Operation Baby Rescue. Beth Cornelison

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СКАЧАТЬ raising her head, Elise angled her gaze up from the floor to glance at Jared Coleman. He met her eyes briefly before clearing his throat, shrugging a shoulder dismissively and shifting in his seat. “Um, I …” His gaze darted away, and he cracked the knuckles of one hand with his other.

      His restlessness and reluctance to speak intrigued Elise. Especially since his guilty furtive glances toward her told her his discomfort sharing with the group centered on her presence. She made a point of averting her gaze, hoping to make him feel less on the spot.

      “Isabel took her first steps last Wednesday,” Jared said at last.

      Around the circle, several of the women cooed.

      Elise tightened her grip on her sleeves. First steps? Clearly Isabel was a baby. About one year old.

      The same age Grace would have been had she lived.

      Like a fist to the gut, a shot of renewed grief landed a sucker punch that stole Elise’s breath. She sat very still, keeping her gaze on the floor, but she felt Jared’s eyes watching her.

      “As happy as I was about her walking,” he continued, “it just brought home to me, again, all the milestones Kelly will never see.”

      Now the women around the circle made noises of empathy and shared sadness for Jared’s revelation.

      Elise made a few mental calculations. Jared was here alone. He apparently had a one-year-old daughter. Was the absent Kelly his wife?

      He said no more about the situation, letting his feelings about the event go unspoken. In the ensuing silence, one of the older women launched into a story about missing her late husband during the holidays and family celebrations.

      Elise hazarded a glace across the circle and found Jared’s attention on her again. Instead of jerking her gaze away, as if she’d been caught peeking at something forbidden, she held his stare. More than grief over the story he’d just shared, she saw concern and guilt in his dark brown eyes. Guilt?

      She was still pondering the reason behind his odd expression half an hour later when the group dismissed for refreshments. Elise had no appetite for the cookies on the table by the exit, but her mouth was dry, and she decided to stop for a cup of lemonade before she left. Her pause at the refreshment table gave Joleen a chance to catch up with her before Elise made her escape from the awkward meeting.

      “I’m so glad you came tonight,” she said, placing a hand on Elise’s arm. “I hope you’ll come back. Talking about your experiences and your feelings gets easier with practice, and having the support of people who understand what you’re going through is invaluable.”

      How could anyone really know what she was feeling? Her grief seemed so personal.

      Elise forced a smile. “Thank you.” She made no comment on whether she’d return. The jury was still out on that. Even the little she’d said tonight had been painful to share. She drained her lemonade quickly, hoping to make a hasty exit before any other members of the group caught her in an uncomfortable conversation. Tossing her empty cup in the trash, she spun on her heel to leave … and almost collided with a broad chest belonging to a man with dark brown, soulful eyes.

      “Hi,” Jared said with a quick flash of a lopsided grin.

      “Oh, uh … hi.” Elise’s heartbeat performed a stutter-step. He was much taller than she’d expected, and this close to him, she could smell a tantalizing hint of sandalwood.

      He rubbed his palms on his jeans once before sliding his hands in his pockets. The rattle of keys told her he was fidgeting. “I’m sorry if I … made you uneasy or caused you more pain tonight.”

      She blinked at him and furrowed her brow. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected him to say, but an apology was not on the list. “Pardon?”

      “Talking about my daughter.” He gave an apologetic wince. “When the Harrisons joined the group.” He hitched his head toward the young couple still chatting with an older lady at the circle of chairs. “.Kim would get upset when I talked about Isabel. I thought, maybe, since you’d lost your baby … hearing about my daughter would be … especially difficult.” He pressed his lips in a taut line of regret. “If it was, I’m sorry.”

      Elise could only stare for a moment. His sensitivity to her pain was thoughtful and also … frustrating.

      “I, um …” She shook her head in disbelief. “Thank you, but … I don’t expect you to censor yourself to protect me. Sure, it hurts to hear about other people’s kids and think about what might have been, but … that’s not your problem.”

      He shrugged and frowned. “Maybe, but I’d hate to think you decided not to come back because my stories about Isabel upset you. Losing my wife was hard enough. I can’t imagine how hard it would be to have lost Isabel, how difficult it must be for you and the Harrisons.”

      Pain shot through her chest, and she murmured, “It’s been hell.”

      He pulled one hand out of his pocket and flipped it up in a gesture that said she’d proved his point. “And I don’t want to make it worse.”

      She nodded, swallowing hard to force down the knot of emotion that had worked its way up her throat. “I appreciate that. But how selfish would it be of me to expect you not to say what you needed to about your daughter, if it helped you work through your own grief for your wife?”

      He lifted his chin and cocked his head as if her comment caught him off guard.

      Before he could say anything, she raised a hand. “Besides, I get a little tired of people avoiding mention of babies, and especially Gracie, my daughter, as if pretending she never existed would be easier for me, when really it’s their own awkwardness they want to avoid.”

      She heard the bitter edge in her tone and bit the inside of her cheek. She hadn’t meant to snap at him. Her frustrations with her coworkers and neighbors weren’t his fault. But instead of taking offense, he smiled and nodded.

      “Exactly. I get the same thing from my friends concerning my wife. As if any talk of spouses is suddenly taboo. I hate it.”

      His response surprised her. Something warm unfurled in her chest, releasing a bit of the pressure that squeezed her lungs. When was the last time someone had actually understood the tangled emotions she had over losing Grace? Even this tiny connection to Jared made her feel a little less alone. “Your wife must have died recently if Isabel is only a year old.”

      He nodded. “Nine months ago. Isabel was five months old when Kelly was killed by a drunk driver.”

      A spark of outrage fired through her. “A drunk driver. It’s bad enough to lose someone to disease or an accident, but when another person’s carelessness is to blame … that’s—” She shook her head, fumbling for the right word to voice her dismay.

      “Yeah. It is.” He gave her a bittersweet smile, telling her he understood what went unsaid.

      Empathy pricked her heart, and she felt another thread of connection form between them. His grief might be different, but they faced similar struggles.

      “I’m sorry,” she muttered, knowing how trite the words sounded. How many people had told her they were sorry for her loss? Enough that the platitude СКАЧАТЬ