“You don't have to,” he said.
“I don't have anything else planned,” she offered. “There's a great pub about a block from here. They specialize in comfort food.”
“Am I overdressed?” Colin asked. He looked at the pinstriped shirt and dark slacks he wore. He'd come directly from the hospital with no intent on visiting a pub. He'd planned the night in his head. He'd tell her, she'd be hurt, he'd walk away. The pub never entered his mind.
“You look terrific,” Lorry said, smiling at him. “The young, handsome doctor who's in love with someone else,” she said.
“I'm sorry,” Colin said.
“Me, too,” Lorry replied, sadly. “Seriously, you look good, but if you're going to play with your tie all night, take it off.”
“Was I doing that?” he asked, as he loosened his tie and threw it on the front seat.
“Yeah.”
“Better?” he asked, and she nodded.
He couldn't even remember dressing himself that morning, as the plan to tell Lorry the truth was hatching in his mind. He'd looked at his face as he shaved, and he'd checked to make sure he didn't have anything dangling from places it shouldn't, like obscure matter hanging from a nostril. He'd checked his appearance in the hallway mirror before walking out the door of his condo. Was he handsome, as Lorry said? He wasn't sure. He'd miraculously stopped growing at six and a half feet tall in his nineteenth year, his body suited for basketball, but his coordination more suited to a bench on the sideline. His dark hair was tastefully cut, his dark green eyes troubled, and his body fit from jogging. His skin was still tan, but it was fading, as was the sun, as the world around him prepared for the dismal winter ahead.
“You coming, Doc?” Lorry said. She had walked a few steps ahead of him as he'd been lost in thought.
“Coming,” he said. She smiled, and he forced one for her. She'd forgiven him already, this wonderful woman with whose heart he'd gambled. One day he hoped to forgive himself, not just for what he'd done to her, but for what he'd done to Caitlin, the woman Lorry Andrews couldn't be.
***
Caitlin gripped the door handle in the back of the taxi to keep from screaming. The taxi driver looked more panicked than she did, and she could only imagine the horrors he had endured at the hands of her mother. Surely her screams would do nothing to calm his obviously frazzled nerves.
Rita fidgeted beside her, alternately watching the road, the scenery, and her daughter.
“You hanging in there, sweetie?” Rita asked, and Caitlin tried to force a smile that didn't come. She really wanted to punch her, and only when she thought of the impact of her fist against her mother's face did her smile finally come.
“Excited?” Rita asked.
“Just thinking,” Caitlin said through clenched teeth as another contraction grabbed her.
“Are we nearly there?” Rita asked for the hundredth time.
“Mom, stop, you're driving the poor man nuts,” Caitlin said, and she saw the driver smile at her in the rear view mirror with a look of genuine gratitude.
“I do not want my grandchildren born in a taxi,” Rita growled.
“Mom, please,” Caitlin groaned.
“Almost there,” the driver said suddenly, and in his voice Caitlin was sure she heard relief.
New York-Presbyterian Hospital finally came into view and Caitlin felt an overwhelming mixture of panic and relief. What the hell was she doing? She was forty-four years old and about to become a single mother. A single mother with only this clusterfuck who sat beside her to guide her. What the hell was she doing?
“Did you call your doctor?” Rita asked, and Caitlin snapped back to reality with a groan.
“No,” she said, sounding like a disobedient child.
“Cate!”
“Rita, look, I was concentrating on not having your grandchildren in the taxi.”
“We've only been in the taxi a few minutes,” Rita quipped, and once again Caitlin caught the driver's glance in the rear view mirror. His expression suggested he felt like they'd been in the taxi a lifetime.
“I had other things on my mind, Mom,” Caitlin replied tersely, and Rita looked hard at her.
“Well, it's too late now, I guess we'll get who we get depending on how long you're in labor,” Rita said, and Caitlin fought the urge to cry. She knew her mother meant well, but Rita was driving her nuts. She wanted to confide in her. She wanted to tell her mother how terrified she was. Before she could, the taxi stopped suddenly.
“This is it,” the driver said, pulling up to the hospital entrance. “That'll be $27.75,” he added, and Rita gasped audibly.
“I could have gone to the moon for that!” she complained, and the driver threw her a look that clearly said he'd like to send her there.
“Mom, please just pay the man,” Caitlin begged, clenching her teeth against the pain.
Rita Hollings shoved a handful of crumpled bills into the driver's hand, and threw the back door open. Caitlin obediently followed.
“Good luck,” the driver said, “.........with everything,” he added with a smile, which Caitlin returned.
The hospital lobby was relatively quiet, and Rita immediately began shouting orders at whomever would listen. Caitlin was plopped into a wheelchair and pushed through the corridors of the hospital to a waiting elevator.
“Is your doctor aware you're here?” the nurse asked, and Rita scowled at her daughter.
“No,” Rita barked.
“I didn't call him,” Caitlin admitted.
“We will,” the nurse offered, and Caitlin relaxed. “We can call whomever you'd like,” the nurse added, and Caitlin felt the familiar pain of loss.
“There's no one else,” she said, in little more than a whisper.
“She's got me,” Rita offered, and Caitlin suppressed another urge to scream madly.
“There's also a pediatrician on call if you haven't called yours,” the nurse offered, and Caitlin felt herself tense.
“Oh my God!” Caitlin nearly shouted.
“You all right, dear?” The nurse sounded concerned, and Caitlin looked at her and whispered.
“Who is it?”
“Who's who, dear?” the nurse asked.
“The pediatrician on call? Who is it?” Caitlin replied, sounding panicked.
“It's Dr. Marks tonight.”
Caitlin responded with nothing more than a ragged sound, as the breath she'd been holding left her lungs in one fluid movement. That was the last thing she needed. She could picture it now. She in the most compromising position – sweating, screaming, feet in stirrups, not the way she'd imagined she'd look if she ever saw him again.
She'd smile, through teeth clenched against the pain, and she could almost hear him say, “I'm Doctor.......what the fuck?” Caitlin laughed at the thought and the entourage stopped suddenly.
“You all right, Cate?” her mother asked.
“Yeah, I'm good,” Caitlin said with a smile. The posse exited the elevator car and moved deeper into the hospital, and Caitlin recognized the maternity ward.
The nurse stopped suddenly and wheeled Caitlin into a room that identically matched the birthing room she had seen on the tour with her Lamaze class.
“Holy shit, this is it,” she said without thinking.
“This is it,” the nurse confirmed. “Ready?”
“Nope,” Caitlin admitted.
“That's what everyone says.”
Two
Colin Thomas sipped his third beer, and glanced across the table at Lorry Andrews. Her eyes glowed in the dimly lit pub, and since they'd arrived, he added, “expert listener” to her list of attributes. He still felt like a first class jerk, but she'd admitted she saw it coming, and she seemed to understand why.
“I'm sorry,” she said, and he reached across the table to take her hand.
“So am I,” he offered as his only response.
“She sounds like a wonderful person,” Lorry said softly, not helping Colin feel l
ike less of an ass.
“I didn't realize it at the time,” he offered, looking solemn.
“So, what now?” she asked.
“I grovel?” he replied, and when she didn't respond he admitted, “it might be too late.”
“It might not be,” she offered, and he smiled at her.
“You're an optimist,” he replied.
“I'm a woman. I've been in love, Colin.”
“There were times it was really bad,” he said softly. “I did something kind of heartless,” he added.
“What did you do?”
“I lied,” he admitted, gazing into the nearly empty beer glass.
“About what?” she asked, and he looked at her.
“Caitlin is an editor at The New York Times, a good one. She loves her job, but I know she wants to do more. She wrote a book. I've read it. I told her I loved it.”
“You didn't love it?” Lorry asked, and Colin shook his head.
“I wanted to love it, Lorry. I even called in a favor to get her an agent, and another one to get a publisher to read it. She'd hate that I did that. The whole thing is a lie. It's made her believe the book has merit.”
“It doesn't?” Lorry asked.
“She's a great writer, but her book was empty. The characters were shallow, not like the Caitlin I knew.” Colin looked up, meeting Lorry's stare. “I shouldn't be discussing this with you. It hardly seems fair.”
“It's okay, really. Besides, I offered,” she said, smiling.
“You did. I think I needed to talk to someone about this. It's bothered me for a long time.”
“This isn't about the book, is it?” she asked.
“No. But I think reading it made me realize things about Caitlin, things that scared me. It was almost like she was afraid to open her heart and put it all on paper. It made me see she was holding something back, maybe even from me. She kept me at a distance. I think I did the same thing. It's like we were afraid of each other.”
“How so?” Lorry asked.
“I think we were afraid of the love we felt. Afraid we'd lose a part of ourselves if we really gave into it. I've seen the pain of losing someone you love.”
“So, you think it's better not to risk it,” she said. Colin wasn't sure if it was a question, but he answered anyway.
“I don't know. I think I used to feel that way.”
“Is that how you feel now?”
“I can't feel my lips,” Colin said.
“It's the booze, and it doesn't answer my question.” Colin smiled at Lorry.
“You ask some doozer questions.”
“I know, and you're good at avoiding them,” she said, and Colin inhaled sharply.
“I can't believe we're talking about this. You're really something, Lorry.”
“Still doesn't answer the question,” she said, and although her tone was playful, she looked sad, and for a moment, he really wished he could have loved her.
“I feel like I lost something really special, something I may never find again.”
“You still could,” she replied softly, wishing someone would one day love her as much as this man obviously loved Caitlin Goodrich. “You could tell her how you feel.”
“I called her at work last week,” he said, feeling like an even greater ass.
Lorry, sensing his reluctance to admit it, smiled. “It's okay,” she said. “Did she take your call?”
“They told me she was not presently on staff. She'd taken a leave. When I pressed, they said they had no additional information.”
“Hmm, do you think she'd move away?” Lorry asked.
“I don't know what she might do. I never did,” he said, and Lorry smiled again.
“But you know where she lives, right?”
Of course I do. I left my heart there. “Yes,” he said softly.
“So, go see her,” Lorry suggested.
“I'm leaving tomorrow,” he said, sounding as if he were suddenly somewhere else.
“Forever?” she asked incredulously, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
“I'm going to a conference,” Colin replied, returning to the conversation.
“Well, silly, you're coming back, right?” Lorry asked.
“I'm coming back in a few days.”
“What are you going to do when you get back?”
“I'm going to see Caitlin,” he admitted, finally smiling.
“You'd better,” Lorry replied.
***
Sixty-five year old Ella Simons was finishing her flower arrangement when the phone rang beside her. She had been deeply absorbed in her work, and the ringing had startled her. “Hollings House,” she said cheerfully. “Why, Noonie, I nearly flew out of my shoes when the phone rang. Where in the world is my baby's breath?” she demanded. “Great! I'd better see you in less than an hour or this bouquet isn't getting where it needs to go in the morning. I'm too darned old to be burning the midnight oil here!” she barked, then apologized. “I'm so sorry, sweetie,” she said to her nephew, forgetting as she often did that he was a fully grown man. “You know I appreciate you helping out while Rita is away.”
The conversation lasted only another moment, and Ella hung up the phone with a smile.
“Erica!” Ella yelled to her twelve-year old great niece, and Erica appeared in the doorway of the shop.
“Was that Daddy?” the young girl asked, and Ella nodded.
“It was. Were you at the house?” Ella asked.
“Yup. I was getting a soda.”
“Anything from Rita yet?”
“No. Did she call here?” Erica asked, and Ella shook her head.
“Not yet,” Ella said, as she turned her attention back to the flowers. “Leaving me in charge at my age, where is that woman's mind?” she grumbled.
“Auntie, that woman's a loony tune. You're more than capable of running this shop.”
“She isn't a loony tune, she's just different. Besides, she's my friend, and I love her. You mind your p's and q's and get me some more roses,” Ella said, her voice firm, but her face wearing a smile.
Ella returned her attention to the flowers, working her creative magic until the roses became a symphony of color and life. She fingered one flower gently, and was reminded of a single red rose, long since withered, its dried petals preserved and tucked into her grandmother's bible. The thought brought about a familiar tug at her heart as she thought of the lover who had given that lone flower so many years ago. She remembered his eyes, his smile, and the way his hand trembled when he offered her the treasured single red rose, and a tiny diamond ring, which now rested close to her heart, dangling from a thin gold chain. The single rose had started a lifelong love of the beautiful flowers. One love had been lost, but another had been offered in its place. Roses had become her life, her family, and she'd poured her love into them, love that had once been meant for someone else. There had never been anyone else, only him.
“Charles,” Ella whispered in the empty room.
“You say something, Auntie?” Erica asked, returning with the requested flowers.
“No, not really.”
“How do you do that?” Erica asked, her amazement obvious.
“They just do what they want. They always seem to get it right though, don't they?” Ella asked, stepping back to admire her creation.
“You okay, Aunt Ella?” Erica asked.
“I'm fine, dear. Didn't I tell you to mind your p's and q's?”
“Yup. I gotta go. Cheer leading starts early tomorrow.”
Ella leaned her cheek in for the kiss that always came. Erica was her pride and joy, and her youngest friend.
“Enjoy the rest of your weekend, dear,” Ella offered, and Erica waved and disappeared into the shadows of a glorious October evening.
Ella sat at her bench and gazed at her masterpiece. The roses looked beautiful in the dimly lit shop, and she knew that soon they'd leave her, bringing joy to their recipient. There would be another, then another, and
one precious one she would give her whole heart to as soon as she got Rita's call. She thought of Caitlin, and offered a silent prayer that she and her babies would be okay.
Ella yearned to be with them, but knew she didn't belong. It wasn't her place. She wanted to be there, to experience the miracle of birth with them, and although her heart ached, she thanked God she was able to share their lives, if only as a friend. She felt sorry for Caitlin, and wondered how it was that people were so stubborn about love. They threw it away so easily, like it was nothing. Ella had been in love only once, but the power of that love had sustained her for a lifetime, and she'd held it inside her and it had grown. She had showered her family and friends with it. Her life was full and she was grateful. It was only at night that she longed for more. She'd pass the old armchair in her living room, and imagine her husband dozing quietly. It wasn't meant to be, and as hard as it was sometimes, Ella had accepted it. Her lover had been stolen from her. She hadn't given him up willingly. Again she felt sorry for Caitlin and for Colin, too. She knew they were hurting, and she prayed they'd find their way back to each other. Didn't they realize love was the only thing that truly mattered? Everything else was just an accessory. Love was the single thing worth fighting for.
Three
Rogan and Hannah Goodrich came into the world on October 12th, 2008 at 2:13 A.M. and 2:26 A.M. respectively, amidst a sea of medical staff, blood, screaming and sheer terror. It had been the longest night of Caitlin's life, and she suddenly understood why women displayed their hours in labor as though they were a trophy. They were. Caitlin had been in labor for a little more than seven hours, and it had nearly killed her.
“Mrs. Goodrich,” the night nurse said quietly, and startled, Caitlin opened her eyes. “Would you like to hold your son?”
“Yes,” Caitlin said, and although she was exhausted, she sat upright and reached for the precious bundle the nurse offered.
“Hello, Rogan,” Caitlin whispered, as a single tear slid down her cheek. “Welcome to the world, baby,” she added, overwhelmed by emotion. She took his tiny hand in her fingers, and felt the smooth perfection of his skin. She stroked his cheek as another tear fell. He was so tiny and new. This baby and his sister were her miracles, testaments to the love she felt for their father. She'd spent weeks preparing, weeks making changes to her life, afraid of the chaos their births would bring. Suddenly she realized none of that mattered. Nothing, but the child in her arms, and the one she hadn't yet met. She leaned down and gently kissed the baby's head and he stirred just for a moment.
The House of Roses Page 2