MACEY WAS USED TO SEEING BLOOD. WHEN SHE’D FINALLY RETURNED home from her post-undergraduate escapades in Europe, she’d buckled down, decided what she wanted to do with her life, and gone back to school to become a physician’s assistant. In the ten years she’d worked at Savannah Pediatrics, she’d become a pro at drawing blood, giving shots, weighing, measuring, consoling, and making little people laugh. Given what she dealt with on a daily basis, blood was no big deal. Except when it was her own.
“I can’t come in today, Marilyn,” she said into the speaker of her cell phone—which was lying face up on the bathroom counter. “I—I think I just lost the baby.”
“Oh, hon, I’m so sorry.” Marilyn’s voice echoed through the bathroom. “You take all the time you need. We’ll be fine. Call if you need anything.”
Macey nodded tearfully, and because she was so preoccupied with what was happening, tapped END CALL without realizing her coworker couldn’t actually see her nodding. It didn’t matter. Marilyn—and everyone else in the office—knew and understood; they’d watched her go through it before. Macey turned on the shower, pulled the old shirt she wore to bed every night over her head, and stood under the streaming water, letting it cascade over her weary body. When she looked down, she saw even more diluted red swirling toward the drain.
She ran her hand lightly over her flat belly. What was wrong with her? Why couldn’t her body carry a baby? She leaned against the shower wall, letting her tears mix with the water streaming down her cheeks.
Macey didn’t know how long she stood there, but when she finally pulled on Ben’s frayed waffle Henley shirt and her old Bowdoin College sweatpants, she felt physically and emotionally spent. She slid into her slippers and shuffled to the kitchen to make a cup of ginger tea, and while she waited for it to steep, glanced at her phone and realized she’d missed five calls. She tapped the speaker to listen to the messages. The first call was from her mom, of course—Ruth Lindstrom always knew when something was up with one of her girls; the next three were from Marcy and Heather and Melissa, friends at work who’d called to express their sympathy; and the last was from her sister. Maeve worked at Willow Pond Senior Care, and Macey was convinced that her little sister was the only human on earth who—like Tom Sawyer painting Aunt Polly’s fence—could make working in a nursing home sound like fun. Maeve loved recounting stories about the residents and their antics. “I’m off to the Sundowners’ Club,” she often said as she left for work with a smile that was truly genuine. She didn’t dread going to work, as did so many people who worked in this setting. She enjoyed being around “the old folks,” as she called them, and she loved helping them navigate their senior years—a time that is all too often a lonely stage of life. Maeve was a blessing at Willow Pond and a breath of fresh air to all who knew her.
“You’re not going to believe this, Mace,” Maeve’s cheerful voice said in her message, “Mr. Olivetti told me that he and his twin brother were in an orphanage for two years before they were adopted by a couple who couldn’t have children. He said the couple made all the difference in their lives . . . and there’s much more to their story—which I can tell you over lunch or coffee. By the way, when are we going to lunch or coffee? We are way overdue! Anyway, I think you and Ben should reconsider. Love ya! Call me!”
The message ended, and Macey dunked her tea bag several more times before squeezing a sliver of lemon into her mug. Maeve knew the baby had died—which was probably why she was hot on the topic of adoption (again)—but her little sister didn’t know that the actual sorrowful evidence had shown up in the bathroom that morning, so her timing couldn’t be worse. Macey shook her head. Maeve could be relentless sometimes. It was for good reason their mom called her Miss Persistence. But it didn’t matter how tenacious Maeve was on this—there was no way she was going to adopt. For one thing, Macey had never even considered adopting, so she couldn’t reconsider it. Not to mention that, deep down, she didn’t know if she could ever love an adopted child as much as she would love one who had come from making love with Ben, and that wouldn’t be fair to the child.
Macey cupped her hands around her mug and sank into Grandy’s old armchair. Whenever she sat in it, she felt like her grandmother’s loving arms were around her—something she needed more than anything right now. She’d almost called Ben before she’d stepped into the shower, but because the loss was still so real and raw, she’d decided to wait until she could pull herself together. Besides, she knew he was overwhelmed at work and she didn’t want him to feel like he had to rush home just to put his arms around her. No matter how loving a hug, it wouldn’t bring their baby back. They’d both known this was coming, and now, she just needed to give her body—and her heart—time to heal.
She took a sip of her tea, savoring the lemony-ginger combination. She’d recently read an article trumpeting the health benefits of ginger and lemon, and at this point she’d drink just about anything if it would make her feel better. Too bad my extra-healthy body can’t carry a baby, she thought miserably, as she cradled the mug in her hands and noticed the sun peeking through the clouds.
She stood up and looked out the window. Golden sunlight streamed through the Spanish moss, and she recalled the time Ben had pulled her behind a misty veil of moss to kiss her. She’d looked up at the shimmery curtain around them, and he’d explained that Spanish moss isn’t a moss at all. It’s not even Spanish, he’d added softly. It just floats in the breeze and attaches to trees, living solely on the moisture and nutrients in the air. Now, as she gazed at the drops of rain sparkling like thousands of tiny diamonds on gossamer veils, she put her mug on the table and studied the diamond on her hand, recalling the day Ben had given it to her. They’d been the only ones walking on Tybee Beach Pier on that absolutely frigid—even by New England standards—Christmas Eve afternoon. The sun was sinking below the horizon, and the Savannah sky was on fire, making the beach and ocean glow in an ethereal light.
“Mace,” Ben had said, pulling her to a stop.
She’d turned and realized his hands were trembling.
“I told you to wear gloves,” she’d teased with a grin as the wind whipped all around them, blowing her hair in every direction. She’d reached up and tried to tuck it behind her ears, but it was hopeless, and Ben had smiled, gently placed his hands on the sides of her head to hold it in place, and searched her eyes.
“What’s the matter?” she’d asked, frowning, suddenly worried.
“Nothing,” he’d said. “It’s just . . . Mace, I hope you know how much you mean to me.” He’d lightly traced a finger over the speckled map of freckles on her cheeks. “I want you to know that I can’t imagine my life without you in it. Even though we were just friends when you went away to college . . . and then to Paris, I felt lost without you. I felt like I’d lost my best friend, and I don’t ever want to feel that way again.” He’d paused and smiled. “I also want you to know that I already talked to your dad . . . and your mom, of course, because she refused to be left out”—he’d grinned—“and they . . . well . . . they approved.” Then he’d let go of her hair so he could reach into the pocket of his jacket.
Suddenly, Macey realized what was happening and felt her heart start to pound.
What came next, she would never forget: Ben had knelt on the wooden pier, mustered a brave smile, and said, “Mace, I’ve loved you since the moment I saw you in the eighth-grade lunch line . . . and I will always love you.” He’d opened the small black box and held it out, revealing a gorgeous pear-shaped diamond. “Macey Lindstrom, will you marry me?”
“Oh, Ben,” she’d said, tears filling her eyes. “Yes, yes, of course I’ll marry you!”
Ben had stood up and held her face in his hands again and kissed her for a very long time.
They’d both been shivering when they finally got back to his truck. “This is so perfect,” she’d said, admiring her new ring. “Now we can tell everyone at my parents’ tonight.”
Ben had looked over and smiled—it was all part of the plan.
Macey slowly turned the ring on her finger now, wondering, as she did every time she lost a baby, if Ben had any regrets. They’d talked so often about having kids. “A whole basketball team,” he’d joked, smiling. But in the years that followed, she hadn’t been able to give him a single point guard, and she’d often wondered if he’d have been happier if he’d married someone else—someone who didn’t cause him so much heartache.
She slumped back into the chair, closed her eyes, pulled the soft afghan Grandy had made around her shoulders, and drifted off, temporarily leaving her struggles and her sadness behind.