How could any father want to forget?
Finn packed his bags as silently as he could so as not to disturb the nap. From his wallet he removed the sealed envelope containing the letter he’d written, the one that asked her to raise Bear alone and not tell him what a coward his father was. He stood there holding it for a long minute, eying the kitchen counter where the letter should go, and then looking back at his blissfully oblivious son, the only good thing he had to show for his life, his only proof that something good could still, somehow, come from a string of mistakes. And then damn it if he didn’t pocket the envelope, pack up the boy’s clothes and toys too, and carry Bear’s sleeping form out to the backseat of their rental car in the dim hotel garage. Car seat laws seemed like more of a suggestion down here in this land of frozen cocktails with breakfast and smoke shops “for tobacco use only” and no-shirt-no-shoes-no-problem and pirate flags and barely-there bikinis and anything goes. So he didn’t think much of hitting the road with his sleeping son not exactly strapped in, any more than he thought about what would happen after he woke up.
28
AUGUST 2016
As Caitlin stared at the courtesy phone receiver in her hand, she couldn’t escape the sting of Violet’s words. Call your husband, Cait. At least you know how to reach yours.
Worse, though, was the sting that she had failed to convince Violet to come.
Damn it all to hell.
She turned back to the boys, who had grown restless with the crayons and resumed their game of superheroes, climbing up and down the slick vinyl chairs. It was only a matter of time before one of them got hurt again. Or complained of being hungry. Or needed a nap. It really wasn’t feasible for Caitlin to be here alone with two barely three-year-olds when another was lying in a bed somewhere down one of these hallways and needing her desperately.
Where was that nurse? What was taking so long?
She glanced at the clock. They had already been here for ninety minutes. She had no idea how long she could count on Finn sleeping off the Ambien. If he woke to find them gone … What were the charges for hiding a kidnapper and then basically just setting him free? Would anyone even believe her that she’d gone to extremes to escape with Bear, that she’d meant to give Finn and Violet a last-ditch chance to work this out before their lives were irreparably ruined in federal court? Would anyone believe that her intentions had been good?
She’d feared that she could lose her family as she knew it if Finn made good on his threats. But now she feared that they all could lose everything. Once it was discovered that she had done this, all of it, George would be ruined, whether Finn opened his mouth or not. He could never run for office. His father’s legacy would be stained. All because of her, the ordinary girl from the suburbs whom George had exercised poor enough judgment to marry. And the boys—they might have to grow up with their mother behind bars. What kind of shameful life was that? How could that reality ever in a million years become hers?
“You made bad choices, Mommy,” Gus had chastised her one day after he was less than enthusiastic about the lunch she’d served. Caitlin had laughed, caught off guard by his grave tone. She guessed he had picked up the phrase at day care. It was a very politically correct way of handling things when a child needed to be disciplined—break it all down to choices. Out of context, though, the “bad choices” line could actually be quite astute.
Now she really had made bad choices. Important ones. She couldn’t unmake them—she could only try to stop herself from making more. So she braced herself to do the thing that she knew she had no choice at this point but to do, no matter the consequences for her life, her marriage. With a shaky hand, she picked up the phone again. She had to call George.
“Mrs. Bryce-Daniels?”
The receiver clattered back onto the hook
She hadn’t heard the doctor come up behind her. His voice sounded young, vibrant, but as she turned, she came face-to-face with a man old enough to be her father. He had on a white lab coat, and his hands were clasped behind his back. “I’m Dr. Avery. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“Leo,” she breathed, her throat clenching. “Is he … how is he?”
“All of his lab work came back within normal limits, and his vital signs have remained steady.” He dropped his hands, and she saw that one of them was holding a clipboard. Leo’s chart. “We’ll monitor him until he’s awake, but it’s likely he’ll be fine once he sleeps it off.”
“Oh, thank God,” she said, blinking back tears of relief. Over the doctor’s shoulder, she could see the boys watching her curiously. She couldn’t let emotion get the better of her now. “Can I see him?” It was all she wanted. To wrap her arms around him and feel him breathing, to press her ear to his chest and hear his heart beating.
“In a few minutes,” the doctor said. “He won’t know whether or not you’re there, anyway—not for a few hours at least, I’d guess. He’s out pretty good.”
Caitlin’s eyes widened in alarm. “Just heavy sleep,” the doctor assured her. “It was sleep medication, after all.”
“Right,” Caitlin said, flush with humiliation. But as ashamed as she was to be in this position, nothing could override her gratitude. “Thank you for taking care of him, Doctor. I can’t tell you how truly grateful I am.” Her voice broke as the tears threatened to spill over again.
Dr. Avery looked away and cleared his throat. “Yes. Well, we do need to ask you a few more questions—you know, about how this happened. To go over it again.” He seemed uncomfortable, as if he’d drawn the short straw in coming out here to deliver the news. Maybe this kind of thing didn’t happen that often after all.
Caitlin felt thrown off balance by the intense roiling of emotions—such dread on the heels of such relief. “Of course,” she said, willing herself to ignore the sound of the blood coursing through her ears, the dots beginning to creep into her peripheral vision.
The doctor looked over at the kids. “Is there someone to watch over them?” he asked. “Do you want me to designate a nurse?” Caitlin felt dizzy. His words came to her through a tunnel.
“I was actually just about to call my husband,” she stammered, gesturing toward the phone behind her. “George. I—” She needed a better explanation. “I tried to reach him earlier but I couldn’t get through.”
“Why don’t you go ahead and place the call,” Dr. Avery said. She watched then as he hesitated, doing a double take at the top sheet on the clipboard. “Your husband is George Bryce-Daniels? From Ohio?”
“Yes,” she managed to answer. Cold water. She needed a drink of cold water.