“I was in the neighborhood, anyway. Andrew was back at work, and I spoke to Luke and Marguerite and darling Adam and little Lucy on a video call this morning. Oh, it will be wonderful to have a little grandchild nearby! With Luke living so far away I never get to see Adam and Lucy as much as I should. So, you can imagine how excited I was to hear your news.”
“Mom…”
Sarah glanced across at Dan’s tired face.Lord, please help Dan and his family cope…
His mother ignored her son, trilling about something she couldn’t resist buying this morning. Fearing the worst, Sarah forced a smile as Mrs. Walton handed her the little gift bag, opening it to discover a tiny yellow jumpsuit with matching bootees.
She’d tried to hide the tears, but her mother-in-law was too quick.
“Why, Sarah, whatever is the matter? If you don’t like it…”
Dan interrupted roughly. “We lost the baby, Mom. Sarah had a miscarriage yesterday.”
As she’d lowered her head into her hands she tried not to hear Dan’s quiet quarrel with his mom about why they didn’t let them know this piece of information either. So much for sympathy.
How many other family members were still in the dark? How many other random presents were headed their way? How could she explain—again—that she was not going to bear a child, especially when she’d only just told them she was? Oh, this was too hard.
After faintly thanking Helen, Sarah had wandered off to bed, thankful to hide away and try and escape her pain for a few more hours of sleep.
Dan now touched her hair. “So, how are you feeling?” he asked again.
It was hard to shrug with sheets and quilts tangled around her chin. “Better.”
He studied her for a moment, then nodded. “Mom said she’d inform the rest of the family. I spoke to your folks. They’re telling Bek. There’s no-one else is there?”
“Only John and Ange.”
Dan sighed. “Great. So we’ll be in for some counseling from them, too.”
“Too?”
He looked over at her again. “Your dad. Thinks the answer to everything is a sermon.”
Wow. Even if it was kind of true, it was so unlike Dan to say something like that.
He sighed. “Sorry, Princess. But I just feel like we’re at the mercy of anyone who wants to drop in, give unwanted advice, then leave.”
What was it he’d once said to her? “People care.”
“I know, but…”
There was a world between knowing something was true and experiencing the unexpected cuts and bruises of real life.
Through the bedroom’s window came a baby’s cry.
She flinched. Anger surged. She tamped it down. It wasn’t Jackie and Lincoln’s fault if that sound was like fingernails screeching down an old-fashioned blackboard, reminding her of what eluded Dan and herself.
“Man.” Dan groaned. “I don’t want to let it get to me, but Lincoln’s little baby just brings it all back. I’m starting to hate that sound.”
“I know.” She didn’t wish them harm, but what she’d give for justonechild…
He thrust his hand through his hair then clasped his head. “I wish we could be elsewhere, just us, and not have to worry about who’s going to call or send flowers or drop in.”
She closed her eyes as tiredness flooded her again. “What about Muskoka?”
“Muskoka,” he repeated. “Yeah, maybe…”
Usually the drivenorth to Muskoka was filled with anticipation. This was the place she’d found healing and hope, after all. But today she felt numb. Part of her was glad to be escaping the city, and all the questions, all the guilt. Another part just wanted to sleep, to hide, to burrow under layers of blankets and never emerge again.
