“The memory is so clear, like it happened yesterday,” Emma squinted toward the horizon, wishing for a way to go back and change the past. “But after a while I began to lose consciousness. Maybe the medicine, or the reality … knowing what was happening.”
She heard bits and pieces of the doctor’s conversation, something about being further along. By then, she didn’t feel like she was on a cold abortion table in a clinic in downtown Wilmington. Rather she was holding her baby in her arms, protecting her baby. Everything’s okay, little one. No one’s ever going to hurt you again. Someone touched her shoulder … once and then again. Go away, she wanted to shout. But she was too tired to speak. She didn’t want to be roused awake, not now and maybe not ever.
But eventually she heard the doctor’s voice. “It’s over. You can open your eyes.”
Emma blinked, not sure where she was. She gasped as the realization hit her full force. She was in a clinic having an abortion, and now … “My baby?”
“The pregnancy is terminated.” He looked satisfied with himself. “Your procedure was successful.” He stepped back. “You were a week or so past the twelve-week mark.” He paused, and then almost as an afterthought he said, “It was a girl, by the way.”
They were words that stayed with Emma while the doctor cleaned her up and dismissed himself. Words that haunted her and mocked her while she rested for the next half hour and after she dressed herself and walked — with the help of the older woman — back down the hallway to the place where Brad was waiting. The baby was a girl.
Words that would stay with her forever.
Thunder rumbled in the distance and Emma looked at Brad through dry eyes. The pieces of the story were only just hitting him. He hung his head for a long time, and tears began falling to the sand. He still held her hand, only now his grip was much harder than before. Sobs began to quietly hit him, flexing the muscles in his back.
Emma wanted to do something to help, but there was nothing. Every day since then she’d grieved the loss of their little girl, but for Brad the grieving was only just beginning. He had lost a daughter, something he hadn’t really understood until just now.
He dragged the back of his hands across his cheeks and finally lifted his head and looked at her. “It wasn’t her fault … our baby girl.” He breathed in three quick times through his nose, clearly fighting the heartache. “I’m sorry, Emma. You’ve … carried this loss … all these years.”
“I would’ve told you.” She released his hand and put her arm around his shoulders. Her first love, her best friend. The man she had come to view as an enemy. Her strained voice was barely louder than the crashing surf. “You didn’t ask about any of it. I figured … you didn’t deserve to know about her.” Brad’s face twisted in a mask of unbearable grief. “Our daughter … our little girl.”
“Yes.” Emma removed her arm from his back and covered her face. Her own tears had stopped as she told her story, but now the loss welled up inside her like a bottomless ocean of sorrow. “She … she would be nine.”
A sound, part sob, part guttural cry came from Brad. “We never got to hold her.” Brad slid closer and put both his arms around Emma, cradling her, clinging to her. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
There was nothing more they could say, nothing they could do. Their baby girl was gone, and no amount of tears or pain would bring her back. Still they stayed that way, lost in the moment, unaware of anything but the tragedy they’d shared, the tragedy they’d lived with ever since.
Another clap of thunder sounded, this one closer than before. Brad released his hold on her and helped her to her feet. He sniffed and seemed to try to get a grip on his emotions. “We need to get inside.”
Emma looked at the sky just as a bolt of lightning flashed out over the ocean. There was only one place they could go, whether it was smart to bring Brad Cutler there or not. “My house. We need to hurry.”
With tears still on their faces, they grabbed their sunglasses and jogged along the packed wet sand near the water. The storm was getting closer, and as they neared the pier they saw families packing up in a hurry, grabbing blankets and picnic baskets and children and running for their cars.
“My bag.” Emma pointed ten yards ahead and Brad ran to get it. He snatched the bag and both their shoes. There was no time to put them on.
“I’ll follow you.” Enormous raindrops were beginning to fall, and they both dropped their sunglasses in Emma’s bag.
She raced up the sand with Brad close behind, toward the path between the houses and straight up Dolphin Street, up her front porch steps and safely inside her house, both of them out of breath and soaking wet. The screen door slammed shut, but Emma didn’t close the other one. The sound of the storm raging outside mixed with their jagged breathing.
Brad set the bag down and he came closer, his eyes locked on hers. Rain dripped from his dark blond hair and hung in his eyelashes, but only then did Emma realize that the water on his face wasn’t only from the rain. He stared at her, studied her. “It’s still hitting me. That you’ve lived with this,” his sides heaved from the run up the beach, from the news he’d just learned. “All these years you’ve lived with it.”
“Who was I going to tell?” Her chin quivered, and she brushed her wet hair off her face. She was still catching her breath too. “You left, Brad. You wanted to get on with your life.”
At first it looked like he might say something, try to explain himself. But then he looked at her for a long moment, and he did the only thing either of them could do. He came to her and wrapped his arms around her, holding her close the way two parents might hold each other at the funeral of their only child. “If there was a way back …” he breathed the words into her hair, holding tight to her. “I’m sorry, Emma. Our little girl … our baby.”
The lightning was closer now, the crack of thunder more pronounced. As if all of heaven and earth were grieving right alongside them. In all her life she never expected to share the details of that awful day. But Brad had come back to her and he was sorry. He wanted to know, and she was glad she’d told him. But there remained a question for both of them. The question that consumed Emma as she stood lost in the moment, locked in Brad’s tormented embrace. She’d told him everything there was to say.
So … where did they go from here?
BRAD COULDN’T BRING HIMSELF TO LET go of her. His sweet Emma, the girl he’d harmed so greatly. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected by coming here, but now he knew the whole story. Emma’s fear and doubts, her terrifying experience at the clinic, and the most difficult truth of all.
The baby was a girl.
Like the toddler in the photograph in his office. All along he’d wondered if maybe he and Emma would’ve had a daughter. And now that she was real, the pain of losing her was more than he could bear. For several minutes they stayed in each other’s arms, a few feet away from the screen door of her small house, the storm raging outside.
He stroked her back, holding her, as if by doing so they could find their way to the moment before, as if they could run back to the car and life would be completely different. They could change their mind and today there would be a precious nine-year-old girl in place of the guilt and sorrow and regret. But there was no way back, and a decade of tears flooded out any other thought in Brad’s mind. All along he’d told himself he was coming here to make things right with Emma, to apologize. But he knew better now. This trip was about his own healing as much as it was about hers. It was about acknowledging a life that never had a chance because of the choices they made.
This trip was about their daughter.
Emma pulled away first, wiping at her eyes. “I need water.”
He let her go, but he followed her into the kitchen. Neither of them said anything as she poured two glasses and they drank them. Every thirty seconds or so lightning flashed around them and sharp thunder crackled outside. Emma set her glass down and stepped into an adjacent utility room. She grabbed two tow
els, one for each of them. They dried off and then Emma walked slowly back into her front room. She sat on a threadbare floral sofa, and Brad took the spot beside her.
Her eyes met his and she looked eighteen again. “I miss her.” She wasn’t crying anymore, but her lip quivered and her soft voice broke. She looked weary and worn out. “You don’t know how much I miss her.” Thunder rattled the house, and Emma’s eyes searched his. “Stay with me, Brad. For a little while more.”
She took a pillow from the far side of the sofa and set it on his knees. Then as if she couldn’t bear to sit up another minute, she curled onto her side and set her head on the pillow. Brad stroked her hair, and it occurred to him that the thing he’d come here to do wasn’t possible. He couldn’t make things right with Emma. Only God could do that — for either of them.
Without taking this loss to Him, they would only find a never-ending, exhaustive source of grief and sorrow. There would be no healing short of the miraculous healing that would come from Christ alone. Brad was suddenly glad they still had tomorrow. If Emma was willing, he wanted to take her to church. Maybe stay afterward and talk to the pastor. What they’d shared today was important and it was a first step. But rather than healed and whole, both their hearts were ripped open, the loss of their daughter too overwhelming and crippling to move beyond. Now or ever.
Brad ran his fingers along Emma’s hair for another hour, long after she’d fallen asleep, until the storm moved on and night fell over the beach. Here he was alone with Emma Landon, a million miles away from Laura and his life back in New York. He still loved Emma, he knew that now. But not the way he had before. The love he felt now had more to do with the shared loss of their daughter, and the weight of the mistakes they’d made ten years earlier. They never should’ve gone to the clinic, never should’ve had the abortion. Maybe then he never would’ve said good-bye, and today — this stormy afternoon — would’ve been marked by the laughter of a nine-year-old girl.
“I’m sorry, Emma … you don’t know how sorry I am,” he whispered the words, not loud enough to wake her. There were moments today when he wasn’t sure how he could walk away from Emma again, but watching her now he was more clearheaded. He did not want a new love with Emma. He wanted the old one, along with their daughter and everything that would’ve been so different if they hadn’t had the abortion. He wanted a way back.
But there was none.
When he was sure she was okay, and that she wouldn’t wake up, he slid off the sofa and looked around the room. He found a quilt in a wicker basket beneath the windowsill a few feet away. He carried it back to her, unfolded it, and carefully spread it over her. Then for a long time he looked at her, the striking features and damp dark hair.
He would call her in the morning, ask her to go to church with him. He needed to know she was going to be whole and well after this. To the degree that it was possible. As he left her house, as he silently closed the door behind him, he realized something that terrified him. They only had one day left together. They needed to find closure and healing tomorrow, with God and each other. If they didn’t, he couldn’t imagine getting on a plane and returning home to Laura. Not because he didn’t love her, and not because he had doubts about marrying her.
But because unless she was okay, he wasn’t going to leave Emma Landon again.
Twenty-Four
LAURA MADE THE DECISION EARLY THAT morning to take Bella Joy up on her offer and head into the city. She was tired of feeling sad, tired of lying in bed crying, and most of all, tired of her new role as victim. She didn’t want to talk about centerpieces or flowers or whether it was time to at least warn their hundreds of guests that the wedding was in jeopardy.
She wanted an escape. A trip into Manhattan seemed like the perfect answer.
They met up at Laura’s house around noon and the two of them were taken into the city by one of the Towne Cars from the service Laura’s father used. Bella Joy waited until they were in the car, a glass panel separating them from the driver, before she turned to Laura. “Have you heard from him?”
“No.” Every hour that passed without a second call made Laura more certain things were not going the way Brad had planned. He had clearly found his old girlfriend, and they’d stumbled onto some still-strong connection. Otherwise he would’ve at least left her another message. “Monday’s coming.” Laura refused to get emotional. She patted her friend’s hand. “I’ll know more then.”
Bella Joy studied her for a long moment and then smiled, her expression marked by compassion and understanding. “You don’t want to talk about it?”
“Not now.” She sucked in a sharp breath, keeping her sadness and uncertainty at bay. “Today I don’t want to think about Brad or talk about him. If it’s over between us I need to know I can be okay without him.”
A deeper knowing filled Bella Joy’s eyes. “Got it.” She smiled again and gave Laura’s hand a quick squeeze. “Today it’s just us and the city.”
“Exactly.” Laura swallowed the fear and hurt. She was only saying what she wished were true. She couldn’t really stop herself from missing Brad Cutler any more than she could stop her heart from beating. But she could pretend for a day. Even that much would be better than hiding away in her room.
Bella Joy filled the rest of the ride with a story about her friend who’d landed the ensemble role in Wicked. The details were just distracting enough, and by the time the driver let them off at Fifth Avenue and Central Park, Laura was fairly sure she could get through the day without dwelling on Brad, without imagining what he was doing. Even if she still missed him.
“Coffee?” Bella Joy’s eyes sparkled.
Laura was grateful to her friend. Not only was Bella Joy willing to let the subject of Brad die for the day, she would do everything in her power to make their time together as fun and normal as possible. Laura hung her long purse straps across her body and grinned. “A trip down Fifth Avenue without Starbucks?” she laughed. “Impossible.”
They walked past Tiffany’s and ducked into the lobby level of Trump Tower, up one floor in the glass elevator, and into a busy Starbucks. They ordered a couple of grande soy lattes, extra hot, and then set out south on Fifth Avenue. Laura was glad this wasn’t where she’d purchased her wedding dress. Instead they window shopped for handbags at Louis Vuitton and Gucci, and a Father’s Day tie for Bella Joy’s dad at Bergdorf Goodman.
Laura’s only purchase was a short-sleeve polo at Lacoste for her mother. “For her golfing dates with my dad.” Laura smiled at Bella Joy as she paid. She loved looking at the stores on Fifth Avenue, but she rarely felt right buying anything. Many of the stores had clothing items well over a thousand dollars. Ridiculous, really.
Their shopping led them to H&M across from St. Patrick’s Cathedral. The store was three stories high, full of the newest fashions at rock-bottom prices. Bella Joy found two pairs of shorts and three summer tops for under a hundred dollars total, and Laura bought two jean Capri pants and a summer dress for less money than the tax on other items along Fifth Avenue.
Laura glanced at St. Patrick’s as they made their way south, but she didn’t mention stopping inside and Bella Joy didn’t either. Laura looked up at the blue sky overhead. God … be with Brad. Whatever he’s doing today. I don’t know what’s happening, but You do. For today that has to be enough. She uttered the silent prayer, but she kept walking past the ornate church. She didn’t need a reason to lose her composure. They passed NBC’s headquarters and Rockefeller Center, and they spent half an hour in Anthropologie, where Bella Joy bought a colorful tablecloth for the summer picnics she hoped to have with Laura and their other friends. “Sometimes it’s all in the setting.”
“That’s true.” Laura loved this, loved these few hours where she didn’t have to think about Brad or their wedding or her life with or without him. She wanted to hug her friend. Bella Joy had spent the day doing exactly what Laura had asked — keeping things light and avoiding any discussion of Brad. Before th
ey left Anthropologie, Laura picked out a pair of sandals for herself and a candle for her mother.
Once they were back out on the street, she called for the car. They set their bags inside but declined his offer of a ride to the theater. “We’ll call you after the show,” Laura told him. “Sometime around midnight.” The driver promised to stay on call if the girls changed their mind or needed him sooner.
They walked farther west on Forty-Ninth toward Broadway and ate dinner at Sbarro in Times Square. It wasn’t fancy, but they ordered salmon and baked ziti and took their food to a table downstairs. Bella Joy talked about the guy she knew who worked at the Stardust Diner up Broadway a few blocks. “He’s been going to Times Square Church, the one that meets in that old theater. Bunch of Broadway people attend. He says it’s a great worship service, great preaching. I’m sort of interested.”
Laura raised her brow, again happy for the diversion. “In the guy or the church?”
A sparkle lit up Bella Joy’s eyes. “I’m not sure.” She took a sip from her bottled water. “You’re the first person I’ve told.”
The conversation moved from that to the idea that Bella Joy still intended to audition for dance roles on Broadway. “It’s something that never really leaves you.”
“Mmmm.” Laura’s mind flitted to an image of Brad, the two of them walking hand-in-hand through Central Park in happier times. “Some things in life never do.”
Their dinner flew by and they walked north to Fifty-First, west to the Gershwin. The show was set to start in fifteen minutes, and a flood of people gathered near the door, buzzing with excitement as they made their way into the theater. Laura had tried to see Wicked a number of times, but for one reason or another her plans never worked out. She and Brad had seen most of the other shows — even the new hit sensation, In the Heights. But this would be Laura’s first time to see the prequel to the Wizard of Oz, a show that had become one of Broadway’s biggest.