chapter Twenty-eight
Carly threw up in Caleb’s nice car, and then she threw up in the wheelchair on the way to Labor and Delivery. Her headache got so bad, she wished someone would take pity on her and lop off the top of her skull. Instead, the nurses hustled her into a hospital gown and stuck her in a bed with an IV in her arm.
She’d seen that Baby Story show enough times to know the scary music was playing now, and it was time to either be brave or dissolve into helpless, mascara-streaking tears.
Carly had no problem with brave. She’d been born brave. It would be easier if she didn’t feel so astonishingly horrible, and if she weren’t terrified for the Wombat, but she could suck it up. She was going to be a mother. Sucking it up was her job now.
They’d given her some kind of steroid to help develop the Wombat’s lungs more quickly. She knew what it meant, even if no one seemed to want to say it out loud. It meant the Wombat might be breathing air soon. It meant they might have to take the Wombat out of her body before being pregnant killed her.
Being brave meant not thinking too hard about this. Which wasn’t a problem, because the ice pick in her head made thinking kind of unpleasant anyway.
Every single inch of her skin itched like mad. “Scratch me,” she told Jamie, who sat beside the bed, holding her hand.
“Hmm?”
“I’m itchy. Make yourself useful.”
He smiled at about a quarter of his usual wattage and shook his head. “It’s the magnesium sulfate,” he said, gesturing toward the IV. “The nurses said it might do that. I don’t think scratching’s going to help.”
The magnesium sulfate was to keep her from having a seizure. Another thing she didn’t want to think about. “Then distract me,” she demanded, squeezing her eyes shut. “Tell me something good.”
She felt the bed dip beside her as Jamie sat down on the edge. Behind her lids, she could see him—his tousled blond curls and those blue eyes soft with concern. He had on jeans that probably cost as much as her car payment and a Western-style shirt with pearl snaps that made him look like a rodeo cowboy. The sexy kind, not the real kind with manure on their boots. She hoped she hadn’t puked on it. She really liked that shirt.
“This would probably be a bad time to tell you I love you,” he said.
“Terrible,” she agreed. But she squeezed his hand tighter, and something near her sternum got all warm and buttery. Heartburn.
The mattress bucked and creaked as Jamie maneuvered awkwardly, moving behind her, curving his body around hers. He wrapped an arm over her and snugged their clasped hands to her breasts. “Okay?”
She took a deep breath and relaxed against him, grateful for his warmth and the rise and fall of his chest. Grateful he was here. She tried to remember why she hadn’t been speaking to him, but her head hurt, and she decided high blood pressure and the possibility of seizures gave her a free pass.
“The Shrimp has hair now,” he said in his warm-honey voice. “He weighs more than three pounds, which is the same as four navel oranges.”
“That’s the least helpful weight comparison ever.”
He smoothed her hair back and kissed behind her ear. “Don’t blame me, I read it online. He has toenails, too. I figure that means he’ll do okay, even if he has to be born soon. Hair and toenails—those are the finishing touches, right? He’s all done cooking. The rest of the pregnancy is just to fatten him up.”
It was a comforting thought, and she liked knowing Jamie had been reading about the Wombat on the Internet. Also, her headache didn’t bother her as much with him holding her.
“It could be a girl,” she said.
“Yeah. What are you going to call her?”
“I don’t know.”
A nurse came in, took her blood pressure, and made an announcement Carly couldn’t follow about protein in her urine and ultrasounds and the doctor’s schedule. Jamie listened. Carly decided to delegate listening to him. The nurse left.
“Jamie?”
“Yeah?”
“What do you think of Isadora?”
“Isadora Short?”
“Too pretentious?” She’d had trouble with names. None of them sounded quite right.
“I like Isadora Callahan better.”
She snorted. “When you have a baby, you can call her that.”
His arm tightened around her, and he pressed his face into her hair. “I am having a baby, Carly. With you.”
She thought maybe she ought to have an objection to that. Something about her independence, or his lack of resolve. Except here they were together, and she didn’t want to be independent if it meant she didn’t get to have Jamie. Plus, he seemed to have returned from L.A. with resolve to spare.
“Are we getting married, then?”
“I’d like to think so.”
She let that sink in. Marry Jamie Callahan. Share the Wombat with him. Share her whole life with him. The possibility settled in her bones and became inevitable.
This was where they’d been headed from the beginning. They’d started on the laundry room floor, and now they were here. How improbable.
How lucky.
He smoothed his hand over her stomach. “What are we going to call him if he’s a boy?”
“Not Jamie.”
“God forbid.”
“I was thinking of Austin, after my grandfather.”
“Austin Short?”
“Maybe Austin Callahan.”
“Yeah, that works.” She could hear the smile in his voice. Full wattage this time.
He pushed himself up on an elbow so he could lean over and kiss her forehead. “I love you, Carly.”
“I know.” She did. She had all along, really.
Telling the truth was part of being brave. So she told him. “I love you, too.”
She’d never said the words to him before.
He pushed up the sleeve of her hospital gown a few inches and kissed her bare shoulder. “I know.”
They lay there together, and even though her skin itched and her head hurt and she was more frightened than she’d ever been in her life, she was happy, too. This was her man. Jamie Callahan. Of all the crazy, impulsive decisions she’d ever made, he was the very best one.
“Jamie?” she said after a minute or two. “I’m not changing my name.”
He laughed. “No. No, you wouldn’t, would you?”
And that pretty much settled it.
“We could really do that? Tap into their security feed and monitor the entrances from one spot?” Caleb asked.
“Sure,” Sean said. “You could even do it off a laptop.”
The two of them were in a busy hallway in the maternity ward, talking logistics. Caleb liked to bounce these kinds of problems off Sean, who became almost talkative if you gave him something interesting to think about.
“That would be great. If I don’t need a man at every entrance, I can free up four or five guys for other jobs.” Four or five guys he desperately needed. Trying to protect three separate sites on short notice was stretching his resources to the breaking point. “Let me talk to the chief of security here and see what he says.”
Sean nodded agreeably. “I can handle the computer end if you . . .”
He trailed off, and Caleb looked down the hall to see what had grabbed his attention. Katie was making her way toward them, carrying overstuffed paper grocery sacks in both arms. Two more plastic bags hung from her wrists.
“Hey, guys,” she said. “A little help?”
Caleb stepped toward her, but Sean moved faster, relieving her of the groceries. Then he simply stood there, blank and silent as a robot awaiting his next command. The contrast to the animated guy Caleb had just been conversing with couldn’t have been more dramatic.
It was true, then. Sean didn’t talk to Katie. She’d mentioned it, but Caleb had figured she was exaggerating. Apparently not.
Katie had also said Sean hated her, but he wasn’t picking up any evidence of that. Sean seemed guarded and wary, not disapproving.
Quite the opposite, if Caleb had to guess.
“Food?” Caleb asked.
“Yep. Sandwiches. Thought everybody might be getting hungry.”
“Thanks. Visitor’s lounge is that way.” He pointed to the left.
Katie led the way, with Sean close behind. As she unloaded the sandwiches and set out napkins and bags of chips in the kitchen attached to the lounge, Caleb watched Sean, and Sean watched Katie. When she bent over to put a coffee cake on the lowest shelf of the fridge, he fumbled a two-liter bottle of soda, sending it crashing into a tower of paper cups. For the first time all day, Caleb almost felt like smiling.
“Subtle,” he said under his breath.
The dismay that flashed across Sean’s face confirmed it. Sean had a problem with Katie, but it wasn’t what she thought. Katie had it backwards.
With a shake of his head, Sean sighed, grabbed a sandwich, and cleared out, all without risking another glance in her direction.
Katie made up a few plates. She stuck one in his hand and said, “Eat.”
Turkey sandwich in hand, Caleb wandered over to the wall of windows in the lounge and looked out on the lot. He couldn’t see the entrances from here, but off to the side was the line of cars where the hospital guards had been directing the photographers to park. He counted twenty-seven before Katie said, “You okay?”
“Yeah, fine.”
She put her hands on her hips and tipped her head toward the sandwich in his hand, staring until he took a bite. After he swallowed it, she handed him a cup of ice water. “Drink.”
He did as he was told. “I’m fine,” he said, knowing the half-assed reassurance wouldn’t put her mind at ease. “I’ll live.”
He would, too. It would one day be possible for him to lay eyes on Ellen without wanting to plead with her or shake her or kiss the living daylights out of her.
Not today.
“How’d it go at the farm?” he asked, hoping to take Katie’s mind off his problems. She’d visited Levi’s mother this afternoon.
Katie half-sat on the window frame opposite him and fiddled with the ring on her thumb. “Pretty good.”
“You told her about being married?”
Katie nodded.
“And wanting a divorce?”
“Yeah. She was a little disappointed.” Katie looked wistful. “She said much as she loves Levi, he doesn’t deserve me, and she wished she’d known she had a daughter-in-law before she had to lose me.”
“Nice.”
“Super nice,” Katie said, pressing the bridge of her nose into the glass and looking down out at the lot. “I kind of wish I’d told her a long time ago. She’d have been a better mother-in-law than Levi was a husband.”
He reached across the space between them and put his hand on her arm, and she lifted her other hand to cover his fingers with her own. She’d be all right, he realized. Better for letting her secret out in the open. Maybe she could move on soon, find some peace with herself. Maybe she could eventually pick a decent guy to love her—somebody who’d recognize what a prize she was.
In the meantime, she had him. Whatever good he was to her, he was here.
She squeezed his fingers and dropped her hand, his cue to let her go.
“Did she give you an address?”
Katie nodded. “You still think it’s okay for me to call Ellen? I mean, just to find out if there’s someone she’d recommend to handle it. I know she’s not a divorce lawyer.”
“It’ll be fine.” Ellen wouldn’t hold their breakup against his sister. It wasn’t in her nature.
Katie stared at him so long, he had to look away. “You need to talk to her,” she said. “You look like you’re going to drop dead from misery if you don’t.”
“No.”
“You need to talk to me, then.”
He stood. “I need to get back to work.” The hospital’s guard shift would change soon, and he was going to have to introduce himself and explain the drill to a new round of people.
She rose too, blocking his path out of the room. “Don’t be stubborn,” she said. “I’m sorry I gave you a hard time the other day. I can see how you feel about her. I’m sure you can work this—”
“No. I can’t. It’s over.” Ellen didn’t want him. She’d said so. They’d made a mistake—he’d made a mistake, thinking he could have it all. That he’d be what she wanted, and he’d change her mind. He’d made the wrong call. That was that.
Henry walked into the room then, Nana trailing behind at her restricted pace and listening as he told her everything he’d done since arriving at the hospital. “An’ then Henry saw a chair wif wheels, an’ Ma said, ‘No, Henry! No ride in the chair!’ an’ Uncle Jamie said—Cabe! Look, Nana! Cabe is here.”
“How’s it going, Hank?”
“Hank saw a wheelie fing. An’ Nana bought you French fries.”
“Sweet.”
“That is?” Henry asked, walking over and reaching for the borrowed short-wave radio hanging off his belt.
“That’s a radio.”
“Do wif it?”
“You talk to people.”
“Show you,” Henry said, tugging at the radio in an attempt to get it into his possession.
Caleb really did have to get back to work, but he stole a few minutes with Henry anyway, showing him all the buttons and telling him how they worked.
It was against the rules, being friends with Henry. One more violation of the contract he never should have negotiated with Ellen in the first place. One more wrong call.
But he couldn’t help it. He liked the kid.
Isadora Sydney Callahan was the smallest, wrinkliest, pinkest baby Ellen had ever seen, and the second most beautiful. For such a tiny little thing—not quite four pounds—Carly’s daughter was healthy. Jamie said her hair was red, though Ellen couldn’t see it under the knit cap they’d put on her. Wee Isadora would need a ventilator, but her prognosis was good.
Jamie and Carly were good. All the news was good.
Standing at the NICU window, watching the staff fuss around the incubator, Ellen cried as if her heart were breaking.
Maybe it had to break, to get bigger. To hear him tell it, her brother had a daughter now, which made her an aunt. Her whole life, it had been Ellen and Jamie against the world. Even when she got married, she’d felt that tug of affiliation to Jamie first; she’d never been able to realign her loyalties completely. When the divorce and Henry came along, her real family had expanded to include one more.
Now Jamie had Carly, and they had a baby, and Carly had Nana, so suddenly Ellen’s family was twice as big. It made her light-headed to think of it.
She really needed to stop sobbing.
She’d been like this when Henry was born, too. Newborns had a strange power. With their chicken legs and frog feet and hoarse, wavery cries, they tugged all the adult planets into new orbits.
It had been such a long day. She and Nana and Katie had taken turns running errands and holding hands and offering worthless advice. As the hours droned by in a flurry of test results and anxious waiting, she’d glimpsed Caleb from time to time, talking on his phone or coordinating with a guy in uniform. He’d come and gone at the periphery, never sitting, never stopping except when Henry tugged on his pants and asked him questions.
She’d been avoiding him. Avoiding being left alone with him, and avoiding thinking about him. But if she was being honest, Caleb had something to do with all these tears, too. Something she was too tired and way too emotional to analyze.
Finally, she got the waterworks under control and pressed her hand to the glass to say goodbye to the baby. Time for Aunt Ellen to find Henry and go home. She had an ache in her chest only her son could soothe.
Not wanting to call Maureen, she’d left Henry with Katie and Nana hours ago, when the nurses were prepping Carly for her C-section and Ellen had gone with Jamie to help him get ready for the operating room. Katie had reassured her that she had lots of practice taking care of her nephews. She’d programmed her number into Ellen’s phone, promising to keep Henry with her and put him to bed if necessary.
Henry hadn’t minded the separation. As soon as Katie showed him the Matchbox car in her purse, she’d become his new best friend.
It was two in the morning, but Ellen checked the visitor’s lounge anyway. The room was dark and empty. She reached into her purse for her phone, intending to call Katie, and then she saw him. In the far corner, nearly hidden from view, Caleb sat slumped in a chair, his temple against the wall. He cradled her son against his chest. Henry’s face was buried in Caleb’s armpit, and both of them had the loose-limbed sprawl of deep sleep.
Caleb’s dark head and Henry’s light one. Raw male power and the round, bunched muscles of toddlerhood. They were beautiful together.
She couldn’t have asked for a sharper knife to cut through her confusion.
She’d been kidding herself. There was the man she loved, holding the boy she loved. This was what she wanted. Everything she wanted. A new family, with Caleb. Their family.
Ellen took a deep, shaky breath and crossed the room.
How was it even possible that she’d fallen in love with him? When could it have happened? She flipped through her memories, but she couldn’t find the moment. Maybe there hadn’t been one moment. Maybe they’d built up—Caleb smirking across the flower bed the morning they met. Caleb sitting on her porch and making her smile while she fantasized about tying him up. Caleb letting Henry help him install the new deadbolts. Caleb inside her the first time, and the feeling she’d had that this was the most perfect, most right thing she’d ever done.
Caleb standing behind her, one hand on her hip as she confronted Richard at the end of the driveway.
Caleb sleeping in a chair with her son at the hospital.
Caleb keeping her safe. Keeping all of them safe.
God, how stupid could she be? How messed up and frightened and stupid, not to have known what she was throwing away? I want my life back, she’d told him, as if he were to blame for the chaos that had come to her in the past few days. She’d attacked him for the fence when really it was Jamie’s fault she needed it. Caleb was on her side. He’d brought her safety and confidence and joy in the midst of all the craziness. He’d offered her himself, and she’d turned him down.
She was crying again. She rummaged in her purse for another tissue.
“What’s the matter?” Caleb asked, his voice scratchy and deep. When she looked up, his eyes were open, but it was too dark to read them.
“Nothing.” Everything. “Just a little emotional. Long day.”
He looked down at the top of Henry’s head, then back at her. “I guess you’ll want to take him home.”
“Yes. Thanks for—thanks for keeping him company.”
“No problem.”
Caleb stood up. She stepped close to take Henry, who stirred but didn’t wake. Tucking her son’s arms around her neck, she felt the heat of Caleb’s body on Henry’s skin while Caleb’s breath on the side of her neck made her break out in goose bumps. It was so intimate, this transfer of her son from one safe harbor to another, and she wanted to linger in the moment. To close her eyes and absorb Caleb’s heat and strength, storing it for all the cold months ahead.
He stepped back and crossed his arms. He had his soldier face on. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
Her heart hammered insistently, and she felt suddenly, giddily like a teenager again, standing backstage at one of Jamie’s shows and mooning over some headliner. A girl with a crush, wondering what to say and when. How to find the right words to open up all the possibilities she’d dreamed about.
Only there never were any right words, were there? There were just the regular ones, and they were worthless in this situation. She’d used him, gotten him in trouble at work, and thrown him away. He didn’t even seem angry with her. He seemed flat, totally emotionless, and she couldn’t imagine the route that would take them back to where they’d been this morning so she could have a do-over.
She didn’t know how to change, anyway. How to be somebody different, someone less freaked out and protective of her independence and her heart. Even if he wanted her, what could she give him? What did she have left, at the end of the day, that was worth sharing?
They descended together in the elevator and traversed the empty lobby of the hospital. Caleb was as hard and cold as the polished industrial floor, and she couldn’t come up with anything to say or do that wouldn’t slide right off him.
She didn’t know this Caleb. She only knew the warm, funny one. The sexy, wicked one. The bossy, frustrating one. This one was a stranger. She couldn’t think how to talk to him.
At the car, he waited as she buckled Henry into his seat with fumbling fingers. When she emerged from the back, she nearly walked into him, he stood so close behind her. She tried to meet his eyes, but he was looking over the top of her head, watching the hospital entrance. He had his hands in his pockets, and everything about him said keep out.
“Drive safe,” he told her. And then he took a few steps away and watched, impassive as a statue, as she started the car and backed out of the parking spot.
She ran out of tissues on the way home.