Chapter 95
95
GAVIN
“ G avin, I’m sorry to do this over the phone.”
The anguish in the caller’s words registered before he could sort out who it was. Even with her voice masked by emotion, there was something familiar in it. Why she was emotional, he couldn’t say.
All he knew was that it was the middle of the night and the ringing of his mobile had startled him awake so that he reflexively answered the call.
“Are you there?”
Clearing his throat, he replied, “Yes. Sorry, who is this?”
“It’s Maggie. Sophie’s mother.”
“Oh, yes, of course.” Again, he’d responded as a reflex. It took the silence of her hesitation to raise the alarm in him. What was Sophie’s mother doing calling at this hour?
“Listen, Sophie doesn’t know I’m calling,” she continued. “In fact, she forbade me to do so. But you’re going to find out about this soon enough in the media, so I thought you should hear it from family first.”
That sent a ripple of dread through his core and he sat up quickly.
“What’s happened? Is she all right? Tell me she’s all right.”
“She … will be. But, Gavin, I’m so sorry.” She took a breath and let it out haltingly. “She lost the baby.”
“Lost the …” The words came out choked before he gave up. The baby. Their baby. All that promise of a new life, then it was overwhelmed by the hurt and anger over Conor, only to be left with this. This sudden emptiness.
“Wait,” he said, “Sophie forbade you to tell me? Why?”
“Honestly, she’s in a dark place right now. She blames herself.”
“Surely, she can’t do that.”
“She shouldn’t. There was nothing she did to bring this on, of course. It was just one of those awful things that happens.”
“Well, I need to talk to her. She needs to know not to blame herself. She?—“
“Give it some time. I don’t think she’s up to speaking.”
“That’s ridiculous, Maggie. I need to speak with her.”
“I think you do, too. I’m just warning you that she may not be open to it yet.”
“Okay, sure, yeah,” he said dismissively. It seemed impossible that Sophie wouldn’t speak to him at a time like this. “Thank you for letting me know. I, em, I’m going to try ringing her now.”
Maggie apologized once more before letting him go. Sophie’s cell went immediately to voicemail. Calling repeatedly didn’t change the result and he fell back in bed in frustration.
Why wouldn’t she want to speak to him now, at this most heartbreaking moment? His mind raced as he tried to sort out why she was blaming herself for this.
Take care of the baby.
Oh fuck. Those were the last words he’d spoken to her before leaving, before also telling her she’d destroyed anything they’d ever had.
That’s why she couldn’t bear to speak to him.
And that’s why he should force the issue and go to her.
But, even though he knew that was the right thing to do, he didn’t fling off the bedcovers and book a flight. Instead, he lay still because he knew that if he saw her in this state of brokenness, he’d be right back in their marriage. They’d pretend again like they did in those few days in Los Angeles that they could just brush past all the damage they’d done to each other. And that would just be repeating the ugly cycle they’d been stuck in for the last year.
Jesus, was that even important, though? Wasn’t it more important to be there for her? For them to be together to grieve this loss?
Without thinking any more about it, he tried her number again and was relieved to hear it ring.
“I’m so sorry, Gavin,” Sophie said as she answered, her voice croaky with tears and fatigue.
“Darlin’,” he said, “all that matters is you’re all right. Are you?”
“Will you come? Will you give us another chance?”
“Sophie, don’t let’s make it about us. I just want to know if you’re physically all right.”
There was a long silence and he worried she’d disconnected the call for a moment.
“I’m sorry. That’s all I can say,” came her whispered reply.
“Your Ma says you blame yourself. Please don’t do that. Please, I’m begging you not to do that.”
“It’s all you asked of me, that I take care of?—”
He squeezed his eyes shut as she cut herself off, his heart aching at her guilt. At the guilt he’d brought on.
“No,” he said firmly. “Don’t do that. You are not to blame for this. I have absolutely no doubt about that.”
“I need you, Gavin. I need you to give us another chance.”
Though he nodded, his eyes watery, he was glad she couldn’t see him. Because he wouldn’t go to her. He couldn’t. Not like this. Not when he knew that doing so right now would only tear open the wound that was their marriage.
“I, em,” he started, “I can’t. Not yet.”
Again, another long silence, followed by the sound of her trying to hold back tears.
“I’m sorry, darlin’, but you understand that we’re not in a place to just?—“
“Okay, sure. Um, I have to go now.” She said the words in between gulping deep breaths, racking sobs barely staved off.
“Wait—“
The call was disconnected. He tried her again and it was clear she’d shut off her mobile once more. He spent the next several hours calling her over and over, never getting through and never really knowing what he would say.
It wasn’t fair to let her go through this on her own. But at the same time, he knew that her insistence that him being there would be a return to their marriage wasn’t right either. Was he just supposed to forget about Conor? What was he supposed to do with all of those unresolved feelings?
When the sun rose, he was still in bed, still dialing Sophie with no response. He only stopped when his mobile died. Rather than plug it in to recharge, he took it as a sign that he should give up. For now. Just until he could sort out his heart.
It wasn’t until later in the day when he charged his phone and received a slew of voicemails and texts that he realized the extent of Sophie’s miscarriage. Yes, he knew she’d lost the baby, but he hadn’t realized it was so serious. News reports detailed the story of her having felt unwell for a day, collapsing in the street, and being rushed to the hospital. The pregnancy was ectopic, causing internal bleeding and requiring surgery.
He took a beating in the tabloids once news got out that she’d been in the hospital and he hadn’t been at her side.
Why hadn’t she told him she’d had surgery? Maybe she suspected that would have been the thing to bring him running? And maybe she held off because she also knew that reconciling this way wasn’t healthy?
The only thing he knew for sure was that she still wasn’t answering his calls.
He took the easy way out after that, letting her dictate their continued separation, all the while knowing he should have been a stronger man than he was.
Instead, he kept quiet, kept out of sight, and stewed in his own grief, ignoring all phone calls, texts, and emails.
One day, Julia showed up at his house, leaning on the intercom at the gate for an obnoxiously long time while he willed her to go away. Though he knew Sophie had harbored suspicions, he hadn’t crossed any lines with Julia. He hadn’t thought of her as anything other than a friend since before he and Sophie were engaged. But her continued presence after all that had happened with the breakup of his marriage seemed wrong. He wanted to move on from the chaos he’d wrought with his bad choices—the cocaine, the running away from his problems, hurting the ones he loved.
Moving on meant cutting ties with Julia, too. If he was honest with himself, he could see that she had ached for them to slip into their old intimacy for years now. His current situation provided just the opening she’d want to exploit. That was the last complication he needed. He texted her to say their friendship wasn’t a good idea anymore.
She replied with “selfish poncy southside bastard” as a confirmation that they were done. And he was relieved.
For weeks after that, he merely existed, numb and disconnected. It was the only way he could get through the days without falling back on the cocaine habit that he’d used before to keep from feeling.
At last, he started to emerge from this state. It came slowly at first, and then with urgency, as if he had sunk down to the deepest part of the pool and held his breath longer than he should, only to rise to the surface, desperately seeking the light, seeking oxygen.
It was the instinct to survive. To try to make something meaningful out of his life.
Seeing through the tabloids that Sophie was photographed taking long, solitary walks on the beach near her parents’ Malibu home was bittersweet. She, too, was surviving, moving on. But it was without him.
He tried to write, to find the kind of catharsis in the act of exposing his tortured heart just as he had for years, but words failed him.
Instead of writing, he focused on the things he felt capable of doing, like running and weight lifting to sweat out the demons. Once he got into a consistent routine with that physical exertion, he reached out to a respected voice coach to help him build up his long-neglected vocals. This eventually gave him both the confidence and inspiration to start writing again.
It wasn’t everything, but it was a start.