“That’s good,” I say. “A little exercise, a little fresh air. That’s good.” My voice is calm, encouraging, supportive, but inside my heart is beating a little faster than it was a minute ago because I’m wondering if Lily is going to say that something happened to the baby, that she lost the baby yesterday. My palms are clammy now; they start to sweat. The last time it happened, she was nine weeks along, like now. We’d already been to the doctor. We’d had an ultrasound and heard the baby’s heartbeat. The doctor had told us that the risk of miscarriage went down after detecting a fetal heartbeat for the first time, to something like a few percent, 4 or 5, I can’t remember. Still, the doctor was wrong. She filled us with false hope. We didn’t think anything bad could happen at that point. Shame on us. Lily had a history with recurrent miscarriages by then. She wasn’t like other women the doctor saw. That small 4 or 5 percent included Lily, because she lost that baby even after hearing a heartbeat.
Lily was at work when it happened, sitting in on an IEP meeting when she felt the rush of blood between her legs. She sat there until the end of the meeting, until everyone else had cleared the room. When she stood up, she looked down and saw the blood on the chair. It came as no surprise, but was no less devastating.
Now Lily’s hand shakes as she reaches for her water bottle. She unscrews the cap, brings it to her mouth and takes a long swig. She lowers the water bottle slowly back to the countertop and replaces the cap. It’s dragged out. She’s searching for the words to tell me the baby is dead, that she lost it yesterday when she was at Langley Woods. She came home. She showered, washing the blood away. The baby’s gone. That’s why she was so upset last night. There will be a D&C to clean out what’s left of it. It’s old hat. We’ve done this before. This is nothing new for us.
Lily’s voice shakes when she speaks.
“Jake Hayes was there,” she says. It’s not what I expect to hear. It takes a second to regroup, to replace thoughts of miscarriage with Jake’s face.
“Oh yeah?” I ask, flooding with relief that this has nothing to do with the baby. I let out a breath. I feel my body sag, my shoulders droop forward. I didn’t realize how much tension I was holding in until I release it. They say that emotional pain is far worse than any physical pain you can experience, which makes the relief from it all the more profound. The baby is fine. I’m still going to be a dad. Everything is okay. “Did you talk to him?” I ask, my tone turning optimistic. “How’s he doing? We haven’t seen him in what—six months?”
Nina Hayes teaches at the high school with Lily. She and her husband, Jake, are mutual friends. Lily sees Nina almost every day, but it’s been a while since either of us has seen Jake. He’s a surgeon. He’s too busy saving lives to hang out with us.
What I realize is that Lily’s whole body is now shaking. What started as a shakiness in her hands and her voice has spread. “You look like you’re freezing,” I say, coming around to her side of the island, reaching forward to run my hands along Lily arms for friction. Up and down, up and down. It’s not cold in the house, but I run warm. Even in December I’ve been known to crack a window. But it’s September still. It’s too early to turn on the heat, not when the temperatures still reach eighty some days, even if they do drop to the upper forties and fifties at night. “Are you feeling okay?” I ask, touching her forehead with the back of my hand. She doesn’t feel warm, but still I say, “Why don’t you call in sick today? Take the day off. Rest.”
“I can’t,” Lily says. “I’m giving a test tomorrow. I promised the kids we’d go over their study guides today, so they’re ready for it.” Lily is far too conscientious. It’s her one weakness, if it’s even a weakness.
“Can’t a sub do it?” I ask.
Shaking her head, Lily says, “No. The subs are good, but they’re not me. They don’t always know the answers. They don’t always explain it right. I don’t want the kids to get stressed. If I call in for the day, I’ll have to push the test back, and then we’ll be behind.”
“So?”
“It’s not worth it. I’m okay,” she says decisively, pulling away from my hand. “I can go. I’ll just nap when I get home.”
“Tomorrow is Wednesday already,” I say to try and brighten her mood. “Two days down, just three days until the weekend and then for forty-eight hours, you don’t have to get out of bed. I’m at your beck and call. Anything you need—back rub, foot rub, breakfast in bed—I’m your guy.”
Three days until the weekend is almost the most pathetic consolation prize ever, but I’m trying. She humors me with a smile. “Sounds amazing,” she says.
Lily leaves her plate with half a piece of toast behind. She takes her water bottle and moves toward the garage door to leave. She mostly wears pants these days, as the days get cooler, and because she feels more comfortable in pants. Today they’re leggings, with a stretchy waist. She’s gained maybe a pound or two, the kind of weight gain noticeable to her but no one else. She hasn’t told anyone we’re pregnant.
The leggings look incredible on her, but then again, anything would look incredible on her.
Lily picks up her bag by the door. She lifts it onto her shoulder. It looks heavy and I go to take it from her, to carry it to her car for her, but she says she’s fine.
“You sure?”
“Yes. I’m sure. Have a good day. Love you,” she says.
“Hey.”
“What?”
“You never told me about seeing Jake,” I remind her, remembering then. She stops with her back to me, her hand on the garage door handle. “Is he doing good?” I ask.
Lily wheels slowly around. She looks at me, and then she looks at the clock above my head. I glance back over my shoulder. It’s a big, oversize clock, the little hand pointing at the Roman numeral six. School starts before seven for her, which is ridiculous if you ask me. What high schooler is up and functional at seven in the morning? It’s black outside when Lily leaves for work, the only saving grace being that she’s home before three o’clock, hours before me. I don’t envy her in the mornings, but I do when afternoon comes.
“I have to go,” she says, “or I’ll be late. I’ll tell you tonight, okay?”
“Okay,” I say. “Love you.” Lily leaves. I move to the front of the house to watch her headlights pull out of the garage and off down the street.
The day gets away from me. For the next eight hours, I don’t think again about Jake Hayes or what Lily was going to say to me about running into him.
NINA
Jake never came home.
It’s all I can think about.
I stayed awake until after two in the morning, grading papers, or trying to anyway, but I didn’t get through all of them. I had my phone beside me the whole time, in case he tried to call or text. He didn’t. I wanted to call or text him again, but I’d already sent three texts and left the voice mail. I told myself that he would call when he was ready to talk. I didn’t want to make things worse by annoying him. He didn’t come home for a reason and that reason was me. He didn’t want to see me. He didn’t want to talk to me. I messed up, but Jake is notorious for holding grudges. I worry what happens if he doesn’t forgive me.