A Vineyard Lullaby

by Katie Winters

  Both Christine and Susan said, “No,” in unison.

  “You shouldn’t be alone right now. Not at the office. Not anywhere,” Susan told her.

  “Not until Audrey wakes up,” Christine said.

  Amanda’s lower lip quivered as she struggled not to cry. She was like her mother; she wanted to be useful, but she felt utterly helpless.

  That moment, an enormous bouquet of flowers entered the waiting room. Behind them, Claire came into view — almost completely obstructed by the hugeness of the lilies. Behind her came her twins, Gail and Abby, and then Charlotte, Everett, and Rachel. Their eyes locked on Susan, Christine, and Amanda as they stepped toward them slowly, as though they were three injured animals and they didn’t want to frighten them.

  Suddenly, Claire placed the bouquet of flowers in Christine’s hand. Charlotte said something like, “We are just so sorry,” although Christine could hardly hear her over her own panic. Rachel, Gail, and Abby stood together and stared at the floor. They were only a few years younger than Audrey. Probably, they feared for what happened next in their own lives.

  “Thank you,” Susan said. She squeezed Charlotte’s hand and turned toward Everett to nod. “It means a lot that you thought to stop by.”

  “Don’t be silly, Susan,” Claire said. “What can we do for you? You’ve already done so much for all of us in the Montgomery clan.”

  The next hour or so continued a flurry of visitors. Camilla, Jennifer Conrad’s good friend, who worked in the hospital, appeared to say hello and tell them that the nurses and doctors in the NICU were some of the best on the east coast. In time, Andrew’s girlfriend, Beth, who also worked at the hospital, came down to ask if anyone needed anything to eat. Every greeting, every sorrowful hello, turned Christine’s stomach.

  She was so grateful that these people thought of them and wanted to be there for them. But there wasn’t anything to say. Nothing could take the pain from their hearts.

  Around eleven, Christine thought again of Zach. Susan and Amanda were in conversation with Claire and Charlotte, while Everett was off to the side playing a game with Rachel, Gail, and Abby. Tommy had eaten his weight in chocolate chip cookies and had his hand splayed over his stomach. Apparently, Scott was on his way.

  Christine hoped that maybe, Zach would have the strength to come back to the hospital. She so needed him.

  But when she called his cell phone, it went straight to voicemail.

  She hoped he was sleeping. She hoped he was all right.

  Chapter Seven

  It happened gradually, the eye-opening, as though she’d had her eyes closed for many years and had to relearn how to see. The light that poured in through her eyelids was soft and somber, and there was a sense that far off, perhaps beyond the nearest barrier, there was a wild world of rushing humans and panicked schedules. None of that existed here, in this ecosystem of quiet.

  Audrey’s eyes scanned down the ceiling above her, toward the television that hung in the corner and reflected back only the mirror image of the hospital room below. Slowly, Audrey’s memory began to return to her. Slowly, the reality hit her across the chest.

  She no longer had her baby inside of her. She’d given birth.

  But where was her baby?

  The white sheet that stretched out in front of her, over her still-bulbous but deflating stomach, was crisp and bright and alien. She placed her hands across the sheet and turned her head off toward her left. There, in the center chair, sat Amanda.

  Amanda looked entirely un-Amanda-like just then. She had her mouth wide open; there was a bit of drool across her cheek; her feet were flung forward, as she’d apparently removed her boots; and her hair was tousled, but not in the “sexy beach wave” way. Audrey’s heart panged with love for her cousin.

  “Amanda?” she said softly. She didn’t necessarily want to wake her, but she had to know what had happened. She couldn’t live in limbo forever. “Amanda?” she said again, a little bit louder. “Amanda?”

  Finally, Amanda jumped up as though Audrey had fished her out of a dream. She rubbed her eyes and then dropped her fists to find Audrey awake.

  “Oh my, God. You’re up,” Amanda breathed.

  She reached out her hand and touched Audrey’s tenderly. There was such sorrow in her eyes.

  Audrey wanted to override the sorrow. Maybe, if she worked hard enough, or made enough jokes, whatever darkness had happened to her, could be reversed. Maybe, if she was just one hundred percent herself, Audrey Sheridan, they would bring her baby daughter in and let her hold her. Maybe there was an explanation for all of this.

  “You should have seen your face while you were asleep,” Audrey teased. Her voice broke slightly, proof of how hard she tried. “Drool all over your chin. I should have taken a photo for blackmail.”

  How pathetic that she threatened blackmail from a hospital bed.

  And Amanda’s laugh sounded forced, as though she couldn’t possibly find anything funny.

  “What happened, anyway? Did my mom pay you to sit with me so she could go make out with Tommy or something?” Audrey continued.

  Amanda rolled her eyes just the slightest bit. “She’s obviously been right here almost the entire day. She just went to grab a bite to eat and put me in charge.”

  “Wow. Wait.” Audrey’s eyes jumped toward the window on the right side of the bed. The sun was on its way toward the horizon line. She had absolutely no idea what day it was. “What time is it?”

  “It’s getting close to six, I guess,” Amanda said. Her lips stretched into a yawn.

  “So, wait. When did I have my baby?” Audrey asked, trying to make sense of the time loss.

  Amanda paused before she answered. “I guess it was around eighteen hours ago? Something like that.”

  “And I’ve been asleep since then?”

  “They want to monitor you. There was some hemorrhaging after the placenta came out, but the nurse said that you’re making a quick recovery.” Amanda paused again, then asked, “Are you in any pain?”

  Audrey considered this. There was a slight bit of pain, but nothing horrendous. In the back of her mind, she had flashing memories of the true pain, the pain of each contraction that felt like it was ripping her apart during the delivery. She blinked back tears as she forced herself to ask the question that was heaviest on her heart.

  “Where is she?”

  Amanda gripped Audrey’s hand harder, as though this could possibly mend her breaking heart. “The baby is very sick, Audrey.”

  Every muscle in Audrey’s body clenched tight. For a long moment, she forgot to breathe.

  Amanda kept going, as though she already knew what questions needed to be answered — as though she knew that Audrey couldn’t possibly speak right then.

  “It’s called ARDS, apparently. It stands for acute respiratory distress syndrome. I guess he wasn’t breathing when he was born, so they took him directly to the NICU for immediate monitoring and oxygen. I’m so, so sorry, Audrey. I’m so sorry.”

  For a long moment, Audrey couldn’t register the words or make sense of how they fit into her reality. The amount of information was much more than she’d ever heard at one time.

  Finally, she repeated back the disease, as though naming her enemy would give her power over it.

  “Acute respiratory distress syndrome.”

  Amanda nodded. A single tear rolled down her cheek. “I went down to look at him through the glass, Audrey. He’s so beautiful. Really, he is so beautiful.”

  Audrey bit hard on her lower lip and tasted blood. Her arms felt so heavy, as though they, too, thought they should be holding onto her baby.

  “I don’t know what to say,” Audrey offered finally. “All my life, I’ve always known what to say. Right now, I can say for certain. I’m speechless.”

  “You don’t have to say anything,” Amanda whispered.

  “I don’t understand. Was it something I did?” Audrey asked. Her face was etched with confusion as she str
uggled with the news. Her voice cracked again. “How did this happen, Amanda? Do you know? What did the doctor have to say?”

  A moment later, Audrey tried to move, to get out of bed, but she let out a yelp of pain. “Goddammit,” she cursed. Her head fell back against her pillow as she began to cry.

  “Audrey, please,” Amanda begged. “I don’t want you to tire yourself out or make yourself sick. You’ve already been through so much.”

  Audrey closed her eyes, took a breath and opened them once again. For a second, she looked at her cousin as though she’d never seen her before in her life. But a second later, Amanda just buzzed her lips and smacked her thighs and said, “Audrey, we’ll know more when the doctor updates us. We just want you to be okay. I just need you to be okay.”

  Suddenly, the door opened to reveal Grandpa Wes. He stood in the doorway for a moment as his eyes adjusted to the softness of the white room. Behind him, a nurse rushed through the hallway and then disappeared. Obviously, other people had bad days, too.

  “Grandpa,” Audrey said softly.

  Through the previous eight months, she’d learned how to interact with her grandfather. Sometimes, his dementia made him a bit panicked; despite the ache of her soul, she didn’t want to do anything that upset him.

  “There they are,” Grandpa Wes said as he slipped the door closed behind him and headed up toward the bed. “My two beautiful granddaughters. I should have known you’d be together.”

  Audrey stretched her hand out to grip his. It was a strong grip, one that had everything to do with a man and not with an aging dementia patient.

  “Did Aunt Kerry just bring you back?” Amanda asked.

  “She did,” Grandpa Wes affirmed. “I told her I couldn’t sit around her place talking to Trevor all day long. I needed to see my granddaughter and, of course, my new great-grandson.”

  For the first time, Audrey realized it. Both Grandpa Wes and Amanda had referred to the baby as a “he.” She furrowed her brow and turned her eyes back toward Amanda.

  “Did I have a boy?” she asked. For some reason, this felt like the strangest question of all.

  Amanda swept a hand toward Audrey’s hair to smooth it back toward the pillow. Before she could answer, Grandpa Wes did it for her.

  “You did indeed, Audrey. A son.” He clucked his tongue as his eyes shone with joy. “We wanted a boy that last time, you know? We had Susan and we had Christine, but then, we really, really wanted a boy to carry the Sheridan name and all. Anna and I prayed for it. I could see him so firmly in my mind, you know? A little boy who loved train tracks and race cars and playing rough. But on that fateful day in August, your mother gave birth to Lola. And to be honest, when she was a little girl, she was something of a tomboy. In some ways, we did get a little boy that day. Anna and I used to joke that our prayers were half-answered.”

  In spite of everything, Audrey felt a laugh bubble up from her heart. She nestled her head deeper in her pillow.

  “I have a little boy,” she echoed.

  “He is so perfect, Audrey,” Amanda whispered. “Really. And such a little fighter. He’s only been on this earth a day and already, he’s gone through more than most of us have.”

  Audrey’s lips parted. How could she possibly explain the depths of emotion she now felt? She’d been given the gift of a baby and had immediately learned a harsh lesson: that no matter what you did, sometimes, your baby had to fight to live.

  “What did Christine say?” she finally asked. “About the baby?”

  “She just wants you both to get well,” Amanda replied.

  Audrey’s heart drummed heavily. In a strange way, she felt guilt for all this, for the pain that had been brought into the lives of the Sheridan family. She had gotten pregnant, and now, she’d forced this tremendous amount of love and fear into everyone’s mind.

  “Oh. I nearly forgot,” Grandpa Wes said then. He reached into his back pocket and drew out a package of Fig Newtons, which had been Audrey’s very favorite pregnancy snack early on.

  “What the heck!”

  Grandpa Wes splayed a perfect cookie onto her palm, then gave one to Amanda. “I thought of you when I saw them in Kerry’s pantry. Don’t tell her, but I stole them.” He winked.

  Amanda and Audrey giggled at that, although Audrey’s laughter grew weaker with each passing moment. She ate the Fig Newton slowly, appreciating every shift of flavor, every gooey bite. When she finished, she thanked her grandfather. And in return, he lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss into her palm.

  “You are a strong Sheridan girl,” he told her, his eyes glassy. “You Sheridan women, you get through anything. I don’t know how you do it. All I am is a big, old sap.”

  Chapter Eight

  It was March 2, a full three nights after baby Sheridan was born. Audrey was discharged early, just after 9:30, and was wheeled out into the waiting area, where still, much of her family awaited her release. It was heart-wrenching to know that at just nineteen, she now faced one of the greatest hardships of her life.

  Of course, Audrey wasn’t the kind of girl to take pity on herself. None of the Sheridan girls were like that. It was in their blood, maybe, Christine thought.

  Now, at 11 AM, Christine watched the poor girl, the young mother, as she gazed at her baby son through the glass at the NICU. Her face twitched strangely, as though she had to reckon with the idea that that little baby, hooked up to the oxygen machine, was the very one who’d grown in her belly all those months. When she turned back, her hand extended over her stomach, and her eyes shimmered with tears.

  “I’m going to head home for a little while,” she told Christine. “An hour or two. Shower and change and get my head on straight. Are you going to stay here?”

  “For a little while,” Christine told her.

  Audrey nodded. She then turned back toward the double-wide doors and ducked into the snowfall. Christine’s heart ached for her. For a moment, she thought about jumping to her feet and running after her, telling her she couldn’t go anywhere alone. But that very moment, Amanda pulled a car up to a halt at the curb. She jumped out, wrapped her arms around her cousin, and held her close. Snow billowed around them and made it difficult for Christine to see them completely. In a moment, they piled into the car, and then they rushed off, back to the house they shared with Wes Sheridan.

  Christine was left alone with the baby she’d meant to care for.

  There wasn’t much you could see of him. It was essential that he was kept on machines at all times, and he was still too unstable for even Audrey to go to him, to hold him. Christine cupped her elbows and let herself really cry, now.

  The past few days had been nothing short of horror.

  Since that first morning, Zach had been very quiet — the kind of quiet that Christine couldn’t probe through. She’d sat at the edge of the bed the previous night and listened to his breathing as he’d slept. They hadn’t opened the bistro since the birth, and they hadn’t even spoken about it, either, as though the decision was made by some other, unknown force. Through everything, Christine knew that Zach was swimming in his previous trauma with his daughter.

  She prayed that once they got through this, he would find a way to go to therapy and deal with it head-on. Only then could he be the stand-in father this baby needed. Only then could Christine really imagine herself adopting more children with him and building a family.

  But the idea that she had to create any kind of rule around this felt like a bruise to her soul. She loved Zach dearly. She just wanted everything to be okay.

  Christine pressed her lips against her fingers and blew baby Sheridan a kiss. She then turned to walk down the hallway. She wanted a cup of coffee, maybe a snack, and then she could stand in front of that glass. Somehow, none of the Sheridans wanted baby Sheridan to sleep on without one of them present. They wanted him to know he was loved, that there was enough out there in the real world to stick around for.

  Out by the coffee machine, Christin
e spotted Susan and Scott. Susan had her head on Scott’s shoulder, and Scott read to her softly from a book of poetry he had in his outstretched hands. The view was so tender. It was a reminder that no matter what, Scott and Susan had the kind of love that would last forever.

  Susan spotted Christine and whispered something to Scott. She then headed toward her, wrapped her in a hug, and said, “Gosh, what a day, huh?”

  Christine nodded as the hug broke. “I guess we’ll be saying that for a while.”

  “Audrey went home with Amanda,” Susan said. “I’m glad she did, although I know she won’t be gone for long.”

  “And how are you doing?” Christine asked as she pushed two quarters into the machine.

  “Oh, you know. At my wit's end, really. I’m just so glad I hired that Sam guy to handle the stuff at the inn.” Susan furrowed her brow, then added, “And I hope you know none of us blame you for not opening up the bakery and bistro. It’s not a big deal. This is way more important.”

  Christine nodded. She wanted to tell Susan, at this moment, that she could hardly speak to Zach — that there was something much more wrong with him than she could fully describe. But instead, she just took her plastic cup, sipped the harsh, black liquid, and said, “I know. Thank you for saying that.”

  “I saw Zach go in there about an hour ago,” Susan said. “I tried to tell him that we don’t need to open up. There’s so much more to deal with. But he just kind of looked past me.”

  Oh. So, she already knew.

  Christine pressed her lips together as silence fell between them.

  Finally, she asked, “Do you think he’s still there?”

  Susan shrugged. “I don’t know. I assume so. Why?” Her eyes demanded even more answers, like, why don’t you know where your boyfriend is? What’s going on between the two of you? And why hasn’t he been up to the hospital since the birth?

  But Susan Sheridan had tact. She could read the room. And she didn’t ask.