by Tracy Brogan
CHAPTER twelve
The maternity waiting room at Monroe General Hospital was decorated with bunnies and kittens, just as Libby might have imagined, had she ever given any thought to that sort of thing. Tom was perched on the edge of a baby-blue vinyl chair when she walked in. He looked as tired as she felt.
“Well, Ginny is all settled in her room, and Ben is with her,” she said, sinking into the chair next to him. “Thank you so much. This would have been twice the adventure without your help.”
It had been a mad scramble getting her sister and brother-in-law to the hospital, but Ben sobered up pretty quickly once he realized this was no drill. And Tom’s cool thinking kept everyone’s panic at a manageable level.
Libby leaned back in her seat and looked at his broad shoulders. They were like mountains. He was hunched over a little, elbows resting on his knees.
“I’m glad to help, but you would’ve managed fine once Ben was upright.”
Her chuckle ended with a sigh. “Not quite how you and I expected this night to end, though, huh?”
He shook his head and looked down into the paper coffee cup he held in his hands. He tipped it back and drank the rest. “Not quite. Listen, I’m going to head out now. Okay? You called your parents, right? They should be here soon.”
She put a hand on his back, and his muscles tensed beneath her touch. Something unwelcome knocked against Libby’s good mood.
He turned and gave her a faint smile that faded fast, and suddenly all of his walls were back up. Reinforced.
There were a lot of reasons that might be, and Libby wasn’t sure what to say. She only knew she didn’t like his frowning. They’d had a good time tonight. A great time, in fact. A time that would’ve gotten even better if Ginny hadn’t called. But suddenly Libby felt very far away from those moments in his truck.
Tom stood, and her hand dropped to the chair.
“Hey,” she said softly.
He looked down at her, his expression guarded.
Unease rippled through her core. “Are you okay?”
He crumpled the empty coffee cup in his hand and stared at it like he wasn’t sure why he was holding it. “As good as I ever am in a hospital at four o’clock in the morning.”
She sat forward, a little stung by his mood. She hadn’t asked him to come. He’d insisted, but regret was splashed all over his face. She gestured to the empty waiting room. “I’m sorry about all this.”
He shook his head and tossed the cup into a nearby wastebasket. “Don’t be sorry. It’s probably a good thing we got interrupted when we did.”
It didn’t feel good at all. It felt awkward and scratchy. A fluorescent light buzzed overhead. “A good thing?”
“Don’t you think?” His tone formed an edge.
“Um…” Libby stood up and faced him. “Not really. I was pretty happy with where things were heading tonight. Weren’t you?”
He rubbed his hand across his jaw, now rough with whiskers. “Tonight was… reckless.”
“Awesome?” she said at the same time.
“Reckless,” he said again. “Libby. I’m just…” Tension creased lines across his forehead.
The old Tom was back, the one who didn’t say much with words but spoke volumes with his silence.
“Let me guess. It’s complicated, right?”
He paused. “Yeah.”
His resistance was a force field, but she’d broken through it once. She’d do it again. “I’m pretty good at puzzles. I think I can figure you out.”
He shook his head again. “I have professionals working on that. I’d rather you didn’t get caught in the muck.”
That’s what he was doing? Trying to protect her? “Well, I appreciate that, but maybe I’ll just put on some waders and try it anyway.”
He met her gaze. “It would be easier for me if you didn’t.”
His voice was tender, but the words were rough as sandpaper scraping at her skin. And they didn’t sound all that different than Seth saying, “Don’t wait for me.”
Embarrassment burned her cheeks. “Oh. Oh, okay, I get it.”
“No, you don’t. Libby—”
“Tom! I didn’t expect to see you here.” Libby’s father came around the corner into the waiting room, his hair a little flat from sleeping.
Her mother was right behind him. “Goodness, it’s early. Why are babies always born so early? All three of you girls—oh, hello, Tom.”
Tom took a step back from Libby, and she felt the distance multiply with every breath.
“Hello, Peter. Bev. I was just on my way out. Looks like you’re about to become grandparents.”
“A blessed event,” her father said, yawning and nodding.
“Which room is Ginny’s?” Libby’s mother asked.
It took a second for Libby’s mouth to work. Her heart felt like clay, cracking as it dried.
Tom looked at the kitten wallpaper, and at his shoes, and avoided her.
Libby swallowed down her sigh and finally answered. “She’s down the hall. Come on, Mom. I’ll show you.”
“So how exactly did you get drafted into transportation service?” she heard her father ask as she and her mother moved down the hall, but Tom’s answer was too quiet to overhear.
Theodore Roosevelt Garner was born at 6:04 a.m., weighing in at a robust seven pounds, nine ounces—an impressive amount considering he was born almost three weeks ahead of schedule.
“Thank God you had him early,” Marti said from her pleather chair in the corner of Ginny’s hospital room. She stroked the baby’s cheek. “Imagine what a porker he’d have been if you cooked him any longer.”
“Stop touching his face, Marti. Did you wash your hands?” Ginny said from her bed.
“Germs,” said Nana from the other chair. “You mothers today are all too worried about germs. We used to play all day in the dirt and drink from a garden hose. And look at me. Eighty-six years old and still healthy as a mule.”
“And as stubborn as one,” Libby’s mother muttered to no one in particular.
It had been two days since Ginny delivered her baby, and the Hamilton women were gathered in her hospital room to coo and sigh.
And bitch.
“How fares the prince?” her father asked, poking his head in through the doorway.
Ginny smiled. “He’s perfect, Daddy. They’re letting us go home today.”
Libby’s dad lifted his brows and stepped into the room. “In that case, I’d better get back over to your place and finish putting together that baby swing. I have to stop by the ice-cream parlor first, though.”
He took a look at Marti with a baby nestled in her arms and blanched. He turned to Libby instead. “Want to come with me?”
To the ice-cream parlor?
Where Tom was working?
She hadn’t talked to him since he’d left the hospital just before the baby was born. She’d thought he might try to call. They’d left some very pleasant business unpleasantly unfinished, and now that she’d had a couple of days to stew about things, she couldn’t help but think his change in attitude had been triggered by all this baby stuff. It must have been a little overwhelming for him when his own baby was just out of reach. Not to mention how a late-night visit to a hospital may have stirred up distressing memories.
He hadn’t told her any details about his car accident, and it didn’t feel right to ask. She didn’t want to push him where he wasn’t ready to go, or force herself on him if he wasn’t interested. But he’d seemed interested enough when her bra was dangling from his rearview mirror.
Plus she just plain missed him. She missed Tom Murphy in a way she had never missed Seth. That concept gnawed at her. Maybe there wasn’t much point in it if Tom didn’t miss her back, and yet she couldn’t seem to help herself. The memory of his urgent kisses and the heat of his skin under her hands was impossible to block from her mind. Not that she’d tried.
“Sure, I’ll come with you.”
Tom’s tr
uck was there when Libby and her father arrived. A foolish but irrepressible bubble of hope rose within her. Tom had been tired and overwhelmed at the hospital. Surely by now he’d had time to get his bearings.
Her father grabbed a long coil of rope from the backseat of the car before they headed inside.
“What’s the rope for?” she asked, her curiosity percolating.
“I’m going to tie it to the bell so I can ring it.”
She felt a blip of relief. Her family had all been studiously mute about the fact that she’d been with Tom Murphy at two o’clock in the morning, yet for a second there she’d thought maybe her dad was about to string him up for making improper advances. Although technically, she’d done most of the advancing.
“Uh, I’m not sure the neighbors around here want to hear that bell. Isn’t there a noise ordinance or something?”
“First of all, there are no neighbors close to here. Second, that ordinance question would be an excellent thing for you to look into.”
He chuckled at her sigh as they climbed the steps.
Tom was inside, his back to the door as he measured a board across a couple of old sawhorses. Her heart hiccupped at the sight of him in his faded jeans and the blue shirt he often wore, the one with the tiny hole in the shoulder seam that she found herself wanting to sew for him, which was hilarious since she could hardly thread a needle.
This attraction to him was as impossible to ignore as it was illogical to pursue.
“Greetings, Tom. The proud grandfather has arrived.” Her father adjusted the rope he’d slung over his shoulder.
Tom’s smile did not quite reach his eyes.
She’d hoped for an enthusiastic welcome, some hint he’d reconsidered those words from the hospital and was glad to see her, but her wishful thinking clunked inside her, like driving with a flat tire.
“Congratulations. How’s Ginny?” Tom adjusted a pencil behind his ear and glanced her way.
Her father beamed. “Mother and child are both doing well, thank you. And Ben has been forgiven. Thanks for helping out that night. You are quite the hero.”
Tom looked her way again, his glance wary as if he was worried she’d told everyone about their reckless behavior. Her ire rose a bit. They hadn’t done anything wrong. A few kisses in the dark that he seemed determined to forget about.
“Just in the right place at the right time,” Tom answered.
She found his words utterly ironic.
“Well, nonetheless, our family is beholden to you,” her father said. “Now I’m going to take this old rope and tie it to the bell so I might herald my grandson’s birth.”
Tom frowned and reached out to take it. “That bell is pretty high up there, Peter. Why don’t you let me do that?”
“Nonsense. I may be a grandfather, but I can still stand on a chair and tie a good solid knot. I’ll holler if I need you.”
Tom looked like he wanted to argue, but Libby knew the bell wasn’t that high up. Her dad could handle it. It was pretty obvious Tom knew that, too.
Her dad’s footsteps faded away as he climbed the tiny back staircase leading to the bell tower.
Tom looked at her and adjusted the pencil behind his ear again. His skin flushed, and his stare grazed over her body.
“Hi,” she said, when he said nothing.
“Hi. How’s Ginny?”
“My dad just told you. She’s fine. How are you?”
Tom shook his head and looked down. He took off his hat and then immediately put it back on. “I meant to call you.”
Libby crossed her arms and tapped her foot. “Really? Because I would have answered if you had.”
A small chuckle passed through his lips at the snap in her tone, and his dark gaze lifted, a sheepish expression on his face. “I’m sorry I upset you.”
“Good. You should be. Because now I’m embarrassed.”
“Embarrassed? Why?” Genuine surprise brought his head up, and he faced her squarely.
“Because you’re acting embarrassed. You’re acting like we did something terribly wrong, but we didn’t. It wasn’t that big a deal, Tom.”
He huffed at that and frowned, and took his hat off again to run a hand through his hair. Finally his arms crossed.
“I’m not embarrassed, Libby, but where I come from, kissing a woman is a pretty big deal.” His voice was quiet but firm.
Her heart plummeted. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Well, I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say. You caught me off guard the other night. And you’re catching me off guard right now. Hell, everything about you catches me off guard.”
His gaze dropped to her mouth and lingered like a touch, until he huffed again and turned his face away.
Though it made no sense, his frustration pleased her. He did want her. She could see it in the tension on his face, the way his hands squeezed into fists. She could practically see him remembering, reconsidering.
And so she waited, knowing this was one of those times she needed to let him talk first.
After a pause, he turned back, and reached out a hand. “Libby, I know I—”
A combination of sounds ricocheted around the room just then, the clang of an old schoolhouse bell, wood splintering, and Libby’s father shouting out. And then an ominous silence.
Their gazes crashed together in shock, a moment frozen, before Tom turned and sprinted to the bell tower steps. Libby paused, stunned for the space of a heartbeat, but followed seconds later.
Her father lay in a twist in the middle of the stairs, arms flung out and his head lower than his feet. Or his foot, rather, because one leg was straight out, while the other was somewhere underneath him. He was motionless, and Libby’s stomach jumped into her throat.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Tom’s voice was eerily calm. “Libby, call nine-one-one.”
Her father’s eyes were closed. Why were his eyes closed? “Dad?” she called up the remaining stairs.
Tom turned and clasped her shoulders, giving her a gentle shake. “Libby, listen to me. Do you have your phone?”
“It’s in the car.”
“Mine is downstairs in my jacket pocket. Grab it, or get yours, and call nine-one-one.”
She couldn’t move her feet. “The car keys are in his pocket.”
“Fuck.” Tom pulled her back down the stairs. She should stay with her dad, but she let Tom lead her away. Was that blood on the steps?
Tom jerked his phone from the pocket of his jacket and punched the numbers. He handed it back to her. “Tell them to send an ambulance. Do you know the address here?”
“What? Oh, yes. Of course.”
“Good.” He spun back around and disappeared back up the steps.
“Nine-one-one dispatch. What is your emergency?”
Time slowed to a crawl as Tom staggered up the stairwell back to Peter’s side. This couldn’t be happening again. Not another person broken right before his eyes. He couldn’t bear that. Peter Hamilton wasn’t moving so much as an eyelash.
“Peter,” Tom called, pressing two fingers against his neck. He had a pulse. Barely. But Connie’s pulse had been there, too. Until it wasn’t. “Peter, can you hear me? You fell on the stairs.”
There was no sound except the hammering of his own heart. He took a breath and swallowed the knot pressing against his throat. He patted Peter’s cheek gently. “Come on, old man. Wake up. No sleeping on the job.”
He looked up, trying to figure out what had happened. The iron school bell was at the top of the steps, flipped on its side, its support beam dangling from above and split in two. Fuck. He should have checked that and reinforced it. He shouldn’t have let Peter go up there alone.
He looked down again. Peter’s leg was broken—that much was for sure, the way it was jacked up behind him. There was blood underneath him, too, coming from the back of Peter’s head. He couldn’t tell how bad any of this was. But it looked bad enough. And he didn’t want Libby to see it. Because these kinds of v
isions stuck for a lifetime.
Libby came clamoring back and stood at the base of the steps, breathless. “Is he awake?”
Tom shook his head. “No. Stay down there, okay?”
She came up anyway, just as he knew she would. Her blue eyes clouded with worry. Her lips trembled. “Shouldn’t we lift his head up?”
“We should wait for the ambulance. Moving him could make things worse.”
Libby moved closer and sank down on the step opposite Tom with Peter in between. She touched her father’s face then snatched her hand away as he twitched and let out a sharp gasp.
“Dad?”
He squinted and blinked and then tried to sit up. Tom caught him by the shoulders and held him still. “Whoa, whoa, Peter, hold on. You’ve had a nasty fall. Take it easy.”
“Dad, are you okay?”
Peter looked at her, forehead wrinkled in confusion. “What happened?” He tried to sit up again.
“Libby, grab my coat to put under his head,” Tom said.
She paused, looking as dazed as her father, but then hurried back down the stairs.
“You fell down the steps in the bell tower, Peter. Do you remember?” Tom asked.
Peter was inverted on the steps, blood seeping from his head, and every instinct Tom had told him to help Peter move, but he knew better. It was safer to let him stay put until the ambulance arrived.
Libby came back with the jacket, and Tom rolled it up and wedged it gently beneath Peter’s head.
“What hurts, Peter?” he asked.
More confusion passed over Peter’s face. “My head. My foot.” His eyes drifted closed again.
Maybe that was good. If things hurt, then he wasn’t in shock. Yet.
Libby’s breath was loud, her face pinched with anxiety. Tom wanted to reach over and clasp her hand and tell her everything would be fine. But he’d broken so many promises in the past, he was done with making ones he couldn’t keep. All he could do was remind his lungs to do their job, and help all of them stay calm.
She looked at him in the dim light of the tiny stairwell. “Can’t we do something?”