Fiona Brand - Come Fly With Me...

There were tiny little black spots around her vision. She put her head between her legs and told herself to breathe slowly. But nothing could stop the clamouring in her chest.

That sight. That pale little body. That still little chest. It had been too much for her. That momentary second of panic had made her head spin. No one should have to go through that twice in their life.

No one was meant to experience that again.

Breathe. In through her nose, out through her mouth. And again. Breathe. In through her nose and out through her mouth.

She tried to get control. Her senses were picking up something else. A noise. A background noise. A baby crying.

Then she started to sob. Uncontrollably sob. Abraham was fine. She knew that. She’d panicked. If she’d stopped to think—even for a moment—she would have realised he’d only been holding his breath for a second. But she couldn’t. She didn’t possess those rational kinds of thoughts any more. And she doubted she ever would.

Then she felt it, a hand creeping around her shoulders and a body sitting on the step next to her. The heat of another body touching hers. The comfort of an arm around her shoulders and the feeling of somewhere she could lay her head.

But he didn’t speak. Dan just held her. She didn’t know how long passed. She didn’t know how long she sobbed. All she knew was his arms were around her and he was holding her—as if he would never let go.

His hand was stroking her hair. It was bitter cold out here, but neither of them seemed to notice. ‘Tell me, Carrie,’ he whispered. ‘Tell me how to help you.’

‘You can’t, Dan.’ It was a relief to say the words out loud. ‘I panicked. I thought Abraham had stopped breathing.’

‘He’s fine, Carrie. Abraham is absolutely fine.’ His voice washed over her, like a calm, soothing tonic. He lifted her chin towards his face. ‘But you’re not.’ His finger traced the track of tears down her cheek. ‘You’re not fine, Carrie. Tell me why not.’

It was time. It was time to tell the truth. ‘Why do you struggle with babies?’

The million-dollar question.

‘Because I had one.’

She heard his intake of breath, but to his credit he never reacted the way she expected. There was a few moments’ silence while he obviously contemplated her news. ‘When did you have one?’ His voice was low, comforting. The question wasn’t intrusive. He made it feel like an everyday conversation.

‘Last year.’

‘Oh.’

‘Yes, oh.’ A shiver danced along her spine. Was it a reaction to the cold? Or was it a reaction to saying those words out loud?

Dan stood up and pulled her along with him. ‘Let’s do this inside. Let’s do this inside with Abraham.’

Even now he didn’t want to leave the baby on his own. Dan was being a good parent. It made this seem so much easier.

Abraham was wrapped in a towel, his bare toes kicking at the air above. As Dan closed the door behind them, shutting out the cold winter air, she knew what she had to do. She knew what would help her through this.

She picked up the kicking bundle and held him close to her chest, taking some deep breaths in and out.

She couldn’t think of a single reason why this made her feel better. The thought of holding another baby in her arms had terrified her for so long. But the past few days had been cathartic.

Never, in a million years, would she have thought that holding another baby in her arms while she talked about the one she had lost would feel okay. Would actually feel quite right. If she’d ever planned to share, it would never have been like this.

‘It wasn’t too long ago.’ Her words were firmer than she expected. She’d always thought that she’d never be able to get them out.

Maybe it was because she was with Dan. Maybe it was because he was literally a captive audience with no place to go. Maybe it was because she knew he couldn’t run out on her if he didn’t like what he heard. Maybe it was because she was beginning to feel as if she could tell this guy anything.

‘Fifteenth of May last year, I had a little girl. Ruby. She was stillborn.’

There was silence.

It seemed important. Even though she hated the word stillborn it seemed important to her to tell him what had happened to her baby. She didn’t want him to think she’d given her baby up for adoption, or done the same as Abraham’s mother and abandoned her.

What was he thinking? And then a warm hand crept up and covered hers, squeezing gently. ‘I’m sorry you lost your daughter, Carrie. That must have been a terrible time for you.’

The quiet acknowledgement made tears spring to her eyes. ‘Thank you, Dan,’ she whispered.

For Ruby. He was expressing his sorrow for the loss of her daughter. For Ruby. Some people didn’t like to acknowledge a baby who had been lost. Some people didn’t even want to say their names. It was easier to pretend they’d never existed. After all, babies who had never drawn breath in this world, they practically hadn’t been here.

Except Ruby had been here.

She’d kicked under her mother’s expanding stomach for seven months. She’d twisted and turned in the middle of the night, constantly having dancing competitions that kept her mother awake into the small hours. Sometimes a little foot or hand had been clearly visible as Carrie had lain watching her belly.

Ruby McKenzie had definitely existed. And it was so nice to finally talk about her. Talk about her in a normal way instead of in hushed, quiet tones.

‘Is that what’s in the silver box upstairs?’

Now he had surprised her. ‘How do you know about the box?’

‘I saw it sitting on your bed when we were in your apartment. I saw the way you looked at it.’ He gave her a little smile. ‘It’s pretty. And it seemed important.’ His finger traced along the knuckles of her hand, small circular motions. ‘Your place. You didn’t have pictures up. For a woman, that struck me as strange. I figured you had a good reason and didn’t want to ask.’

A tear slid down her cheek. ‘I’m trying to get away from memories. That’s why I’m in New York. It seemed like a good time to get away. Everything and everyone back home just reminded me of last year. It made sense. Coming here, getting away from it all.’

Dan traced his finger from her hand to her breastbone. His voice was intense. ‘You can’t get away from what’s in here, Carrie. It stays with you all the time—no matter where you go.’

Wow. Her breath caught in her throat.

It was the way he said the words. The understanding. How could Dan be so in tune with things? There was an intensity she hadn’t seen before. A darkening of his brown eyes from caramel tones to deep chocolate colours.

He knew. He understood her straight away, and she didn’t know why.

‘I know that. But sometimes what’s in here feels easier if you’ve got room to deal with it yourself.’ Easier than everyone clamouring around you, suffocating you with their grief.

‘And has it been? Has it been easier, Carrie?’

‘I thought it was. I thought I was coming to terms with things.’ Her eyes went down to Abraham. ‘Until now. Until him.’ She could hear the waver in her voice, feel the tremble in her throat. She desperately wanted to keep it together. She wanted to put her thoughts, feelings and frustrations into words—in a way she’d never managed before.

But Dan’s reaction was flooring her. She couldn’t have asked for more.

Dan shook his head. ‘No wonder you didn’t want to help out. No wonder you tried to make excuses.’ His eyes were still heavy with weariness and she could see the lines on his face. He was fighting fatigue with every bone in his body.

He turned around on the sofa so he was facing her entirely. ‘I’m sorry, Carrie. I had no idea how hard this was for you. But I really needed your help. I couldn’t do this on my own. I don’t know the first thing about babies.’