Page 11 of Between Our Hearts

Maybe.

Each time she miscarried, she failed at giving Clark the one thing he’s always said he wanted. Early on in their relationship, he’d been earnest about his desire to have a family with at least two children. He’d been the lonely only child of busy, intellectual parents, and the area where he had grown up outside Baltimore hadn’t provided him with neighbors his age.

What if, now that she’d failed again, there was nothing left of her that he wanted?

Sadie knew she was smart, hard-working, and one of the best orthopedic surgeons at Durham Medical Center, but she’d always worried that on some fundamental level she’d upset the scales of the universe by marrying Clark. That nagging voice telling her that she should have listened to her mother’s chiding words, warning her that she wasn’t wife material—mother material—crept down her spine.

For the first few blissful years of her and Clark’s relationship, she’d blocked that thought out because they’d been happy. She loved Clark more than she ever thought possible, and he seemed just as crazy about her. Things were so good that Sadie could put away all the persistent thoughts that she wasn’t the kind of woman men married.

Clark didn’t seem to mind that she was too direct and self-assured. He never balked at her hours or dedication to her career. And he had been the one to suggest—and then seemed to enjoy—being a stay-at-home dad. They’d been in their own little bubble of happiness. There were days when she’d carelessly think, why can’t this be the way to have our family?

When they’d gotten pregnant their first month of trying when Lottie was nineteen-months-old, she’d felt like she was thumbing it to her mother. Even after throwing up in the morning, she’d brush her teeth, and Clark would rub her back and then press her against the counter, almost making her late for work.

Unlike her pregnancy with Lottie, when she’d been nervous about becoming a mother, this time she’d been excited. She’d actually looked forward to feeling those first flutterings and kicks, to the adoring way Clark would gaze at her when she had a full belly. But eight weeks later, she’d lost that baby, and everything changed.

Sadie was uncertain of how she’d made it through evening traffic, only recognizing that she’d entered the quiet streets of her Durham suburb—or town, as the locals liked to call it. When her mother’s caller ID showed up on her Toyota Rav4’s console, bile flicked at the back of her throat. Pulling over, she waited for the call to ring to voicemail before texting a message stating she was still at the hospital and would have to call her tomorrow. Penelope didn’t like it when she didn’t answer their scheduled call, but Sadie wasn’t going to talk to her mother within an hour of her third miscarriage.

When her head lifted from her phone screen, she finally noticed her surroundings. The carved wooden sign for Peaceably Park stood just beyond her passenger window. Sadie’s forehead clunked against the steering wheel as a heavy pressure threatened to crumble her bones.

Two months after her first miscarriage, she’d found herself at this park, tucked into a ball, sitting in silence, trying to process the tumultuous emotions that still pulled at her. Her gaze had fallen upon a tenacious dandelion flower stretched toward the setting sun. The jovial yellow of its petals had soothed something that had been scratching at her. It was the first time a smile had organically crossed her face. The first time she’d felt lightened.

She’d argued with Clark on the way out of the house the next day and found refuge in that same park after work, but this time the flower had been mowed down. There was no thinking. Only movement. Action. Response. It had been a numb experience, like someone else had temporarily taken control of her body. She found herself at the local mom-and-pop hardware store, trying to ignore the woodsy scent that reminded her of her husband, buying a single pot of gerbera daisy—yellow for the girl she’d lost.

Back at the park, she’d wandered around for an immeasurable amount of time before the scrubs covering her shins became stained with dirt. She tore at the ground with her bare hands, and it wasn’t until she pressed her fingers against the top of the plant, rooted safely in the ground, that a miniscule fragment of peace laced through her.

That was when her first tears fell. Almost as if to water the little life she’d just secured in the sandy loam. She’d allowed herself to succumb to the emotion that had been ripping her insides apart for weeks. Only she hadn’t known she wasn’t alone.

“Honey, you can’t—” The hoarse rasp of a woman’s heavily accented words preceded her mentholated cigarette scent. “Oh.” Seeing Sadie’s tear-streaked face, unease quickly rippled over the woman’s features. She tugged at the elbow exposed from her green Northwood Park Services button-up tucked into dusty khaki work pants.

Sadie frantically wiped at her face to destroy the evidence of her untempered display of emotion. Only her hands were caked with soil, so the dirt simply mixed with the liquid salt on her cheeks.

“That’s not—” The woman in her early sixties blew out a breath and doubled back to the small gas-powered utility cart parked nearby. “Here.” She thrust a mostly clean hand towel at her.

The scent of sweat and cigarette smoke overwhelmed Sadie as she swept it over her face. A nauseating cough left her throat before quickly holding the towel back out to the woman. The older lady did a hesitant lunging step to grab it, as if Sadie was something feral.

The setting sun sliced at Sadie’s eyes as her gaze remained trained on the woman’s well-worn work boots. “Do I have to take it out?” She tried to keep her tone even, but her voice cracked.

The silence that hovered was so extended that eventually, she was forced to raise her face. The woman’s overly bleached hair and heavily tanned skin sagged from days of hard work in the sun. Her left fingers tapped out an incoherent rhythm on the seam of her pants over the birdsong through the trees.

The woman’s face pinched. “What’s under it?”

“Nothing.”

Her eyes narrowed. “If you buried a cat or dog in there, it’ll just get dug up by some critter at night.”

A short, forceful exhale made a painful sound as it rushed over Sadie’s teeth.

Burial.

Her eyes squeezed shut as understanding dawned.Thatwas why she was here. Why she was caked in dirt and tears. Why she was on her knees when she otherwise commanded every aspect of her life.

Death didn’t care if you’ve worked your whole career to thwart it. It’ll hit you just as hard as the next person. Her shoulders tightened at the irrational thought that maybe she’d brought this upon herself—upset some cosmic balance by doing what made her the happiest.

“What’s it for, then?” The woman’s gruff question helped pull her from her tailspin.

Sadie only shook her head. She’d been unable to talk to Clark about what had happened, even though he kept trying to bridge the subject, so she couldn’t open her soul to a stranger. Her gaze dragged from the woman’s weathered face to her own hands—capable hands that now shook like those of an unhinged person.

“It’s all right.” The woman’s calloused fingers were on her shoulder with a sturdy grip. “We’ll leave it. Ain’t no good being the head groundskeeper if I can’t make decisions like keeping a little ole flower.” Her next sentences were like the soft rumble of thunder in the distance. “It can stay. I’ll tell my crew not to touch it.”

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