His Baby Dilemma

by Catherine Lanigan

“She hasn’t got any wine. No food here, either. She just flew in yesterday...”

  “Say no more. I can be there in twenty minutes. This is an emergency.”

  “Okay. Thanks.” Mica hung up.

  Grace shifted a sobbing Jules to her left shoulder. “What did he say?”

  “He’s coming over. He said wine was okay.”

  “Not for my baby!” she squealed. “No alcohol, Mica.”

  “Okay. But he’s our baby,” he amended.

  “I know.” Grace leaned her cheek against Jules’s head. “Oh, no.”

  Mica sensed her alarm. “What is it?”

  “I’m not sure.” She pressed the back of her hand to Jules’s forehead. “He feels warm.”

  “Really? He was fine a few minutes ago.”

  “I have a digital thermometer in his diaper bag.” She nodded toward the quilted bag on the counter. Jules kept screaming.

  Mica went to the bag and found the thermometer. He handed it to Grace. She put the thermometer on Jules’s forehead. “It’s ninety-nine six.”

  “Is that bad?”

  “It’s not too high, but it’s still a fever. And he keeps rubbing his ears.” Her eyes were round with worry. “Do you know a pediatrician we could call?”

  He shook his head. “No, and half the offices are closed for the holidays. Aside from the ER, there’s no one...” He held up his palm. “Hold on.”

  Mica hit Nate’s number. He waited while it rang.

  “Now who are you calling?” Grace asked.

  “Nate. He’s a doctor.”

  “A cardiac surgeon, Mica. Not a pediatrician.”

  Mica shrugged. “He can diagnose, can’t he? You need help. I’m here to get it for you.” He paused as Nate picked up. “Nate! I need a favor. I’m over here at Mrs. Beabots’s upstairs apartment with Grace. And, oh, so Mom told you guys? Fine. So, Jules is sick, we think. He’s got a temperature and he won’t stop screaming. We thought it was teething at first, so I called Gabe. He’s bringing some wine for the baby...No. I mean, to put on his gums.” Grace shot him a look. “Hey! Gabe’s a vintner! I think he just wants to meet Jules, though. Anyway, Jules’s temperature is nearly one hundred, so I don’t think it’s his gums...Oh, great. Thanks, Nate.” He hung up.

  Grace stood and started walking the floor with Jules.

  “Nate’s coming over. Maddie, too.”

  “Mica, is your whole family going to be here?”

  He snapped his fingers. “Right. I should’ve asked Mom in the first place.” He started to take out his phone.

  Grace placed her hand on his. “It’s okay. I think we’ll have enough Barzonnis here to handle the problem. I’m beginning to think he has an ear infection. From the flight. He was good on the plane until we started descending. Then he screamed the entire time. I felt so sorry for the businessman next to me.”

  Mica wasn’t used to hearing a baby scream like Jules. The kid clearly had a strong pair of lungs. He’d probably grow up to be an auctioneer.

  Ten minutes later, Nate arrived with a canvas tote in hand. Maddie was grinning from ear to ear as she entered the apartment. “Grace! I’m dying to meet Jules!” she said, hugging her. Mica stood in the hallway with Jules in his arm.

  Nate peered at the baby. “Wow, he does look like you. Hollers and bellyaches like you, too.”

  “Shut up. And thanks for coming.”

  There was a second knock on the door. As Grace greeted Gabe, Liz and toddler Zeke, Mica took Jules into the living room and placed him on one of Mrs. Beabots’s Victorian sofas.

  Nate took out his stethoscope, listened to the baby’s chest and then used an otoscope to look inside Jules’s ears. He felt his glands and looked inside the baby’s throat.

  Gagging on the tongue depressor quieted Jules down. He stared in confusion from Nate to Mica and then to Gabe.

  Then he burst into tears again.

  “I’m so sorry,” Grace apologized as she picked him up.

  “So,” Gabe said, “what is it? Should we put some of this chardonnay on his gums?” Gabe lifted the bottle. “It’s one of our best.”

  “Oh, Gabe, quit fooling around,” Liz teased. She turned to Mica. “He brought the wine for you and Grace. We just wanted to meet the baby.”

  Mica exhaled. “That’s exactly what I told Grace.”

  Nate put away his instruments. “He’s got an ear infection and his throat is inflamed.” He took out his cell phone. “I’ll call the pharmacy and order some antibiotics. Mica, you can drive down and get it. It’s only a couple blocks. Pick up some children’s fever reducer, too. The liquid comes with a dropper and it tastes pretty good.”

  “You use it yourself?” Mica joked.

  Nate looked at Mica, a slow smile coming to his face. “Good to see your sense of humor has resurfaced, Mica.” He slapped his brother’s shoulder. “Get the meds. Grace, make sure he eats. Some cereal, bread, pasta. Carbs, you know? So he doesn’t get a tummy ache. He should improve by morning. I’ll text Matt Ferguson, a pediatrician friend of mine. I’ll give him the rundown and you can text him or call him over the next few days.”

  Maddie hooked her arm through Nate’s. “Speaking of New Year’s, you are coming out to Gina’s party, right?”

  “Uh...” Grace looked at Mica.

  He swiped his face with his palm. “I forgot about the party.”

  “Mica!” Liz and Maddie said simultaneously.

  “I’ve had a lot going on.” He turned to Grace. “My mother has a huge New Year’s Eve dinner every year. Crown roast of pork. All the trimmings. Champagne. Then afterward, we go out to the Lodges for dancing and the countdown to midnight. Mom told me to invite you.”

  “We’ll all be there, Grace,” Liz said. “Jules should be much better by then. And Gina’s got plenty of baby stuff. Even an extra high chair for Jules so he can sit next to you at the table. Say you’ll come.”

  Grace swung her gaze to Mica and pinned him with an emotion that was nearly electric. The faces of his brothers and sisters-in-law swirled around him as if he was the center of a kaleidoscope. His world had been spinning since Grace returned. He’d been numb for months and now he felt everything. The only problem was—he hadn’t had time to sort things out.

  Time.

  He was already counting down the days that remained until Grace left.

  “Do you want me to come, Mica?” she asked hesitantly.

  “I do,” he replied, swallowing the lump in his throat. “You’re family now.”

  She turned to Maddie and Liz. “I’d be honored.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “THIS IS A DISASTER,” Grace said, looking up from her suitcase. Jules, who was dressed in a black wool jacket and matching pants with gold braid that she’d designed and made herself, scooted over to her feet, then sat back on his bottom.

  Now that he was better and his fever had broken, Jules was back to being his usual sweet self. She was amazed at how much Jules’s first illness had frightened her. For his whole life, he had practically lived in her hectic artistic workrooms, being cuddled and cooed over by some of the top models in Paris. He’d always seemed unperturbed by all the hustle and bustle, and other than colic when he was three months old, he’d never even had a fever.

  When Mica had called in half his family to help, she’d thought he was going overboard. She’d been wrong. Jules was the picture of health. The only trouble was that now she had to attend Gina Barzonni’s formal New Year’s Eve dinner, and Grace, an up-and-coming Paris designer, hadn’t brought a thing to wear.

  She lifted a midnight-blue-and-black woven poncho interlaced with silver threads. She could pair it with a wool skirt, but she’d stand out like a sore thumb amid the velvets and satins at Gina’s party.

  Jules clapp
ed his hands and blew out a long raspberry.

  “Even you’re a critic, huh?” Grace chuckled and put the poncho on the bed, then picked up Jules. “Well, if Mica can call in his troops, I’ll have to call in mine.”

  * * *

  “YOU’VE COME TO the right place.” Mrs. Beabots beamed. “Several of the girls come to me during the holidays. They just don’t make lovely dresses like they used to, and they certainly don’t sell them in Indian Lake,” she continued. “Gina’s party is always elegant and we do love getting dressed up for it—and the dancing at the Lodges.”

  “I can’t thank you enough,” Grace said, giving Jules his pacifier. He smiled and threw his little arms around her neck, burying his head against her shoulder.

  “I’m happy he’s feeling better. There’s nothing worse than trying to help a child who can’t speak,” Mrs. Beabots said as she went toward her bedroom. “Babies and helpless animals. I’m a pushover for both. But don’t tell anybody.”

  “I’ll never say a word.” Grace chuckled.

  The tinny, antique sound of the doorbell rang out.

  “That will be Sarah and Isabelle.”

  “Isabelle’s coming, too? I can’t wait to see her!”

  “She’s a renowned artist now. She paints the loveliest fairies and water sprites,” Mrs. Beabots said. “For my money, the girl has nailed her naturescapes. I love what she’s doing now with oils. I bought one for the dining room. It’s a woman reclining in a forest glen with tiny fairies peeking out from under the fallen leaves.”

  “It sounds lovely.”

  “It is.” She went to the front door and greeted her guests.

  Fairies? Grace stared after Mrs. Beabots wondering what kind of silliness she was talking about.

  Mrs. Beabots returned with Sarah and a pretty, elfin-faced woman with hair that hung nearly to her waist. Grace remembered her well.

  Isabelle instantly put her arms around Grace and Jules. “I’m so happy to see you again. And your beautiful baby. I want to hear all about Paris!” Isabelle blurted out. “Do you like it there?”

  “No. I adore it,” Grace said effusively. “It’s heaven.”

  Isabelle unwound the gray-and-black scarf around her neck and took off her matching tweed jacket. “I just got married this past summer—Scott and I didn’t go on a honeymoon, but we’ve talked about Paris so much. I’ve downloaded dozens of virtual tours on my phone,” she said, gushing.

  “That’s great,” Grace said, remembering her run-in with Isabelle’s brother on the train last October. “Congratulations on your marriage.” Why did her old friend’s news give her such a pang of sadness? Grace hoped it didn’t show. Jules laid his cheek against hers, taking her out of her thoughts.

  “It’s so nice to see the three of you together,” Mrs. Beabots said. “All artists in your own right. You have a lot in common.”

  “Well, today we all have something else in common, Mrs. Beabots,” Sarah said. “Gina’s party is tonight and I, for one, haven’t shopped since Charlotte was born.”

  Grace took in the wrinkled black skirt and stretchy, rust-colored top Sarah wore.

  Mrs. Beabots pointed at Sarah’s outfit. “Isn’t that the same top you wore when you were pregnant?”

  “It is,” Sarah replied glumly. “I was bored with it then and I’m still bored now.”

  Mrs. Beabots said, “There was something to be said for the maternity clothes of fifty years ago. Those trapeze blouses and capes had a certain swing and elegance. I remember one that a friend of mine wore in Paris. It was black with a sequined silver collar and cuffs. She was a blonde like you, Sarah, and she looked like a queen.”

  Grace hung on Mrs. Beabots’s every word. She envisioned the way she would encrust the collar with black seed pearls, jet beads and silver sequins. She’d pair it with black-and-white harlequin pants and black leather ballet flats. Mrs. Beabots was right. No wonder she and her team were having problems. The offerings for the average woman were the same styles, same colors, year in and year out. Unless one lived in Paris or New York or London or could afford haute couture, everyday fashion was bereft of innovation.

  “All of this is to say,” Isabelle added, “that none of us has anything to wear to Gina’s party. And Maddie and Liz told us we should wear something special because Gina hired a professional photographer this year. I don’t understand. What’s the big deal?”

  Mrs. Beabots smiled. “Oh, I know this one. Gina and Sam are going to announce their engagement. Their wedding will be at the end of January.”

  “So soon?” Grace gulped. Again, she didn’t know why other people’s weddings were of any particular concern to her. Except for the fact that she kept hearing Mica’s voice as he asked her to marry him.

  Marriage. In all her life, even her daydreams about Mica when she was a teen, she hadn’t actually gone so far as to consider marriage. Grace wasn’t sure she was the marrying kind. She’d lived her life alone, pursuing her own goals. Making decisions. She was an independent woman.

  Then Jules had arrived and suddenly Grace’s life wasn’t just about her.

  She was a mother now. Raising a child on her own, she could now admit, wasn’t as simple and straightforward as she’d thought it might be. But becoming a wife—a partner? She wasn’t sure she wanted to take on that role.

  “What are you going to wear, Grace?” Isabelle asked, her eyes filled with admiration.

  “That’s why I’m here. I hadn’t planned on a formal affair. I do have a crimson off-the-shoulder blouse from my fall line that might be right, but I need a skirt to go with it.”

  “Oh!” Mrs. Beabots exclaimed. “I have just the thing.” She motioned for the women to follow her.

  Once in the bedroom, Mrs. Beabots flung open two white, paneled doors revealing a walk-in closet almost as big as Grace’s entire Paris apartment.

  “What is this?” Grace gasped.

  Sarah and Isabelle shot her knowing smiles.

  Mrs. Beabots waved her hand toward the interior. “This, my dears, is where I keep my treasures.”

  Grace felt as if she was walking into a fashion designer’s museum. The clothes were arranged by color, with all the blouses on one side of the room alongside the dresses, long coats and jackets. On the opposite wall were skirts and trousers. Grace realized that she was looking through clear plastic garment bags holding Christian Dior skirts that possibly could date back to 1947, when Dior’s “New Look” put Paris couture back on the map after World War II. She saw Yves Saint Laurent jackets and slacks. A Molyneux black evening gown. Suits by Courrèges. Grace knew them all. She’d studied fashion history nearly all her life. When she was ten, she dreamed of wearing gold lamé gowns. Now she designed clothing and hoped that one day, her pieces would end up in a history book. It was her passage to immortality. Grace believed that deep inside her, she possessed enough creativity to be that good—the best in her field.

  And nothing was ever going to stop her.

  Somehow, Mrs. Beabots’s closet represented the dream that Grace had cobbled together for herself from long years of yearning, a million and half hours of work, associations she’d made and lost, sacrifices...

  Yes. She’d given up a lot to be in Paris. Time she could have spent with Aunt Louise. The one person who loved her above all others.

  Grace was astonished at the number of days and years her dream had taken from her life, yet she still wasn’t where she wanted to be. Had it been worth it? Had she made the right decision?

  Jules wiggled in her arms. What else was she sacrificing in order to succeed?

  Grace walked over to a large plastic bag holding a skirt constructed of yards of pink chiffon. A thick white satin sash was sewn onto the waist. “This is Dior, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, dear. It is. You have a good eye and it will be perfect wi
th your crimson blouse.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t. This is priceless.”

  “Perhaps. But I’d rather have the memory of seeing you in it at Gina’s party than visit it in this closet. My delight is in having you girls experience a tiny portion of what my life was like when I was young and living in Paris.”

  Grace put Jules on the carpet so he could move around and she could inspect the clothing more closely. “This was circa 1950, I believe. Where did you get it?”

  “Oh, I bought it from a girl I knew in Paris. She’d been a model for Dior and he gifted her with the skirt. It’s too long for me, but when she sold it, she needed money. At the time, I thought I was paying too much. Now, of course...”

  “It’s worth a fortune,” Grace said.

  “A small one.” Mrs. Beabots smiled as she took a black suede jacket with gold piping on the lapels off the hanger. “Here, Isabelle, try this on.”

  While Isabelle stuck her arms through the sleeves, Grace wandered over to a set of drawers with clear plastic dust covers. She peered at the silks. “These are Hermès.”

  “And Dior, Chanel, Yves Saint Laurent and a few others. I always like a splash of color. Pick one out for Isabelle, to go with her jacket.”

  Isabelle shook her head. “Those scarves are worth over three hundred dollars each. What if I lose it?”

  “What do you think that jacket is worth?” Grace chuckled. “I’m guessing a couple thousand.”

  Mrs. Beabots smiled mischievously. “This is the last time I bring a know-it-all into my closet.”

  “Oh, Mrs. Beabots.” Sarah laughed. “You’re having a blast with us and we love it. We all know your treasures are, well, treasures.”

  “We do?” Isabelle asked as she touched the jacket sleeve. “I can’t wear this.”

  “Sure you can,” Grace said. “And you’ll do it with your head held high. Trust me, you’ll feel excruciatingly marvelous all night long. Nothing changes a person’s perspective like the clothes she wears.”

  Sarah dropped the gold earrings she was holding back into their velvet tray. “Why is that? Are we so shallow that a sweater can alter our mood?”