Chapter Six – THEN

 

I look around the dining room at my handiwork.  The table is set with a white cloth, a low vase of red roses in the center that give off a delicate scent, and two pillar candles for the romantic ambience I’m aiming for.  I smile, proud of how it turned out.  The oven timer dings and I shoot into the kitchen to pull the pot roast from the oven.  Brant’s favorite.  It’s our one-year anniversary and I decided to take off work early and use my key to his house so I can surprise him with a delicious home-cooked meal, and the news that we are expecting our first child.

I’m nervous, giddy with anticipation.  We haven’t talked about having children or marriage, or even living together, but I’m certain he will be as happy as I am.  Our relationship is moving slowly and steadily, at a pace we are both comfortable with.  Brant is so busy climbing the corporate ladder that we don’t get to spend a lot of time together, but I prefer quality or quantity anyway.  Plus, I’m not the kind of girl who needs to spend every waking minute with her guy.  But things will be changing in a few months, and I only hope Brant will be happy about the new – unexpected – direction our relationship is taking.  I’m just past the first trimester, so the nausea has stopped, and now I want to celebrate with my love.

I check the clock and realize he should be home any minute now, so I dish up our plates and set them on the table, along with a small gift box containing a grainy black and white image of our baby.  I pop the top off a beer for Brant and pour a glass of Kool-Aid for myself. Funny that something I haven’t had since I was a kid is now the thing I’m craving most.  Kool-Aid and bologna sandwiches.  I can’t get enough.  Why didn’t I bring some bologna from home?  Damn.  I sip my drink and try not to think of cold cuts.

I peek out at the street through the curtains on the front windows, almost crawling out of my skin with excitement as I wait to see his sleek, black sports car pulling into the drive.  After five minutes, I check my phone for a text message.  Nothing other than the text conversation we had just before lunch when he told me he loved me.

Liv: Hey babe, what time do you think you’ll be home from work?

I pace the kitchen, watching the clock for another ten minutes before I decide to put our plates in the oven so at least the food stays warm.

Still no reply text from Brant.  It’s so strange for him not to reply within minutes of receiving a message from me.  Even when he is in a board meeting or with a client, he always shoots off a ‘busy, text you soon’ type of response.  To not receive anything for longer than thirty minutes is definitely not his style.

I hear a car coming down the street, so I run to the window and glance out, hope filling my chest, only to deflate when a beat-up maroon Honda roars past.

“Where are you, Brant?” I mutter.

As if summoned from my thoughts, my phone vibrates and rings on the table.  I dash to it, not looking at the caller ID, already knowing it’s him.  He will probably apologize for not messaging and making me worry.

“Hey, babe,” I answer, smiling into the phone.

“Liv.”  The voice on the other end isn’t the smooth tone I’m expecting.  Rather it’s the rough rasp of the man who returned from another tour of Afghanistan just weeks ago.

“Kyle,” I gasp.  “Sorry, I thought it was Brant.”  As embarrassed as I am, it doesn’t overpower the frizzle of electricity I feel shoot through my body from his single spoken word.

“Liv,” he repeats, and it’s only now I notice the underlying hesitation and emotion in his voice.

“Kyle,” I say warily.

“Where are you?” he asks carefully.

“I’m at Brant’s.  I’m waiting for him to come home from work,” I explain.  “What’s going on?”

When he doesn’t reply after what seems like forever, but is more like ten seconds, I repeat my question.  “What’s going on?  Is it Celia?  Is she okay?”

“There’s been an accident,” he confesses. 

“An accident?”  Confusion knits my brows together.

“Stay there.  I’ll come to you.”  With those parting words, he ends the call, leaving me standing in the silent dining room of Brant’s house, feeling bewildered.

A million scenarios race through my mind during the ten minutes it takes until Kyle is bursting through Brant’s front entrance.  Is Brant okay? Where is it? What kind of accident?  Maybe a computer fell at work and he broke his foot? Or maybe it’s Celia.  Maybe she got hurt somehow?   Shock and desperation rage through my system.

“Kyle.”  I rush to him, stopping just inches in front of his broad body. I stare up and plead,  “Tell me what’s going on!  Is Brant okay?  Is it Celia?  Where is Brant?  Is he at the hospital with her?  Answer me, dammit!”

“Come sit down, babe,” he replies gently.  It’s then I notice the sad, resigned look haunting his captivating eyes.

“Kyle.”  My voice wavers as tears prick the back of my eyes, stinging my throat.  I sit on the couch and Kyle follows me down.  He grips my small hands in his bear-sized ones, and then he looks at me.  Jesus, it feels as if he’s looking right into my soul.  He swallows hard, causing his Adam’s apple to bob in his throat.

“There was an accident.  Brant’s car collided with a truck.”

A horrified gasp leaves my lips, stealing my breath with it.  “I need to go to him.  Is he okay?  Which hospital is he at?” I ramble as I stand, intent on gathering my purse, my phone… “Clothes for Brant,” I mutter to myself.  “He’ll need clothes, and some toiletries,” I continue talking to myself.  Kyle’s hands rest on my shoulders with a gentle grip.  He turns my wooden body to face him, tilting my chin up so my eyes meet his.

“He’s gone, Liv.”

“Gone?  Gone where?  To another hospital?”  Even as the questions tumble from my lips, deep down inside, I know the truth.  My stomach lurches, my shoulders slump.  A lump develops in my throat, restricting my oxygen.

He’s gone from this earth.

As my hysterical wails fill the room, and my legs give out on me, Kyle is there to hold me up, carrying me across to the couch, holding me in his arms as I cry for the man I love, who I’ve now lost.  The man who will never know he was going to be a daddy.  The man my child will never get to meet.

Through it all, Kyle is there, holding me, stroking my hair, wiping away my tears, and sometimes even crying with me.