Chapter Six

Lucas returned to the hole he inhabited with Beatrice in a Toronto neighborhood where anyone with any common sense wouldn't go outside after dark, where people kept their doors locked, and where dreams came to die.

He entered, closing the door against the unsettling heat that had settled over everything, oppressing the poor more than they already were. His eyes locked on the wisp of a woman who had once held such vitality. She huddled by the window overlooking the empty streets.

"I wondered when you'd come," she said. Her voice seemed to hold an accusation.

Lucas wiped his soiled hands on his work pants and sighed. He pushed hair from his eyes and frowned. "I'm sorry. You know I have to work these hours."

Beatrice sighed, too. Her gaze fell as her shoulders sagged. "Yes, I know, but this wasn't how life was supposed to go for us, Lucas."

Guilt clutched at him as he crossed their small abode and knelt at her feet. Taking her hand, he kissed it. "I know it's hard now, but we're young. Our whole times ahead of us and all that." Hope dared to ignite in his ever-auspicious heart.

Despite their ragged clothes and spartan furnishings, Lucas believed they had each other, and nothing else mattered.

Or so he told himself. In the deepest parts of his heart, he knew it was a lie, all lies. But if he told himself the lie enough, he would believe it, almost did believe it.

But now, stripped of any pretense, Lucas took in Beatrice and the growing life in her belly. He placed a hand gingerly there, then kissed her hand.

"I know I've failed you in many ways, my darling, but I promise things won't be like this forever."

Beatrice withdrew her hand from his and turned away. She rested her palms on her stomach. "And how is that going to happen? How are things going to change, Lucas?" Her gaze suddenly ripped into him.

Her penetrating eyes tore him in half. Taking a step back, Lucas closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then opened his eyes. Be calm, he told himself. "There's always hope. Our child is growing inside you as we speak. Isn't that something to look forward to?"

Beatrice remained silent.

Lucas stood in its wake until the quiet grew deafening. The sound of silence pierced every tiny hope he held so tenuously in his grasp. Like porcelain, they shattered when they fell, and Lucas had little choice but to invite regret, that most unwelcome of visitors, into their home. He withdrew to their bedroom.

He tried to understand how their lives had become this pale, dying imitation of true life. Lucas sat on the edge of the shallow mattress, elbows resting on his thighs as he leaned forward and raked his fingers through his hair.

Nine months had passed since their wedding. And what did Lucas have to show? A miserable wife. A backwater dwelling. A grueling factory job.

He recalled the conversation with his parents over the phone when he shared his news.

"How could you, Lucas?" his mother had demanded, close to tears.

"This isn't how we raised you, Son," his father had stated in an uncharacteristically harsh voice.

"End it," they both had said.

Lucas hadn't listened. He'd pleaded with them to understand. He was in love. What was wrong with that? Love was all that mattered. How could they argue with that? He wasn't a child anymore. Didn't they see that? He knew there would be challenges, but Beatrice and he were meant to be together. Why, oh why, couldn't they be happy for him? For them?

But no. They weren't happy. They didn't understand. They had all but cut him off, saying he was welcome to return home if he divorced Beatrice and put an end to this foolishness.

Now, as Lucas recounted their words and the past several months, he couldn't help but wonder if his parents had been right all along.

Beatrice had dropped out of school. Although Lucas hadn't heard her parents' disapproval, he knew by the shock and tears on her face that her conversation hadn't gone any better than his all those months ago.

Beatrice's words joined Lucas' parents' demands and accusations. He could easily imagine what her parents said. Together, all their voices came together in a dismal chorus, a dirge that casketed Lucas' hopes and dreams and buried them in unforgiving dirt. The grime on his hands. The suffocating filth on his life.

A scream broke through his lament.

Lucas dashed to his feet. "Beatrice?!" When he found her, she was lying on the floor on her side, clutching at her abdomen.

"The…baby," she said in broken breaths.

"Is coming? Now?" Panic gripped Lucas. He clutched at his hair, creating an unruly mop. He paced. "What- What do I do?"

"We need to get help. Go next door… Mrs. Williams. She can help. She's a nurse."

"But- we need to get you to the hospital," Lucas stammered. "It's early. Too early, right?"

No one had a phone in their building. The nearest hospital was over a mile away, and as Lucas considered their options, he knew Beatrice was right.

"We don't have time. Get her, Lucas. Now." She cried out again and clutched at her midsection.

"Okay, okay." He kissed her, promising, "I'll be right back."

Lucas paced the room, hating that he couldn't be with Beatrice. As soon as Mrs. Williams had arrived, she'd ordered Lucas to help her move his wife to the bed, then had promptly closed the door, saying the delivery room was no place for a man.

Now, as the hours ticked by, Lucas wondered how he didn't wear right through the worn floorboards. Beatrice's screams came muffled through the door. Otherwise, the piercing silence in between was louder. Lucas' heartbeat thudded in his ears. He had no appetite, no desire to calm himself. Every so often, he knocked on the door, asking for an update. Mrs. Williams was short with him every time, telling him he would have to wait and see. She was doing all she could.

"But is she going to be okay?" Lucas pressed a third time. A glance at the clock confirmed it was just past midnight.

Despite the darkness and the open window, the humidity and heat clung to him. He pushed up his shirtsleeves and unfastened his topmost button.

Fifteen minutes passed. Beatrice's screams grew weaker, then silence. Lucas halted. Doom grabbed at his heart, which hammered to the point of giving him a headache.

He went to the door and knocked with a desperation he'd never known.

A rustle on the other side, then the door opened. Mrs. Williams stared at him but seemed to look past him.

"Beatrice? The baby?" he whispered.

Mrs. Williams shook her head.

"Wha- What?" Lucas' tremulous voice hung in the air, then died.

"I'm so sorry." The older woman gazed upon him with extreme sorrow. She raised her arm, as if to comfort him, then lowered it, stepped aside, and opened the door. "You may come in if you wish to see them."

Lucas entered, each step toward the bed surreal. The nightmare before him seemed an impossibility, a scene he could never have imagined. On the bed, Beatrice lay, her eyes closed, her body covered except her face. Beside her, wrapped, a tiny unmoving bundle rested.

He stopped at the bedside and stared for a long time. What could have been a second or a hundred years didn't matter. Beatrice was not here, not in this husk. He rapidly blinked back tears, unable to fathom this atrocity. Lucas couldn't reconcile the once-lively young woman with the still form before him. He supposed Mrs. Williams had covered the worst of the tragedy with the blanket, but this… He closed his eyes and shook his head, pushing the torrent from his tear ducts out with more force.

"What happened?" he rasped, a tiny whisper to an uncaring universe.

A gentle pressure of warmth touched his upper back. "She bled out. The baby was… The umbilical cord was wrapped around your daughter's neck. There was nothing to be done. I'm so very sorry." Mrs. Williams withdrew her hand. "I will notify the necessary authorities."

Lucas absently nodded as the woman left him to mourn.

He touched Beatrice's face, already turning cool. He pushed a lock off her forehead, then kissed her there, then each eyelid, and finally on the lips. The unyielding lips did not return the affection. Lucas wept, then sat on the edge of the bed. He stared at the peaceful face of his little child, a daughter he would never see grow up, never knew her laughter, never walk her down the aisle, never have to fend off suitors.

His hand trembled as he touched her precious cheek with the back of his hand. He cradled her to his chest as his tears intensified, then leaned into Beatrice. Between them, their daughter lay. Between them, only death. Lucas kept his eyes closed, wanting to wake from his most awful of dreams to a place where life was anchored in hope.

Raindrops continued his grieving as they hit the black umbrella over his head. He stared at the casket, placed a single white rose there, kissed the hard mahogany, and watched as his wife and daughter, forever together, were lowered into the earth.

People slowly dissipated. In the distance, his parents spoke with Beatrice's. Their mothers hugged. Their fathers shook hands. Lucas caught the Bordeaux casting glowers in his direction before they left.

Lucas turned away and stared at the grave, determined to be alone. He'd brought this on himself, he knew. More than the mourning of losing Beatrice and Katrina Grace-yes, his daughter's name-he mourned his culpability.

"Son, I'm sorry."

Lucas drew a sharp inhale. He turned, shocked to find his father at his side. Next to his father, his mother stood. Only regret etched their features.

"I'm a fool. I ruined her."

His mother took him in her arms in an uncharacteristically gentle hug. For being a head shorter, she held him with surprising strength.

"Come, darling," she said. "Let's go to the hotel. We have a room for you. You can make yourself comfortable, get something to eat."

Lucas pulled away. He had no more tears to cry, but inside, he was drowning. "Comfortable? Why should I deserve comfort? And do you think eating is really going to make a difference?"

"Lucas," his father said, "that's no way to speak to your mother."

Lucas stepped back. "I- I'm sorry. Forgive me for speaking harshly. Forgive me for… for everything." He hung his head, feeling six years old again, as his parents led him away from his detour.

Hours later, Lucas occupied the room next to his parents. He wore a fresh set of clothes and had managed to scrape some food into his body.

A knock came from the door.

Lucas stood and admitted his father, then returned to the chair he'd sat in next to the window. Raindrops tracked down the glass.

"I'm beginning to feel like it's never going to stop raining," Lucas said, gesturing toward the window.

His father pulled up a chair and sat. "Rain is necessary. Without it, life wouldn't be possible."

Lucas huffed. "Please spare me your musings on life, Father. What is it?" His voice held a weariness far too gone for someone so young. "Have you come to tell me how stupid I was? To tell me I'm an embarrassment to the family? If so, there's the door. I already feel enough regret to last a hundred lifetimes." He glared at his father. When the older man didn't speak, Lucas stood and paced. "Well? What? All I ever did, my whole life, Father, was live for your approval, for Mother's. I tried to be the perfect son. I followed all your rules, got the best grades in school, stayed quiet and out of sight when I knew I wasn't wanted-"

His father got to his feet and placed a hand on Lucas' shoulder. "Stop right there, Son."

Lucas stared at his feet, the weight of his situation pressing on him like an elephant. A rebel tear escaped and dropped from his nose to the carpet. "I don't understand. I made one mistake…and I hate to call Beatrice that! I loved her, but that didn't matter to you, to Mother, to God, to- to anyone! I wasn't deserving of happiness. And to think all I worked for, all I ever wanted was to make you p-proud."

Lucas nearly collapsed as liquid emotion won, but two powerful arms held him up. He was six years old again, feeling as small as that child, as his father hugged him.

"We are proud of you, Lucas."

Lucas stiffened, withdrew, and went to the chair. He shook his head, his face hot. From the corner of his gaze, he saw his father resume the other seat.

"I'm sorry for my part in this," his father continued. "I realize… your mother and I haven't always been there for you. You've had to grow up too soon in many ways. We asked a lot of you, I understand. You are still very much a child, though, and before you take offense, hear me out."

Luas opened his mouth to protest, then nodded.

"I come from a background where the father was seldom in his children's lives. My mother, God rest her soul, left this earth too soon. As you know, I was but a boy myself when she passed. I suppose my own upbringing left me with the need to prove myself and to have a strong work ethic, to be a man and to go after what I wanted… but in matters of the heart, there is something I should have instilled in you long ago."

Lucas looked at his father, confused.

"Patience."

"Patience?"

His father nodded. "Yes, patience. I may have been ambitious when it came to my career, but when I met your mother, I was also very young. She taught me well that lesson of patience. I was ready to marry her at about the same age you are now, but she refused me. She told me she wanted to get an education and her own career, that she wasn't ready to be tied to a husband. Because I loved her, I waited. Five years, Lucas."

Lucas' eyes bulged. "Five years?"

His father chuckled. "Yes, five years. And she was worth waiting for. I knew she loved me, but she needed to be sure. And I'm glad she did, that I did. Now, we've been married twenty-three years, and we have you. Lucas, I know we have not shown you enough, but we love you. Are proud beyond measure of you. You are the result of our love. One day, Son, you will meet the perfect woman for you, and you will know. Wait for her, Son. Be patient with her and let her open her heart to you, and I promise you will have a beautiful, lifetime union."

"Do you really think so?" There, in that defining moment, hope reignited in Lucas' heart.

"I know so. And don't regret your choices. Without them, you won't become the great man you will be, the great man you already are."

"So, now you know," Lucas said, kissing Elizabeth's hand.

"Oh, Lucas, darling." She gently ran her hand through the hair on the side of his head, a gesture she had done many times. "I'm so sorry. I can't even imagine…"

"You aren't ashamed of me? Angry?" He held her gaze with the deep-seated need to be seen, really seen, to the bare soul. The little boy inside begged it.

"Ashamed? Angry?" She kissed him. "Never. You are the most thoughtful, kind, patient, and sweet man. I'm only sorry you've carried this heaviness in your heart all these years."

Lucas engulfed her in his arms and kissed her with unbridled passion. Relief in the form of love washed over him, and he felt like a new creation. "I've told you many times that you can't imagine how happy you've made me. I mean it with everything I have, Elizabeth. I cannot imagine a day apart from you, and I never want to know what that is like."

"We have all the time in the world, darling."

Lucas tried to understand how she could love him, even now, especially now, and when reason failed to comprehend such abounding love, he stilled his thoughts. He cherished the life God had given him, every breath between now and eternity, and vowed his heart to his perfect woman.

He had learned the importance of patience, but infinitely more than that, Lucas knew, in the very marrow of his essence, that love covered any regret or sorrow. Love was always patient, kind, never envious or boastful or proud. Love was not prone to anger and forgot all wrongdoing. It only lived in goodness and abounded in truth, forever protecting, trusting, hoping, and persevering. For when Lucas was a child, he knew all this only in part and reasoned it such, but now he was a man, and he had put childish ways behind him. Love never failed. Never fails. It transcends this life, and in the fullness of time, we are known fully in eternity.