Page 30 of Love Wells Kept

I clear my throat, buying time. “Since you mentioned my clothes earlier…and them being the only thing that fit when…um, are you pregnant?”

Regret seeps from my pores immediately when the light in her eyes all but disappears in a single blink. It’s as if she saw a ghost, and words fly out of my mouth in a stammering, incoherent attempt at backpedaling.

Kate puts her hand up to stop me, eyes shut tight. “No…No, I’m not pregnant.”

“Shit, see…that’s why I didn’t want to ask.”

“It’s fine. I told you that you could.” She pushes her chair back, and the grating squeal of metal dragged across the floor makes me wince. “You look tired, and I want to get back to the ranch before dark….”

I am tired. And for the first time since I woke up, I’m not as scared to go back to sleep. My brain’s whirring with stories she’s told me, and an image of the smile she has whenever she talks about her kids, and I know I’ll be thinking of both while I sleep.

She reluctantly stands, pressing a palm to her abdomen, and rocks on her heels. Purse in hand, she turns to the door, and I wait for her to saunter out.

At the last second, she spins to face me, and I can’t explain the sigh of relief that deflates my lungs. I’m counting down the seconds to when my room’s silent so I can sleep without her incessant chatter. And yet, I’d love for her to stay.

Kate steps in toward the edge of my bed, then lingers there with her index finger twirling the same loose blanket thread I was messing with earlier.

“Thought you were going,” I say.

Movement wary, she bends in close enough the softness of her lips connects with my forehead. And in a low, lulling voice, she says, “I’d never leave you without saying goodbye.”

Kate

Before stepping into Jackson’s room this morning, I detoured through the walk-in clinic on the lower level of the hospital and all but confirmed what I’d known to be true since I woke up with blood pooled between my legs. Another round of bloodwork in two days will undoubtedly show that there’s no pregnancy hormones left. The work my body did for seven weeks is gone, and the heartache is here to stay for the rest of my life.

The physical pain of miscarrying—the cramps that sent fire coursing down my legs and elicited a dull pain in my lower back that was eerily similar to the back labor I endured with both Odessa and Rhett—or even the emotional pain of losing what could’ve been was nothing compared to the pain of slipping a calm mask over my face and telling Jackson I’m not pregnant. There wasn’t a single blip of recognition in his eyes. Nothing to indicate that merely a week prior he was pressing soft kisses to my stomach and talking about how excited he was for another baby. That man would have a dozen kids if it were up to him.

And while I didn’t lie to him today, it felt like I did. For the very first time, I sat across from my husband and I didn’t tell him the entire truth. That I was pregnant mere hours before. That I was trying my best to keep my composure while actively bleeding. That I fear it’s my own doing—the lack of sleep or proper nutrition or the shameful thoughts I sometimes had about things being easier if…

Stepping out of his room, I walked in time with my short, shallow breaths to the elevator bank. My eyes shut until I heard the clamorous sound of the elevator stopping. And thank God that tiny space was empty, because I fell apart on the slow descent to the parking lot.

—

My car door slams shut and I fill my lungs with the aroma of damp earth. The air’s cold, but not quite cold enough to turn the drizzle to ice. For a minute, I look out across the ranch I’ve called home since I was twenty years old. The massive white barn and the staggered cabins and bunkhouses carrying on into the dark. Soft glow filtered through windows painted on the rain-soaked grass. Beyond that, hayfields and mountains and herds of cattle carry on, and though I can’t see them right now, I’ve looked out over this view enough times I can picture it vividly.

When Jackson thinks about the ranch he grew up on, is it a hazy recollection of a ranch that feels fictional, like something he’s read in a book, or is it in full Technicolor?

The big house where we live is a gathering place, of sorts. Before I came around, when the boys’ grandfather and mother were alive, it was apparently much the same. The ranch was teeming with life—ranch hands, their wives and children, old family friends relaxing on the porch, sipping coffee around the kitchen table, or drinking beer on the riverbank. Then Lucy fell ill, and the entire ranch became crestfallen.

Jackson and I worked hard to revive the energy, and tonight I can hear laughter and the faint echo of music reverberating off the walls. It’s warm and cozy and smells like freshly baked brownies. I find Odessa curled up on the couch watching some kids’ cartoon with talking dogs. Red and Cassidy’s toddler, Hazel, is fast asleep with her head on Odessa’s lap, and Rhett’s taking up more than his fair share of the couch, sleeping with his mouth hanging wide open.

I creep in, careful not to wake the sleeping littles, and crouch next to Odessa.

She looks at me, wide-eyed, and asks in a hushed voice, “Did you give Daddy my card?”

My whisper matches hers. “He loved it.”

“Is he coming home soon?”

“I hope so, Dess. I hope so.” I kneel on the antique rug in the middle of the floor and reach for the remote to pause her show. “I need to have a big-girl talk with you, okay?”

Her nose scrunches, collecting the small smattering of brown dots on her skin. During the summer, she’ll have more freckles than the sky has stars.

“First of all, I want to make it clear that Dad is healthy, okay? The doctors are amazed by how quickly he’s recovering…but…” A boulder-sized knot wedges low in my throat. “But…he doesn’t remember anything from before the accident.”

“Like that he was gonna buy me a horse?”

“Well, yeah…that and more. I’m telling you this because I know you listen to the adults when they’re in the kitchen, or the guys are talking about stuff down in the barn. I don’t want you to hear something and feel confused or scared.”