“What?” she'd asked, a gentle smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
“I'm taking a picture,” he said, and she'd arched a brow at him.
“A picture of what?”
“A picture of us. I want to remember sitting here with you on an ordinary day. I want to remember how much I love you right now at this moment.”
She'd looked at him, before pressing her lips to his, and at that moment her heart had captured a photo of its own, an image of two lovers who had paused long enough on an ordinary day to recognize an extraordinary love.
“I love you,” she'd whispered, and suddenly the clouds rejoined and the sun disappeared.
She would never forget that day, that moment, the sun on his face, the soft touch of his lips on hers, and the words she would carry forever in her heart. She stood for a long time staring out at the world, a world that looked less inviting because she faced it without him. Tears ran down her face as she opened her heart and felt the pain of losing him once again.
“Cate?” Rita asked, her voice thick with sleep. “You okay, baby?”
Caitlin turned her tear-streaked face away from the window and sighed deeply. “I'm trying to find a way to be,” she said softly, not quite meeting her mother's eyes.
“You'll find your way,” Rita said softly.
“I'm not sure this time. I don't know if I can find my way without him. I need him, Mom. I don't know how to survive without him,” Caitlin replied, her tears falling steadily.
“You need to tell him that, Caitlin. Did you call him?” Rita asked softly, and only then did Caitlin look at her.
“I can't. I'm not ready.”
“He needs to know.”
“I'll call him soon,” Caitlin said, turning to look out the window again.
She said a silent prayer of gratitude for the miracle of her children. Before she turned away, she asked God for the strength to face the man she knew she would always love. She wanted Colin to know his children, to love his children, but part of her wasn't sure how to exist in a world where he loved the twins, but not her.
“Mom?” Caitlin said, shuffling slowly back to the bed.
“What is it, honey?”
“What am I going to do?” Caitlin asked.
“I don't know, Cate. It's something you have to figure out for yourself.”
“You're a lot of help,” Caitlin quipped.
“What do you want to do, Caitlin?”
“I don't know.”
“It will come to you,” Rita offered, and Caitlin sniffed loudly. “Wipe your face, kiddo. Let's take a walk,” Rita said, handing Caitlin a scratchy tissue from the box on the bedside table.
“Oh God,” Caitlin groaned, wiping her nose. “Mom, no.”
“You sit. I'll push,” Rita offered and Caitlin relented.
She slid herself with some effort into the wheelchair in the corner of the room. She wondered if she'd ever be a normal size person again.
“I'm fat,” she whined, as Rita took position behind the chair.
“You just had twins, Caitlin. I think you could cut yourself a little slack.”
“I'll be lucky if I ever fit into slacks again.”
“You will,” Rita said, steering her daughter into the hall.
“Mom, where are we going?” Caitlin asked. The hospital seemed to be waking up around them as they made their way through its hallways.
“Do you remember Airplane, Cate?”
“The movie?” Caitlin asked, wondering what in the world that had to do with her present predicament.
“No. The Airplane game you and Daddy played.”
“Yeah. I remember that.”
“Wanna play Airplane?”
“What?” Caitlin asked with a slight laugh.
“Put your arms out,” Rita encouraged.
“No!”
Rita began making a low rumbling sound, which grew louder as the wheelchair gained speed.
“Mom!” Caitlin said loudly.
“What?” Rita said, stopping the engine sound long enough to answer.
“You're crazy!”
“I know. Put your arms out.”
“Will you stop if I do?”
“Eventually. Just do it.”
Reluctantly, Caitlin did, and the two moved through the hallway at an unacceptable speed, looking as if they belonged on another ward.
“Okay, enough. Where are we going?” Caitlin demanded.
“Here,” Rita said, stopping in front of the nursery window. “Look at them,” Rita said.
Caitlin lifted herself from the wheelchair and peered into the nursery window. Her babies lay side by side and her broken heart seemed to heal, if ever so slightly, as she watched them.
“You'll find a way to be okay. For them,” Rita said, and Caitlin smiled weakly at her.
“Is this how you felt?” Caitlin asked, looking at her mother. A look of sadness Caitlin didn't understand seemed to consume Rita's face, if only for a moment. “Mom?”
“This is how all mothers feel,” Rita said, smiling through unshed tears. “I have to make a call,” Rita said, sounding suddenly distant.
“I want to wait here,” Caitlin replied, gazing again at the sleeping twins. “Thanks for the airplane ride.”
“You're welcome,” Rita said, with a smile that faded immediately when she turned away. She walked along with a heaviness in her heart, an ache she knew Caitlin wouldn't understand. She remembered gazing at her own sleeping child through the glass separating her from the nursery where her daughter had spent her first few hours. Her heart ached for Caitlin and for herself, and for the fate that seemed to befall those she loved. As much as she wanted to, she couldn't help Caitlin. It was something the girl needed to do herself.
Rita moved quietly through the hospital into the lobby, through the enormous doors, into the beautiful October morning. She pulled a pack of Newports from her worn hobo bag, strolled fifty feet from the entrance as required by law, and lit a cigarette with the lighter she always had in her pocket. She drew deeply on it, feeling the nicotine calm her frayed nerves. She pulled a cell phone from the bag and dialed the number to her shop. She knew Ella would be there at the crack of dawn filling weekend orders with love and precision.
“Good morning, Hollings House,” Ella sang into the phone and Rita felt another pull at her heart.
“I knew you'd be there,” Rita said, struggling to find the right words.
“Well, well, well, I was wondering when I'd hear from you,” Ella responded, her voice light.
“I'm at the hospital,” Rita said.
“And?” Ella asked anxiously.
“Caitlin had the twins at about two o'clock this morning,” Rita said softly.
Rita heard Ella weeping softly and neither woman said anything for several long moments.
“Is everyone all right?” Ella whispered, and Rita felt sad for her. Life could be so unfair, and Rita felt like a thief, stealing a moment she knew her friend would never have.
“Everyone is fine,” Rita said, not entirely telling the truth.
“So, tell me about the twins,” Ella said, having regained her composure.
“The boy is Rogan William, and the girl is Hannah Margaret,” Rita said, certain her friend would make the connection.
“After his grandfather,” Ella said softly.
“Yes.”
“Margaret.........,” Ella said.
“Amazing, isn't it?” Rita asked sadly.
“It is,” Ella said. “Rita, I am so glad you called, and so happy for you. I'm going to pray for that girl, and hope she and Colin come to their senses. And now I have to go. I have another arrangement to work on, so I'd better get myself busy.”
“I'll be back in a couple of weeks,” Rita offered.
“We'll be fine. Take your time,” Ella replied.
“Thank you, Ella. It doesn't seem to be enough, but thank you.”
The two women hung up and Rita lit another cigarette. She need
ed a moment to think, to take pause, and to let it all in. She hadn't told Ella the whole truth, that Caitlin wasn't doing well emotionally, but Rita had a feeling the other woman already knew. Still, Rita felt badly for not opening up more, for not being entirely truthful. There had been too many lies in her life. It was time for the truth.
Six
Colin Thomas pulled into his reserved spot behind New York-Presbyterian Hospital and cut the engine to the Volvo. It was a beautiful autumn day, the kind he and Caitlin used to love, and as much as he'd grumbled, he'd enjoyed the steady jog he'd taken to retrieve the forgotten car. He'd stood by it, only for a moment, and gazed up at Lorry Andrew's window. The blinds were drawn, and he could picture her sleeping peacefully. She was a wonderful person, a friend he'd cherish always.
He glanced at the hospital and checked his watch. He had forty-five minutes before his appointment. If he hurried, he'd have time to grab a coffee from the corner cart and take a stroll. As he walked he thought of Caitlin He'd thought of her often in the nine months they'd been apart, but in the long hours since he'd sat with Lorry in the pub, he'd thought of little else. He wondered why she'd taken a leave, what she was doing, where she'd gone. Lorry had asked if she'd go away, and suddenly Colin wondered if she had. Had she run away? Hadn't they both?
Standing alone in his condo an hour before, he'd chastised himself for being a fool, and as he walked along the city streets at his favorite time of the year, without his favorite girl, he realized he had been a fool. They both had been. They'd both been so afraid to open up, to take a chance, and so they'd walked away. The leaves crunched softly beneath his running shoes as he walked, and he was reminded of the many walks he'd taken with Caitlin the previous autumn. They'd been together for four years. Four winters, four springs, four summers, and four autumns. He'd have stayed with her for four lifetimes, given the choice, so why had he walked away?
After they parted, he'd immersed himself in his work, going into the office early, staying late, participating in every conference he could, taking every opportunity to speak at some far off location.
Colin sidled up to the coffee cart and ordered the largest cup they had. He'd only slept a few hours, and although he'd felt ornery and exhausted when he woke that morning, he felt a clarity of thought he hadn't in a long time. Still, a long day lay ahead, and he needed the restorative quality of his favorite brew.
“Morning, Doc,” Cliff Hurd said with familiarity.
“Morning, Cliff,” Colin replied to the proprietor of the cart.
“Beautiful day.”
“Yup.”
“Won't be too many more of these. We'll be kickin' up slush instead of leaves here any time.”
“Always happens too fast,” Colin said thoughtfully, knowing how true it was.
Colin handed Cliff a five-dollar bill and got a few coins in return. Ridiculous price for coffee, but he'd have paid twenty bucks for it if asked. He needed it that badly. He took a greedy sip and winced as the steaming liquid burned the inside of his mouth.
“Have a good day, Doc.”
“Yeah, you too, Cliff. Coffee's good today.”
“Coffee's always good, Doc.”
Colin strolled away with the coffee in his hand. Cliff was right. Soon fall would pass, the skies would turn gray, and gray they'd stay, seemingly until spring. The days would be shorter, but his without Cate in them, would only grow longer. He was a first class ass, and she'd be a fool to take him back. Still, he had to try. What was the worst thing that could happen? He knew what it was. He'd call her, or go see her, bare his soul to her, and she'd tell him to piss off, and worst of all, he'd deserve it. She'd never take him back, not after how he'd treated her.
Colin checked his watch again, and picked up the pace as he approached the hospital. He tossed the empty coffee cup into the trash can in front of the lobby and made a bee line for the fifth floor.
When the elevator door opened, he saw Mia before he saw her mother.
“Hi, Doctor Colin,” the little girl said, as they walked toward his office. Colin instinctively smiled. He loved children, was amazed by them, although he hated the reason his patients were in his life. He was committed to them with a passion, each one equally needful of his expertise. But this one was different. Mia Mariposa was one of the most beautiful children he'd ever seen, with skin the color of the perfect latte and huge cocoa-colored eyes. Her jet-black hair hung nearly to her waist, and despite the ugliness of HIV that lay in wait inside her like a ticking time bomb, she was the picture of good health.
“Howdy, gorgeous,” Colin said, and Mia responded with giggles. “How's Mom this morning?” he inquired, although once he'd made eye contact with Rosario, he knew he didn't need to ask. “Come on in,” he said, opening the door to his office.
Rosario took a seat across from his massive desk, and Mia sat in a child-size chair tucked neatly into the corner.
“How's Mia?” Colin asked, looking at the child, who had already become engrossed in a large picture book.
“I'm not here about Mia.........,” Rosario said softly, “well, not really,” she barely whispered.
“What's going on?” Colin asked, although given Rosario's pallor, he suspected he knew.
“I saw Doctor Burns on Friday.” Rosario looked at him, her grief-filled eyes hinting at the story with which she was struggling. Colin stood, circled the desk and sat beside her. Instinctively he reached for her hand.
“What's happening, Rosario?” he asked, his voice so filled with compassion that the woman who sat beside him simply sobbed in response.
“Mama had a bad dream,” Mia said from the corner. “I think she wants to tell you about it.”
Colin looked at Mia, who smiled at him. He winked back at her, and she returned her attention to the book in her lap.
“Did you, Rosario? Did you have a bad dream?” Colin asked softly.
“It's not a dream,” Rosario whispered. “It's coming, Dr. Thomas. It's coming faster than we thought. I've prayed for a miracle, but I don't think that's what's coming. Dr. Burns said the end is coming. I need to know about Mia. I know her prognosis is good now, that she doesn't have AIDS, but I need to know everything you can tell me so I can plan for her. I don't have much time. My baby, Doctor, my own blood, will be left behind with no one, nothing, nothing but this shameful, murdering disease I've given her.” Rosario's shoulders shook as she sobbed, and Colin felt his heart being ripped apart. What could he say to this beautiful dying woman, whose only living legacy would be abandoned when the Grim Reaper stepped in and stole the one person who'd cared for her? He turned away, his gaze falling on the beautiful child who sat quietly watching them.
“Told ya,” Mia said. “Musta been a doozer, huh, Doc?” she asked, and Colin nodded, fighting back tears of his own.
“Musta been,” he agreed, forcing a smile for the child, a smile he didn't feel. “Mia, would you like to color a picture for Mom?”
“You want a picture, Mama?” Mia asked, and Rosario, who could not speak, nodded back.
Colin crossed the room, and set two coloring books and an enormous box of crayons in front of the little girl. He gently touched her hair, and returned to his seat beside her mother. Once Colin was certain Mia's attention was diverted elsewhere, he turned to Rosario. Again he took her hand before speaking.
“Every day there are advancements in treating HIV. Mia could live a healthy life, but I can't give you a guarantee, Rosario. I wish I could.”
“I know. I just don't know what to do, or how to do it.”
“There are organizations, Rosario, organizations I can refer you to for help. They can give you advice about planning,” he said, and his words sounded ridiculous even to him.
“Right. Organizations that will help me get my affairs in order...........,” Rosario replied, and although her words were softly spoken, Colin felt as though he'd been struck. This woman needed something, and he doubted it was something any organization could give her. Suddenly he ha
d an idea.
“Rosario, how much time do you have?” he asked, looking at his own watch. When she said nothing, he looked up at her. “Oh, dear God, I'm sorry,” Colin said, recognizing his heartlessness. “How much time do you have this morning?”
“Well, I've done nothing but cry since Friday, and today was looking similar. I suppose I could fit something else into that busy schedule,” she replied, forcing a smile.
“Hey, kiddo, you hungry?” Colin asked the child.
“Yup,” Mia answered.
“Rosario, I'd like to take the two of you to lunch. I'd like to take you out of this just for a little while. Sometimes stepping away from things allows us to think clearly. It's impossible to see beyond the grief you're feeling right now. I need some time to think about things, too. I'd like to see if there's anything I can do to help you with this...... transition.”
Rosario smiled at him, with a smile that looked nearly genuine. He wasn't sure how to help her, but he knew he had to try. His expertise was in matters of the body. It had never been in matters of the heart. He knew her heart was breaking, but what she didn't know was his was as well. Perhaps over sandwiches and coffee, two broken hearted people could find a way to help each other.
***
Rita Hollings returned to find Caitlin in her room in the birthing center. The nurses had just flitted past, promising to bring her son and daughter to her shortly, when Rita stuck her head in the room.
“Did I miss anything?” Rita asked, and Caitlin shook her head.
“I walked back,” Caitlin said, sounding distant.
“The exercise is good for you.”
“I'm hungry, Mom. Can you get something for lunch, something you'll have to smuggle in?”
“Are you trying to get rid of me?” Rita asked.
“No. I just couldn't eat that slop they brought me for breakfast. And they won't bring me any coffee because I'm nursing,” Caitlin whined. “Oh, Mom, one cup, please.........,” Caitlin pleaded, and Rita was reminded of her daughter as a young girl. The older woman smiled in response.
The House of Roses Page 4