when she finally told him about losing the baby. She should never have kept it from him.
Clay deserved to know. He had a right to know. He had a right to grieve every bit as much as she had. Yet, she let her fear overwhelm the truth of the matter. Now she wondered if he would ever forgive her or trust her again.
Uncertain as to what she should do, Callan went into their bedroom, slid a box from the back of the top closet shelf, and sat on the bed. As she opened the lid, the smell of old papers and dried flowers rose from it, tickling her nose and making her sneeze.
Digging into the box, Callan found the first card Clay had ever given her. It was a birthday card and had a funny line about eating too much chocolate. She placed it on the bed, pulling out a stack of notes tied with a ribbon. For a long time, anytime Clay wrote her a note or scribbled anything to her, she saved it. She didn’t think she was ready to read those yet and set them aside.
Callan stuck her hand back into the box and connected with a bunch of dried flowers tied with a pink ribbon. It was the first bouquet Clay had given her – pink roses floating in a sea of baby’s breath. They had been so beautiful. Callan remembered she had pulled out the baby’s breath and carefully dried the roses. More than thirteen years later, they still looked lovely.
Clay had always been good to send her flowers for every anniversary, Valentine’s Day, and her birthday. He used to pick out different shades of pink roses, select a special vase, and personally write the card for the florist to deliver.
The past few years, he still made sure the flowers were delivered, but they were always red, in a standard glass vase with a note that simply said, “Clay,” written by the florist. Callan wondered why he even bothered.
Instead of bringing her joy, those flowers had become a mocking symbol of all that was wrong in their relationship. A reminder of all that Callan had done to destroy Clay’s love, whether intentionally or subconsciously, and drive him away.
Reflective, Callan realized she had been overwhelmed with grief, guilt, and pain the last few years. Instead of sharing it with Clay and moving forward, she’d pulled it around herself like a shield and drug it with her every day until the weight was too much to bear. All the horrible things her mother had led her to believe were true only added to the burden.
When she’d first fallen in love with Clay, she pushed the negative thoughts aside because she was so filled with the wonder and joy of his love. For the first few years, they were blissfully happy. Then her mother’s words started trickling back into her thoughts. With the losses coming all at once as they had three years ago, they bore down on her with full force. She knew if she and Clay were going to have a chance for a future, she had to bury the past.
As painful as it was, as hard as it was going to be, she was glad Clay finally knew the truth. She was also grateful beyond words to think that he might still love her enough to stay. Callan knew she’d spent a long time angry at God, but it seemed right today to pray for forgiveness, healing for her heart and Clay’s, and for God’s keeping of their lost baby.
When she stuck her hand back into the box, Callan pulled out ticket stubs from movies and concerts they’d seen, programs from plays they’d attended, and silly pictures they’d taken in a photo booth one day at the mall. Her hand connected with a lumpy piece of tissue paper. Carefully unwrapping it, she rubbed the little dog statue Clay had bought her the day she’d fallen in love with him.
“Oh, Clay,” she cried, curling up on the bed, the little dog clutched in her hand. “How are we ever going to make this right?”