By Chelsea Pennington
He only sees white. White walls, white countertop at the front desk, white tiles beneath his feet. Sturdy white sneakers belonging to doctors and nurses clip-clop across the floor. They wear blue, like splinters of the sky cascading through the hallways.
Thomas swallows and looks back at the months-old copy of National Geographic in his lap. He picked it up out of obligation when he entered the waiting room, but he hasnβt opened it. Sure that at least a couple hours have passed, he checks his watch and realizes that Jamie has been inside for less than an hour. He glances again at the large swinging doors protected by a sign declaring Operating RoomsβStaff Only and wills someone, anyone, to step through to report what is happening. But no one appears.
Thomas reaches into the pocket of the baggy gym shorts he put on when he went to bed hours earlier. When Jamie woke him, his first thought wasnβt of changing out of his pajamas, only about grabbing his rock. Their rock. He rotates it in his fingers as he watches the hospitalβs harsh fluorescent lights glint off its smooth surface. It feels cool and solid in his palm. Closing his eyes, he squeezes it as hard as he can, as if trying to transform a piece of coal into a diamond, except he would never want this rock, their rock, to change. He remembers when Jamie gave it to him.
He was twenty-two, about to graduate college, and standing in his favorite spotβunder a stone bridge that divided Meadowlark Park in half. The walls were high and arched, causing his music to reverberate in a way that would never be acceptable in a concert hall, but he loved how he could feel it pound through his body. He squatted to set the case on the ground and clicked it open. His violin always brought a smile to his face, and he traced his fingers along the smooth, dark wood like one would caress a lover. He lifted it, positioned the open case to face passersby, and brought the violin to his chin, his right hand gripping the bow. The first note surged through him and swelled to fill the bridge before disappearing into the park.
He lost track of time when he was playing, and after he finished the song, he opened his eyes to find a young woman gazing at him. How long had she been there? He shifted his weight, unsure what to say.
βThat was good.β She tilted her head. βBeethoven?β
He nodded, wishing his voice would work.
She sighed wistfully. βI love Beethoven. Maybe itβs clichΓ©, but heβs definitely my favorite composer.β
Thomas sensed that she expected him to respond, but his mind blanked, and she turned as if to leave.
βBach!β The word broke through the silence like a rock thrown at a window.
She stopped, her lips quirking. βWhat?β
βBach,β he repeated, and it occurred to him that he sounded like a dog. βThat is, I love Beethoven, but thereβs nothing quite like Bach.β
She studied him for a moment. βNot a bad choice.β She gestured to his violin. βIβd like to hear more of the Beethoven once youβve polished it.β
He tensed. βYou thought it wasnβt polished?β And you want to see me again?
βSorry, I didnβt mean to sound harsh. The music was lovely. Youβve got talent.β A breeze floated through the tunnel under the bridge and rustled his shaggy brown hair, but her thick blonde hair, which was pulled into a loose bun, remained undisturbed.
βDo you play?β Thomas asked, twisting his violin bow between his fingers.
βNo, actually.β
Thomas frowned. Sheβs criticizing me when she doesnβt even play?
βBut my mom is Dianna Ardstedt.β
Thomas froze. βYourβyour momββ Surely she was joking. Dianna Ardstedt had played in orchestras around the world before settling in as the concertmaster for the Alabama Symphony Orchestra.
She nodded. βYep. The one and only.β
Thomasβs mouth felt like he had been chewing on sandpaper. She smiled at him, but he wished she would quit because it paralyzed his tongue.
βWell, I know Iβm no musician, but I did enjoy hearing you play.β She removed a small object from her pocket. βI donβt have any cash on me. But I do have this cool rock.β She opened her hand to reveal a shiny gray stone that was almost a perfect oval except for the notch on one side.
βIt matches your eyes.β The comment slipped out before he could suppress it, and his face flushed.
She raised her eyebrows. βYou think?β
βUh, yeah. Like a stormy gray. But not a big, angry thunderstorm, you know? Just a storm that rolls through quickly and you can still catch glimpses of the sun through the clouds.β Thomas cringed inwardly, but he couldnβt take his words back now.
βYouβre quite a poet,β she said softly. βPlay me something else?β
Mutely, Thomas rested his violin on his shoulder. Shutting his eyes again, he let Beethovenβs Violin Sonata No. 9 flow through him. After a minute, he heard a soft plunk that he recognized as something hitting the velvet-lined interior of his case. He opened his eyes, and she was gone.
His interrupted notes echoed off the bridge. Stupid! He should have asked for her number, or even her name. Sighing, he glanced into his violin case.
A slice of a summer thunderstorm sat among the coinsβthe rock she had offered him. Wrapped around it was a piece of paper. Slowly, he bent down and peeled it off. An old receipt. On the back, a phone number had been scrawled, along with a name. Jamie.
Β
Thomasβs phone rings, startling him into the present. He scrambles for it in his pocket, nearly dropping the rock before he manages to whip out the device. βHello?β
βHi, Thomas? Itβs Nadine.β
βHi, Nadine.β He should probably say something else, but he canβt think of anything, so he stays quiet.
βIβm just calling to see how things are going.β Her tactful but concerned tone belies her many years as a school principal. βWe had a staff meeting before the school day began and everyone is thinking of you two.β
βThanks, Nadine,β Thomas replies. βNo oneβs updated me since they decided to do the emergency C-section and took Jamie into the operating room.β
He visualizes Nadineβs comforting nod and understanding smile. She used it often with students. βIβm sorry, Thomas. I canβt imagine what youβre going through.β
Heβs tired of hearing that. He wishes he could talk to Jamie. He needs to tell her how sorry he is and that he doesnβt want their baby to be born into a world where theyβre fighting. But instead he says, βThanks, Nadine.β
They exchange goodbyes and hang up. Thomas stares at the doors again. They remain as still as if they are part of the wall that surrounds them. His fingers itch, longing for his violin, and he taps the arm of his chair to the mournful rhythm at the start of Mendelssohnβs Violin Concerto in E Minor.
The large window that spans half of one of the walls would normally be flooding the waiting room with warm sunlight, but today itβs streaked with raindrops. He returns to massaging the rock, but the clouds outside are a darker shade than it is. More like that time they went camping.
They had been dating for about a year, and the autumn Alabama weather was mild. The school where Jamie taught was twenty minutes from where he worked, so he picked her up after the final bell on Friday and they drove the few hundred miles to Cheaha State Park.
βThomas, do those look like rain clouds to you?β Jamie asked as they parked beside their camping spot.
He squinted at the sky above and tried to inject confidence into his voice as he climbed out of the car. βNah, Iβm sure theyβre normal clouds. Nimbostratus or something.β
Jamie cocked an eyebrow. βNimbostratus clouds are rain clouds.β
βHow on earth do you know that?β
βI taught a unit on weather last month. You remember.β
βRight. Then theyβre probably whatever normal clouds are called.β Thomas popped the trunk and began unloading the equipment.
βCumulus,β Jamie added as she lugged the tent toward the flat, grassy area of the campsite.
βYou got that?β he called to her.
βYep.β She removed the first pole from the bag, then unfurled the tent. Thomas hefted two camping chairs onto his shoulder and grabbed the sack of food before hurrying to join her.
βHere, let me.β He took the tent fabric from her.
βOkay, but I said I got it,β Jamie replied.
βRight, but I can help.β He smoothed out the tarp-like material and reached for one of the collapsible poles.
Jamie sighed loudly. βWould you like me to do anything?β
βYou could gather firewood.β He continued sliding the pole through the loops along the top of the tent. Behind him, Jamieβs footsteps crunched through the fallen leaves toward the woods.
By the time she returned, heβd erected the small tent and was moving their sleeping bags inside. She dumped an armload of sticks and branches near the tent.
βGreat,β he said, straightening one of the sleeping bags. βI got the chairs set up, the sleeping bags are in here, and the food is on the picnic table. Iβll start the fire soon since we donβt have time to go on a hike before nightfall.β
βMakes sense.β Her answer came out flat, obligatory.
He poked his head out of the tent. βYou okay?β
βYeah, Iβm fine.β She gave him a smile, but he didnβt buy it.
βDid you really want to go on a hike today? We could maybe hike for a short while. I just figured we have all day tomorrow, and weβre probably both tired, so itβd be nice to relax tonightββ
βI said itβs fine. And youβre right, we should wait until tomorrow. Especially with those thick clouds.β She peered up at the sky.
Thomas scrambled out of the tent. βSeriously, Jamie, whatβs up?β He touched her arm lightly. She didnβt pull away, but she didnβt lean into him like usual either.
She exhaled slowly and turned toward him, flashing another fake smile. βI told you, Iβm good. Really.β
Thomas opened his mouth, but before he could speak, a deep rumble ripped through the air. He cleared his throat. βSo, uh, those may be nimbostratus clouds after all.β
One raindrop splattered his nose. Then his arm. Then too many to count.
βYou think?β Jamie yelled as they dashed for the tent. They dove through the entrance and Thomas zipped it closed behind them.
βCrap.β Thomas slumped onto his sleeping bag. βIβm sorry. I swear I checked the forecast, and today was supposed to be partially cloudy, which I didnβt think meant rain, butββ
Jamie laid a hand on his arm. βThomas. Chill. Itβs fine.β
Thomas smiled thinly. βOkay. But I feel bad that itβs raining on the one weekend we decided to go camping.β
βThis is only our first evening. Weβll wait out the storm in our tent, and Iβm sure the weather will clear up by tomorrowββ She stopped suddenly, confusion crossing her face, and scanned the roof of the tent.
βWhat is it?β Thomas also looked up.
βI thought I feltβ¦β
Water splashed onto his forehead. βAre those raindrops?β
βDid this tent come with a rain tarp to cover it?β Jamie asked.
Thomas rubbed his neck. βUm, not that I noticed. But I borrowed the tent from my uncle, and thereβs no telling how long heβs had itβ¦β By this point, rain was pouring almost as much inside the tent as outside.
βI vote we run for the car.β Jamie unzipped the flap and ducked through. He sprinted after her, jammed the key in the hole, and unlocked the car. They both collapsed onto the front seats, dripping wet.
βIβ¦Iβm sorry,β Thomas mumbled. Hot tears sprang to his eyes and he blinked them away.
But Jamie threw her head back, releasing her deep, throaty laugh that he loved and she was incapable of faking.
βWhatβs so funny?β A hard knot formed in his stomach because she must be laughing at him.
She shook her head, gasping for breath. Finally she got herself under control enough to speak. βThe tent! It isnβt waterproof! We brought a leaky tent on a camping trip the one weekend that it rains cats and dogs!β Then she dissolved into giggles again.
Thomasβs jaw stiffened, and the tears started to spill, so he twisted to face the front, watching rivulets of rain zig-zag down the windshield.
Jamie touched his shoulder. βHey, whatβs the matter?β
He shrugged, his throat tight. βIβm sorry, okay? I shouldβve checked the weather, and I should have bought a new tent instead of borrowing an old one. I thought Iβd save some money, but now weβre stuck in a car on a camping trip.β
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her tilt her head. βThomas, Iβm not mad at you. Itβs not your fault.β
βYou sure seemed angry earlier.β He knew he was being childish and almost regretted it.
Jamie sighed. βYou were doing that thing where you take charge of everything. The tent and the whole campsite. I was just annoyed. Thatβs all.β
Thomas closed his eyes. βI justβ¦I wanted this weekend to be perfect, for nothing to go wrong. Camping seemed like such a fun idea.β He turned his head so he could look at her. βMy family never did camping trips. Not really my dadβs style, even before he left. I guess I imagined Iβd be different, that somehow Iβd be a natural at camping.β
Jamie squeezed his shoulder. βYou are different from your dad. You were willing to try camping! Thatβs whatβs important. And I donβt know that anyone is a natural at camping. Particularly since no one can control the weather.β She tucked a few wet strands of his hair behind his ear. βYou canβt control everything, Thomas. And you donβt need to.β
Thomas swiped at his damp arms.
βRepeat after me. βItβs not my responsibility to make everything perfect.ββ She raised an eyebrow and a smile tugged at her lips.
He smiled back. βItβs not my responsibility to make everything perfect.β
βGood.β Jamie pressed her face to the window. βAnd the rain might not even last much longer. The crepuscular rays are peeking through over there.β She carefully enunciated the syllables as she pointed at a spot in the distance.
Thomas snorted. βYou must know I have no clue what that is.β
Jamie grinned. βYeah. I only learned the term for teaching that unit. Itβs just the fancy name for sunbeams coming through the clouds. Some people call them Jacobβs ladder, or backstays of the sun, if youβre a sailor.β
βNow youβre showing off.β He smirked.
She winked. βMe? Never.β
Her eyes matched the clouds with the sunlight filtering through them, and Thomasβs throat constricted again, but for an entirely different reason. βUm, Jamie?β He inched his left hand into his pocket and stroked the smooth rock she had given him when they first met.
βYeah?β
βThere was another reason I wanted this weekend to be perfect.β
She frowned. βWhat do you mean?β
Sucking in a deep breath, he reached into the other pocket of his shorts and pulled out a velvet-covered ring box the same color as his rock and the sun-soaked clouds outside.
A child wails, jolting Thomas out of his reverie. On the other side of the room, a young mother attempts to quiet her son, who looks to be not quite a year old. Her daughterβmaybe four years old?βsits in the chair next to them, playing on a phone. As the boy continues to cry, the sound grates into Thomasβs eyes and squeezes his chest until he struggles to breathe.
The National Geographic drops to the floor as Thomas abruptly stands and walks toward a hallway. He thinks the cafeteria might be in this direction, but he doesnβt plan to wander that far.
What if a doctor comes out with news while Iβm gone? He halts and glances back at the waiting room, at the doors beyond it. But then the shrieking starts again, clawing inside him, so he shoves his hands into his pockets and marches forward with no real destination in mind.
As he chooses turns at random, he recalls one of the few memories he has of his father that stands out. On Thomasβs eighth birthday, his family visited a corn maze and he got lost among the twisting, menacing stalks. Like then, his stomach tightens. Will I be able to find my way back to the waiting room? He forgot to check his watch when he left. How long have I been gone? The hallway ahead seems familiar, so he rounds the corner, heart pounding, and stops short.
Simple, clear doors open into a room lined with wooden pews covered in red cloth. At the front, a plain wooden cross hangs on the wall, with a pulpit and a table of flickering candles below it. If their positions were switched, and he was in surgery and Jamie was waiting, he knows this is where she would seek solace. At least, in the past few years, anyway. He canβt remember the exact moment Jamie became interested in religion, but he does remember when she began pestering him about it.
Sheβd attended a womenβs Bible study, or maybe a midweek serviceβhe hadnβt paid attention to which. When she returned, she plopped herself beside him on the couch. βThomas, look at this!β
Reluctantly, he paused the TV show he had been watching. She flipped through the thin pages of the small leather Bible one of the women had given her. βTonight we started a study on the book of John. Itβs one of the Gospels, which actually describes Jesusβs life. I sort of grew up hearing about God and the Bible and stuffβI mean, I was raised in Birmingham, so itβs hard not to. But thisβ¦β She ran a finger down the page, dotted with words in red ink. βIt never hit me like this before.β
Then she said what Thomas had been dreading. βI think you should come to church with me. Itβs not boring, honestly. Itβs very interesting, and the people are super friendly.β Her eyes were wide with earnestness.
Thomasβs breath caught in his throat. βI donβt know, Jamie. Thatβs not really my thing.β
βI know, but I think you should give it a chance.β She grinned. βImagine itβs a date night. But on a Sunday morning.β
He snorted. βThat doesnβt sound like a great time for a date night.β She persisted, gazing at him imploringly, so he relented. βIβll think about it, okay?β But he had no intention of changing his mind.
Thomas shakes himself back to the present and spins away from the chapel. Why couldnβt she have been happy with him and their marriage? Guilt gnaws at his stomach, making it churn. Why had he been so harsh on her? Sheβs lucky to have beliefs to cling to during difficult circumstances.
He aimlessly veers left and right until a hallway deposits him in the waiting room, which feels like bursting through the surface after being stuck underwater, only to realize that the air is toxic. Heβs back and still has no idea how Jamie is doing.
As he approaches the chair where he sat previously, he notes that the mother and her two kids have disappeared. Did they decide to step out until the boy calmed down? Or did they receive the news they had been waiting forβgood or bad?
The doors open. A young nurse about Thomasβs height emerges. He looks familiar, but the faces of the staff who helped them earlier are a blur, so he canβt be sure.
βMr. Abbot?β
βYes.β Thomas grasps the cool stone in his pocket.
The nurse smiles. βYou have a beautiful baby girl.β
Thomas thuds down into a chair, one arm slamming painfully onto the hard plastic frame. βIβIβm a dad?β
The nurse nods, still smiling. βYou are. Theyβre putting her in the NICU, mostly as a precaution. The birth was rough on her, and since sheβs a few weeks early, they want to keep monitoring her. But youβre welcome to meet her.β
βThe birth was rough?β Thomas repeats. Those are the only words that hang in his brain. βWhat about Jamie? Where is my wife?β
The nurseβs smile falters. βYour wife is still in surgery.β
βThe C-section?β
βNo, um, there were some complications with the C-section and theyβre working right now toββ
βComplications? What does that even mean? Whatβs happening?β Thomasβs voice rises, and he senses other people staring at him, but he doesnβt care.
βMr. Abbott, thatβs all the information I have at the moment.β The nurseβs voice remains steady and calm. βIf you want to visit your daughter, Iβll update you as soon as I know anything. Unfortunately, we canβt do much more than wait.β
Thomas groans, sliding his head into his hands. βWaiting is all Iβve been doing.β
The nurse hesitates. βI realize that, sir. But seeing your daughter would be reallyββ
βI know. Iβm coming.β Thomas stands and follows the nurse, the blue scrubs blurring as tears fill his eyes.
Jamie had been exuberant the day she took the pregnancy test. They waited together on the couch, the little plastic stick sitting on the coffee table. The minutes seemed to stretch into weeks, months, years. Finally, a light pink strip appeared, quickly darkening.
Jamie gasped and threw her arms around him. βWeβre having a baby!β she squealed, tears glistening in her eyes. βThank you, Jesus!β
βWeβreβ¦having a baby,β Thomas stammered.
She released him, beaming from ear to ear. βYep.β
He swallowed and felt like a rock had settled in his stomach. Jamie, of course, noticed immediately. Her smile vanished. βWhatβs wrong?β
βNo, nothing. What could be wrong? Weβre going to be parents.β He almost managed to keep his voice composed, but he choked on the last word.
Understanding registered in Jamieβs eyes. βThomasβ¦β She placed both her hands on his knee. βWe wanted this. Be happy.β
βI know, I justβ¦β Thomas shook his head. βIt didnβt feel real until nowβ¦ I donβt know anything about being a dad.β
Jamie chuckled. βAnd you think Iβm an expert at being a mom?β
βBut you had a mom. I had a crappy dad until I was ten, and then none at all. What ifβ¦β He grimaced. βWhat if I turn out like him? Iβve always assumed he was terrible his whole life, but maybe he was excited to have kids, then he discovered he couldnβt handle the responsibility and bailed. What if thatβs what I do?β
βThomas,β Jamie said sharply. He refused to look at her until she cupped his chin and moved it toward her. βStop that. You had a sucky dad. But that does not mean youβll be the same way. You donβt need a dad as an example. You have a wonderful mom who will love to help care for our baby. And I think even people with two picture-perfect parents feel overwhelmed when they have a kid of their own.β She pushed his hair back from his forehead, her eyes soft. βYou make your own choices, Thomas. That you can control. Weβll figure parenting out together. Okay?β
βOkay,β he said, his voice hoarse. She leaned forward and kissed him, and some of his anxiety melted away. He could figure anything out if Jamie was with him.
βHere we are!β the nurse announces, leading Thomas through a door marked NICU. The walls are a soft blue, and low lights illuminate cribs protected by plastic domes. He brushes past the stuffed chairs positioned beside each one until the nurse stops.
Monitors surround this crib like guards, inscrutable to Thomas. When he peers through the clear dome, his breath hitches. The smallest human he has ever seen lies with her eyes closed and arms raised above her head like sheβs cheering. A pink knitted cap is halfway on, halfway off her tiny head.
βWhyβ¦why all the wires?β Thomas chokes out.
The nurse pats his shoulder. βTheyβre just monitoring her heartbeat, blood pressure, breathingβthings like that. You can put your hand through and touch her if youβd like.β He points to the two round holes in the dome.
Thomas slips his right arm through and hovers his hand above her. She is so small, so fragile. She might break at the slightest touch.
βItβs all right,β the nurse whispers. βSheβs a fighter.β
βJust like her mom.β Thomas strokes her arm with a finger. She is warm and soft.
βIβll leave you two alone.β The nurse starts to back away.
βWait,β Thomas says. βWhat about my wife? When will I know?β
The nurseβs smile wavers for a split second. βIβllβ¦Iβll notify you. Or someone will. You can stay in here, and weβll come get you. Okay?β
Thomas nods, and the nurse tiptoes out of the room, pulling the door shut behind him. Thomas turns back to his daughter. He wishes theyβd picked out a name for her. They had narrowed down their list to a few options, but had also expected to have three more weeks to decide.
The baby shifts, and Thomas freezes. She doesnβt wake, however, just restless in her sleep.
A tear splashes onto the dome as a sob racks his body. Jamie should be here. They should be meeting their daughter for the first time together. Not like this. βIβm sorry,β he says quietly. He isnβt even sure whether heβs apologizing to his daughter for Jamieβs absence and how heβll never be enough for her on his own, or if heβs apologizing to Jamie for their argument the night before. Now he might never have a chance to ask for forgiveness. He drags in a deep, ragged breath.
Last night seems like a century ago. Theyβd been preparing for bed. While Thomas was brushing his teeth, Jamie had stood in the bathroom doorway and made a remark about the baby. It was offhanded but laced with hope, like all their conversations about their daughterβs future.
βMm. Sheβs going to look so adorable all dressed up.β Jamie splayed her hand across her round belly that stretched the old T-shirt she slept in.
Thomas spat out his toothpaste and chuckled. βDressed up? Are you planning to bring our newborn to black tie galas?β
Jamie laughed. βNo, not like that. But church clothes and stuff. Frilly dresses, and shiny black shoes.β
Thomas rinsed his toothbrush. βChurch clothes?β
βI mean, I know people donβt have to wear fancy clothes to church anymore. Hardly anyone does at my church, but I still think itβd be cute, at least until sheβs old enough to care what she wears.β Jamie smiled and gazed down at her stomach as she massaged it.
Thomas shouldβve ignored her. But she had been making more and more comments like this, and heβd had enough. βWhy would she go to church at all?β
Jamieβs head snapped up. βBecause I go to church.β
βRight, but I donβt. Why wouldnβt she stay home with me?β
Jamie huffed a little. βWell, I would prefer that all three of us attend together, and Iβm still praying that happens. But if you wonβt go, I can at least make sure my daughter does.β
Thomas shook his head. βYou canβt just decide what our daughter will believe.β
βIβm not deciding for her. Iβm giving her a chance to learn all the options.β
Thomas snorted. βIf that were true, youβd also take her to a mosque and a Buddhist temple andββ
βOkay.β Jamie held up a hand. βI get it. But I donβt understand whatβs so awful about bringing her to church.β
βMaybe I donβt want her exposed to that stuff.β
Jamieβs forehead wrinkled. βWhat do you mean βthat stuffβ?β Her voice had a hard edge.
Thomas waved his arm around, searching for the right words. βI donβt know. About a God who loves and watches over us. Trying to sugarcoat the world.β
βItβs not sugarcoating,β Jamie said slowly. βItβs the truth.β
βNo, itβs your truth, and I wonβt let you to force it on our daughter.β Thomas struggled to keep his frustration from exploding.
βIβm not forcing anything!β Jamie protested. βIs it so wrong to teach her that thereβs something bigger than herself, someone who loves her?β
βWe love her, and thatβs enough!β Thomas clenched his jaw. βUnless youβre afraid Iβm going to abandon her like my dad and she needs someone better.β
βThomas!β Her eyes widened and the flush that had heated her cheeks drained away, leaving her face ghostly pale. βThatβsβthatβs not what Iβm saying.β
βAre you sure?β His voice could have been chiseled from stone. βBecause it feels like youβre trying to replace me.β
Jamie fell silent.
Thomas swallowed. Heβd finally revealed what heβd been thinking. He had been patient with Jamieβs beliefs, letting her attend church and Bible study and pretending to listen whenever she talked about it. Sheβd mostly stopped nagging him to join her, and he hoped they could maintain that equilibrium. But as for their daughter, he was her father. Jamie couldnβt steal that from him.
βThomasβ¦β Jamie stepped closer and reached out a hand toward his arm. But he shrugged it away.
βI donβt want to discuss it,β he said flatly.
Jamieβs eyes held the same pity sheβd show to a stray dog. βThomas, I never thought aboutββ
βNever thought about why I was opposed to church? Yeah, thatβs because youβve been busy with your new family, or whatever you call it. Donβt start caring about me now.β
Jamie stepped back as if he had slapped her. βI would neverββ
βHonestly, Jamie? I donβt care about your excuses. Goodnight.β He squeezed past her to escape the bathroom, already questioning his outburst. Was that really how he felt?
He grabbed a book off the table and dropped onto the couch. But he kept drifting to the end of a page only to realize he hadnβt read a word. The bedroom door clicked shut shortly after that. That was fine with him. He didnβt feel like talking to her anyway. When he snuck into the bedroom later, she was asleep. A few hours after that, she woke him with a gut-wrenching cry of pain, and everything changed.
Thomasβs face is drenched with tears now, and he has to remove his hands from the dome so he can wipe away the wetness. He collapses into the chair, the fake leather squeaking under him. What if their fight caused her to go into labor early? What if all this is his fault?
Suddenly, their daughter wakes up. Thomas jumps, and she starts wailing. What is he supposed to do? He canβt even pick her up. She is trapped inside the dome. Vainly he puts his arm in again and begins stroking her leg.
βIβm sorry. Iβm so, so sorry,β he says over and over. But her crying only increases. His first responsibility as a father, and he is powerless. Maybe he isnβt any better than his dad. He clenches his teeth as he fights more tears, wanting to scream in frustration. Thunder booms outside, and it ripples through his tense muscles.
Then his shoulders shudder, and tears stream down his face. He shuts his eyes, but hesitates. Heβs never prayed and didnβt pay much attention when Jamie did it. βUm, Godβ¦β He pauses. βI donβt know how to do this. Beingβ¦a dad. I need Jamie. Maybe I even need You, but I canβt do this on my own. I donβt deserve her or our baby or anything, but if Youβre real, if Youβre thereβ¦You know she deserves to be a mom. Just help her. Save her. Please. Um, amen.β
Nothing feels different and the sky doesnβt part for angels to descend. His daughter is still crying, but the intensity has lessened. He keeps his hand on her tiny leg, and her cries slowly fade to whimpers. Rain patters against the window.
Thomas inhales a deep, steadying breath. His other hand is wrapped around the rock, the shade of the sun piercing the clouds. βIβm here,β he murmurs. βIβ¦Iβm not sure what happens next, but Iβm here.β
He sees movement out of the corner of his eye. The nurse is back, accompanied by a doctor. They both walk down the hall and stop at the door of the NICU. Thomas stands, his heart hammering as thunder rumbles outside, and the door swings open.
Chelsea Pennington lives in Boulder, Colorado with her husband. She has a B.A. in English/Creative Writing and an M.A. in Museum Studies. She has been writing fiction for as long as she can remember and believes in the power of stories to change the world. She has published several short stories and is working on her first novel, Chaos Theory. Chelsea can be found online at chelseapenningtonauthor.com, where she aims to help readers and writers discover and create life-changing stories through her blog, Penn & Paper.
OH! I’m crying! This is SOO good. Wow, Chelsea! Way to go!
*swallows*
OUCH.
Um, ouch.
Wow, Chelsea. Really good job.
This is incredible!!
Ahh I remember reading this! Super super great job, Chelsea, it really is a great story.
Gosh! I’m a mess.
That was excellent. Really. I felt like I was Thomas.
Thank you, Chelsea, for that journey. What an incredible gift.
These comments are paltry compared to the depth of feeling you brought into being as I read the story.
Oh my gracious, that was incredible. Utterly incredible. You’ve got crazy talent, Chelsea – amazing job! <3 <3 <3
Ouch… I love this so much.
The amount of emotion and skill tucked inside this story…amazing.
Thisssss….
Thisssssssssssss……
Is. Amazing.
There aren’t even words to describe how incredible this is.
Beautiful β₯β₯β₯
Wow! This made me tear up… And that hardly ever, EVER, happens. As others have said, I don’t have words to perfectly describe what you did here.
The characters are so deep in their character. The pictures are vivid, resting upon the emotion of each character, which holds the power of a lightning strike.
So impact-full.
I have a new role model!
Wow. Just wow…
I’m speechless.
Ouch, but wow.
You guys are the sweetest! <3 It definitely wouldn't have happened without lots of help from readers! (like Germaine!!) Thanks for the encouragement everyone!
It’s really good!! but i thought there should be more!! XD
I love the way this story grabs you by the heartstrings and doesn’t let you go. There’s so much depth in Jamie & Thomas’ relationship and it’s so realistic as well. Thanks for writing this, Chelsea. It was a pleasure to get to read this. π
DID SHE DIE!???
Yesβ DID SHE DIE????????????
I’m wondering the same thing.
Wow! This is so powerful. Beautifully written. Good job!
Chelsea wow! It was an amazing story full of emotion and relationships that were beautifully balanced and it is in my opinion a masterpiece. That being said…WHAT HAPPENED!?! I loved it but the suspense! Did Jamie die? Did she live? Ahhhh!!! π
I remember reading this at some point on Ydubs, Chelsea, and I still love it. Incredible job. So proud of you!
Wow!! That was breathtaking, literally breathtaking! You certainly set the bar high! Thank you so much for sharing this stunning piece!