Small Victories

We drove up the snowy, winding road towards the cozy A-frame cabin. Mark smiled at me from the passenger seat and reached over to squeeze my knee as we made the last turn into our home for the next two days. The stereo filtered in Christmas tunes from a CD he had burned for me last year. I had lost radio reception about ten miles back. As Josh Groban’s voice swelled to a crescendo inside the car, I couldn’t help think but how perfect it could have been.

Angels we have heard on high,

Sweetly singing o’er the plains

And the mountains in reply

Echoing their joyous strains…

“Almost there,” Mark said, breaking my reverie. I gripped the wheel of the Toyota Highlander, trying to remember everything I had learned in that defensive driving course in sunny, downtown Chicago just six months ago. When I had seen the pictures this place online, I hadn’t counted on snow, or the stop start traffic all the way through the unfamiliar city center of Cincinnati. Now, the city was just a distant memory as I concentrated on the slick backroads of Hocking Hills State Park where we still had one unused credit for a romantic getaway for two. It had been a wedding gift two years ago and would expire at the end of December. Use it or lose it, as they say.

The tires crunched over the fresh snow piled up on the driveway. The cabin company had clearly gone over the main loop connecting all the wooden structures, but we were on our own from here. Mark leaned over and kissed my forehead, before going to unlock the front door. I walked around the back of our new, practical family car to pop the trunk and roll out the two purple suitcases packed for a weekend getaway.

“You have to go,” my sister, Sarah, had said when I admitted I was considering just letting the credit expire. “It’ll give you a chance to really reconnect, you know? But hey, if you’re not going to use it, I’m happy to take it off your hands.”

Sisters.

It had been enough to convince me to give it a go, if for no other reason than to keep her from doing the “I-told-you-so” routine that she had down to a science by this point. After wrangling the two suitcases through the wintery weather, up the rocky stoop, and into the entrance, I was beginning to feel out of breath. My pulse sped up and I took a chilly breath in through my nose, out through my mouth. In for five, hold for five, exhale. Repeat. My therapist should see me now. I made a mental note to tell her when we got back. My therapist is a big fan of celebrating the “small victories.” I decided this definitely counted. With Mark already inside, I punched in the code to the smart lock on the front door and rolled the suitcases through the red, wooden door.

My body was bathed in the warmth of the five-star, temperature-controlled cottage marketed to tourists like us as a “CozyCabin.” That was one way to describe it. I rolled the two suitcases just inside the door before setting them flat and unlacing my slush filled boots. A fire was already crackling in the hearth on the opposite wall, and I rubbed my hands together, warming them as I surveyed our accommodations. An oversized brown, leather couch was positioned directly in front of the fire with a plush rug positioned in front of it. Next to the fire, a sliding glass door led out to a patio with a hot tub for soaking, though I doubted I would feel like braving the elements even if I was allowed. The left wall boasted a modest, but fully equipped kitchenette. On the counter was a bottle of champagne with two flutes and a note on thick-stock paper that read “Happy Anniversary!”

I swallowed and turned my gaze to follow the stairs on the right wall to the upstairs attic. If the pictures online were to be believed that would be the master bedroom, complete with ensuite whirlpool jacuzzi. Sounds of ambient spa music were already echoing down into the main floor and I wondered if Mark had found the complimentary robes Hocking Hills teased on their website.

Rather than alight the stairs myself, I made my way over to the kitchenette and opened the mini-fridge, extracting a bottle of water. It had been midday when we left our high-rise in Chicago and now dusk was setting in fast. The days really are shorter in December. I walked over to the couch and settled myself in the left nook, laying my head on the armrest. Overhead, a fan spun in circles, and I tried to follow one individual blade with my eyes until it made me dizzy, and I turned my gaze to watch the setting sun through the double-paned window.

The sky continued to darken with the pink and purple pastels of sunset quickly melting into the icy black of another winter night in the Midwest. The forest of trees I was now engulfed in seemed to swallow the world before succumbing to the blanket of night that should have felt comforting in this cushy cabin. But we both knew that was never going to be the case.

I could feel Mark coming up behind me before I heard him. The sound of a cork popping following by the steady pour of bubbly liquid sluicing against the glass. Maybe the conversation was inevitable, but I could put it off for another day if I really tried.

“Nice of them to leave out champagne for us,” Mark said, coming to sit next to me on the couch. I nodded, biting my lip.

“Too bad I can’t partake at the moment,” I said, “But I brought some sparkling cider for later.” I looked down at my rounded belly mostly obscured in my oversized green-knit sweater.

He sighed and running a hand through his messy, brown hair.

I cleared my throat, pressing on.

“I know it won’t be forever. By this time next Christmas, she’ll be here and then I can have all the spiked eggnog I want. You’ll see. You’ll have both your hands full.”

“Mallory, we need to talk.”

I felt tears brimming in my eyes and blinked furiously, trying to banish the storm before it began. If I just stayed silent, maybe we could let this go for one more night. Enjoy ourselves and reconnect like Sarah had suggested…I fixed my gaze on the volume of Walt Whitman laid out for guests on the coffee table.

“Why are you crying, Mal?”

A log popped on the fire and my eyes flew shut as sparks issued forth. The screech of tires, the smell of burning rubber and plastic filled my senses. I could feel the blood sliding down the side of my face even as I came to against the harsh force of the airbag. I looked over to Mark, could feel the scream in my throat though I heard no sound but ringing in my ears as he lay there suspended by a seatbelt, the ultrasound picture now laying on the floor of the sedan.

My breath was coming in sharp gasps, and I tried to clear the vision from my mind, frantically deploying windshield wipers behind my shuttered eyes. Dragging a deep breath in through my nose, I held it for five seconds and blew it out. Again and again, but he was still there, the look of puzzlement arching one of those perfect eyebrows over his light blue eyes.

“I know you’re not pregnant, Mal.”

The words fell out, unbidden and overdue. He lowered the glass flute to the coffee table in front of us and frowned.

“I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

He licked his lips and reached for my hand. It lay there, tantalizing. And just out of reach. I lowered my gaze and fidgeted with the hem of my sweater.

His voice softened and I could feel the finality hitting me like an avalanche.

“It’s okay, Mallory. You don’t have to pretend anymore.”

There it was. As much as I thought I could put this off for just another day, I felt the slight shift in my heart and already knew what had to come next. Try as I might, I could not lift my eyes to meet his gaze. Instead, I allowed the buttery tone to cascade over and through me. I focused on the sound of his voice, tuning out the air conditioner, the fire, the fan. I laid my hand against my flat stomach and felt the emptiness for the first time since the miscarriage.

It was just the two of us.

“There wasn’t anything I could do,” I whispered. “I’m so sorry, Mark.”

He gathered me in his arms, and I pressed my face into the soft, grey flannel of his shirt taking in the smell of him. He rocked me on the sofa, champagne utterly forgotten, and ambiance cast aside.

“I know. It wasn’t your fault.”

“I was behind the wheel.”

“So was a drunk driver.”

“I should have seen him.”

“He hit us. On the highway. You did everything you could.”

“But…I lost the baby, Mark,” I hesitated, not sure how far he was going to push this. He sighed, breathing in the ocean spray shampoo I had used out of his cabinet. He ran his fingers gingerly through my cropped red hair. He was rarely this quiet.

“I lost her, but we could try again,” I said half-heartedly. “I think I’m ready to try again.”

“Mallory.”

My stomach pitched at the cadence of his words, and I dug my fingers into his shoulder.

“Don’t do this, please,” I whispered, eyes shut against the tears already burning in the corners of my eyes.

“I love you, Mal. I have to…it’s time for me to go.”

Images flashed through my mind. My family and his all dressed in black in front of the Christmas wreaths in the cemetery. A line of people waiting to hold my hand after the service. The empty apartment.

“I can’t lose you again,” I pressed.

He chuckled low in his throat.

“You won’t ever lose me, Mal. It's time to reconnect with yourself. Besides," he paused and kissed my forehead. "It’s Christmas.”

I was sobbing uncontrollably, reaching for him, but it was just me, tangled up in the white afghan on the too-big couch. It had always just been me. I looked down at the cork in my hand from popping open the champagne bottle and dragged a hand over my face, wiping away the tears and mucus of Christmas past. The robe I had grabbed from downstairs lay on the far end of the couch, though I did not even remember going upstairs to retrieve it.

Looking out the window, I picked up the champagne glass I had poured for myself and slid open the paneled door onto the balcony. Heaving back the top, I opened the hot tub and pressed the button. Jets sprang to life as I set the drink down and slipped out of my remaining clothing, naked in the winter starlight now reflected on the snow.

Mesmerized by the power of simply being alive, I mounted the frigid stairs and slid into the warmth of the water as more flakes began to fall. The stars were beginning to come out and Orion’s belt of three stars winked above me. I grasped the flute of champagne and lifted it skyward, the weight of three people I had tried so hard to be all falling away from my shoulders. In this moment, I was just me, and I contained multitudes. Maybe I would read Whitman in the morning, maybe I would call my sister and tell her she had been right, but for now, it was about the small victories. Inhale for five, hold for five, exhale.

Angels we have heard on high,

Sweetly, sweetly through the night,

And the mountains in reply

Echoing their brief delight.