Patrick sighed. “So what happens now?”
The plan Patrick and I had to share the child care while both working part-time seemed too perfect to have ever been real.
“Go back to my apartment, I guess. Start my life with my daughter.”
He nodded. I wanted him to say that he’d be there. That all the plans we’d made still stood, and this was just the beginning for us. He didn’t.
“You’ll be a great moth—”
“Patrick?” The words leapt out of my mouth before I could process them.
“Yes?”
I choked on my tongue. What did I want to say? Stay? Let’s go back to the way things were? I know what I did was unforgivable, but … can you forgive me?
“Can you stay awhile?”
When it boiled down to it, it was the only thing I felt I could ask him. He might say no, but that, I could cope with. I couldn’t cope with him saying no to a life with me and my daughter.
A reluctant smile crept across his face. “Yes. I can stay awhile.”
31
Grace
It was a day for letters.
When I arrived home from the hospital, a letter awaited me on the hall table. I didn’t need my glasses to recognize the stationery—it was from the Board of Nursing. I waited for the rush of joy or fear. Anticipation. Trepidation. Nothing came. It was hard to believe that just a day ago, my whole life was pinned on the contents of this letter. Now, I still wanted to practice midwifery again; I wanted it badly. But somehow the letter in my purse had put it all in perspective.
In the sitting room, I fell into an armchair and tore my thumbnail along the top of the envelope. The font was small, and a large blue signature was scrawled at the bottom. I lowered my reading glasses from my head, and read from the top.
Dear Mrs. Bradley,
With regards to the complaint filed against you for negligence in the management of labor for Mrs. G. Brennan, we are writing to advise that we have thoroughly investigated the claim, and spoken to all parties involved in the matter. We are pleased to inform you that we have found no evidence to support the allegations; therefore, this case has been closed. Your record is clear of any charges.
Sincerely,
Marie Ableman
Board of Nursing
I reread the letter. That was it. One typed paragraph, and it was over. I wasn’t going to lose my license. It was good news, yet for some reason, it felt anticlimactic. Perhaps it was because so many questions remained. Would Robert forgive me? Would we find our way back to each other after everything that had happened?
“Grace.” Robert appeared in the doorway. “You’re home. I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Seriously? It feels like my legs are made of lead.”
He eyed the letter in my hand.
“Oh,” I said. “The Board of Nursing let me off. I’m not guilty.”
Robert slapped the arm of the couch and cheered. Then he looked at me. “That’s it? That’s how you make the announcement? No megaphone? No squealing?”
“Do I look like I have the energy to squeal?”
He sat in the chair opposite me. “Well, this is fantastic.”
“Mmm-hmm. Seems to be a day for news.”
“What does that mean?”
“Long story.”
Robert, bless his heart, seemed to accept that. In his polo shirt and jeans, he looked young and carefree. I did a double take. Polo shirt? Jeans? It was a Tuesday. “Robert, why aren’t you at work?”
He sank further into his chair. “I got a letter of my own yesterday. Said I didn’t need to go to work today. Or any day.”
I shot upright.
“Don’t get upset,” he said. “It’s not the end of the world. It’s a job. Not as important as our daughter. Or our granddaughter.” He leaned forward and put his hand over mine. “Or you.”
“But—”
“Grace, you blew me away yesterday. I used to chuckle when you called your job magic. But you saved our daughter’s and our granddaughter’s lives. That is magic. I get how you can’t stop doing it.” He smiled at me so softly, it gave me tingles. “What I do? It’s not magic. It’s just numbers.”
“But it’s important. Robert, we need the money. We can’t survive on magic.”
“I got a couple of months’ salary in my severance package. And if I don’t find something else, we’ll sell the house.” He shrugged, as indifferent as I’d seen him in years. “It’s just a house.”
I blinked. Was this the same man who’d hardly eaten or slept for weeks, worrying about his job and the future? Was he putting up a brave front for my sake?
“Are you sure you’re okay, Rob?”
“Actually it’s a relief,” he said. “When something is forced upon you, you have no choice but to deal with it. The uncertainty—the not knowing—was much worse.”
I laughed. “Funnily enough, I know exactly what you mean.”