Bo & Ember (22 page)

Everything, including life, is a process we must surrender to in order to grow. If we were just thrust out on the other side of something, we’d know no more than when we went in. When the next challenge came along, we’d be less prepared than we were before.

Trust, breathe, trust, repeat. That was the mantra Dr. Bittman and I produced when I was grieving my parents' death. Grieving is the most sinister process to surrender to. There are stages, and each one takes the exact amount of time it takes to get through. You can’t rush them any more than you can rush the sunrise. Such was the process of renovating the house. I wasn’t stupid. I knew that this project was more than just about the structure of a house. So, I had to go through it. One nail at a time.

Regan’s voice pulled me from the mental confines of my therapist's office. “After we get our album set, I want to come to Concord to visit you all. With Georgia, too, if that’s okay.”

I smiled. “What’s the sense in that giant house if we don’t fill it with family and friends? You’re always my brother, got it?”

Regan’s eyes locked onto mine, and I caught the shift of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed. “Got it.”

Beckett sauntered into the room with Willow just as the atmosphere started to suffocate me.

“All right, you magicians of sound,” he grinned at his own joke, “today’s going to be busier but more fun than yesterday. We’re going to work the same viewer schedule as we did yesterday. You’ve each got two tracks to lay, and you’ll be able to do it in front of a new group of listeners.”

“Love it.” Shaughn sipped her coffee and I couldn’t tell if she was sarcastic or not.

Willow spoke up next. “Also, you’ll be videotaped during the recording, but when you’re done and the fans have gone home, we want all five of you in the studio together. We want you to jam together. Sing, play, talk, whatever. That will be filmed, too. The idea is to create a montage that presents you all as a family. You each have a different sound, which is evident, but when it comes time for the albums to drop and the tour tickets to go on sale, we want to sell the idea of a friendship experience. Drama is tired. Fans want to know they’re watching a genuine experience.”

“Well, that’s what they’ll get,” Ember encouraged as she stood and kissed Regan on the top of the head.

“Great,” Beckett said as he clapped his hands.

I had no idea why Willow and Beckett were doubling as PR, but I guessed that in this case it had to do with their close relationship with the members of both groups. Artists can be a cranky bunch of self-entitled whiners, so it's best to present new ideas in the easiest way possible.

“Hey,” Ember whispered as she pulled me aside before we went into the studio.

“What?”

She looked to her left and right, seeming to make sure we were somewhat alone. “The videos from yesterday and today…”

“Yeah…”

“When we see them in a few months everyone will know I’m pregnant, but in those videos we’ll be the only people who know there’s kind of one extra person in the room.” Embers eyes sparkled as she spoke.

I wrapped my arms around her and kissed her like my life depended on it. “I love you so much. Let’s go finish this album, huh?”

Once we were settled in the studio, my hunch was proven correct. We were quickly introduced to the GS marketing team, and Yardley seemed relieved when we told her we were looking forward to the jam session this afternoon.

While Yardley had a sharp industry sense, and a hell of an ear, it was clear she was still shaky on reading people. Asking the five of us to spend an afternoon together goofing off in a studio was far from an imposition. We lived and loved music. We weren’t attitudes manufactured to look and act like singers. We were musicians thrilled to be doing what we loved.

Ember and I worked easily through our set. Despite her sickness episode from the night before, she was clearly well rested. She glowed behind that mic, and we nailed both tracks, one of them without having to stop at all.

“You say you have to work at it,” I whispered to her, even though I knew the mics were on, “but every day it becomes more clear just how natural you are. I love you.”

“I love you, too. Congratulations on finishing the album.” She winked and leaned in to kiss me.

“Congratulations to you, too.” Before pulling all the way back, I kissed her cheek. I couldn’t resist the blush she’d developed through the set, and her skin felt warm beneath my lips.

Ember looked more beautiful to me in that moment than all the other moments I’d had with her put together. I almost felt something inside of me break and float away. Something dead and useless I’d been carrying around for far too long. Hurt, pain, whatever. It was all gone as I focused on my wife and the baby inside of her.

“What’s wrong? Your eyes are watering.” Ember tilted her head and I watched a flash of fear whip through her eyes.

“Nothing bad. I promise. I just … I feel…” I couldn’t finish my sentence. I stood, sliding my guitar to my back, and grabbed her hand, exiting the studio to where Regan and his band waited for their turn to record.

We smiled and waved at them, wishing them luck, before they closed the door behind them.

“Bo,” Ember said in a whisper once we were alone. “What are you doing? You’re freaking me out.”

“I just wanted to be away from the microphones for a minute. I was feeling really overwhelmed in there. In a good way. I’m so proud of you. I’m so proud of
us.
I just … Jesus, I feel like I want to marry you again, right this second.”

From down the hall, Willow’s voice cut through my romantic mania. “I think one impulsive wedding is enough for all of us, don’t you?”

“You’re just jealous,” Ember quipped.

“Maybe so,” Willow replied as she wrapped her arm around Ember’s waist. “But, seriously. No more weddings. You’re just high from finishing your first project.”

Willow turned to Ember, addressing her as if I wasn’t there. “Jesus, Ember. Most guys accomplish something and they go out and get piss-faced drunk or buy a car. Not your husband. He wants to
marry you
again. It’s just too much sometimes,” she teased.

“It’s just enough,” Ember said quietly as she stepped away from Willow and walked into my arms. “Bo, I’d marry you every day.”

It looked like she was going to say more, but her face contorted in an uncomfortable looking fashion.

“What is it?” I asked, holding her hips.

Ember covered her mouth. “I think I overdid it on my post-sushi-puke breakfast.”

She turned and raced down the hallway to the bathroom, and Willow followed her.

A few minutes later, the sisters emerged with serious expressions.

“Everything okay?” I scanned both their faces.

Ember twisted her lips. “Well, Willow knows.”

Willow flashed a sympathetic smile and spoke in a hushed tone. “Yes, and I support the waiting to tell everyone, but I’m glad you told me. You guys should get out of here and I can stick with the food poisoning story. Any more random throwing up will set off weird signals.”

“I want to say bye to Regan—we barely got to see him.” Ember’s eyes began to fill with tears, and it was clear she was feeling worse than I’d thought.

I put my arm around her shoulders and led her down the hallway. “It’s okay, love. He’ll understand eventually.”

Ember turned to Willow. “Don’t tell my parents, okay?”

Even though the girls shared a biological dad, they agreed a year ago to keep calling their parents
their parents
.

“I won’t, but you better. Your mom has a keen sense about things. She’ll know from across the country, you know she will.”

“You knew the second you saw me, didn’t you?”

Willow nodded. “What can I say? We’re sisters.” She winked and pulled Ember into a tight hug. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Ember wiped some tears off her cheeks and smiled broadly.

We said goodbye to Willow, and I sent a few texts. One to Regan, Yardley, and to Tyler to let him know we’d be returning to Concord a bit earlier than planned.

Once we retrieved our things from the hotel and were on the road, Ember fell asleep rather quickly. I hated leaving New York without a proper goodbye to Regan and Yardley, but clearly Willow’s instincts about getting Ember back home were right. She was exhausted, and I knew she hated keeping secrets.

We were almost all the way through Massachusetts when Ember started to stir. It looked like she was dreaming, the way her hips and shoulders shifted from side to side. After a minute or two, it seemed like it was a bad dream. I shot a sideways glance at her and noticed that she was wincing.

“Ember,” I called, reaching my hand over and touching her shoulder. She was giving off an unnatural amount of heat. “Hey, sweetie, wake up.”

I kept my attention on the road, while turning every couple of seconds to look at her. Suddenly, she sat up, leaving her seatback down, and clutched her stomach. “Shit!” she hissed, folding forward.

“What’s wrong?” My pulse pounded through my neck as I began to panic.

She shook her head, breathing heavily. “I don’t know. It hurts. Bad.” Her words were coming out in constricted spurts as her face turned red. “Ow! I need to get to a hospital. Something’s wrong.”

I swerved into the right lane, not paying attention to a single car on the side of the road. Leaving my hand on her back, I navigated to the closest exit, reasoning that a hospital had to be relatively nearby since we were in a densely populated area.

“Oh, God!” Ember’s pain turned into a wail as she looked down. “I’m bleeding.”

“What?” I yelled, my head spinning as I tried to navigate the roads of a town I’d never been in. I looked across the car and saw Ember studying the bright red fingertips of her right hand. “Shit.”

“Bo, hurry. I’m scared.” Her voice shook as it took on the timbre of fear itself. “Call Willow. Please. Call my sister.”

I tapped the home button on my cell phone and spoke to the computer-generated voice asked me what I wanted.

“Directions to the nearest hospital.” Speaking clearly while freaking out is incredibly difficult.

The phone beeped and the voice spoke back. “Did you say ‘directions to the nearest IHOP’?”

“No!” I shouted back, then tried my request again, finally getting the answer I needed.

I don’t know how long it took us to get to the hospital, because everything was loud and blurry. I remember pulling up to the emergency room entrance, leaving the car running, and yelling for help as calm nurses kept their professional faces. They moved quickly, maintaining steady voices as they asked me several questions that I could answer in just a couple of words.

“Thirty.
Pain started about twenty minutes ago.
She’s a little over ten weeks pregnant. Please help…”

Ember’s pain seemed to get worse as she writhed on the bed in the emergency room. I held her hand as tightly as I could, trying to remind her that I was there, since I knew she couldn’t possibly hear my voice over her cries.

I didn’t even think to pray…

Ember

A
nd then it was all over.

I knew I was miscarrying the baby the second I woke up in pain. It was the kind of pain that tugged at my intuition and there was no escaping it. I didn’t want to tell Bo while he was driving, though. I just wanted to get to the hospital and have it all be over.

My mind was spinning. Just days ago we’d looked at the baby’s picture—a picture that still sat in my bag in the car—and heard the heartbeat. I heard it. Then it was gone.

I’d never thought much about miscarriages since I’d never been pregnant, and, before Monica, didn’t have any friends who’d had babies. But, at the beginning of my own, I thought I’d be in a lot of pain, bleed a lot, and then that would be it. It hadn’t occurred to me that I’d be
delivering
the baby. Of course I would. It was in there and had to come out somehow. I felt it when it happened, and then an emptiness surged into me, taking the place my baby had once resided.

The nurses were so kind. One in particular, Greta, stayed by my side during the whole ordeal, and did my vital checks throughout the night. I was grateful to have one person in the hospital to count on for the first several hours I was there. She was delicate in asking me if I wanted to see the baby. She explained that Massachusetts was one of the few states that allowed parents to decide how to handle the
remains
of a miscarriage. The emphasis on “remains” was mine. There was no other word, really. That wasn’t her fault.