The day had slipped away like so many of them did and by the time I could get over to the motel to check on Maggie, she was already gone. The guy at the front desk, a younger guy I had never seen before, hadn’t seen anything and just gave me a blank stare with a not-so-helpful shrug. I thought of calling Grace, yet realized she didn’t know that the teenager was still around. I planned on telling her eventually.
Guess it needs to happen tonight.
I thought of that young girl walking the streets again, perhaps going back home to some kind of nightmare she’d run away from. I wondered if I should have asked more, if I should have tried to get her some help.
I pictured her round belly on her petite frame. Then I pictured Grace, sitting beside me in this very car, weeping into my chest while I held her in a parking lot.
Life doesn’t come in chapters. It doesn’t have character arcs. It doesn’t feature foreshadowing. It arrives, one day after another, with chances and choices and confusion.
The tests and the doctors and the second opinions all told us what we’d already figured out: Grace couldn’t have children. There was lots of technical stuff we learned about. I honestly never want to hear the words “fallopian tubes” again in my life. I wish that it had been my fault that we couldn’t have children. My issues. Maybe then things would have been different.
Maybe Grace wouldn’t have worn the guilt like a straitjacket. Even when I spent months begging her to take it off.
My car seemed to sludge through the shadowy evening. This cloud still came every now and then, reminding me. Forcing me to look behind me and see the empty seats in the back of my car. No car seats, no spilled Cheerios, no remnants of saltine crackers, no fallen hair bows, no missing stuffed animals.
It had been five years ago that we gave up trying, but it felt like five minutes. Then as couple after couple we knew made announcements and sent celebration cards in the mail and showed off their smiling baby boys and girls, we had to watch. The worst thing for me was seeing Grace stand strong and smile and show love to each and every one of those couples. Our friends, some family members, even members in our church.
The dedications of those newborn babies were the toughest. Grace watched from the pew, tears in her eyes, knowing that this would never be us. The dimples and the fuzzy hair and chubby arms and legs could only be seen and appreciated for a few moments, then they were gone. And Grace’s arms remained empty.
Talk of adoption had never gone anywhere. Grace always said she wanted to be there when our baby was born. I had tried—and failed—to pursue the issue. I knew I couldn’t understand. I was the man. There were certain things and realities I knew I just couldn’t fully fathom.
I arrived at our house, the porch light glowing, the light from inside leaking out the windows.
Be thankful for this day and for this life you’ve been given.
I paused for a moment after shutting off the car. Then I grabbed my computer bag and headed inside, expecting the familiar still that always greeted me.
Instead, I heard conversation. More lights than usual were lit. The smell of ground beef hung in the air.
Then I saw a face in the kitchen.
It was Maggie.
“Hi, honey,” Grace said as she stood next to the young girl at the island.
I think I stood there speechless for a moment, both amused and surprised, wondering if I was really seeing this. Grace knew what I was thinking and directed her eyes toward the wall. The one where we’d put up the wooden cross.
“Can’t just go giving these out and expect nothing to happen,” she said while she began to start cutting vegetables on the chopping block.
I greeted Maggie and told her I was glad to see her, then I walked over and wrapped my arms around my wife. I kissed the nape of her neck. It was good to feel her and to reach out to hold her. There were few spontaneous moments in our marriage. Right or wrong it was just the way things were. But this felt necessary and felt right.
When I let go of her and then moved around the island in the kitchen, I noticed the tears in her eyes. She played it off with a casual and dismissive smile.
“These onions have really got me going,” Grace said.
I looked down and could see what she was cutting with the knife.
“That’s celery,” I said.
She didn’t say anything but kept working. I glanced over at Maggie, who was watching with animated, interested eyes.
“I’m glad you could join us for dinner,” I told her, then quickly added, “Both of you.”