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Abby —
“Time to get up, baby girl.”
I opened my eyes to Geneva’s sweet face looking down at me. I hadn’t been sleeping, but the world seemed too heavy to handle with my eyes open. So, so heavy. Even now... “What?”
“Time for dinner,” she said, not unkindly. God, I wished she’d stop, except I didn’t know if I could bear it if she did. Still, her kindness threatened to undo me. “You need a shower, and then we’re going down to eat with the family.”
Panic fluttered in my throat. “No, I can’t. I...”
The pull of her tender hands got me to sit up, not because she was strong enough to lift me herself, but because I’d never want to disappoint her. I even found myself swinging my legs over the side of the bed because I knew she expected it. Then I looked down at the covers, threw them back but couldn’t let go of them. Couldn’t stop staring.
This bed... It had been a refuge for months, a sanctuary for just Levi and me. A place of pleasure. A place of hope.
And now I hated it. Yet I couldn’t make myself leave.
Geneva sat next to me. Her wrinkled brown face drew me, anchored me. She’d been late into middle age by the time she took my mother under her wing. Taught her how to care for the baby she hadn’t planned but had loved all the same. There were so many years between that humble beginning and finding Geneva two years ago, learning about the mother I’d never been allowed to know. The mother I lost when I was too young to remember.
And now...another loss. I’d been the mother here, though. And I wasn’t sure I could live through this one.
“You need to be up for a little while, child,” Geneva was saying. “Not long, not enough to tire you out. But being stuck in here staring at the four walls isn’t gonna help you at all.”
I knew she was right. That didn’t motivate me to stand and head for the shower like it had gotten me to sit up.
“Is...” I finally let go of the covers to cross my arms over my belly, holding myself together. “Is Levi downstairs?”
“Of course he is.” Geneva patted my thigh. “Just waiting for you.”
I cringed. There was no of course about it. And the likelihood that he was waiting with bated breath for me to walk into the kitchen was nil. I didn’t know what had happened this morning, but I knew he’d left. When I finally woke around lunchtime, Geneva had been in a comfy chair next to my bed, and Bryant had come in once or twice, telling me Levi had gone to help Eli and Remi with something. I deliberately closed my mind to what that something could be—and to the pain that blossomed when I realized he wasn’t here. My brain understood he wouldn’t leave without a damn good reason, but my heart... Well, it was shattered into a million pieces, so understanding anything was too much to ask right now.
“I can’t go down there yet, Geneva. I can’t.” Levi had told me when he finally came home that Nix’s team was here. His brothers too. Too many bodies. Too many eyes staring at me with pity, knowing... Just, too much everything.
“Half an hour,” she promised, her light tone edged in steel. “Just long enough to eat. You have to eat anyway, right?”
Not really. If I didn’t eat, would the pain go away? Would I be numb? Sounded perfect to me.
Geneva stood, reached for me. I stared at her hand.
“Just a few minutes, baby girl,” she said, a well of infinite patience in her words.
She meant well, I knew. And she was probably right about what I needed. But facing them all... I bet Nix was perfect, just like Maris was. Strong. She’d never fail her family like I had.
Yes, that was it. A sense of rightness settled in my chest. “I failed, Geneva.” Failed Levi. Failed myself. My child. I was the weak link in a chain of strong individuals, and I couldn’t stand to have that strength staring me in the face.
A distressed sound left her throat as Geneva returned to her seat next to me. “You did not fail, Abigail.” Her frail arm felt far stronger than I could ever be when it circled my shoulders. “A miscarriage is not a failure. It’s not your fault; it’s not anyone’s fault.”
A sob welled up in my throat, choking me. “I failed. I failed him, Geneva. How can he stand to look at me when I’m so weak that I couldn’t keep our child safe?”
She pulled me against her, patted my cheek until I laid my head on her shoulder. Waited long, long minutes until the sobs worked their way out of my system. And then she asked, “Is that what you believe about your mama, girl? That she was weak and that’s why she died? That she failed you?”
Shock shuddered through me. “No, of course not!” My mother had been murdered. She would’ve fought to stay with me. She hadn’t died because she was weak.
Geneva cupped my cheeks and forced me up until I looked into her warm brown eyes, faded now with age. “And how are you any different from her?”
I couldn’t answer, couldn’t find the words to tell her she was right when some small part of me said she was wrong. And maybe she sensed that somehow, because understanding stared back at me.
“Sometimes,” she said, “our heart lies in order to find some sense in tragedy. We need someone to blame, and most often that’s ourselves because we are convenient. Accessible. Beating ourselves up lessens the pain, odd as that might be. But...” She stroked at the tears on my cheeks. “You have to recognize the lies. You have to fight them—because they’ll steal your happiness and your future.”
“What happiness? What future?” My words were filled with the bitterness churning inside me.
“That man downstairs is your future,” she said firmly. “That family waiting to see that you’re all right is your future. And you have to fight your way back to them, for your sake and theirs.”
“I don’t know if I can,” I admitted like a dirty little secret.
But Geneva wasn’t shocked, and she didn’t brush away my admission. “Not right now,” she agreed, then stood again, taking my hand and pulling me with her. “You need each other for that. Trust me, baby girl.” She patted my cheek, her touch and her eyes full of love and an iron will. I knew she wasn’t going to let me just float along. “Just a few minutes.”
Which was how I found myself in the elevator, Geneva at my side, hair hanging damp down my back and my face scrubbed naked. I felt exposed, raw, but a longing I hadn’t let take hold all day was also surfacing—for Levi, his arms, his strength. He was on the other side of these doors; I just had to find the courage to walk through them.
Geneva squeezed my hand, and then we were walking into the foyer. To the left, in the living room, men’s voices bantered. To the right, in the kitchen, male and female voices mingled, all so familiar they made my heart ache. Hurrying was impossible, but I strained to get closer to the arms I knew could ease the pain swamping me.
We were almost through the door when Levi appeared in front of me, his wide shoulders blocking out the room beyond him. “Little bird.” And then his arms were around me, solid and strong, and the world that had spun off its axis slowed the tiniest bit. My arms came up beneath his, my fingers fisting in the material of his shirt at his back. The relief was so profound I couldn’t speak. “Mrs. Geneva,” he said, the words of rumble against my ear where it rested on his chest. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
Geneva made a sound behind me—pleasure, love, respect, maybe sympathy. “You were right to send for me.”
He had been, I realized. It hadn’t truly clicked till now what Levi had done—he had brought my mama to me when I needed her. Geneva was the closest thing to a mother I’d ever known, and a woman needed her mother at times like this. “Thank you,” I whispered into his shirt.
Levi ducked his head. “Anything for you.”
I tipped my head up and forced myself to meet his eyes. “Still? Even now?” And then it all welled up inside me and I couldn’t hold back the words. “How could you love me? After—”
Anger flashed across Levi’s face, and his fingers on my lips cut me off. “Don’t ever, ever say something like that again; do you hear me?” Palms on my cheeks, he bent low until his lips brushed mine lightly. “How could I not love you, Abby? You’re my life.” He kissed me again, then pulled back. “You always will be.”
I closed my eyes and prayed he was right. Prayed I could go back to that time when I trusted every word that came out of his mouth to be the truth. For now, I just had to walk in faith, didn’t I?
“Is everyone in the kitchen?” I finally asked.
His warm hands returned to my back, glided down to grip my hips, holding me tight against him. “They are. Just family. You can meet the others later.”
Relief weakened my muscles, and I leaned heavily on his strength as he and Geneva led me inside.