Falling Into You (Falling 1)
Page 63“I was at the hospital, because some of my boys were hurt in the whole mess and I had to see to them. Make sure everyone was okay. Somehow one of the nurses knew me, knew I was with India. I think she lived in the same building as India or something.” I have to breathe deeply to keep my voice steady, even after all these years. “She told me…god—shit. She—she told me India was pregnant when she died. I didn’t even know. I don’t know if India knew. She wasn’t far, just like six weeks or something. But…yeah. Pregnant. I never even got to…she never got the chance to tell me.”
“Oh god, Colton. I’m so sorry. I’m—oh my god, Colton.”
“Yeah.” I can’t look at her, can only stare intently at my grease-stained fingernails. “I understand why you ran, Nell. I do. Just—just promise you won’t run from me ever again. You have to f**king promise me. Especially for shit like that. I know I’m—I know I’m just an illiterate greasemonkey, but I can take care of you. I can love you and if you—if we—if…I’d take care of you, no matter what.”
She sobs. “Oh god, Colton. That’s not why I ran. You’re so much more than an illiterate greasemonkey, Colton. You’re not a thug. You’re not any of the things you think you are. You’re so much more. I was scared. I panicked.” She tries to breathe through the tears. “I shouldn’t have. I’m so sorry. It’s my fault, Colton. I shouldn’t have left, I shouldn’t have been running, I should have—”
I squeeze her hand hard. “No, Nell. No. Don’t you f**king dare. This isn’t your fault.”
A doctor comes in at that moment. “I couldn’t help overhearing,” he says. He’s middle aged, Indian, exuding practiced compassion and efficiency. “It is not your fault in any kind of way, Nell. Such things sometimes happen and we have no way of knowing the why, no way of preventing it.” His gaze and his voice go intensely serious. “You must not fall victim to blaming yourself. The fact that you were running at the time did not cause the miscarriage. Nothing you did do or did not do caused it. It simply happened and it is no one’s fault.”
She nods at him, but I can tell she’s going to blame herself anyway. The doctor tells her to rest and that they’re holding her overnight for observation. When he’s gone I stand up and lean over her and kiss her as gently as I can.
“Please don’t take this on yourself, Nelly-baby. You heard the doctor. It just happened.”
“I know. I know. I’m trying.” She glances at my guitar case. “Play something for me, please.”
“What do you want to hear? Something happy?” I take the guitar out and settle it on my knee.
She shakes her head. “No, just…something. Whatever you want. Play a song that means something to you.”
I start with “Rocketship” by Guster, because that song has always struck a chord with me. I listened to that song all the time, on repeat. I’d play it over and over and over again, almost as much as my lullaby to myself. The idea of a rocketship taking me away, bound for something new…yeah. I could identify.
I feel people behind us, but I don’t care. Let them listen.
“Play something else,” Nell says. “Anything.”
I sigh. “I wrote a song while you were sleeping. It’s…a goodbye, I guess you could say.”
“Play it. Please.”
“Yeah, I know. Play it anyway.”
I nod, strum the opening chords. It’s a simple song, almost a lullaby. I sigh, close my eyes and let it all come out.
“You’ve never had a name.
You’ve never had a face.
A thousand breaths you’ll never take
Echo in my mind,
My child, child, child.
The questions blink like stars,
Numberless in the night sky.
Did you dream?
Did you have a soul?
Who could you have been?
You’ve never known my arms,
You’ve never known your mother’s arms,
My child, child, child.
I’ll breathe for you,
I’ll question God for you,
I’ll shake my fists and scream and cry for you.
This song is for you,
It’s all I’ve got.
It doesn’t give you a name.
It doesn’t give you a face.
But it’s all I’ve got to give.
All my love is in these words I sing,
In each haunted note from my guitar,
My child, child, child.
You’re not gone,
Because you never were.
But that doesn’t mean
You passed unloved.
Unborn child, child, child.
I bury you
With this song.
I mourn you
With this song.”
The last note hangs in the air. Nell is sobbing into her hands. I hear a choked cough from behind me, turn to see a crowd around the door, nurses, doctors, orderlies, patients and visitors, all of them clearly affected. My cheeks are wet and my eyes sting. For once, I let it out, let myself be weak.
Nell scrambles off the bed, wires and tubes tripping her, and crawls onto my lap. I cradle her into me, hold her against me, and we cry together. I comfort her the only way I know: with my silence, my arms, my lips on her skin. There aren’t words for this, and the ones I did have, I sang.
Chapter 15: A Song of Single Breaths
Two and a half weeks later
Water chucks and laps against the dock pilings. The moon is missing a sliver from the side, and gleams silver on the black ripples of the lake. We’re back where we started, on the dock, a bottle of Jameson and my guitar.
She’s sitting on the edge, pants rolled up to her knees, feet kicking in the blood-warm water. I’m playing “Don’t Drink the Water” by Dave Matthews Band, and she’s just sitting, listening. I’m leaning back against the corner post, one foot in the water, the other across her thighs. She’s rubbing my calf with her fingers, staring at the water. We haven’t said much since we came down here at midnight, two hours ago. We’re both kind of sloppy, and the loose numbness is welcome.
There’s been a lot of hospital visits to make sure she’s fine, long-term, physically, plus a whole lot more therapy appointments and grief counseling and all sorts of other long-past due shit. I’ve been staying with my parents, talking to my dad. I haven’t told him much, but enough for him to understand a little of what I went through. He hasn’t apologized again, which is probably good since apologies don’t mean shit, but I can tell he’s trying, with me. Whatever. One day at a time, and don’t hold grudges. That last part is hard.