by Alana Terry
I glance around the Safe Anchorage website a little more until I forget what I came here for. To see if Grandma Lucy’s online so I can get in touch with her. Even if I don’t necessarily believe her magic prayer is the instant cure that’s going to heal my daughter, I’d like her to know we’re here at Children’s. I’d like her to know what’s going on. Who knows? Maybe she’ll pray her little enchanted words over Natalie and they’ll have more effect than my own feeble attempts would.
I see the farm has a social media account, so I click on the link. At the very least, maybe I can send Grandma Lucy a message that way. I wonder if she’ll even remember me.
My finger stops before I tap the next screen. My heart plummets like I’m on one of those stupid carnival rides except I’ve slipped out of the compartment and am free-falling to my death.
Her picture is right there smiling at me. Bright eyes, shock-white hair, spectacles sliding halfway down her nose. She’s cuddling a baby goat, trying to get it to take a bottle, and she’s laughing. I’m not sure I’ve ever felt as joyful as she looks.
Beneath the photo is the caption that literally socks me in the gut.
Please pray for Grandma Lucy, beloved friend, mentor, and prayer warrior. She’s just been taken by ambulance to County Hospital, and the doctors there think her heart is failing.
It can’t be.
The phone slips out of my hands and clatters on the floor.
CHAPTER 75
“So, this woman who’s sick, you’re saying you just met her last week?”
I don’t have words for this. I can’t explain how I’m feeling, but I’m going to die trying because Eliot’s here. He stopped by Natalie’s room on his lunch break to find me having a verifiable mental breakdown by her crib.
“She prayed for her,” I sob.
He doesn’t have a clue what I’m talking about, poor guy, but he makes all the right soothing noises and tries to get some more information.
“So, she was special to you because she prayed with you for your daughter?” I wouldn’t be surprised if Eliot walks out of this room and never thinks about me again unless it’s to wonder whatever happened to that insane woman from his past and her sick little girl.
“Grandma Lucy believed in healing.” I bury my face in my hands. It’s so clichéd, but I can’t stand to have him look at me right now. This pain is so open, so raw. Not even my husband could handle this. “And now she’s dying.”
“So ...” I can hear all the questions in Eliot’s voice. I know I’m not making any sense. “So, you’re sad because you’d like her to stay alive and keep praying for your daughter?”
I shake my head. He doesn’t understand. I knew he wouldn’t. “Grandma Lucy told me Natalie would be healed.” I try to describe the conviction, the certainty that was in her voice when she made me that promise. The hope that swelled up in me, hard as I fought it at first. “But if she really could heal, if she could really pray and have someone be cured, her heart wouldn’t be failing.” I need to blow my nose, but there’s no Kleenex anywhere within reach.
“So, you’re saying if she’s really a healer or whatever, she’ll just go on living forever?” It’s a valid question, but it makes my skin crawl. It’s like Eliot’s mocking me for believing Grandma Lucy’s stupid prayers and prophecies in the first place.
“I don’t know,” I snap. I want him to leave, but I’m terrified of being alone. How’s that for mixed signals?
He reaches his arm out. Touches me on the shoulder. “I know you’re under a lot of stress right now. I’m sure the news about your friend’s medical condition is adding to all the fear and confusion you’re experiencing from your daughter’s hospital stay. It’s ok. You can cry as much as you need. I’m not going anywhere.”
I wrap both arms around him. It’s the only way I can keep from collapsing in my chair. Why can’t Jake be this supportive? Why do I feel more comfort, more freedom to express my emotions with this man I scarcely know than with my own husband?
Eliot’s stroking my hair. It’s perfectly platonic, perfectly friend-zone boundaries, but that doesn’t stop me from yanking myself away when Jake materializes in the doorway of Natalie’s hospital room.
His face is set, his jaw clenched. “Who do you think you are?” he asks Eliot then glares at me accusatorily. “What the heck’s going on?”
CHAPTER 76
“Hey, man.” Eliot jumps away from me and stands there with his hand stretched out like he’s Jake’s long-lost buddy.
Jake ignores him and doesn’t take his eyes off me. “What are you doing?”
His entrance has startled my tears away for now. “I didn’t know you were in town,” is all I can think to say.
He gives Eliot a quick once-over. “I figured that part out myself.”
“Listen.” Eliot takes a step forward. He’s filled out since his days as a sickly asthmatic. He’s a few inches taller than Jake and slightly stronger by appearances. “Tiff’s had a bad day. She just found out Grandma Lucy’s in the hospital ...”
“Tiff?” Jake interrupts, his steadfast eyes never losing their angry focus. “Since when did the doctors around here start calling you Tiff? And who the heck is Grandma Lucy?”
I have to rewind. Make Jake come in two minutes later. Or twenty minutes earlier. None of this is right.
“You should go,” I tell Eliot. I know he’s got to get back to work. Slave-driven resident and all that. He’s probably already spent too much time here trying to be my grief counselor.
He raises an eyebrow. He’s questioning me. Asking me if I really want him to leave. It’s cute he thinks I might be afraid of Jake. “It’s ok,” I tell him. “Really, it is.” And I know I’m right. As soon as I explain to Jake, everything will be fine.
Jake seethes over our baby’s crib until Eliot leaves.
“That’s a friend of mine from Massachusetts,” I tell him. “We went to school together. Lived with the same foster family for a little while.”
“Is that why you were so quick to come back to Seattle?” he demands.
I can’t let myself get angry. Can’t lose my temper. All my worries about Natalie, all my confusion at the news of Grandma Lucy being so ill, I shove them into a tiny compartment in the back of my brain. My to-deal-with-later box. Right now I’ve got to do damage control. It’s what you’d expect when your husband sneaks up on you when you’re out of town and finds you falling in the arms of some posh doctor.
“We bumped into each other a few days ago,” I explain. “He just came up to check on Natalie. I was having a bad day. He was trying to make me feel better.”
I know Jake’s got a dozen different retorts. If I were him I’d probably have even more, but he’s letting it drop for now. I’m sure this isn’t the last I’ll hear of Dr. Eliot Jamison, but at least for now Jake’s calmed down enough we can have a civil conversation.
“What’s this?” He nods toward the baby.
I bite my lip. Have I seriously not told him? “Well, I was going to call you last night, but my phone died. They put her on the ventilator a few hours ago.” I’ve stretched the truth a little. So sue me. Right now Jake doesn’t need to know all the details. He needs to know enough that he can stay calm and rational. This isn’t how our first meeting back in Seattle was supposed to go.
“I thought we signed a form ...” His face is contorting, like his pity for his daughter’s raging a war against his anger toward me, and right now I’m not sure which side is going to come out victorious.
“The doctor asked me. Said I needed to give him a decision right away. It happened really fast. I didn’t have time to call you or anything.” I’m fidgeting with my fingers. I hate when I feel like I have to pacify Jake. He’s usually such a pushover. I can’t stand it when I’ve got to take the defensive. “You’re not mad about that, are you?” I frown and try to look humble.
He shakes his head. “You should have called me. That’s why we signed the form together.”
; “I already told you there wasn’t time for me to think through it or anything. Basically, the doctor said I needed to let him intubate her or she was going to die right there. I mean, her numbers were really low. She wouldn’t have made it.”
I’m squinting my eyes studying him. He’s not mad our daughter’s still alive, is he?
“Did I make the wrong decision?” There’s an edge in my voice. I’m sure he must detect it, too. Must know he just walked into a verbal minefield. One false move and they’ll be stumbling upon his remains from a mile away.
“No.” He shakes his head again and lets out his breath. I can sense a little of the tension melt away. “No, you did the right thing. I just wish we could have talked about it first.”
“I’m really sorry about that. If I’d had the time, you know I would have called. It just happened really fast.”
“You said that already.”
“I’m sorry.” I’m offering him a hug. His muscles are tense. It’s like wrapping your arms around a stinking statue or something. “The good news is her numbers are getting better. Fever’s down, too.”
“Ok.” He’s moody now. Moody I can deal with. It’s when he’s mad at me, when I have to prove I haven’t done anything wrong, that I feel so lost.
“You all right?” I ask in my best Mama will take care of you voice.
“Yeah. I just need to rest. Where are the keys?”
“Keys?”
“To the Ronald McDonald house. I was up at five this morning. I’ve been on the road all day. I could use a nap.” He stretches out his hand.
“I don’t have any keys. I’ve been sleeping here.”
He eyes the oversized chair. “Here?”
“Yeah. They’ve got blankets and stuff. Want me to find you a pillow?”
“No, I’ll go over and talk to the people at the house. Get us a room for tonight.”
“You a room,” I mutter.
He whips his head around. “Huh?”
“Nothing. Sure, if you need your rest, go find a room.” I give what I hope is a peace-offering smile. “I’m sure you’re tired after such a busy morning.”
I hope to God he doesn’t sense the biting sarcasm in my remark, but he’s either too tired or too stupid to notice, and he walks out the door without another word.
I slump back into the chair by Natalie’s crib. It’s going to be a long day.
CHAPTER 77
I manage to sneak in a nap sometime around four or five that afternoon. Jake hasn’t been back since he left for the Ronald McDonald house. I wonder what’s going to happen when he returns, if we’ll go on like nothing’s happened or if we’ll get into an even messier fight. I honestly don’t have the energy for either, not yet.
Another hour or two of sleep and a quad shot, then maybe I’ll be ready.
The landline in the hospital room rings. I pick up, figuring it must be either Eliot or Jake.
Turns out I’m wrong.
“Tiffany?” The voice is grating. Like a fork scraping against a plate during Thanksgiving dinner.
“Patricia?” I have no clue why she’s calling me. I honestly don’t remember another time that his mom has used my first name. “Jake’s over resting at the Ronald McDonald house.”
“I know. I just got off the phone with him. I’m calling to see how Natalie’s doing. I was so sorry to hear she’s back on the ventilator.”
I mentally rehearse every terrible interaction I’ve had with my mother-in-law and force myself to remain guarded no matter how much energy it expends. “Yeah, it’s all right. She’s doing a lot better keeping her oxygen levels up.”
“Well, I’m sure it’s for the best. I just wanted you to know ...”
I’m so tired and out of it that at first I think Patricia’s about to apologize. No such luck.
“I enjoyed the chance to get to know you a little better over the past few weeks. Thank you so much for opening your home to me.”
This is new. There’s no underlying jab, at least none that I can detect, but everything still feels so off. So backwards.
“Yeah, it was good getting to know you, too.” Is that how the dance works now? We lie to each other civilly until we’re both blue in the face?
“I won’t keep you any longer. I wanted to tell you and Jake that I made it to Abby’s just fine, and I’ve got all kinds of pictures of Natalie to share with her. I’ll be thinking of you and wishing Natalie a very speedy recovery. You hang in there. You’re doing a great job.”
Even after the call ends, I feel on edge. Like her kind words are just another layer of Patricia-style manipulation, but I haven’t come close to mastering this level yet. It’s going to take me time to mentally adjust.
But then Jake’s brooding figure darkens the hospital door, and all thoughts of his mother fly out of my head.
There’s no hint of a smile on his face, no trace of kindness or patience in his eyes. “Come on,” he says in a voice that obviously expects an immediate reaction. “We need to talk.”
CHAPTER 78
“Listen, I’m sorry I didn’t call about the ventilator thing.” I’m trying something new and coming straight out with an apology.
Jake doesn’t respond until we exit the building. Don’t ask me why he wants to walk outside in the stinking middle of winter in Seattle. I swear I’ll never understand that boy.
We cross the street. I have to pump my arms to keep up with him. What’s he think this is? A speed-walking competition?
“You should have let me know,” he broods.
I want to remind him about my stupid cell phone battery. I want to explain how much stress I’ve been under, how close I came to watching my daughter die last night. Does he have any idea what that’s like? If his mom hadn’t taken the car to the wrong hotel and then stuck around those few extra days, I might not have had to make a decision like that on my own. He could have come to Seattle earlier. When it boils down to it, this is all Patricia’s fault. From the beginning, she did nothing but jinx our relationship. I’m so glad she’s gone. Out of our lives, hopefully forever.
I still can’t forget how concerned she sounded on the phone, but I lived with her long enough to realize she’s the master of manipulation. Not just the people around her but her own emotions as well. I’m convinced that at this moment, she thinks she and I were like long-lost BFFs the whole time she lived with us. I want to pick her out of my brain like a bad case of head lice. An hour under the bright lamp, some medicated shampoo treatments, and she’s gone. Never to bother us again.
I should be so lucky.
“Your mom called,” I tell him. Anything so we can get past this awkward, angry silence that’s literally killing me. “She said she made it to Abby’s.”
“I know.”
If all he wanted to do was mope, I wonder what he needs me out here for, but he takes a deep breath like he’s working up his courage to say something and finally tells me, “This isn’t working out.”
My heart drops, but only a little. In my soul, I know he’s right. I’ve known it all along. It goes back to that stupid women’s clinic in Spokane. I should have never brought my daughter there. If it weren’t for that, none of this would have happened. The hospital stays. The medevac flights. The arguments with Jake. Ok, so maybe we still would have had our fights, but it wouldn’t be this bad. We’ve been under so much stinking stress. How is any relationship supposed to survive something like what we’ve gone through?
And the secrets are killing me. Jake sleeping with Charlene. Me taking our daughter to an abortion clinic. I hate to say it, but part of me’s relieved to hear Jake talking like this. The pretense was too much. Pretending we’re a happy couple, that I have what it takes to become a perfect, doting mother.
It will be better this way. Like getting a tooth pulled, painful at first, but so much more comfortable, so much healthier after that.
I’ve suspected this conversation was coming, and I’m ready for it.
“You know what?
” I tell him. “You’re absolutely right.”
CHAPTER 79
“Wait, what?” I swear he sounds just like the princess from that Frozen movie.
“You said it yourself. This isn’t working.”
He stops. Eyes me quizzically from underneath a streetlamp. “What is it that you don’t think is working?”
“Any of it.” I sweep my hands out to the sides. Melodramatic, maybe, but this conversation was a long time in the making, and I’ve got a lot of pent-up stress to get off my chest. “You. Me. Natalie. Trying to pretend we’re a big happy family.”
He’s looking at me like I’ve just slaughtered his mother in front of him, and I get a horrible sinking feeling in the pit of my gut. “Wait, what were you talking about?”
“I was talking about Orchard Grove.” His voice is about five levels too loud. I want to point a remote control at him and tone it down a little. “I was talking about us living so far away from Seattle.” He’s a shaken-up soda bottle about to explode from all that extra pressure.
“Oh.” It’s the most I can think of to say at the moment. We’ve both stopped underneath a street lamp. I can see every vein tensed in his neck. The quiver in his jaw from clenching his teeth so hard.
Oops.
“You seriously think our relationship isn’t working? What, that just because we’ve had a few bumps in the road it’s time to count our losses and move on?”