Carrying Hope (17 page)

A nurse came rushing in, hearing the commotion.

“What happened?” He asked, trying to calm Agnes down.

“Nothing!” I claimed. Marcie’s grandmother was still shouting and trying to swing at me.

Of course, Marcie chose that moment to walk back in with a steaming cup of tea.

“What’s happening?” She asked, hurt and confusion shimmering in her eyes.

“I… I don’t know,” I faltered, wishing I had answers for her.

The nurse eventually sedated the old woman.

“I think she’s had enough visitors today,” he said, obviously dismissing us.

“But we only just got here!” Marcie cried, tears threatening to spill down her face.

“Well, what did you expect?” The nurse spat. I wanted to punch him.

Marcie approached her grandmother and held the old woman’s frail hand. Her pupils were dilated from the drugs and whatever she was trying to say came out in a slur.

“I’m sorry, Nana. I’ll come back to see you again soon, I promise.” She bent to give her a kiss on the forehead and I saw a tear trickle down Marcie’s cheek. I wanted so badly to make all of this better for her. I wanted to take all of her pain and anguish away. But this was one problem that my money and power could never remedy. I felt helpless.

Chapter 19

It had been a month since “the Nana incident”. Obviously, with my Nana’s illness, those kind of outbursts weren’t uncommon, but I still hated that it happened to Bryce. I hadn’t spoken to him since we got home. I actually didn’t talk to anyone. I didn’t bother with the garden. I just stayed in my room and avoided the world. I didn’t understand how she could go from perfectly fine one minute, to having a breakdown in the next. It worried me. I knew she didn’t have much longer left. There were so many things that I wanted to learn from her still. So many things that I wanted to tell her. I couldn’t stand the idea of losing my Nana, but it was something I was trying to come to terms with.

Bryce tried and tried to get me to talk to him. He knocked on my door, he talked to me through the wall, he slipped notes under my door, but I was too depressed to face him. I didn’t want to see the pity in his eyes. I didn’t want to watch him struggle to come up with something comforting to say when nothing could comfort me.

I felt guilty for ignoring him. I knew I shouldn’t. I knew I would have to eventually face my problems. I couldn’t hide from them forever.

My belly was only just starting to show a tiny bit. On my larger frame it was hardly noticeable; that didn’t stop me from looking at myself in the mirror constantly. I couldn’t believe that I had this tiny thing growing inside of me. Even more, I couldn’t believe how much I already loved it. I couldn’t wait to meet my tiny bean and hold them close and never let go.

Though I’d never really thought about motherhood much, the more I thought about it the more excited I got. I needed something positive to look forward to. Raising a child on my own was going to be a struggle, but I knew I could do it. I had to. I wouldn’t abandon my child like my mother did. I couldn’t give her up for adoption. Or him.

Every time I thought about my baby, I thought about it as a girl. I didn’t really think that I had a preference, but I always slipped into thinking of my baby as a little girl. I wondered if that was my so-called “Mother’s intuition” that told me the sex of my baby. I didn’t want to be disappointed if it was a boy, though, so I kept reminding myself of that possibility.

I’d started to think of names. I had a notebook full of name possibilities, but nothing sounded quite right.

My stomach growled and I looked at the clock on the wall. It was only 8 PM. For the past month or so, while I was avoiding everyone, I only went down to the kitchen to get food after everyone had gone to bed. After the first few days, Clara began to leave me already-prepared meals in the refrigerator that I could just heat up. It was too early for me to be hungry. People were bound to still be milling about.

I could stand to run into Clara or Francis. I’m sure they knew all about our visit to my Nana. I didn’t really want anyone’s pity, but I missed their friendship dearly. I just didn’t want to run into Bryce. I hated that I was avoiding him. I didn’t know how to handle all of my emotions right now and he only made that uncertainty worse. He created so many feelings within me that I didn’t know how to deal with. I had enough of that right now without him. I knew it wasn’t fair to treat him this way when he didn’t do anything wrong. I even worried that he would think he
did
do something wrong.

I cried during the entire ride back from the nursing home. Bryce didn’t say anything. He rested his hand on my leg just to let me know he was there for me, but he never tried to make me talk about my feelings. He never tried to force me to cheer up. He never gave me a meaningless ‘it’s okay’ or anything. He was perfect. He just let me have my feelings.

Of course, once we got back to his house and the days went by, all of that changed. After a week, he was at my door every day, multiple times a day. It wasn’t locked; he could have come in anytime he wanted to. Even if it was locked, it was his house, he would be able to come in. He chose not to, I’m assuming, because he respected my need for solitude.

So, yeah, he was still perfect. Part of me wished he hadn’t given up so easily. After two weeks of ignoring him, Bryce stopped knocking on my door. His notes made it clear that he was still at my disposal, but I just couldn’t bring myself to see him again.

My stomach grumbled again, letting me know that it wasn’t going to keep being patient forever.

“All right, all right,” I muttered, patting my tiny baby bump. She was a needy little girl. Or boy.

I opened my door a crack and peered into the hallway, trying to make out the shadows and make sure no one was wandering around. The hallway looked clear, so I tip-toed out and down the stairs. I stuck my head around the corner the led to the kitchen, looking for any signs of movement. When I saw none, I sprinted to the kitchen, hoping to stay undetected. The house was dark and chilly; I wondered where everyone was so early.

Spotting a sandwich, I reached out and started to take over-sized bites, stuffing my face.

“Mmm,” I moaned, my stomach thanking me for the offering.

Half of the sandwich was gone before I reached the stairs. The other half was gone by the time I reached the second floor. I paused at the top of the stairs, listening for footsteps or voices.

I took two steps toward my room when I heard a loud crash like glass breaking followed by angry shouting coming from down the hall. I looked toward my room and then back toward the yelling and cursed myself for what I was about to do. I should just go back to my room and stay put. I didn’t need to get involved with whatever was going on. But what if Bryce was fighting with someone? What if someone was breaking in? I couldn’t just ignore it.

I crept down the hall, jumping at every deafening thump or crash. Bryce’s bedroom door was open only a sliver and I peeked in, hoping he was alright. I saw him leaning his head against the wall, his hands clenched into fists. I couldn’t see if there was anyone else in the room, but I didn’t think that there was.

I pushed the door open a little further, enough to see the room completely. Sparkling shards of glass littered the floor, one wall had a hole in it, a chair was lying on its side and a side table was missing a leg. It looked like the room had been completely destroyed.

“Bryce?” I called softly.

He turned to look at me and the pained expression on his face shattered my heart; his eyes were red, his face streaked with tears, he hadn’t shaved in days and the hopeless look in his eyes told me that something was very wrong.

“Marcie,” he whispered, stepping toward me, apparently unaware of the broken glass under his feet. His entire face softened.

His hand reached out, but he dropped it quickly and set his jaw again into a hard line, his eyes narrowing to match.

“You need to leave, Marcie.”

My stomach dropped through the floor and I was afraid that my sandwich was going to make a reappearance.

“W-what? Just tell me what’s wrong Bryce?”

He took another step toward me and thrust his fingers into my hair, pulling my lips to his in a bruising kiss. There was no tenderness this time, no hesitation; he was rough and full of angst. His tongue forced its way into my mouth and I felt like I was drowning. It was too much; I couldn’t catch my breath, I couldn’t think, I couldn’t speak to tell him to stop. My head swam with the ferocity of his kiss, and then it was gone.

His eyes were wild and hungry. He looked feral; untamed.

“You have to leave.” His voice was gruff, unlike anything I’d ever heard from him.

My eyes filled with tears. I always knew this day would come. Especially since I’d been so awful to him lately. I just hated that it was really happening.

“Go back to your room and leave me alone.”

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. My heart started beating again; he wasn’t kicking me out of his house. Just his room.

“Please tell me what’s happening,” I pleaded, trying my best not to cry.

“I can’t.”

“Yes! You can. I promise. Please just let me help you, Bryce.” I couldn’t stand to see the man I loved in so much pain.

I was shocked at my own thoughts. Did I just admit that I loved him? Now I
wanted
to run away. I didn’t know if I could face all of this at once. I wasn’t strong enough.

“You can’t help me.”

I looked around his room for any clues. There was a fire blazing in the fireplace. I thought I saw a bit of torn paper on the hearth, but I couldn’t be sure. Everything else in the room was wrecked. My chest hurt; I could feel how much pain he was in and it made my heart hurt for him. I just wanted to fix everything for him. I wanted to apologize for being a jerk. I wanted to start fresh with him; tell him how much I cared about him. But I was too chicken.

I turned and left his room without another word. Thankfully, I made it inside my room before I started bawling. 

Chapter 20

As soon as she walked out of my room, I regretted telling her to leave. There was no other way though. She couldn’t be near me right now. I was too on edge, too angry, and too worried about her. If I had my way I would hold her and keep her safe forever. Things weren’t going my way though. I glared at the fireplace where the torn scraps of photographs were nothing but ash now.

Earlier in the day, I received an envelope, delivered by courier. There was no sender, so I set it aside to look at later and went about my day. Something about the envelope nagged at the back of my mind though. By the time I decided to open it, it was early evening. I pulled out a stack of photographs and the hairs on the back of my neck instantly stood on end.

I looked at the first picture of Marcie in the garden and couldn’t help but feel a twinge of longing for her. The next picture was Marcie and Clara in the garden, chatting about something. The next was from Marcie’s shopping trip. Picture after picture of Marcie and my heart started racing. Who had sent me these and why? When I got to the last picture — Marcie and I on our date — there was a sticky note attached.

This is your final warning.

              -Dad