by Alana Terry
“It’s all right, dear.” Patricia’s smile reminds me of the snake in that Disney cartoon who can hypnotize other animals on command. “Nobody’s mad at you. Nobody expects you to ...”
“To what? Take care of my own child? Let me tell you something. You’re absolutely right. You don’t expect me to do anything for her. Do you know why? Because you’re an old, lonely dog with two failed marriages and you think that taking care of a sick little girl is going to give you some sort of edge over the rest of us. Time for a wakeup call. We didn’t ask you here. We don’t want you here. And the sooner you get out of my house, the sooner I ...”
“Tiff,” Jake snaps, and I realize he’s been trying to get my attention for a while now. He grabs me by the elbow and pinches me. Hard. “What are you doing?” he hisses. His breath is hot on my ear.
Patricia gives her head a regal tilt. “No, you don’t have to say anything.” She’s addressing Jake still. I’m not even worth her energy. “You’ve made your choices, and I’ve done what I can to try to shelter you from the consequences, but it’s obviously time for me to move on.” She sniffs. Her speech might be more effective if she weren’t so congested. “Let me go get my bags. I’m sure I can find some sort of hotel to spend the night while I make arrangements to fly home.”
Jake’s on his feet, blocking her from her room. “Now wait a minute.”
I stare at my daughter. I’d almost forgotten I was still holding her.
“No,” Patricia insists. I know how this dance will go. Jake will beg her not to take off. She’ll argue. They’ll tango like this for five or six rounds until she lets out a melodramatic sigh and agrees to stay, but only because she’s worried about what will happen to Natalie if she leaves her alone with the likes of Jake and me.
It’s all so preordained I don’t pay much attention. My husband’s whines and his mother’s harsh counters become background noise as I study my daughter. I was so scared when I saw that ambulance in front of the house. I’ve got to talk to Jake tonight, let him know I canceled the DNR. But right now, my fingers soak in the softness of Natalie’s cheek. Does she feel warm? She’s awake but just barely. Just enough to let me study the color of her pupils. Chocolate skin and almond eyes.
So stinking gorgeous.
It’s a shame that Jake’s about to convince his mom to stay. I’m sure by tonight, I’ll be ready to let him know how I feel. But for now, I want to enjoy my daughter. I nestle my cheek against hers. She does feel a little hot. Jake probably turned the thermostat up while I was out. I swear that man has no concept of how much we spend on utilities. I don’t even want to see what the heating bill will rack up to this month.
“The only way I would even consider staying here is if that hussy apologizes to me.”
I smile, thankful Patricia’s back is to me. The woman is even more delusional than I first gave her credit for if she thinks she’ll get a sorry out of me.
“Don’t call her that,” Jake pleads. Like a stinking knight in shining armor, ready to defend his lady’s honor.
“I didn’t call her anything. I just said that I need an apology if she expects me to be her babysitter and her housemaid and her cook and her nursing staff ...”
They’re talking about me, but this isn’t my argument. They’ve forgotten that I’m Natalie’s mom. That I could take her and leave any time I choose.
“We appreciate everything you do for us.” It’s a good thing Jake doesn’t work a union job. He’d get eaten alive at the negotiation table. “We both appreciate you,” he lies. “You’ve been amazing. I get three home-cooked meals a day, my daughter’s getting the best of care ...”
I roll my eyes. I know Jake so well that this kissing-up act of his hardly bothers me at all. It’s like getting mad at a seven-week-old puppy who pees in the entryway and acts all proud because at least she missed the carpet.
I rub my nose softly against Natalie’s. One day, I think to myself. One day she might smile at me. One day I might hear her laugh. I’ll even be excited once she learns to cry. Will she ever know? Will her little heart ever find a way to understand how much I adore her?
“... if that’s what you really want.” I only catch the last half of what Patricia says, but I gather by her tone and by Jake’s relieved expression that she’s decided to stick around until after Christmas.
Whoopetty stinking do.
Then again, I already knew that’s what the outcome would be. I’ll have to suffer Patricia’s stony silence for another few days, and then we’ll slip back into our comfortably spiteful coexistence.
Merry Christmas and bah humbug.
I think that the bulk of the argument’s over, but apparently Her Royal Highness won’t accept Jake’s surrender without a little more show of force.
“I’m not asking for much. You of all people should know that. I’d just like to know that my efforts are appreciated.”
“We’re really thankful for everything you’ve done for us. Both of us are.” Jake throws me an imploring glance. It’s cute that he thinks highly enough of me to assume I’ll jump in. I keep my gaze turned toward our daughter and pretend not to hear.
“Oh, I know I’m appreciated by you.” Patricia draws out that last word, and I’m sure she’s turned around to glare at me, but I’m not about to join in and pay homage to the queen. Stinking dictator is more like it. This is between her and her son. He’s the one begging her to stay. If it were me, it would have been good riddance ten minutes ago.
Heck, if it had been me, she would have been out the door before her first weekend.
Fish and company ...
Natalie’s asleep again. So much for our little bonding moment. That’s ok, though. I need to remember what Grandma Lucy said. I need to remember that we have years and years ahead of us to snuggle and hug and kiss and love each other.
It will be years, right? Isn’t that what the old woman promised?
No more than ten feet away from me, Patricia’s reciting my faults one by one, and Jake’s standing there taking it all like the henpecked mama’s boy he is. I wonder if they have any idea how little respect I hold for either of them at this moment.
“If that’s what she thinks, then I’m better off going.”
Great. Now she’s threatening to leave again. I wish that woman would make up her stinking mind instead of wrangling her son through all these hoops. It’s psychological abuse, that’s what it is.
“I mean, if she thinks that I’ve got nothing better to do with my time than suction the snot out of a little retarded baby ...”
The hair on the back of my neck jumps straight up, but Jake reacts faster than I do.
“What did you call her?” I can feel the heat from his anger all the way over here.
Patricia shifts her weight from one foot to the other. “I only meant that ...” Her eyes dart around the room. She can’t even face her son.
“Don’t you ever use that word in my home. Don’t even think that word in my home.”
I’m glad Natalie’s asleep now. Glad she doesn’t hear the fury dripping from her daddy’s voice.
“It’s just an expression ...”
“It’s not just an anything.” Jake stares down at his mom who seems to have shrunk half a foot. His voice trembles when he talks, like it’s taking superhero strength to keep from vaporizing her with his wrath. “That little girl is my daughter. I thought you understood that. I thought that’s why you were here. I thought you loved her ...” He struggles to regain control of his voice. “I thought you cared about her as much as I do,” he adds a little more quietly.
“You know I care about her.” I’ve never heard Patricia use this tone of voice before. Like she’s actually scared. The reigning queen might not get her way after all. Is it a Christmas miracle in the making?
“We both know what a good girl she is,” she stammers. “I only said that because ...”
“Get out.” He’s speaking so low I can hardly hear him. The words escape like a hiss
between his clenched teeth.
Patricia straightens her spine. “What did you just say to me?”
“Get out of my home.” He stomps ahead and throws the front door open.
“What about my things?” she asks. Her voice has a small crack in it, but I can’t tell if that’s from her cold or her emotions.
He pulls the keys out of his pocket. “Take the car to the hotel on Main Street. I think they have a shuttle to the airport. Leave the keys at the front desk. I’ll get it later.”
She puts her hand on the doorframe like she’s going to stop her son from slamming it on her face. “Let me get my bag and you can drive me there. We can talk about it while ...”
He points to the porch. “Go. Now. I’ll drop your stuff off later on.”
“But, son ...”
He shakes his head. “You have no idea what you just did, do you?”
“I was only trying ...”
He clears his throat. “Get out. And don’t expect to come back.”
CHAPTER 54
It’s like the moment in the Wizard of Oz when the Munchkins come out one by one to make sure the wicked witch really is dead. They don’t break into joyful singing right away. There’s that first minute of eerie silence, the fear that maybe they were wrong. Maybe a creature that evil and horrid will defy death, resurrect herself, and rain fiery torment on them for the rest of eternity.
Jake’s still standing behind the door. He’s stunned, like how a man who beats his girlfriend in a drunken rage probably feels when he wakes up sober and remembers what he’s done.
I haven’t moved from the couch, partly because I don’t want to wake up Natalie and partly because I don’t know what to expect from Jake now. I’m sure in his mind he’ll find a way to make this all my fault. I’m sure he’ll regret kicking out his mom and blame everything on me.
Except that’s not what he does.
He catches my gaze. I lift my eyebrow to him, and he laughs. It starts like a little chuckle. He’s got this annoying habit of giggling when he’s nervous, and that’s what this is like at first. But soon it turns into an all-out laughing fit, and I join in too. It’s like we’re watching Saturday Night Live reruns and we’re both completely baked so everything’s that much funnier.
“Did you hear what she said?” he asks.
“Did you see how she looked?” I answer, and we’re going at it again. My abs will be sore in the morning. I just know it.
And then the laughing stops. I wonder if this is the moment when regret will kick in. I brace myself for the accusations I’m sure are coming. He lifts Natalie out of my arms and carefully straps her in her bouncy chair. He takes my hand in his and sits next to me on the couch. Except his eyes aren’t angry.
He’s kissing me before I have time to catch my breath. I lean backward on the couch.
“I can’t believe she’s finally gone,” he whispers, and I’m so ready for him it doesn’t bother me that he’s talking about his mom while we’re making out.
“What’s gotten into you?” I ask him as he kisses my neck. My skin tingles with expectation. Hunger.
His hand runs up my leg. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this.” His lips are hot, his kiss probing and deep.
Maybe it’ll be a good Christmas after all.
CHAPTER 55
We made ourselves Ramen noodles for dinner and threw out our last batch of leftover brown rice. We put Natalie to bed early and are cuddling on the couch watching a movie.
“Your hair smells so good,” he whispers.
“Blame it on that long shower we took.” For once, I’m not worried about the utility bill.
We’re not paying attention to the movie. It’s pretty dumb anyway. All that happens in the whole two hours is a woman gets laid off and travels Europe trying to find herself. It’s just nice having something besides a cooking show on for a change.
“I have to pick up the car tonight,” Jake says. I still can’t believe the way he got his mother out the door. I keep worrying he’ll change his mind. Run down to the hotel, throw himself on his knees, and beg Patricia to come back. It’s like this is too perfect to last. Too many good things happening in one day. Grandma Lucy telling me my daughter will live. Jake manning up and kicking his mom out of the house. Blame it on my tendency to self-sabotage if you will, but I’m fighting the uneasy feeling that something terrible has to happen soon to balance out all the good.
“How are you going to get to the hotel?” I ask.
“It’s not far. I’ll ride my bike.”
“What about her things?” I remember the oversized suitcase Patricia showed up with the day she arrived on our porch. I should have known at that point what an ominous sign all that baggage was.
Jake frowns. “Guess I’ll have to walk.”
I don’t want him to go out. It will be dark before long. I want to stay here in our little toasty trailer and enjoy each other’s company. The funny thing is this feels more like our wedding night than the Ronald McDonald house ever did.
Jake pauses the movie. “We can finish this when I get back. I don’t want it to get too late.”
I surprise myself by saying, “Well, why don’t we come with you?”
“You and the baby?”
“Why not?” Natalie will sleep right through it anyway, and the temperature’s been in the forties all day. “I’ll put her in that front pack,” I tell Jake. “I can zip her up in my parka so she doesn’t get cold.”
He frowns. “You sure you want to?”
I shrug. “Beats sitting around here.”
He stands up. “Ok. I’ll pack the suitcase while you get Natalie ready. Just make sure to bundle her up real well.”
It’s cute the way he worries about his daughter. I tell him I’ll be extra careful and watch him walk down the hall, right past the spot where he told his mom off and slammed the door in her face. I told you that man surprises me sometimes.
It takes me a few minutes to dig the front pack out from under my bed. A friend of mine from Winter Grove gave it to me when she found out I was pregnant. I haven’t tried it on yet. I don’t even know how to wear it. Everything gets tangled up before I can figure out where my arms are supposed to go.
It takes me about a dozen tries, but I finally get it on over my hoodie and walk into Patricia’s room. I’m going to have to get used to calling it the nursery again. Jake’s zipping up his mom’s oversized travel bag, and I reach down to pick up our baby.
“Uh-oh.”
My body tenses.
“What is it?”
I’m trembling. Didn’t I tell you I had a premonition that something like this was about to happen?
I can’t find my voice.
“What’s wrong?” Jake is standing beside me, and we’re both staring at our daughter. “What?”
I reach out, praying that I’m wrong. I touch her forehead. “Feel this,” I tell Jake, hoping to heaven that it’s just me.
Jake’s frown is enough to tell me I’m not mistaken.
Our daughter is burning up with fever.
PART THREE:
Natalie
CHAPTER 56
I’ve never been a big fan of the whole Christmas-miracle motif. Goes back all the way to a foster family who kicked me out of their home the day before Christmas Eve so they could give my bedroom to the cousins coming in from out of state. And here I am complaining about how my husband’s got a chip or two on his shoulder.
Jake and I are staring at each other. It’s like we’re stuck here. Time’s frozen, but just for the two of us.
I knew something like this would happen. Didn’t I tell you everything was too perfect to last?
Jake pulls out his cell phone. I swear he’s about to call his mom, and I’m not going to argue with him. If Patricia were here, she’d know what to do. That woman is as torturous as a hill full of fire ants, but she’s efficient. She knows how to take charge, a skill which Jake never learned and I’ve apparently forgot
ten in my panic.
But he doesn’t dial his mom. He’s staring at his blank screen. “What do we do?” he asks.
“Call Dr. Bell,” I tell him. Where’s my phone? I swear I had it with me a minute ago. Is it on the couch?
“I don’t have her number,” Jake whines. Of course he doesn’t. I’m the one who arranges all the appointments. I’m the one who takes Natalie to the pediatrician’s. Why would Jake bother storing her number in his phone? It’s not like he does anything with that stupid thing besides play Candy Zapper. I’d despise it less if it were at least a game designed for adults.
No, I can’t do this. I don’t have time to hate my husband right now. All that can come later.
“Call my cell,” I tell him, but he’s still stuck on the fact that he doesn’t have the pediatrician’s number in his contacts. “Just call me,” I snap at him.
Ok, I hear it ringing. There it is. I must have taken it out of my hoodie when I was putting on the front pack. Seconds later I’m talking with the after-hours call center.
“I need to speak with Dr. Bell,” I tell the woman. Her voice sounds young enough she could still be in high school. Let’s hope she’s got more medical expertise than a teenager.
“Can I get the name and birthdate of the patient?” she asks. So polite. Like she’s got all the time in the world before her shift ends and she clocks out to go home and watch Elf with her parents.
“This is for Natalie Franklin. She’s a patient of Dr. Bell’s and has a really extensive medical history.” I grab the thermometer from the bathroom drawer and shove it under my daughter’s armpit.
“And what’s Natalie’s date of birth, please?” She’s got a voice like Barbie. High-pitched and shrill.
I want to throw the phone against the wall. I can’t think straight. Who cares what her birthday is? My daughter might be dying, and I need to talk to her doctor.
“She’s four months old.” Why can’t I remember her stinking birthday?