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Quinn wanted to drop into bed and forget the whole night. Well, not all. The evening was fun. The news that would never be hers again hurt all the way down to the places she’d closed off from pain.
They waved their goodbyes from the front porch as Claire and Dillon drove off leaving her and Nick alone. Part of her wanted him to leave too, but another part—the part that needed a shoulder to blubber on—wanted him to stay.
Stepping back into the house, Nick shut the door behind them and leaned on it, looking at her. “I should go too. But I want to make sure you’re good before I do.”
She sunk against the door next to him. Possibly a little closer to “the looker” than she should’ve been. She tried to think of some smart, off-the-wall comment. Something funny to send him on his way not worrying about her. But nothing came except a tear. “That hurt.”
He gathered her tear on his finger before pulling her to him.
She could only whisper. “I want to be happy for her.”
“I know you do.”
She squeezed her eyes shut and moved her hands around his back, just holding on for the support she needed. It was time for him to know—she needed him to know—the full truth behind her fear.
Before she found his embrace too comforting, she pulled away and wiped her tears. “I want to show you something.”
She flipped on the hall light and led him to a closed door. Wiping her sweaty hands on her jeans, she paused, took a deep breath, and blew it out.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I haven’t been in this room in almost a year and a half. Claire keeps it clean, but I haven’t been able to go in.”
“You don’t have to show me.”
But he was wrong. “It’s time. I have to open this door.”
“Then we’ll open it together.” He took her hand and squeezed. “I’m right here.”
She squeezed back, drew in another deep breath, and turned the handle. She stared into the darkness—another pit—before she flipped on the light.
The room was exactly how she’d left it. Rocking chair in the corner, pink shag rug on the floor, crib against the far wall complete with a moon-and-stars mobile, waiting for life to fill it. She swallowed hard, crept to the crib, and gripped the rail.
Inside the crib, on the pink sheets, three teddy bears nestled against a blanket folded to show a name embroidered in white.
Nick eased up beside her. “Hope.”
Her name spoken aloud was a sound Quinn hadn’t heard in a long time. The sad sound made her daughter real again. She had been—she had lived.
Lying on the blanket was a picture—the only family picture they had.
He gestured at the photograph. “May I?”
At her nod, he lifted the photo to look closer. Quinn tilted her head, taking in the beauty of the tiny face. Her arms longed to reach out and touch her, to hold her, the ache in her heart unbearable. Why had it been so long since she’d looked at her daughter’s face? “She was perfect, wasn’t she?”
“She’s beautiful.” His voice cracked as he snuggled the picture back into its place and rested his arms on the crib.
“When I got pregnant the first time, I got excited, bought the rug. I miscarried at eight weeks. No big deal. It happens to a lot of women, right? The second time, I told everyone. Then I miscarried at fourteen weeks.”
She started at Nick’s hand on her shoulder, his thumb massaging her arm. Without thinking about it, she listed toward him.
“It was hard. When I got pregnant the third time, we named her right away. This time would be different. If we named her, she’d stay—she’d be ours. I went into labor at thirty weeks.” She couldn’t keep the anger from her voice. “She lived a day. She got one day.”
Nick’s arms went around her. Her grip loosened from the crib as he angled her into his embrace. His chest shuddered as he released the tears she couldn’t. She melted against his soft sweater, his musky cologne a comfort.
“I just wish she could’ve stayed, a small part of him. You know?”
“I know.” He buried his face in her hair. “I know.”
She eased back from him. “You do, don’t you?” He may not have lost a child, but he didn’t have anyone to remind him of Lauren. She understood his pain, his loneliness, his heartbreak.
He pushed her hair behind her ears, wiped away his tears, and folded her in his arms. “I do.”
Snuggled against him, she breathed a stuttering sigh. “I didn’t mean to make you sad.”
“Now aren’t you glad you gave me your phone number?”
She stepped away laughing and play-punched his arm. “There’s one more thing.” She unearthed a painting from behind the crib and propped it against the headboard.
Nick’s red-rimmed eyes widened, and his jaw dropped. She’d take that as a compliment.
“Quinn, it’s beautiful.” He sat cross-legged on the shag, inspecting the canvas.
“To the moon and back, right?” She sat beside him and shifted to brace her back against his shoulder. “I started painting it when I found out I was pregnant with Hope.”
The silence between them was calming. They just sat, staring at the moon, Nick brushing his fingers across the rug.
“I wanted to paint so people could feel what I felt—the electricity in a storm, the newness of a brilliant sunrise, the way the colors of an evening sky could make you glad to be alive. I wanted everyone to see what I saw. But anymore... I can’t.”
“You will again. It takes time.”
“Time. The healer of all wounds. Where is he when I need him?” Her laugh sounded strangled, no energy behind it. “Wait. Are you Father Time?”
“Ah.” He snapped his fingers. “Foiled again.”
With her eyes dry and puffy, with him bracing her, she could’ve fallen asleep. If not for one thought. “My third pregnancy was like you and Lauren, I suppose.”
His shoulder nudged her when she fell silent. “How so?”
She sighed herself back awake. “When I found out I was pregnant, I began saying my goodbyes. I tried not to think that way, even gave her the moon, but somehow, I knew she’d be gone too. My mind was preparing me, I guess. But I don’t think it’s possible to be prepared.”
Nick angled his leg behind her and embraced her. Sinking into his comfort, she tried to ignore the kiss in her hair. Tried to ignore each heartbeat that seemed more alive than the one before.
“I cannot ever love again.” She commanded herself more than spoke to him. “Everyone just dies.”
His long exhale moved through her hair.
Was that disappointment or empathy?
“The moon, although a lesser light, is sometimes bright enough you can almost see like it’s day. It guides you through the night, which may seem forever long, to the sunrise on the other side. Even though the moon gets dim, we’re never fully in the dark. God won’t let us be. I have to believe, Quinn, that someday, the sun will rise again. For both of us.”
“Did you take Philosophy along with Architecture?”
“Part of my general studies.” He chuckled. “My mom told me that before she died. I’m just glad you had this beautiful visual to go with the thought.”
As her heart twisted, she turned toward him. “You lost your mom too?” Slumping back against him, she closed her eyes. His arms tightened around her again. “You’ve had so much pain.”
“Maybe that’s why we make such good friends.”
The edges of her mouth twitched back up. “So we’re to be moons for each other?”
“Maybe so.”
She swallowed the smile. “Until the sun rises.”
“I guess.”
“Aren’t you afraid?”
“Of what?”
She picked at the pink shag. “The sunrise.”
He jostled her. “I’m afraid. Every day, I’m afraid. But I’m more afraid of facing the rest of my life alone.”
Alone. She became aware of him so close to her. Arms still around her. His heart beating against her. “But alone, you don’t have the pain.”
“Don’t you? Isn’t loneliness painful?”
She had her parents, Claire, her job. They kept her busy, but at the end of the day, when she was alone and haunted by memories, the loneliness was painful.
Contemplating his words, she started when he spoke again. “It is a beautiful painting. If you’d like, I could hang it for you.” He tilted the canvas toward him.
Quinn held out her hand to stop him. “No.” Her hand landed on his. They both froze. It wasn’t like they’d never touched before. His arms were around her now. But something transferred between her hand and his.
“I should put it back.” She stood and slipped the painting back behind the crib. Hid it away. Like the kiss in her hair and the flutter of her heart as he held her. Hid away the realization she wanted him to leave, but didn’t want him to go. Hid away the moon that would lead to the sun.
Nick stood to face her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to overstep.”
“You didn’t. I just... I’m not ready for Hope’s Moon to be on display.”
In his embarrassment, he pointed a thumb toward the door. “I should go. Are you going to be okay?”
She touched the empty crib, rocking the mobile that never played for her Hope. “I will be now.”
She followed him out, and as they left the nursery, she flipped off the light but left the door open. It was no longer a place to avoid, but a void to heal.
