Written in the Scars (23 page)

An image of what that must’ve looked like, what she must’ve felt like, what she must’ve gone through, rumbles through my mind. Abandoned by me, losing a child she didn’t even know she had.

If only I’d stayed.

A humiliation as deep as I’ve ever known swamps me. “I’m sorry,” I say as the unfamiliar feeling of tears dropping past my lashes begins. It’s like a dam—once it’s breached, it’s uncontrollable.

My body shakes against her as I cry for being a failure. I cry for the loss of a child I didn’t know existed, for not being there for my best friend at the one time of her life she needed me more than ever.

I cry for not paying attention at work, letting myself get lazy and not watching the beam that fell on me and smashing my leg. I cry for my weakness of needing the pills to feel better and not rehabbing it, working harder at it, and needing an easy way out.

I cry for all those things for a long time. Elin holds me, our roles reversed, as she, the victim, becomes the strong one. And that makes me feel even fucking worse.

When I look at her again, she smiles in a way that shows what she would’ve looked like as a mother. It’s the way she looks when she talks about her students, about Dustin when he got into trouble, the way she looked when she called 911 when she found a baby deer struck by a car on the side of the road as a teenager.

“Now you know,” she whispers, rubbing her thumb against my lips.

“This is why you’ve been pushing me away?”

She nods as we reach for each other, the only other person that feels the pain we do, the only other person that can heal us from that very hurt.

The chill in the air dances across my bare skin and I shiver as my body comes down from the adrenaline.

“You ready to go?” she asks.

“Yeah.”

“Ty?”

“Yeah?”

She reaches for me with a shaky hand. “Will you kiss me?”

In the midst of the fireflies, under the bright fall moon, I kiss my wife with everything I have.

TY

I take my eyes off the road just long enough to glance at her sleeping beside me, her head resting on my shoulder. I just look at her face and think back to what this little pit bull, as Cord calls her, has been through. Alone. It’s enough to break the strongest man.

My teeth ache from being ground against one another in order to keep from going crazy. I need to yell, need to vent, need to make something feel the pain I feel.

She stirs beside me as I pull into the driveway. Killing the engine, I sit and try to gather my thoughts.

The only sound is her faint breathing, and while I want to talk to her, apologize, try to find some comfort in her, I’m glad for the quiet. It’s like a bubble in the truck, she and I insulated from the world.

Elin loves me. And for that, I’m the luckiest fucker on the face of the planet. And that she still loves me after all of this? It’s a blessing I can’t fathom, but one I won’t fail to acknowledge every day for the rest of my life.

Scooting my seat back to the farthest position, I pull her onto my lap. She curls up against me, her arms going around my neck and her head against my shoulder. I kiss her forehead before opening the door and carrying her towards the house.

“What’s going on?” she asks sleepily as I push the back door open, the squeaking waking her. “Where are we?”

“Home,” I say, kicking the door closed behind us.

“I can walk.”

“Shh,” I whisper, finding my way through the darkness like the back of my hand. “Let me carry you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I know I don’t. I want to. Let me, please.”

“Okay,” she says softly, her cheek finding my chest again.

Padding down the hallway, I enter our bedroom. The moonlight streams through the window, giving me enough light to see our bed. The blue sheets are her favorite, the cream comforter in a messy heap at the bottom. She never makes the bed and seeing it like that, the same as always, makes me smile.

I lay her against the sheets. She smiles up at me, a soft, knowing smile, and kicks off her shoes and socks. “Grab your t-shirt off the dresser, please,” she asks, wiggling out of her jeans. I grab the shirt and turn back to face her and she’s sitting naked on the center of the bed.

I should say something—compliment her body or tell her how beautiful she looks, but with the truths of the night, it all seems wrong. I don’t know what to say. Maybe she’s right and there is nothing to say.

“Shirt?” she asks, holding out her hand.

Tossing her the shirt, she slips it over her head and slithers down in the blankets.

Her hair spilling against the sheets, she peers up at me. Propping herself up on her elbows, we stare at each other, a husband and a wife trying to find the steps to a dance that once came so naturally.

“If I tell you something, promise you won’t laugh at me?” she asks.

“No. But I’ll try not to.”

She smiles and snuggles further into the blankets. “I remember one night I couldn’t sleep. I felt like everything I wanted had been robbed from me and I was just beyond sad. Beyond angry. Just almost numb, I guess. And I got out of bed for the first time in a couple of days and walked into the living room and laid on the couch. I turned the television on and flipped through the channels and landed on some two a.m. preacher. He was talking about love, naturally, and how we should use every experience in our life to build love and how that’s a test in this world. How can you take your darkest moments and find a way to love more?”

I watch her eyes twinkle in the moonlight and I know she’s getting ready to amaze me. She never fails.

“I start crying,” she continues, “even though I’m certain there are no tears left. And I’m sure there’s no way I can find love in this mess. I loved you and you left. I loved this baby and it was taken from me. How can I be expected to find love in that? It was laughable.”

“I see your point.”

“But then I fall asleep and I have this dream, Ty. Not about you,” she adds, pointing a finger at me. “You were still on the black list. It was about the baby. I didn’t see it or anything, but the feeling of being pregnant, this . . . this . . . it’s a fullness. A warmth. Like you’re rounded out or something. I can’t explain it. And that’s the thing,” she said, propping back up on her elbows again. “Even though I was losing the baby, that feeling was there, just like the first time. I felt it. Maybe for a few hours or a day, but I felt it.”

“Elin . . .” The rest of the sentence catches in my throat, despite the simple smile on her face.

“I loved that baby,” she says, her voice breaking. “And if I never get pregnant again, I have an inkling of what it would’ve been like and I’m grateful for that.”

I climb across the bed and gather her in my arms. She lays across me, her hair spilling over my elbow and her eyes looking up at me so intently.

“You amaze me,” I whisper. “You are the strongest person I know.”

She laughs, a sweet, gentle giggle. “I don’t know about that. But I made it through losing you and losing a baby at the same time, so I’m pretty sure I can make it through anything.”

“You didn’t lose me,” I scoff.

“Well, it sure as hell felt like it.”

“I will never leave you again, regardless of why or how. I will always come back.”

“Promise me?”

“Absolutely.”

She presses her lips against mine before climbing off me. She lies beside me and waits for me to make a move.

I slip off my clothes, down to my boxers, and then unfold beside her. “I’m making an executive decision to sleep in my bed,” I say, pulling her against my side.

“I suppose I’ll go along with that.” Her hand drapes over my side and traces the scars on my back. “Even though you’re here, I don’t want you to think this means I want to jump back to where we left off. And I have questions for you still . . .”

“Fire away. Whenever you’re ready.”

She kisses the center of my chest and sighs. “I’ve missed this.”

“Not as much as me. I’ve been sleeping on couches for the past few months. My back is aching like a motherfucker.”

She laughs. “I’m glad you were miserable, and I’m not even sorry.”

“Sadist.”

“Realist.” Her leg wraps over mine like it does before she falls asleep. “Does this mean you are moving back in?”

“I think it’s time for the rest of me to come home,” I say, kissing the top of her head.

She yawns, her heartbeat evening out. “The rest of you?”

“My heart was always here,” I whisper.

Smiling as she pulls me tighter, her voice is full of sleep when she finally speaks. “I’m still mad at you.”

“I can live with that,” I whisper as we both fall asleep.

ELIN

The sun is too bright. My eyes fight to open against the assault blazing through the windows. Glancing at the clock, I see it’s almost noon and I struggle to determine that it is Saturday and I haven’t overslept.

My body feels deliciously rested, my brain cozy from getting hours of uninterrupted sleep. It’s confusing considering my lack of any real sleep lately . . . and then I look to the vertical pillow beside me and see Ty’s clothes on the floor.

Closing my eyes, I smile. He’s home both because he wants to be and I want him to be. Maybe he did always want to be?

The load off my shoulders is a giant relief as I remember telling him about the pregnancy.

My feet are cold against the floor, my body chilling because either the furnace is broken again or he’s turned down the thermostat. I don’t even care.

Aiming for the kitchen, I pad down the hall but stop when I notice the nursery door scooted open. My fingertips find the wooden edge and I press it forward slowly.

Ty is standing near the windows in his boxers, looking at the big oak tree outside. He glances over his shoulder, his morning hair all crazy in the most perfect way.

“Good morning,” I say, coming up behind him. I wrap my arms around his fit waist and lay my head on his back.

“Morning,” he says, his hands resting on my threaded ones at his front. “I tried to sneak out so I didn’t wake you.”

“You didn’t. I slept better than I have in months.”

“Me too.”

Our bodies sway, a comfortable lull that could put me to sleep again. I press a kiss in the center of his back and walk around to his side. “How are you today?” I ask. “Hungry?”