Chapter 4: The Pause Between Breaths
A midlife women's fiction story about loss, fate, second chances, and the loves who find us in every lifetime.
Need a quick reminder of chapter 3?
It starts like a gentle pulling in my consciousness. Then my hands tingle and my vision goes black. I stop fighting the sensations swirling from the hollow of my chest to the tips of my fingers. And then–
*******************************************
You whisper into his neck—”We’re having a baby”—soft enough that even the air can’t hear you. He dozes beside you, as you lay nearly nose to nose.
The rise and fall of his chest mimics his personality – calm and steady.
The smell of sex and cigarettes hold you both in this moment.
It Had to Be You plays from the phonograph in the other room as the clock on his nightstand ticks.
You have to get to Delmonico’s for Del’s engagement dinner.
There’s no time for this conversation.
You glance down at the off-white satin blouse you’re still wearing, the blouse you made yourself. At least you’re halfway dressed.
“Hadley?” you try again, louder.
He opens one eyelid. Then the other. His eyes glint at you like emeralds.
His sly smile exposes the tiny space between his teeth.
He leans forward and kisses your neck.
You feel the pressure from his lips down to the center of your chest.
“I have to get ready,” you say, even as your toe drags along his shin.
He shivers and hooks your leg with his.
“Stay,” he murmurs into your ear. “Stay with me.”
You grin, but force yourself to roll away.
Get to the dinner.
“I’ll be cold,” he pouts.
“You sound like a mischievous boy.” You swing your legs over the side of the bed and sit up, carefully avoiding the calla lily petals underfoot. The ones he scattered about the floor earlier, just because.
He chuckles.
You already feel the ache of missing him deep in your bones. “Don’t forget me while you’re at work.”
“I could never.”
“Are you sure you can’t come with me?” you ask, turning back.
He takes your hand and presses your palm to his cheek. “I’m sorry, Angel.”
You lean toward him. Your blouse falls forward.
His eyes dip to your cleavage, and he bites his lip.
You laugh. “I love you, Hadley Jones.”
“Until the edge of this lifetime,” he says, like always. “And then all over again.”
You sit in front of the vanity. His eyes are still on you.
“Sometimes I think your work is the mistress between us,” you joke.
He chokes and coughs. His cheeks flush to crimson.
“You okay?”
He nods and comes to stand behind you. His eyes catch yours in the reflection.
“Don’t look so hurt,” you tease as you smooth your bangs into a neat row of flat fringe, like your favorite starlet Louise Brooks. “I know you love me.”
“Ava.” His voice comes out strained, as if your name might choke him.
You turn and catch the welts rising beneath his collar. “You sure you’re okay?”
You glance down at the flowers on the floor.
Butterflies flit around your gut.
Everything clicks.
He’s nervous and extra romantic.
This must be it.
He’s about to propose.
A breeze slips in through the open window, shuffling the petals on the floor.
“Ava…” His voice cracks over the second syllable.
You nod and place your hand over the baby growing inside of you.
His baby.
You smile so hard your cheeks hurt.
“Angel,” he says, “I’m married.”
**************************************
I shake my head in the stairwell, as if trying to rattle the memory right out of my brain. When my eyes re-focus on the smooth walls, I realize I’m crying. Tears stream down my cheeks. My hands press against my lower belly, protecting a baby that’s not there.
I quickly drop my arms.
Breathe.
Inhale, exhale. In, out. And again. Again.
What. Was. That?
I wipe my eyes and shake my head. Aleta has me going today. I chuckle, which turns into a choke over a sob.
I look back at her doorway.
Or, I’m losing my mind.