stopped at Smith & Roland on my way home and wheeled Preston down the hall toward Sheila’s office. The office employees greeted us with wide smiles and cheery hellos and I plastered on my smile. When we reached Sheila’s office, I knocked and waited. Her shrieks blared from behind the closed door. Yikes. I remembered those days. Luckily, Sheila and I were on a whole different level now. I respected her and was certain she had at least a little bit for me too.
When the door opened, a young woman came out, eyes puffy. Our glances met and I tried to smile. “I’ve been where you are.”
She walked off and I pushed the stroller through the door and closed it behind me.
“What happened to you the other day? One minute we’re singing and the next you were gone?” She stood and unbuckled Preston’s seatbelt, sitting back in her chair with him on her lap. After pulling open a drawer, she sprinkled some goldfish crackers on her desk–treats she kept in her office for him.
“Um…well.” No point in lying. She’d see right though it. “I had to go to the hospital. I’m having a miscarriage.”
Her eyes met mine and I recognized the hurt. She’d gone through the same thing some fifteen years ago, and still hadn’t recovered. I knew by the way she held Preston to her–the way she spoiled him. And how she watched over Amanda and took care of her as if she were her child, rather than just a niece.
“I’m sorry.”
I nodded. “Thanks.”
She poured a few more fish, then rummaged through a desk drawer. “Here are the cover art options for Mama Drama. What do you think?”
Business as usual. Sheila dealt with pain by submerging herself in work.
“Any chance you can get me the first draft of Which Way to Broadway by the fifteenth of next month?”
Maybe she thought I needed that too. “Shouldn’t be a problem.”
Might be a good idea anyway. I needed something to occupy my mind. And this new story, loosely based on Amanda and her experience with moving to New York, was sure to keep my mind baby-free. Unlike my last novel, this one included no babies, aside from a pregnant BFF making an occasional appearance.
* * * *
Kevin’s sister Jeanette watched Preston while Rich and I headed to my OB appointment. Right away the nurse took a blood sample, then seated me in a room–paper gown in hand. When the doctor came in, she gave a sympathetic smile.
“How are you, Lexi?”
I was sick of answering that question. Between my mother, and Jeanette, and Amanda, and Rachel, and every other person who had called me over the past two days, my answer of “Okay” had been perfected, regardless of how I actually felt. I wanted to scream, “My baby died. I’m fucking devastated. Why are you asking me such a stupid fucking question?” But no one wanted to hear that.
“I have your blood test results and your HCG levels are lower than the hospital’s test, so that’s good. May take a few more days to go down to zero.” She sat on her rolling stool. “I’m sure the hospital gave you some literature. Is there anything you need clarification on?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“Okay, have you–”
“I have a question,” Rich interrupted.
“Of course.”
He hesitated before asking, his eyes blinking back tears. “Can sex cause a miscarriage?”
The doctor’s eyes softened as she looked from Rich to me and back again. “No, it can’t. Sex during any stage of pregnancy is more than fine.”
“But, um…what if it was different positions? We did it the night before the miscarriage started.”
“Having sex did not cause this. Please don’t blame yourselves. There is no explanation for why miscarriage happens. And honestly, the baby most liked passed away a week or two ago.”
My heart sank to the floor. My baby had been inside me, already dead, and I hadn’t noticed? How could I not know there was something wrong?
“Have you passed any clots–large ones?”
I shook my head. “Just a couple small ones.”
“I’d like to do another ultrasound, to see what’s going on.”
We gathered my things and the doctor escorted us to one of the ultrasound rooms. The technician joined us and I already knew the drill. I lay back and she inserted the wand. The gray image of my womb came on the screen, empty.
“Everything is expelling as it should be. But I do see a small sac still attached to the lining of your uterus.”
My baby.
“It should come loose in the next few days. It will look like the other clots, only a bit larger. Give me a call when it happens and we’ll do another HCG check and ultrasound to make sure everything is as it should be.”
This wasn’t how it should be. My baby should be alive and growing, not waiting to be “expelled.”
I nodded, having no other reaction. The doctor said her goodbye and I redressed. Rich took my hand as we walked home instead of taking a cab. It was a long walk, but the late spring day begged to be taken advantage of. Plus, the walk would do us good.
The sidewalks were filled with businessmen and tourists, all in a hurry to get somewhere. Rich and I walked as if we had nowhere to be and were in no rush to get there. He held my hand in his and we walked on, almost in a daze.
When we reached our building, we both stopped. I had no desire to go home. Jeanette had Preston for the rest of the afternoon–she’d told us to take our time. We had no real need to go home.
Rich looked at me. “Wanna keep walking?”
I nodded.
We walked past a flower shop, the sidewalk out front covered with buckets and pails filled with blooms of all shapes, sizes, and colors. Rich stopped for a minute, caressing the petals of a bright yellow rose.
“Wait here a minute.”
He dashed inside the flower shop. What was he doing? Through the front window, I watched him walk up to the counter. A minute later, the woman had brought him a small white box. He handed her some cash and after receiving change, he was back outside.
“What was that all about?”
“I have an idea. Come with me.”
He hailed a cab and asked the driver to take us to the Central Park pond. I didn’t ask what was in the box or why we were going to the park. Rich had something in his mind and I was along for the ride.
When the cab stopped, Rich paid and I followed him toward the Gapstow Bridge, which curved over the neck of the pond. He stopped at the highest spot of the bridge, facing the water, and placed the small white box on the ledge. Images of tall green trees reflected on the water as ducks swam and dunked their heads for food.
He opened the box and inside sat two perfect gardenias. Lifting them out, he handed one to me, then brought the other to his nose, inhaling its sweet aroma. Our free hands intertwined and I squeezed tight, meeting his gaze, eyes wet with fresh tears.
The warmth of his lips touched mine and then he turned back to his gardenia. “Goodbye,” he whispered and tossed his bloom into the water. It landed perfectly, ripples surrounding it.
I did the same, mine landing a few feet from Rich’s. He drew in a deep breath and exhaled, taking me into his arms. We stood there for a while before continuing home.
Chapter 5
Back to work. I needed to finish my first draft of Which Way to Broadway. But more than that, I needed the distraction. By nine AM, Rich had gone,