A New Hope - Robyn Carr MIRA

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The next time you’ll be wiser and more patient about everything.”

      “Next time?” Matt asked. “You’re kidding me, right?”

      The doctor, who wasn’t that much older than Matt, clapped a hand on his back and said, “You’re like looking in an old mirror.”

      * * *

      Matt had fallen in love with Natalie instantly. True, he’d been all of twenty-five, but if that hadn’t been love he’d sure like to know what it was.

      At the time he was giving a couple of lectures at Portland State; his master’s degree was in biology. His undergrad degree was in plant biology, he had minored in agricultural science and he was a farmer. He was also a visiting professor, which had made his father laugh. But Matt knew a lot about farming, pesticides, organic farming, water runoff, landscape contouring, animal husbandry, you name it. In pursuit of his degrees he’d studied agriculture, environmental science, and the care and breeding of animals, and that made him a valuable resource. It didn’t hurt that his father was the owner of one of the most prosperous farms in the state, with two of his sons, Matt and George, being associates.

      And Natalie had been a biology department secretary, also twenty-five, with the longest legs he had ever seen.

      She was so pretty and fun-loving and dating her had been sheer bliss. He hadn’t rushed into anything, despite that ER doctor’s assumptions. They went out for months before they moved in together. She wasn’t Basque, which suited him fine. She was of Swedish descent, with a few other European countries in the mix. She was very polite to his family but made it no secret, from their first date, she was never going to be a farm wife. He had no quarrel with that, either. He wasn’t looking for a farm wife, just as his sisters hadn’t been looking to marry farmers. She didn’t want a slew of children. He was okay with that, but he wanted a couple of kids and so had she. Later, she’d said. No hurry.

      Matt loved the farm. But in order to commit to a relationship, one makes compromises. He and Natalie didn’t have to live on the farm. They’d build a house closer to the city, when they could afford it. He commuted from their small apartment near Portland and spent the occasional night on the farm when it was a real busy time—planting, harvesting or lambing. George had the sheep, but Matt was always there to help, too—with the breeding, shearing, lambing, inoculations, docking and castrating. Matt wouldn’t marry Natalie until it was clear—he wasn’t giving up the farm.

      Knowing that, Natalie still wanted to get married. She chose the orchard as the venue—but the reception was held in a large hall in Portland. When a bee stung her forehead during the vows, causing a very large red bump, it should have been an omen. But even with that big red bump the size of a quarter right in the middle of her forehead, the wedding was a success. The wedding pictures had to be doctored, but they were beautiful. If you could predict the success of the marriage by the wedding, they should have made it fifty years. Not only were all the Basque relatives present but also every friend and family member Natalie had ever known.

      Very soon after the wedding, before the last thank-you note had been written, Natalie was already growing unhappy. She didn’t like his hours or the dirt under his nails or those big family dinners on the farm with all the noise and chaos. Being married to a farmer, even a commuting farmer, was trying and boring for her. He was up at 4:00 a.m. and home, exhausted and hungry, at five, and in bed by eight. She’d rather have brunch at the Hotel Monaco than dinner with the Lacoumette clan. She liked clubbing and dancing. And she’d appreciate it if he could stay awake through one movie!

      Natalie had many suggestions for alternate careers. Matt could get his PhD and teach full-time, even head a department. He could consult for companies. He could go to medical school; his degree was a premed qualifier. Or he could go to work for one of the big food companies, like Harry & David. He’d be president in no time!

      As for Natalie, she was only working at the college to supplement her income, most of which she spent on clothes, while she built her modeling career. It was important for a model to look good and she did. Well, she definitely had the body for it—tall and lean and beautiful. She’d had a few modeling jobs, but that career choice wasn’t exactly taking off for her and she was already aging out of it. Matt tried to be supportive even though he thought her expectations were unreasonable if not delusional.

      Thus, they argued quite a bit. Every day, in fact. A few times he’d stormed out and gone back to the farm for the night.

      Though annoyed by the fighting, he tried not to take it too seriously. Sometimes he just laughed and kissed her ear. “I’ll try to get all the dirt out from under my nails before I come home, babe.” He encouraged her to do what she wanted and he would follow his dream and they could meet in the middle. He supported them and she spent her money on herself, which was perfectly fine with him. He just wished she could be more agreeable. He wasn’t sure what more he could do.

      Everyone in his family had an opinion about his disintegrating marriage. There’s a period of adjustment, his mother had said. Women have to think they’re getting their way, at least most of the time, George had said. You’re both young and need to mature, Lori had said. You have to talk to the priest, Ginny had said. You worked out these details before the wedding, Paco had said. Tell her a deal’s a deal!

      But it all unraveled. The fighting escalated; cruel and terrible things were said and done. There were tears and the sounds of hearts breaking. They didn’t make it a year. Both of them were in a great deal of pain with a complete inability to find any more compromises or solutions and, ultimately, an inability to forgive and repair the damage.

      Matt spent many nights on the sofa while Natalie sobbed and raged. She wanted him to understand she felt trapped. She didn’t want to be stuck in a small apartment with a bunch of kids, held captive in a life that she didn’t sign on for, no nightlife, no romance, in-laws who treated her like an outsider—like a ridiculous child because she dressed nicely rather than in jeans and rubber boots. His work at Lacoumette Farms wasn’t a job, it was a life sentence! She never saw him, they argued but never talked like they used to and he never saw the need to court her anymore.

      Then one fateful morning when Matt could go no further, he got up at his usual 4:00 a.m. and left her a note.

      I’ll be at the farm if you have an emergency and need me. I’ll stay there until you move out. Please let me know when that will happen. Or, if you want the apartment, you can have it and I will live at the farm. It’s over.

      The flower shop was a safe haven for Ginger. She couldn’t possibly have handpicked a better place to rejoin the human race even though she found herself surrounded by pregnant women. She would have expected to be envious or frightened for them or thrown into worse depression over losing her own precious son. But strangely, it felt like exactly the right place for her, among this group of women. It allowed her to finally talk about her own pregnancy and childbirth, both of which were wonderful experiences. In fact, she had been so healthy and energetic, her son so perfect, he should be toddling around now, not gone.

      Truthfully, she was a little envious. The caveat was she probably would never have the courage to try for another baby, even if she had the chance.

      Talking with Peyton was particularly encouraging, however. Her medical training emphasized what Ginger had learned from the doctors and in her own reading—she had done nothing wrong. SIDS was extremely rare, one of those unpredictable flukes that was not likely to ever happen again in her family.

      “As if I’d ever be brave enough to risk it by having another child,” Ginger said.

      “I can’t imagine how fearful that concept must be,” Peyton said. “But the next time you’re blessed, your circumstances will be very different. You’ll have a lot more support. Not to mention close medical supervision. Just getting over this one is a big enough job for right now.”

      And that’s what she was finally doing, one day at a time. And in

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