Everyone had gone, and Kane had finally drifted off to sleep. They were snuggled under the covers, tired but happy.
“Why did you cancel your prenatal appointments with Dr. Jamison?” he asked quietly.
Tucked into his body, she stroked his arm, but said nothing.
“Goddamn it, Kathleen. The doctor said you could have died because you’re blood pressure was out of control.”
“I didn’t know there was a problem.”
“That is exactly why you’re supposed to go to the doctor.”
“Carl Jamison is an overbearing, condescending, egotistical jerk, not to mention he has a caveman mentality, which is the primary reason why I stopped going. The man should have retired twenty years ago.”
“Your stubborn pride could have gotten you killed.”
“He was being overly dramatic, Jack. He was angry because I dared to question him. I was not on death’s door, and I didn’t see the point in wasting money we didn’t have to be treated like a dimwit. Do you have any idea how much diapers cost? Or wipes? Or onesies?”
“Christ, Kathleen. I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you, don’t you know that?”
“Yes,” she whispered quietly. “I do. It is exactly how I felt every minute of every day for seven years, wondering if I would ever see you again.”
Her words sliced through him. “That was different.”
“I know, but it wouldn’t have made it any easier if something happened to you, Jack.” She sighed heavily. “You don’t really think I’d knowingly put myself or the baby at risk, do you?”
“No,” he admitted. He’d been worried that she hadn’t kept her appointments purely for financial reasons, but he hadn’t wanted to believe that. Kathleen was stubborn, but she was also practical and intelligent.
“Next time, I’m going to see Erin’s doctor in Birch Falls. She’s a little more expensive, but Erin says she’s worth it.”
“Next time?” he breathed, running a hand over her soft, still distended belly. Kathleen told him they had to wait a minimum of six weeks before they could make love again. It was going to be a very long six weeks.
“Yes. I want a house full. Half a dozen, at least.”
That sounded damn good to him.
––––––––
They were nearly through January when Jack came into the kitchen with the day’s mail to find Kathleen on the floor, surrounded by at least a dozen stacks of paper set in neat piles around her. The kitchen had become her workspace for bookkeeping. She said she preferred it because it kept her and Kane close to him, and he liked it because he could pop in every few minutes and remind himself what a lucky guy he was.
Kane was in the baby swing Mrs. Fitzsimmons had given them, as quiet and intense as always. Jack leaned against the doorway, his mouth curling into a smile as he listened to her explain tax-deferred annuities and the importance of diversification for retirement planning.
“Who are you talking to?”
Kathleen turned and gave him a hundred-watt grin. “Kane.”
“He’s six weeks old.”
“Yes, he is. What’s your point?”
Jack chuckled. Kathleen talked with their son as if he was fully capable of understanding everything she said. Sometimes, given the look in those clear blue eyes, he wondered about that himself.
“Training him to be an accountant already?”
She laughed. “Kane will be whatever he wants to be, and whatever he chooses, he’ll be the best. Won’t you, buddy?”
The little guy sucked on his fist and looked at Kathleen with complete and total adulation. Jack knew just how he felt.
Chapter Twenty
September 2015
Pine Ridge
That same implacable, ice-blue gaze swung his way. Nearly forty years had passed, but his firstborn still had the ability to hold an entire conversation with nothing more than his eyes. At that moment, they were asking a hell of a lot of questions.
“Don’t look at me like that, boy,” Jack grunted.
After only a moment’s hesitation, Kane’s gaze obediently returned to the college football game playing out on the flat screen. The local state university was down by seven with five minutes left in the third quarter. Minutes passed; the only conversation was the sports announcers’ colorful commentary. Kane remained still, his only movement the lift of his arm as he drank from the longneck.
Jack couldn’t help but admire his stoicism. Quiet. Patient. Immovable. And a damn fine son. Michael had told him that it had been Kane who had done chest compressions on him the day of his heart attack, forcing the blood through his veins when his heart couldn’t.
“Thanks.”
He didn’t have to say more than that for his son to know what he was talking about. Kane grunted an acknowledgement without turning around.
“I’m not crazy, and I’m not suicidal.”
A curt nod. “I know. I miss her, too.”