Marriage, Bravo Style!

by Christine Rimmer

  Did she believe him?

  Not really.

  Still, it was absolutely the right thing for him to say at that moment. It was what she needed to hear. Oh, they had so much to talk about, she and Rogan. Too much. Difficult things were going to have to be said. He had to be wondering how she could possibly be having his baby, given that she’d said she was on the pill.

  Not to mention, they’d been extra careful and used condoms, too.

  But at least he didn’t seem to doubt that it was his baby.

  And right now, well, she had a job to do. A job that wasn’t going to wait for the two of them to talk.

  And then Dr. Sankay said, “All right, now. It’s time. Push when you feel like it, Elena. You go ahead and you push.”

  And she did. She closed her eyes and shut Rogan out—shut everything out. Everything but the baby that was coming, everything but her body’s need to make that happen.

  Now, at least, when the contractions came, she was past being so exhausted she could hardly go on. She had her second wind. She panted and she screamed some more. She mooed like a big old cow.

  And she pushed.

  Her hair was soaking wet and her face was dripping sweat and her legs were spread wide open for everyone to see. Everybody was speaking in low voices, saying how great she was doing as she held on to Rogan’s big hand and she yelled and pushed and felt as if she could absolutely do this one second—and as if she would split right down the middle the next.

  And then the baby’s head crowned. And Elena kept on screaming and Dr. Sankay said to keep pushing.

  And she did.

  And then, as she screamed and panted, the doctor said, “The shoulders, we’ve got the shoulders. Yes. There we go….”

  And that was it. Her baby slithered the rest of the way out without any more effort on her part.

  Dr. Sankay caught him. He let out a loud, furious cry. Elena glanced over at the clock on the wall.

  1:32 in the morning. February 11th. The day her son was born.

  A day that would be precious to her for the rest of her life.

  “A big, gorgeous boy,” said the doctor.

  “Oh, he’s a healthy one,” said her mother. “You can tell by the way he cries.”

  “Beautiful,” Mercy said.

  He wasn’t. Not really. He had puffy red eyes and his head was kind of cone-shaped, like Elena had read it might be at first, from pushing through the birth canal. Plus, in the folds of his skin, he had bits of what they called Vernix caseosa, a yucky curdled-looking yellowish substance that she’d read was supposed to have protected him against the amniotic fluid in the womb.

  But he was certainly big and he had big hands for a newborn, hands balled into fists, waving, air boxing as he sucked in another breath and wailed some more.

  She loved him on sight. Who wouldn’t? She reached out for him. “Please. I need to hold him.”

  “Of course you do.” Dr. Sankay gave him to her, laid him on her belly, with the umbilical cord still attached.

  He quieted instantly. And she cried then, the tears dripping down over her temples, into her already sweat-soaked hair.

  “You’re here,” she whispered to him, her baby, her little boy, as she curved a cherishing hand around his nearly-bald, funny-shaped head. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  Rogan leaned close. She felt his warmth, felt his breath brush her temple. He touched the baby’s hand and instantly, the red fist opened, grasping, the small fingers wrapping around Rogan’s larger one.

  “I’d like to name him Michael,” Rogan said. “After my dad. If that’s all right with you?”

  Again, she found it hard to look at him. It seemed so strange, that he was here, now, after all these months and months when he hadn’t been—not that she had a problem with his being here.

  It was right that he was here. She knew that.

  Right, but very strange.

  Still, somehow, through the tears that clogged her throat, she managed to whisper, “Michael is a beautiful name. It will do just fine. I want his middle name to be Javier.”

  “Michael Javier it is.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Two hours later, Elena’s mom and dad, her sister and Luke and Caleb, too, had gone on home to get some much-needed rest.

  The nurses settled her and Michael into a room. The room had two beds, but no privacy curtains, which seemed odd to Elena. Would she be sharing an open room with a stranger and another baby?

  “For the baby’s father,” the nurse said, when she saw Elena eyeing that empty bed. “Your husband said to tell you he’ll be back soon. He had to run out to the drugstore, to pick up a few things.”

  He’s not my husband, Elena thought, though she didn’t actually say it out loud. Was he really going to sleep in here with her and the baby?

  She didn’t know if she was ready for that.

  Back in May, when he’d left her, she’d felt as though she knew him so intimately, knew him as well as she knew the members of her own family. He was in her heart. In her mind. In her soul, a part of her.

  Or at least, it had seemed that way then.

  But now, after all these months without so much as a shared word between them…

  She didn’t know him anymore. If she ever really had. She was glad he had come in time to be there for his son’s birth. But still, it made her uncomfortable to think of trying to sleep in the same room with him.

  The nurse started explaining the hospital’s rooming-in policy. “It’s all right,” she said, “if you want to keep your baby with you round-the-clock until your doctor releases you. But we are perfectly happy and ready to take him to the nursery anytime you feel too tired or need a break. He can stay with you however much you want. Or you can give him to us and get your rest.”

  At that moment, Michael happened to be sleeping like an angel. Elena touched the side of the bassinet, smiled tenderly down at his scrunched-up little face. “I’ll ring for you if I need a break.”

  “Good then. You’ve already tried nursing him….”

  She nodded. “I thought it went pretty well. And when he wakes up, I’m going to try it again.”

  “Don’t overtax yourself.”

  “I won’t. I promise.”

  The nurse slipped out, pausing to brace the door open a few inches behind her.

  Elena turned off the light and lay there in the near-dark with her new baby sleeping beside her, wondering how long it would be before Rogan came back. She yawned.

  Every muscle in her body ached. She hurt in places she’d never even known she had until now. And she was too tired to keep her eyes open.

  Within minutes of the nurse’s leaving, she was fast asleep.

  Armed with a brown sack containing toothbrush, toothpaste, shaving cream and razor, Rogan stuck his head in the partially-opened door of Elena’s room.

  It was dark in there.

  And very quiet.

  With care, so as not to disturb her or the baby, he flipped up the doorstop and eased the door wide enough that he could squeeze through. Then he let the door slide back to the way he’d found it and put the stop down again.

  She was asleep. Michael was, too.

  Standing there at the door, he could hear the sound of breathing—the woman’s and the child’s.

  He bent and slipped off his shoes. In his stocking feet, he went into the bathroom and shut the door—slowly, so the latch didn’t click. He washed his hands, splashed a little water on his face and brushed his teeth.

  Then, leaving the bag and its contents behind in the bathroom, he turned off the light and crept back out into the main room.

  The baby’s bassinet was between Elena’s bed and the empty one. He couldn’t resist tiptoeing over there, getting another look at him.

  Michael.

  Even with the puffy eyes and that wrinkled, ancient newborn look, he was clearly a Murdoch. Big and healthy. Ready to take on the world.

  Rogan’s dad would have been so damn
proud.

  Unfair, that Michael Murdoch couldn’t be here to see him. To hold his first grandson in his burly arms.

  I’m here now, Michael, Rogan made the promise silently, in order not to wake the baby or the new mom. Here for you. And your mother. You’re safe. I will take care of you.

  The freedom he’d wanted so much?

  Well, this was life, wasn’t it? A man did what he had to do. And doing the right thing brought with it certain…rewards.

  He glanced at the sleeping woman in the bed. Her head was turned away from him, the line of her jaw and her slim throat silvery in the darkness. He’d hated giving her up.

  Now he wouldn’t have to.

  Life wasn’t fair. But there were compensations.

  Crying.

  Someone was crying.

  Elena forced her way up through the heavy layers of deep sleep.

  The baby. Michael. His name was Michael.

  And he was crying….

  She opened her eyes and turned her head toward the bassinet.

  Empty.

  She gasped and popped to a sitting position, groaning as every one of her poor, abused muscles complained. “My baby…”

  “Hey.” A whispered voice in the darkness—Rogan. “It’s okay. He’s right here…” He came toward her out of the shadows, his steps silent in stocking feet. He had the fussing baby in his arms.

  “Give him to me.” She held out her hands.

  Rogan passed him to her. She eased her gown out of the way and put him to her breast.

  She’d read about how nursing took patience. That sometimes the baby wouldn’t catch on right away. Michael had no such problem. He latched on and sucked greedily.

  She smiled down at him and stroked his pointy head over the little baby cap the nurses had put on him. “Piece of cake, huh?” she whispered tenderly to him.

  “He knows what’s good for him,” Rogan said. He was still standing above her. “A Murdoch, through and through.”

  She felt suddenly exposed and adjusted her gown a little, so that less of her breast was showing. And when she looked up, her gaze scooted past his. Out the high window on the other side of Rogan’s bed, she saw that the sky was growing light. “What time is it?”

  “Almost seven.”

  She looked down at her baby again. Amazing. Impossible. He was here, in her arms. At last.

  “I was hoping to let you sleep a little longer,” Rogan said.

  It was getting ridiculous, that she didn’t look at him. So she made herself do it. Even in the shadowed room, she thought he looked tired. “Go on back to bed.”

  He seemed to search her face. What did he see? Stringy hair and baggy eyes? Or maybe her guilt about this whole situation? He said, “I don’t mind taking him. As soon as he’s…done.”

  She shook her head. “I think he’ll go to sleep again. It’s fine. That’s what they do, isn’t it? Cry. Nurse. Sleep.”

  He didn’t say anything. He just went on looking at her. She wondered what he was thinking, but decided it probably wasn’t that good of an idea to ask.

  Yes, they needed to talk.

  But not right now. Please. Not right now.

  Finally, he said, “Well, all right then. I’m here, if you need me.”

  Yeah, and where were you for the past nine months?

  The angry words just popped into her mind. But she didn’t say them. They were unfair, and she knew it. How could he possibly have been here, given that she hadn’t bothered to tell him she needed him?

  She had to remember that she had willingly agreed to the terms for what they’d shared, that he never would have been her lover in the first place if she hadn’t sworn she would let him go.

  Madre de Dios. It was all a big mess and she couldn’t think about it right now.

  He turned from her and went to the other bed and stretched out on it, still wearing all of his clothes, turning on his side to face the window—away from her.

  Which was good. Great. Michael pulled off the breast and started fussing a little. She switched him to the other side and he went right to work. He wasn’t getting food right now, she knew that. Her milk wouldn’t come down for a few days. But apparently, he found the act of nursing comforting. A few minutes on that breast and he was asleep again.

  Carefully, she tucked him into his bassinet. He didn’t wake.

  So she turned over on her side—away from the baby and from the man in the other bed—and shut her eyes.

  Sleep settled over her.

  The next time she woke, brighter light slanted in the window—but the clock on the wall said it was only an hour later. Someone had brought in a breakfast tray for her—and one for Rogan, too. He was sitting up, eating from his tray one-handed, holding Michael on his other arm.

  He gave her a smile. “Hungry?”

  “I think I want a shower.”

  “Need some help?”

  Not on your life. “No, thanks. I can manage.” Stifling a groan, she pushed back the covers and swung her bare feet to the floor.

  The shower felt wonderful. But by the time she got dried off, put on a fresh pad and clean underwear and got back into her nightgown, she was too exhausted to bother blow-drying her hair.

  The mirror over the sink told a sad, sad story. Limp, stringy wet hair. Purple bruises under her eyes. Her skin looked slick and pasty. Ugh.

  She towel-dried her hair as best she could and trudged back into the main room.

  “I was starting to worry you had drowned,” Rogan teased. He’d finished his food and put Michael back down.

  “It was very refreshing,” she said wryly. “Now I only need to sleep for a week.”

  “Sleep as long as you like. I’m here.”

  He’d said that before, I’m here. What did that mean? How long was he staying?

  She should ask, but if she asked then they would be having the talk. And she wanted to avoid that for as long as possible.

  Really, she was a total coward. And right now, she was just too tired to care.

  The bed was harder to get into than it had been to get out of. But she managed it. And then she forced herself to eat a little of the lukewarm breakfast.

  Rogan left her alone. He’d apparently picked up on the fact that she really, really did not want to talk.

  Finally, she pushed the tray away and pulled the covers up and closed her eyes.

  When she woke the next time, it was eleven in the morning. Rogan sat in the visitor chair fiddling with an iPhone. Michael wasn’t in his bed. “The baby…?”

  He poked at the phone and slid it into a pocket. “They took him out to weigh him and…I don’t know. Whatever things they do.”

  “My doctor? Has she been here?”

  “Not yet. But your mom and dad are here….”

  Right then, her mom poked her head around the door. “M’hija…”

  Elena felt relief. She wouldn’t have to be alone with Rogan right now, after all. They wouldn’t have to talk. Not yet. She stretched out a hand to her mom.

  Luz came in, Javier behind her.

  Her mom and dad had brought the car seat for the baby, since Elena was hoping that she and Michael might be released that day. The grandparents stayed for an hour, during which lunch was served and the nurse brought Michael back and said Dr. Sankay wouldn’t be in until later in the afternoon.

  Before her parents left, her mom bent close, “Are you managing all right, m’hija? You and Rogan? Would you like me to stay?”

  Yes. Please. Don’t leave me alone with him. There’s too much to say and I don’t know how to say it.

  But then she glanced over and saw Rogan watching. And she couldn’t do that to him. He clearly wanted to be here, to help with his son. And he had a right to be here. “No need, Mami. Thank you for asking, but we’re doing fine.”

  So her mom kissed her and left.

  And then Mercy came. And she bent close, just as Luz had. She asked the same questions, if she was comfortable with only Rogan there.
Again, Elena said that she and Rogan were managing great.

  After Mercy, Caleb and Irina arrived. They only stayed long enough to congratulate her and admire the baby.

  Finally, Davis appeared carrying a huge blue teddy bear. The thing was at least four feet tall. Since most of the available surfaces in the room were already filled with congratulatory flower arrangements, he handed the bear to Rogan, kissed Elena and held Michael. He didn’t seem the least surprised to see Rogan there. Apparently, someone in the family had already told him that Rogan was the long-lost father of his new grandson.

  When Davis left, it was a little after two. Surely Dr. Sankay would be there any minute now.

  But then Rogan set the blue bear on a chair and went over and closed the door all the way. He turned and looked at her. She could see it in his eyes. The big talk was coming. “Elena…”

  “You know, I’m really tired.” She glanced at the baby in the bassinet at her side. “And he’s sleeping. I think I’ll just grab a nap, until the doctor comes.”

  For a moment, she was sure he would insist. But he didn’t. He only came to stand over the bed and smooth the blankets that covered her. “Good idea. You need your rest.”

  She turned over, pulled the sheet up to her chin, shut her eyes and didn’t open them again until Dr. Sankay came at quarter of five.

  The doctor examined both Elena and the baby and said they were doing very well. Still, she wanted Elena to stay in the hospital until at least the next morning.

  “I don’t want to keep you here forever,” the doctor said. “But I think it’s best if new moms and babies stay with us for at least twenty-four hours after the birth.”

  So it was decided. She was staying the night.

  And Rogan was, too, apparently.

  After the doctor left, there was dinner. And once the ward clerks had collected the trays, Rogan got his jacket. “I need to do a little shopping—socks and underwear, clean shirts. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

  It seemed the perfect opportunity to tell him he really didn’t need to stay. “Rogan…”

  He paused with the jacket hanging off one arm. “Yeah?”