Seasons of Sorrow

  Seasons of Sorrow

  By

  C.C. Wood

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  Copyright © Crystal W. Wilson 2013

  Kindle Edition

  Cover by Jena Brignola at Bibliophile Productions

  Editing by Kerry Genova at Writer’s Resource

  The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademarked owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction: Amazon Kindle, Starbucks, Whole Foods, Crown and Anchor, Gloria’s, Brio, and Keurig.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Author’s Note

  Dedication

  Part One: Winter

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Part Two: Spring

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Part Three: Summer

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Part Four: Fall

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Part Five: Winter

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About C.C.

  Other Titles by C.C. Wood

  Contact C.C.

  Author’s Note

  Dear Reader,

  This book is not a traditional romance. The story of Charlotte Fallon came to me not long after my daughter was born this past summer. Like Charlotte, my pregnancy was difficult and I was put on bed rest the last six weeks.

  My baby girl was born, via emergency C-section, seven weeks early and spent twelve days in the NICU. It was a painful time. When my husband and I finally brought her home, I was terrified that something would happen to her, that she would die. She was so tiny and premature, weighing less than five pounds when the hospital released her. The first night we had her at home, I don’t think I slept more than thirty minutes at a time. My fear was, in part, fueled by the loss of my first pregnancy several years ago. The circumstances of her birth and subsequent problems were also a huge issue.

  I was consumed with thoughts that something horrible would happen to my child. I couldn’t sleep and I was sinking into depression. Then, one day, I woke up from a fitful night with Charlotte’s voice in my head. I realized that I needed to write her story in order to let go of the fears were ruling my life. A purge of sorts.

  As I wrote this book, the worries that plagued me didn’t go away, but I was better able to cope with them and I began to appreciate the gift of my baby girl more and more. I felt Charlotte’s pain, her guilt, and I grieved with her.

  Seasons of Sorrow is about a woman who loses everything, but learns the most important lesson of all; life is a gift and it should always be treasured.

  I hope you are touched by Charlotte’s story.

  Love,

  C.C.

  To my sweet Arya Carys;

  I love you more every day.

  Part One

  Winter

  In the bleak midwinter Frosty wind made moan,

  Earth stood hard as iron, Water like stone:

  Snow had fallen, snow on snow

  Snow on snow, In the bleak midwinter, Long ago.

  ~Christina Rosetti~

  Prologue

  She would never forget the way the light looked that morning. When Charlotte Fallon woke, she thought the sunlight filtering through her sheer curtains appeared golden. A promise that the day would be beautiful. She glanced over at her husband and saw Derek was still asleep. It didn’t bother her. It gave her more time with Adam, just the two of them.

  Adam’s morning smiles and giggles were wondrous. Just seeing him so happy gave her more joy and satisfaction than any accomplishment in her past. She glanced at the black-and-white video monitor next to the bed and saw that he was still sprawled in his crib, deep in slumber. Eager to begin her day and share in those smiles, Charlotte climbed out of bed and went quickly into the bathroom to get ready. Since he was six weeks old, he slept through the night but he always awoke ravenous.

  Fifteen minutes later, hair damp from her shower, Charlotte yanked on a pair of yoga pants and a nursing camisole. She threw her hair into a bun and headed out of the bedroom to the nursery. Since Adam was three months old now, Derek had been pushing her to stop breast feeding. She resisted, saying that it was best for the baby, but knew it wouldn’t be long before she caved. Derek could be difficult when he didn’t get his way. He didn’t like how much of her time it took or that it made it harder to go places with or without the baby.

  Sighing at the thought, Charlotte went into the nursery. The entire room seemed to glow, gilded in morning light. It struck her that spring was coming. She would be able to take her little boy out for walks and to the park. Already smiling, Charlotte walked to the crib and leaned over the side. She placed a hand on Adam’s belly, hoping to wake him gently.

  He didn’t wake, so she touched his chubby cheek. His skin was cold. Feeling panic rising within her, Charlotte saw that his face was pale and his lips almost light blue. Her heart pounding, she put a hand to his chest and realized that he wasn’t moving. He wasn’t breathing.

  “Oh, God,” she whispered. Then she sucked in a deep breath and screamed, “Derek! Derek! Call nine-one-one!”

  She lifted Adam’s limp body out of the crib and placed him on the changing table. Moving quickly, she checked his airway for obstruction and saw none. Tears were already dripping down her face as she bent to place her mouth over his and gently blow air into his lungs. After two breaths, she straightened and checked to see if he began breathing on his own. He didn’t. Charlotte felt for a pulse on his arm but there was nothing. Hoping she remembered everything she needed to, she placed her first two fingers midway between where his nipples were and slightly below. As she started the compressions on his tiny chest, Derek ran into the room.

  “What is it?” he asked. He froze when he saw what Charlotte was doing.

  “Call nine-one-one,” she said frantically. When Derek didn’t move, she shouted. “Call for an ambulance! Now!”

  He ran back out of the room.

  Charlotte focused on performing CPR on the lifeless body of her little boy, praying silently that he would open his eyes. After what seemed an eternity of the breath and compression cycles, the paramedics arrived and took over. All the while, she knew, believed with each molecule of her soul that Adam would wake up and begin crying. He never did.

  Chapter One

  It was like a dream. A nightmare.

  Numbly, Charlo
tte watched as the casket that held her son slowly lowered into the earth. The sky was overcast and the wind was biting cold. Her heart felt the same, shadowed and frozen. It seemed to her that Mother Nature must be grieving the loss of her child too.

  The minister was speaking, but she had no idea what he was saying. All she heard was deafening silence and the slight sound of the machine as it took Adam to his final resting place. The rest of the world faded away. Her entire being was focused on the scream welling within the very depths of her soul, a primitive wail saturated with grief and rage.

  Charlotte’s hands were so cold. Her fingers felt as though they would snap in two if she tried to unclasp them. A large warm palm closed over her tightly clenched fists, ripping away the remnants of her trance.

  She realized that she was no longer staring at that tiny grave but at a dark blue silk tie. Her eyes lifted. Charlotte stared up into the face of one of her closest friends and her husband’s business partner, Gregory Swift. His grey-blue eyes were sad and concerned. He gathered her into his arms, the heat of his body warming her skin. It never reached her heart.

  “God, Charlotte, I’m so sorry,” he whispered into her hair. “What can I do? What do you need?”

  Greg pulled away and studied her face.

  “I’m okay,” she answered softly. Her voice cracked, revealing the lie.

  She would never be okay again. The pain was too deep, too sharp. Had the wound been physical rather than emotional, she would never survive. Even now, Charlotte wasn’t sure that it wouldn’t be fatal. It felt as though a limb had been ripped from her body.

  Greg didn’t respond, he only ran his hands down her arms to clasp her hands and squeeze them gently.

  “I’m here if you need anything,” he promised.

  Charlotte nodded, and he moved to her husband, Derek.

  Derek hugged Greg, pounding him lightly on the back. Charlotte watched them speak quietly for a moment. Her husband was pale, but he seemed very calm, almost unaffected. Since the morning Adam died, she had barely slept. Instead, she sat in the glider in the nursery, staring at his crib. When she did doze off, the phantom cries of her little boy woke her up. Each time, when her memory returned, she dissolved into tears.

  Her empty hands clenched together. Charlotte wished that she had kept Adam’s little stuffed bear. It would have given her something to hold onto, something to help her stay grounded until this nightmare was over.

  When she found out she was pregnant, she had been ecstatic. At thirty, she had finally convinced Derek that it was time to start a family and it had taken almost a year for her to conceive. The day the doctor confirmed the positive test result, she hadn’t been able to resist going to the baby section of a department store and buying a small, soft teddy bear.

  That morning, before the funeral, Charlotte brought that same bear and placed it in Adam’s casket next to his chubby arm. She had sobbed, her hand resting on his chest. Derek had insisted on a closed casket service and she had agreed. There was no way she could survive the funeral if she saw his little body cradled in the pale blue satin of the coffin.

  Now that it was over, she wished she had kept it. It was the first thing she had bought for her little boy and a beautiful memory. All she had left were her memories. Sure, he had other toys that either she or others had purchased for him, but it wasn’t the same.

  Arms closed around her and Charlotte realized that she was standing next to the open grave, swaying, and silent tears were streaming down her face. The arms belonged to her best friend, Brandy. She pulled Charlotte close, her body shaking with her own tears.

  “I’m so, so sorry, Charlie,” she whispered.

  It was too much. Faced not only with her own pain, but Brandy’s as well, Charlotte shattered. With a low wail, she sagged into Brandy’s arms and let the tears flow.

  No matter how much she wished it was a dream, Charlotte couldn’t escape the knowledge that all her dreams were lying in the casket twenty feet away.

  Later that evening, the house was all but empty. Only Gregory and Brandy remained, cleaning up the mess in the kitchen. After her breakdown at the graveside, Charlotte vaguely remembered it was Gregory, not her husband, who had swept her up in his arms and carried her to the car. She had sobbed the entire drive back to the house, held in Greg’s arms. Charlotte wasn’t sure where Derek had been but she understood. Her husband was a stoic man. He didn’t know how to respond to tears or how to comfort. Even with Adam, he seemed unable to deal with the baby when he cried.

  When the funeral ended, close friends and family members had descended upon their house, bringing food and wine. Derek’s mother, Leah, had dealt with most of the hostess duties. Charlotte had been unable to cope with organizing the kitchen. She also wanted to avoid the disapproval of her mother-in-law. Leah had never liked her, but now Charlotte was fairly certain that she blamed her for Adam’s death, even though the doctor who saw Adam at the hospital said that many causes for SIDS were still vague.

  After what seemed like an eternity, the house began to empty. Though it had only been a couple of hours, Charlotte felt as though she had been put through hell all over again. Everyone wanted to express their condolences and there was no escape. Derek remained quiet and distant, watching the entire gathering as though it were a mildly interesting play. He never even touched her.

  Finally, she snuck upstairs to the nursery and shut the door. No one bothered her until Brandy came upstairs after the last person drifted out. She made Charlotte change out of her black dress and jacket into a pair of lounge pants and a loose t-shirt. Brandy had even washed her face as though she were a child.

  Afterward, Brandy led Charlotte downstairs. Derek was locked in his home office, talking on the phone. They walked past and she heard her husband’s hushed voice but couldn’t understand what he was saying. Not that she could summon the energy to care. The day had sucked all the energy out of her body.

  Brandy made her sit on a chair in the breakfast nook in the kitchen. She poured her a large glass of white wine and set it on the table in front of her.

  “Drink that. I’m making you a plate of food and you will eat every bite. I know you haven’t had anything all day,” Brandy stated.

  Charlotte did as she was told. She sipped the cool wine and watched her friend spoon food onto a plate. After Brandy put the plate in the microwave, she began to put containers of leftover food in the fridge and dirty dishes in the sink.

  Just as she set the plate in front of Charlotte, Greg entered the kitchen, hands full of partially empty glasses and plates. She hadn’t realized that he was still in the house.

  He carried them to the counter beside the trash can. “I’m glad you made her eat,” he said to Brandy, as he scraped food into the trash and put the plates by the sink.

  Brandy nodded and shot Charlotte a look. “Take a bite, hon. You have to eat.”

  With a sigh, Charlotte again did as she was told. Picking up her fork, she speared a bite of some sort of casserole and forced herself to put it in her mouth even though she wasn’t the least bit hungry. As she chewed, Brandy went to the sink and began running hot water into one side, adding a squeeze of dish soap.

  “I can do that,” she murmured.

  Brandy ignored her and went about scrubbing plates and glasses. “I know but you won’t. You will sit there and drink your wine and eat that damn food or I’ll have Gregory hold you down while I force feed you. You know I’ll do it, so let’s please do this the easy way.”

  Charlotte sighed again and took another bite. She knew that Greg would do exactly what Brandy said. Brandy and Greg had dated briefly in college before deciding that they worked better as friends. Brandy said that the only reason they could remain so close was because they realized it was a lost cause before they made the mistake of sleeping together. So, as Brandy and Greg spent time together, they almost always included Charlotte. Somehow the three of them became the closest of friends. Then, when Greg introduced her to Derek, the t
hreesome had become a foursome.

  Out of the corner of her eye Charlotte saw Greg glance her way, and the corners of his mouth twitched. Brandy was a nurturing person, even if her technique was a little heavy-handed. Charlotte wanted to smile, even laugh, at the silent byplay she shared with Greg, but her face refused to move. The weight in her heart and soul was too heavy to allow for even a moment of lightness. Several people had told her today that it would get better, but she didn’t want it to.

  If the grief began to fade, would she forget? She didn’t want to forget a single detail about Adam. The food she chewed suddenly tasted horrible and felt like paste in her mouth. Charlotte washed the lump down her throat with wine. It didn’t work.

  Desperately, she covered her mouth with her hand and sprinted to the half bath by the kitchen. Charlotte emptied the contents of her stomach into the toilet, struggling to breathe between retches and sobs.

  A body curved around hers from behind her and hands smoothed her hair away from her face.

  “It hurts,” she screamed. “It’s too much. I can’t take it.”

  She tried to suck in a breath but choked and coughed.

  “I can’t take it,” she whispered.

  “Give it to me. I’ll take it for you.” It was Greg who held her.

  The primal wail that had been building in her gut since the funeral had to escape. Charlotte shrieked as loud and long as she could. When once wasn’t enough, she did it again. And again.

  After several long minutes, Charlotte gained control. Her throat felt raw and her muscles ached as though she had run for miles. She grabbed some toilet paper and wiped her face and blew her nose. Brandy appeared next to her with a damp cloth and a glass of water. Charlotte rinsed her mouth out and sat still, allowing her friend to wash her face for the second time that day.

  It took both of her friends to get her to her feet. When her legs collapsed beneath her, Greg picked her up.

  “Don’t. I can walk,” she protested weakly.

  “Shh.” Greg shushed her and ignored her as he carried her up the stairs to the master bedroom.