Jackson

Popping the top off a beer, I pull a chair up in Patrick’s office. My last meeting today went long, so I was happy to see that Patrick was still here.

“What’s on your mind, man?” he asks.

“Bad news, brother. Amelia had a miscarriage today.” Crossing my foot over my knee, I get comfortable in the chair even though I’m anything but.

“I’m sorry. How are you feeling?” Patrick’s elbows come down to the surface of the desk, his head cocks to the side.

Conflicted. I’m ashamed to say it. There wasn’t much time for me to get used to the idea of being a father. But now that I’ve heard she lost the baby, part of me aches for the child we might’ve had. “It’s terrible.”

“Where is she?”

“At the hospital. We only talked on the phone for a minute. She was distant.” Her voice was as cold as ice when we spoke.

“Why aren’t you there comforting her?” His tone is curious, not accusing.

“She told me not to come. Shouldn’t I respect her wishes?”

“Women are so damned confusing. They often say one thing and mean another. My bet is that she’d rather have you there.”

“Then why the hell would she tell me not to?”

He shakes his head, eyes gazing off out the window. No doubt contemplating a good answer to give me when there just aren’t any. “I can’t explain it. Hell, if I could, maybe my wife would still be here.”

It’s rare that he brings up Maggie. She’s always a sore subject. That’s why I do my best to tread lightly and not bring her up. “Don’t say that. None of us understand what was going on in her head when she took off. Stop blaming yourself.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to bring her up. I’m not being sensitive to you. Amelia lost a baby today. It’s a terrible loss and she has to be crushed. If I were you, I’d go up there, bring her some flowers. Tell her you’re sorry about what happened. She’ll like that better than you staying away.”

She seemed pretty adamant about me not visiting her. And she’s not alone. “I would like to see her.” Imagining her lying in the hospital, upset and sore, tugs at me. “You’re right. I’m going to go.”

This brings a memory up for me, as clear as day. I was thirteen and spending the weekend with Will. Amelia started to have pain in her side one evening. Her mom took her to the ER. She had an appendicitis attack. The next morning, Will’s dad wanted to go see Amelia at the hospital and wouldn’t leave us home alone, so we had to go with him.

Walking through the doors of the hospital, I still remember the strong antiseptic smell, it made me want to pass out. And then seeing the ten-year-old Amelia, laying on the bed, pale with dark rings under her eyes. My chest ached. I wanted to go to her, touch her. Make sure she was going to be okay. That’s when I knew I cared for her. She was no longer just Will’s sister, but someone I wanted to protect and look out for.

“Great idea. I’ve got to head home too. Check on the nanny and see Lauren before it’s time to tuck her in.” His face lights up talking about his daughter. She brings him such happiness.

Would I be like that? Rushing home to play with my kid and read them bedtime stories? Yes, I think I would. Drinking the last of my beer, I stand up and say, “It’s time to go see my girl.”

“Just be there for her. That’s all you have to do.”

“Got it. Thanks,” I say before rushing out of his office and going to mine to get my keys.

* * *

Hospitals are the worst. The smell, the sickness, and sadness. My legs get weak as I round the corner toward Amelia’s room. The entire way over here I knew I was making the right move by coming. Now, when I know she’s just down the hall, I’m not so sure.

Just outside her room, I take a few deep breaths, and straighten the bouquet of flowers I picked up in the gift shop downstairs.

Opening the door, I look inside, unsure of what I’ll see. Amelia is pale and she’s lying there, not moving an inch. Her eyes are closed, but red rimmed. There’s monitors behind her and she has an IV in her arm. Next to her sits a woman who’s probably a few years older than Amelia. I bet she’s closer to my age. She’s reading something on her phone. I clear my throat and the woman looks up.

She gets up out of her chair and comes up to me. She points toward the hallway. We walk out there together.

“Hi, my name is Dora.” She puts her small hand out toward mine. Her nails are long and painted red.

“I’m Jackson.”

Her mouth makes an O shape and her brown eyes scan my body. “You’re Jackson. Nice to meet you.”

“Do you work with Amelia?” I vaguely remember her mentioning a co-worker with that name.

“Yes. And when she called me this morning to tell me something wasn’t right, I called our boss to tell him.”

Nodding, I say, “Good. Do you know what happened?”

Her forehead scrunches up; she’s not sure how much to tell me. “She told you over the phone. She had a miscarriage.”

Yes. She mentioned that, and I was wondering why she needed surgery. It doesn’t seem like Dora is ready to tell me anything. Clenching my jaw, I ask, “Right. How long has she been sleeping?”

“It took her quite some time to get comfortable and relax. The nurse gave her something to sleep. I don’t think she’s going to be waking up anytime soon.”

“I could relieve you and stay.”

“No. She asked me to stay. And I remember she asked you to stay home tonight. Don’t you think you owe it to her to respect her wishes?” she asks with an authoritative tone, crossing her arms in front of her ample chest.

Stretching my neck in both directions does nothing to ease the tension settling there. I had resolved to come see Amelia and be here for her. It’s as if Dora thinks she’s Amelia’s body guard. She’s not backing down and there’s something in her squared off stance and facial expression that tells me there’s not a damn thing I can do to change her mind. I hand her the flowers. “Tell her I stopped by, please. And have her call me when she wakes up. I don’t care what time it is.”

“I’ll tell her.” She gives me a half-hearted smile and walks back into the room.

As I take the elevator down to the ground floor, the wind goes out of my sails. Things went differently in my mind. I saw myself coming to the hospital and taking Amelia in my arms. We would comfort each other. She would cry on my shoulder. But none of that happened. It didn’t feel like the right time or the right place to tell off her co-worker. It’s all going to have to wait for tomorrow. I’m not going to back down next time.

* * *

Two damn days go by and I still haven’t seen Amelia. Work has been chaos, but I would’ve made time to drive her home from the hospital. Her bodyguard, Dora, took Amelia back to her house to help take care of her. When I told Amelia that I would be happy to take a few days off and be there for her, she insisted that all was well and that she would be fine at Dora’s house. Except I could tell she wasn’t doing well. It’s eating me alive that I can’t be with her. She won’t even give me Dora’s address.

Amelia is avoiding me. I don’t chase women, but here I am. She’s different than all of the others; she’s special. Beautiful, smart, funny, and she challenges me at every turn.

I’m distracted as fuck at work. My head aches and there’s a permanent knot that’s imbedded itself squarely between my shoulder blades. Brae’s been on my ass asking me what’s wrong. I’ve been avoiding him. We have a huge project coming up. I’ve got to get focused. Everyone in my path knows not to fuck with me. I’m blowing up at people for stupid reasons. The situation with Amelia is fucking with my head.

Sifting through the large stack of mail on my desk that’s been sitting here for days, there’s an envelope with frilly woman’s handwriting. Tearing it open, it’s an invitation to Will and Julia’s engagement party. The date is this weekend. I knew it was coming up, but I never put the date in my planner. Shit. I have to go. Of course, he’s my best friend. But I’m not ready to see Will and Amelia in the same location. It could get awkward.

Picking up my cell, I dial Amelia’s number. I’m typing an email on my computer, because I know the likelihood of Amelia answering my call is slim. She takes forever to answer. Just as I think I’m going to have to leave a voice mail, she picks up. “Hello.” Her tone is dripping icicles. My hands halt over the keys.

“How are you doing today?”

“I’m okay.”

“Are you still in pain?” I hate that she’s in any pain at all.

“No, I’m doing much better.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Can I see you tonight?” Fuck if I don’t sound desperate. I fiddle with the stacks of papers on my desk, not sure what to do with my anxious energy.

The line is quiet for what feels like forever. “Not tonight.”

The side of me that’s impatient wants to tell her that I’m coming to find Dora’s house to pick her up, then put her over my shoulder, and take her to my house. I tuck that side of me far away; there’s no place for him here tonight. “Okay, but I’d like to see you soon. I’m worried about you.”

“Really, Jackson, I’m fine. You don’t have to worry about me.”

Why does she think she has to be so damn strong all the time? “That’s impossible. I care about you and you’ve gone through so much lately. I wish you’d let me be there for you.”

Amelia sniffs a few times into the phone.

“Are you crying? Please let me see you,” I plead with her. Hearing her cry is like torture. Nothing wrecks me more than that. I don’t know if there’s anything I can say or do to help her, but I’d like the chance to try.

“Give me some time, okay? You’re right, this isn’t easy. Let me process this in my own way,” she says in that stubborn tone of hers. She’s always been this way, and when she gets something in her head, good luck trying to change it.

“Okay. I respect that.” Even though I don’t particularly like it.

“Thank you.” Her tone softens.

“Are you going to Will’s engagement party this weekend?”

“Of course,” she says.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d be up for it.”

“I’m not, but how would I explain it if I didn’t show up? And I know you’re going too. I need to ask you not to talk to me about the baby. At all. If I get upset, people will ask questions that I don’t want to answer. Okay?”

Of course, I don’t want to upset her, but I’m going to talk to her. It’ll be impossible for me to avoid her. Especially since I haven’t seen her in days. “I won’t bring up the baby.”

“Good, thank you. I’ve got to go get some rest.” There’s relief in her tone. Does she honestly believe that I want to make life hard for her?

“If you need anything, day or night, I’m here for you.”

“Goodbye, Jackson.”

“Goodbye.”

When the call ends, I’m crushed. She won’t let me see her and she’s sad. All of my instincts tell me to go to her, but I refuse to go against her wishes. At least I know I’ll get to see her this weekend.