Page 10 of Between Our Hearts

“Thatcher recommended I speak to you about getting my own tent. I’m a carpenter by trade, but I have time on my hands right now for other projects,” he said as she set the second piece against the stroller.

Her fingers delicately ran over the nautilus piece, contemplatively tracing the innermost part of the design. “Thatcher’s absolutely right. You should sell with us. Our little community could use a woodsmith.”

Setting the last piece down, she brightened as she continued. “The contract to join is online. NorthwoodFarmersMarket.com. Just print it, sign it, and bring it back to me. It’s three-hundred dollars for a space for the season, and we run every Sunday morning rain or shine until October 31st. You’ll also have to obtain and display your North Carolina sales tax license.” She put her index finger on her chin as her eyes drifted off. “I think that’s it. If you have any questions, you can email me.” She handed him a business card with a splashed pastel paint design—bars of soap in the corner, her name and contact information in the center.

“All right.” As his tentative idea became a living, breathing thing before his eyes, the trepidation he’d felt earlier wafted away in lavender-scented waves.

Her eyes were drawn to the nautilus piece again. “I simply adore this one. The different tones of the wood make it look almost three dimensional.”

“Keep it. Maybe just send some people my way when I get my tent up.” He felt his lips rising in a smile. “I hear word of mouth is worth more than money.”

Robin wrapped her shawl-covered arms around herself with a wide grin. “I had a feeling I was going to like you.”

?Chapter 5?

“Screwdriver.”

The comforting weight of the requested tool landed in Sadie’s outstretched palm. She flipped it, adjusting her grip before driving the last screw into the plate she’d placed, reconnecting the separated sides of her patient’s ulna. The basic ORIF surgery was one she did often because people often broke either one or both of their lower arm bones when bracing a fall.

Reagan, the chief resident at her elbow, wordlessly removed the reduction clamp. A twinge of shame whirred up Sadie’s fingertips because she should have let Reagan set and screw the steel surgical plate, but her antsy hands hadn’t relinquished a tool all surgery. To her credit, Reagan didn’t complain. She simply assisted, performing the role Sadie should have taken since Reagan was only months from graduation.

Repairing this man’s severed bone was the only thing making Sadie feel in control at the moment. Setting plates and screwing segments back together was something she could do without disappointing anyone. She ran her gloved fingertips over her handiwork, completing the final inspection of the surgical site, when an agonizing rip tore through her lower abdomen. The cramping squeezed and twisted, forcing her to bow toward the pain. Liquid quickly sheened over her eyes, and the surgical field blurred.

It was happening again.

And there was nothing she could do.

Nothing anyone could do.

She was utterly helpless.

Before, the pain had come and gone like contractions, but this time it was constant, radiating from her belly and wrapping around to her back and down her thighs. A sharp breath drew into her lungs as her internal muscles squeezed again, forcing her hands to still.

“Dr. Carmichael? Is everything okay?” Reagan asked.

Sadie blinked twice, careful not to spill the tears pricking at the edges of her vision, and slowly straightened her spine. “Do you think you could finish this case?” she asked, knowing Reagan was more than capable.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Then I’m going to step out. Page me if you have any issues.”

Sadie was able to keep a calm mask on her face until she opened her OR locker, and Clark and Lottie’s smiling faces beamed back at her. The home-printed picture was centered on a sheet of printer paper withWe love you, Mommywritten in Clark’s hand above Lottie’s pudgy, slightly smeared handprint in orange washable paint. Sadie bit back a sob as she grabbed her messenger bag, shoving back the crumpled patient notes threatening to spill onto the floor.

Once alone in the single use bathroom between each entrance to the locker rooms, Sadie confirmed what she already knew.

She’d lost her.

Sadie knew it was weird that with each cross of blue lines, she immediately assigned a gender to the small ball of life within her, but it was automatic. She’d done the same thing with Lottie and been right when they’d found out on ultrasound that she was a girl.

She rummaged through her bag to find a thick pad, knowing that each time she went to the bathroom, she’d have to see the evidence of the heartbreak she’d just experienced in the OR. In a more merciful world, losing a child wouldn’t have such a visual reminder for days afterward.

When she stood up, pain wracked through her body, streaking white behind her shut eyelids. She leaned heavily onto the sink basin and ran the water full blast to cover the choking sound of her tears.

The medically trained part of her mind logically told her that the child she’d just lost wasn’t even a child, wasn’t even ashe, but an embryo—a collection of cells less than six weeks along, the very beginnings of life. But Sadie knew in her heart that was wrong.Shewas her baby. A potential sibling for Lottie. A person to complete their little family.

Sadie pulled a bundle of paper towels from the dispenser and used them to swab her face. The messenger bag tipped over, sending several thick pads sliding across the square-tiled floor. Her emotions swung briskly as she kicked at the plastic-wrapped bundles of cotton. Then she was pitching the almost featherlight objects with hurricane-force intensity against the staff notification bulletin board on the wall. After three or four throws, she slid to the ground, chastising herself for having the adult equivalent of a two-year-old’s tantrum.

Breath heaved in and out of her body, but she felt detached, almost like she wasn’t there in the room. Her mind focused instead on the disappointed look that would cross Clark’s face, how the lower lids of his eyes would sag, and his mouth would turn into that deep frown that mostly covered it nowadays. She pulled her knees into her body, hugging them tight before remembering that she didn’t have to say a thing because this time she’d kept the positive pregnancy test from him. Maybe tonight when she got home, it wouldn’t be an emotional hellscape.

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