By Lacy

Donna’s still sleeping soundly when I steal into the room. The room, like much of the rest of the house, is pretty bare. Even with our combined things, it’s not enough the fill this house. We made plans to do some shopping together after we moved in, but now I imagine this house will remain inhospitable for a while.

I stroke her forehead gently, searching for any signs of temperature. She ran a low-grade fever for a few days, and the nurses warned me that the change in venue could precipitate a relapse. Her skin is thankfully cool.

"Josh?" her eyes flutter open, squinting as she allows them to adjust to the light.

"I’m sorry," I tell her. "I didn’t mean to wake you. I was just checking for fever."

"No fever," she answers, bringing herself haltingly into a sitting position.

"Is there anything I can get you?"

"No. I think I’m going to take a shower, though. Those sponge baths really didn’t do it for me."

"Be careful–"

"I won’t fall."

"And don’t–"

"Get my stitches wet," she finishes. "I know."

"I’m just going to sit right here." I point to the worn reading chair in front of the fireplace.

"Farther away even," she comments. "I’m not going to fall in the shower, Josh."

"Eighty percent of all household accidents happen in the bathroom."

"Yeah, well, those people were stupid."

And this is moment when I realize that our positions have completely reversed. I’m giving her the inane statistics and she’s responding with the wry comment, designed to make her look more intelligent than the rest of the world. Okay, I’m not quite sure how to begin dealing with this new development.

"Nonetheless,’ I begin. "I’m sitting right here."

"Fine," she rolls her eyes, and enters the bathroom.

I hear the pipes kick in as Donna turns the water on, and try not listen for any tell-tale sounds of her slipping on the wet shower floor. I also try to banish the image of her bruised body from my mind. I’m not having much luck.

It’s an unusually long time, even for her, before the shower turns off. I can hear her moving slowly around the bathroom and into the closet. When she emerges, she’s changed into a clean sweat suit.

"Feel better?" I venture.

"Yeah. But I don’t think I’ll ever get the smell of hospital disinfectant soap off of me."

"You will," I say from experience. "I promise. It only takes a couple of weeks."

"Oh, good. Something to look forward to." She scrutinizes me for a moment. "I’m a little slow on the uptake these days, not being at my best and all, but…shouldn’t you be at the office?"

"No."

"No?"

"I’m on temporary medical leave," I tell her. "At least officially, anyway."

"Medical leave?"

"Yes. I’ve had a nervous breakdown."

"That kind of thing goes on your record." She doesn’t wish to acknowledge the importance of my admission. That’s all right, I understand. Besides, this isn’t about me.

"Well, officially, I’m on leave to care for an incapacitated family member."

"That’s stretching the truth to its limits."

"It’s only an intermittent leave. I still go to morning staff meetings and spend a few hours a day in the office."

"Oh."

"You’re entitled to twelve weeks."

"I know the particulars of the FMLA, Josh."

"I’m just saying."

"Anyway, I plan on getting back to work as soon as possible. I think it would be best. That is, if I still have a job to go back to."

"Do you want to? Still have the job, I mean?"

"It’s my job, Josh," she shrugs. "And I think I need a little normalcy, don’t you?"

"Don’t rush it, Donna? I made that mistake, remember?"

"That was hardly your fault," she excuses me. "It could have just as easily not happened."

"Just…don’t be afraid to talk to someone while you can. That’s all I’m saying.

"I’m finding that dealing with my personal trauma is not nearly as taxing as dealing with yours was."

"I’m finding the same thing," I admit.

We sit in silence, not uncomfortably, but just taking a beat to process the meaning of our confessions.

"Do you still love me?" I blurt out.

"What?"

Just for the record, it can’t be a good sign when someone responds, ‘What?’ to the do-you-still-love-me question.

"Nevermind," I shake my head, deciding that it’s not the time for this conversation.

"No," she stops me. "What?"

"I asked if you still love me." Her jaw drops slightly. I know this look on her face. It’s the one that says, ‘I’ve got a lot to say on this matter, I’m just not sure where to begin.’

"Josh, I–"

"I guess I could have phrased it better," I cut her off. "I guess what I really want to know is…do you want to walk away? Are we over, Donna? Because if we are…I’d just as soon know now."

She takes a deep breath, exhaling it through a purse mouth. "What would you do if I said yes?"

Tough question. "I would try to respect your decision," I say. "I can’t hold you in a relationship you don’t want to be in."

"No, you can’t," she interjects.

"Does that mean that you want out?"

"No," she whispers after a tiny hesitation.

"So what’s the plan then?"

"Well, we could just take it by ear," she suggests.

"Yeah, because it worked so well for us in the past."

"There’s nothing wrong with our past, Josh. We just forgot to practice restraint. Things happened too fast, that’s all."

"Is that what you think went wrong?"

"Well, that and the fact that you have anger issues."

"Agreed."

"You did say you were getting help for that, right?"

"Yeah."

"Good," she says. "If for no other reason that it’s just not healthy, and it can get you into a lot of trouble."

"Yeah," I concur.

"I’m not walking away yet," she announces. "The things you said that night were wrong, but so was my walking out."

"Fleeing like a bat out of hell," I modify.

"Right. I should have stayed and had it out with you. No matter what the result would have been. I do know that it would have meant less pain for both of us in the long run. In fact, I was about to turn around and come home to give you a piece of my mind when…."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I just wanted you to know that."

"Okay."

"But we can’t roll back the clock an pretend the last week didn’t happen. We can’t return to what we were. A lot of things have to be rebuilt. Trust, for example."

"Yeah, I know. So, what do you want from me, Donna? What do you expect of me? Because, I've got to tell you, I'm drifting here."

"For starters," she looks me in the eye. "Separate bedrooms, separate lives, and time. Are you agreeable to those terms?"

"For as long as it takes, Donna."

"And I need you to be the man I fell in love with."

Why not ask me to lasso the moon? I nod, because her message is received loud and clear. I cannot, however, promise her that.

"There's one more thing we need to talk about," she continues.

"Yeah?"

"The baby."

"The baby?"

She takes a shaky breath and I know that what she is about to say is going to be painful for both of us. There is no way that I can prepare for it emotionally.

"I told you that I wasn't ready to have a baby."

"I remember."

"We were going to wait until the timing was right."

"We said that."

"I'm still not ready for a baby, Josh. In fact, I'm even less ready."

"What are you saying?"

"I think you know what I'm saying. I think you just don't want to admit it to yourself."

"You want to terminate the pregnancy." I almost wish I could feel something right now, but each new emotional low brings a short period of numbness. It's meant to anesthetize you -- to warn you of an impending onslaught of pain.

"I don't know, Josh. I haven't made a decision yet. I purposely chose to wait until I was more recovered before exploring my options. I just wanted to give you fair warning."

"Is this your way of punishing me? Of getting back at me for what I said?"

"No, Josh. I think you've done a fairly thorough job of punishing yourself. This is about finding out what's right for me."

"I'm not going to...you know...get a say in this?"

"Of course I'm going to take your feelings into consideration. It would be callous of me to do otherwise. But, the truth is, I don't think you're any more prepared than I am to be a parent." I take a breath to process her words, and the cruel blow they deliver. I clear my throat to ease the ravenously demanding lump growing there.

"I realize," I begin, "that these weren't the best circumstances to discover we were going to have a baby. I know that. I understand that, believe me."

"Good," she replies.

"I also know that I have no right to solicit anything from you. Especially a promise."

"Josh--"

"Just promise me you'll consider it very carefully. Promise me that you'll consider our baby. I just think it has to mean something that after everything your body was put through, physically and emotionally, that the baby is still hanging on. That has to mean something, I think."

"I'm not so flighty that I don't understand the gravity of the situation, Josh."

"I know that, it's just--"

"I promise," she interjects. "I promise I won't do anything rash. Happy now?"

"No," I tell her. "But it's a start."

"Okay," she sighs. "I don't want to talk about this anymore. I think I've had my fill of intense conversation."

I open my mouth to say one more thing, but end up closing it. She's decreed a pause in the negotiations. I accept it as break -- a chance to step back and regroup. "I'm going downstairs," I tell her instead. "Is there anything I can get you?"

"I'd love a Diet Coke," she replies. "I haven't had a soda in forever. I could use the caffeine."

It's on the tip of my tongue to tell her that I don't think caffeine is good for the baby, but I stop myself just in time. It would only raise her defenses. "Sure."

"Josh," she calls before I exit the room. I turn around to await what must be an additional request. "I know what you're thinking," she says, catching me a bit off guard.

"What am I thinking?"

"We've known each other for a long time, Josh. I know just about everything there is to know about you. But more than that...I know you," she shrugs a single shoulder. "You're thinking that the baby is the one thing we have left. You're thinking that it's what ties us together. And that I want to destroy that."

"I think you need to do what's best for you, Donna."

"You're telling me that, because you think it's what I want to hear."

"Donna--"

"It's okay, Josh. That wasn't my point anyway."

"What was your point?"

"It's not, you know. The baby isn't the only thing that's holding us together." She takes a deep breath, averting her eyes. "The answer to your question is yes, Josh."

"I'm sorry?"

"I still love you. I never stopped. The problem is that I still hate you, too."

"Okay."

"It might take awhile to get rid of the hate," she warns me.

"I can wait," I nod as I turn to leave.

"Josh?" she calls again.

"Yeah?"

"I'm glad."

It's a confession she gives me -- a hope I hardly deserve. I have no response for her, nor do I think she requires one. I only nod in affirmation and close the door behind me as I leave.

Downstairs I replay our conversation in my mind, except this time I examine, not the words she speaks, but the language her body employs. She was candid yet unsure, holding back just enough to protect herself. Knowing her as I do, I understand the reason. She's been hurt many times in the past, and I was just the latest in a string of devastating disappointments.

It speaks volumes of her love that she is willing to stay and work things out. It's a departure from the historical precedence of her personal life. Of the two of us, she risks the most -- she's taking a leap of faith.

When she spoke of her hate jumbled up with her love, she let slip even more than that. You see, I've learned well how to listen to her in the last few years. Even though I'd never admit that to her. Even though I know I still have a lot to learn in terms of the way her mind functions. I wouldn't admit that either.

She could've held the words back from me. Perhaps to use them as some sort of reward at a later date, but she didn't. She told me she stills loves me because she has a job for me. An employment which I am bound by unsolicited promises to accept.

Donna's hurt and her hate are filling a place inside of her, leaving no room for love. That place must be emptied before it can be filled again. And so, she has given me her love to hold on to. I'm a human bookmark, holding its place until she can return.

I’m charged with the safekeeping of her love, though she is yet unable to surrender her heart fully. She asks me to be patient as she and I begin a new chapter in our story. We've always built upon the history we shared -- but no longer. Our history is ancient, our present is now, and we must take the few tools left behind in the rubble to rebuild.

It's a long road ahead, and I must carry her love because the burden of it is too heavy for her. From the look in her eyes, I know that she is road weary already, after only the first tentative steps. She has asked me to play the steward. To nurture, as best as I'm able, her love. To ensure its safe passage until we reach the end of this latest journey.

It's a massive responsibility. Daunting in its implications when you think about it.

As far as the other is concerned...the other being the baby...well, I won't lie to you. It hurts. A sharp pain that fades into a persistent throb. A great deal of the pain comes from my inability to say or do anything to sway her decision. If the last week had not occurred there might be something, but as it is I have no right to make demands.

It all comes down to fear, I think. She is a woman of unconquerable spirit, and yet there was a time when she wasn't. In her weakest moments she can recall only the girl she used to be, and not the woman she's become. In these weak moments, her inner demons tell her that she is incapable of strength. Unable to face successfully the challenges that lie ahead.

I can think of no greater challenge than becoming a parent. The idea of it scares the living daylights out of me, and I'm not the one who has to carry the child and give birth to it. I can only imagine her fear. Unable to offer impartial advice, I can only hope that she knows she's not alone in this. I can only have faith that in the end she will do what she feels is best for her -- whatever that may be. I hope that, when the time comes to make her choice, she will remain true to herself.

But a big part me hopes she won't make the decision during a moment of weakness.

The End