by Ann Gimpel
Mom figured out how to find joy without Dad. If she could do it, maybe there’s hope for me.
He stood and headed for Peds once again. He’d promised he’d stop by. The toddler was asking for him. Brice buzzed himself into the children’s ward and stopped by the charge nurse’s desk to glance at the wall chart delineating who was in which bed.
A nurse hurried over from one of the patient rooms. “Dr. McKinnon.” She smiled, warm and genuine. “What you did for that family last night, well, it went above and beyond. Timmy’s been asking for you every time he wakes up.”
“Is he all right?” Brice lowered his voice.
“Oh my, yes. More than all right. Problem is, his mother will be with us for a few more days. No one’s at home to take care of him.”
Brice frowned. “Did Social Services troll for grandparents? Aunts? Uncles?”
“I’m sure they did, Doctor.” The nurse pursed her mouth into a thin line. Maybe in her late forties, deep brown hair fell to chin level, and her brown eyes held a worried cast. “We can keep Timmy for maybe forty-eight more hours, but after that, he’ll end up in temporary foster care.”
An idea pricked Brice, but it was so preposterous, he buried it. “Where is this little boy who wants to see me?”
“Right this way, Doctor.”
The nurse set a quick pace for the far end of the ward and pointed to an open door. Brice walked inside. A nurse’s aide stood from where she’d been reading Timmy a story.
He jumped up from where he’d been sitting cross-legged in his crib and screeched. “Doctor. Doctor. You came.”
“I told you he would, honey.” The nurse’s aide smiled indulgently. “I’ll just leave the two of you alone for a bit. Make sure you let one of us know when you leave, Doc.”
“Of course.” Brice smiled back and trotted to Timmy’s crib.
The little boy stretched out his arms, and Brice couldn’t resist. He lifted him out of the crib and held him close. “You’re going to be okay,” he said. “Your mom too.”
“Momma hurt bad. Worse than me.”
“Yes, but she’ll be home with you in no time.”
Timmy wrapped his chubby little arms around Brice’s neck, hanging on tight. “I want stay with you until Momma’s home. Can I? Can I?”
Brice didn’t know what to say. He’d been thinking the same thing, but the logistics were daunting. Social Services would have to assess his home and approve it as a placement. Those things took time, and a major holiday was looming. The boy’s mother would have to agree...
What am I thinking? I’m never home.
But Lupe is, and children love her.
My mother’s coming too.
Susan adored children. When she and his dad couldn’t have any more of their own, she’d thrown herself into teaching. Her students might graduate, but they never forgot Mrs. McKinnon. She was flooded with cards every single holiday.
Brice untangled Timmy’s arms and looked into the boy’s small, anxious face. The child’s blond hair hung in untidy ringlets, and his blue eyes were caked with dried tears. “It’s not as easy as you might think,” he said, “but I will try my hardest to make it happen. So long as it’s okay with your mom.”
“It will be,” Timmy said with all the assurance a two-year-old could muster.
“Want to go for a ride?” Brice asked.
“Sure. Where?”
“Just around the hospital. Maybe we could look in on your mother.” Brice was going out on a limb. For all he knew, Mrs. Davidson was in surgery, but they’d find out quick enough.
“Yes. Mommy. Go now.”
“Do you need anything before we leave? Water or a fresh diaper?”
Timmy squirmed in his arms. “No. Hurry.”
Brice grinned. He’d created a monster, but Timmy was adorable. He carried the little boy out of his room and stopped by the nurses’ station. “I’m kidnapping your patient for a while. Do we know where his mom is?”
The nurse who’d greeted him smiled back. “Sure do. One floor up, bed six.”
“Kidnap!” Timmy repeated, giggling. “Want go kidnap.”
“Back soon,” Brice said and walked out of the pediatric unit with Timmy in his arms.
“Mommy first.”
“That’s the plan, my man.” Brice shouldered into a stairwell and started up a set of risers, wondering what had become of Timmy’s father. It wasn’t the kind of question to ask a two-year-old, though. Especially one who’d just survived a traumatic accident.
“Your hospital,” Timmy crowed.
Brice laughed. “In my dreams. I only work here.” He activated the palm reader, and the door to the Med-Surg floor opened.
“What’s that?” Timmy asked.
“You’re on top of everything, aren’t you?” Brice avoided launching into an explanation of the palm reader and started along the corridor to the unit housing less-serious patients.
The boy offered him a big smile. It touched a spot Brice thought he’d buried beneath layers of denial. He’d assumed children would be part of his life, but if he didn’t get going locating a mother for them, fatherhood would pass him by. Lupe offered oblique comments on occasion. She’d watched him play with her grandkids. With the wisdom inherent to older women, she’d sensed his longing and the empty places he slathered over with busyness.
He was plenty busy, and he made certain not to leave himself too much unstructured time. To cut the direction his thoughts were heading before he got too honest with himself, he said, “Your mom is close. Just on the other side of those big doors.”
Brice entered a code and the doors slid open. Eventually, the hospital would have either palm or retinal scanners guarding every access point, but they were expensive. Insurance reimbursement had done nothing but go down. The whole topic of payment was such a snarl, he was glad he didn’t have to deal with it. Not directly, anyway.
He made for the nurses’ station to check in and let them know he was bringing Timmy to see his mother. The nurse sitting behind a computer monitor glanced up and broke into a smile. “Dr. McKinnon. What brings you to Easy Street?” Dark hair framed her face, and her café au lait skin was dotted with freckles.
Brice nodded and returned her smile. He’d forgotten the nurses’ nickname for the ward housing non-critical patients. “Do you suppose it would be all right for young Mr. Davidson here to see his mom?”
“More than all right. She’s been worried about him. We’ve all reassured her he’s in far better shape than she is, but nothing like the real deal to convince her. Room six.” The nurse shot to her feet and led the way.
“Mrs. Davidson,” she called. “You have a visitor.”
Brice rounded the doorway, hoping the woman from last night wouldn’t look so horrible, she’d scare the crap out of her two-year-old.
“Momma. Momma.” Timmy wriggled furiously, clearly wanting to get down and run to his mother’s bed.
“It’s okay. We’re almost there,” Brice told him, unwilling to let go. Millicent Davidson was still hooked up to enough equipment, her boy could unwittingly do some damage.
“Timmy. Honey.” Millicent held out her arms. “It’s okay, Doctor. Just one quick hug.”
Brice turned to Timmy. “See your mom’s one arm? Be careful not to touch it.” He set the boy down next to his mother.
Timmy extended one small hand and stroked his mother’s other arm. “You hurt?”
“Not that hurt, honey. We’ll be home in no time.”
The little boy’s face crumpled, and he laid his head on his mother’s stomach, crying softly. She stroked his hair, crooning to him.
“I’m sorry,” Brice said. “Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, but I thought—”
“He’s relieved,” Millicent broke in. “So am I. When that truck plowed into me last night, I was sure I was dead.” She narrowed her eyes. “You must be the doctor they said saved me.”
Brice felt his face heat. “I didn’t save you, but I was there.
I’m going to have a chat with the nurse, and then I’ll be back to collect your boy.”
Millicent trained dark eyes on his face. “Timmy’s not injured. They’ll want to discharge him really soon, huh?”
“Yes, and you and I will talk about that after I’ve had that chat with the unit nurse.” He aimed his best reassuring smile at the Davidson clan and backtracked to the nurses’ station.
“What a nice thing for you to do,” the nurse murmured. “Bringing her boy to see her.”
He pulled a chair close, so he could keep his voice low. “How long before she’ll be ready to go?”
The nurse frowned and clicked a few keys, staring at her monitor. “She’s Dr. Wilson’s patient. His estimate is four days.”
Brice knew Patrick Wilson well. He was a competent, caring physician who didn’t give a damn what insurance companies were willing to pay for. He provided the care he felt his patients required.
“It’s a problem, huh?” the nurse whispered. “No way we can keep her son that long.”
“Let me talk with Mrs. Davidson,” Brice said. “Feel like taking Timmy for an ice cream?”
“Sure. Let me call one of the other nurses to watch the fort, and I’ll be right there.”
Brice walked back to room six. Timmy was perched on the edge of the bed holding tight to his mother’s other hand, the one not sporting an IV catheter. The two were deep in conversation.
“Can I ask a favor, Timmy?”
The child’s blond head shot up. “Sure.”
“I’d like some time alone with your mom. Miss Em will take you for ice cream while your mother and I are talking.”
Emily poked her head around the doorframe. “We have vanilla, chocolate, or strawberry—”
“Want stay with Mommy.” Timmy edged closer to her.
“It’s okay, sweetie.” Millicent smiled, sweet but firm. “Go with Miss Em. Maybe you could bring some ice cream back for me?”
“You want some?” Timmy’s eyes lit with enthusiasm. “What kind?”
“Vanilla.”
Emily scooped Timmy into her arms. “Ooph. You weight more than you look like, child.”
Brice waited until they’d cleared the room before dragging a chair close to the bed. “Is there anyone who can watch Timmy until you get out of here?”
Millicent shook her head. “No one close. My sister’s in the Army in Guam. My folks are dead.”
“Timmy’s father?” Brice hoped it wasn’t too sore a topic.
Millicent rolled her blue eyes. “He’s a priest. I used to work at St. Ignatius Monastery as a cook.”
“Does he know about Timmy?”
She shook her head. “Father John is a good man. He’d have done the right thing and left the priesthood. I didn’t want him to have to make that choice.”
“Maybe a girlfriend could stand in for a couple of days?” Brice wasn’t sure what to say about Father John, so he searched further.
“I’m just not sure.” A vertical line formed between her eyebrows. “What will that mean for Timmy? Strangers taking him in? What if they don’t treat him right?”
She struggled to sit up, and Brice activated the electronics to raise the head of her bed. “Social Services has a comprehensive screening process—” he began.
“No. I’ll have them discharge me. I’ll figure things out at home. How bad could it be?”
Brice leveled his gaze at her. “You have broken ribs. They punctured one of your lungs. Thank goodness you didn’t have a concussion, but you do have a hairline fracture in your right lower leg, so you’ll be on crutches for a while.”
A corner of her mouth twisted downward. “You’re telling me not to leave early.”
He nodded. “That I am.” He sucked in a breath. Here it was. He’d either offer or not. “Look. Mrs. Davidson. I can explore keeping Timmy with me for a couple of days. I have a live-in housekeeper, a competent older woman from Honduras. Lupe is wonderful, and she’d—”
“You’d do that for us?” Millicent clutched for his hand. “You don’t have to.”
“I may not be able to,” he said. “I don’t want to give you false hope. But I will get hold of our Social Services Department. Because it’s for such a short time—and they know me—they may waive some of their requirements.”
“Thank you, Doctor. Even if it doesn’t work out, thank you so much for trying. It means a lot.”
Brice tugged his hand out of hers and patted it. “They’ll be back soon with the ice cream, but I’d like you to consider something.”
“Anything.” She tracked his movement with her gaze as he stood.
“The priest has a right to know about his son. Has a right to get to know him if he wants to. I understand you thought you were doing the proper thing, making a noble choice, but if he’s as good a man as you say, he deserves to know.”
“Do you really think so?”
“I do. If I had a boy like Timmy, I’d want to be part of his life.” Brice’s throat thickened, and he swallowed around a tight place.
“Here we are.” Emily’s voice preceded her, and she swept into the room with Timmy in her arms. His face was streaked with chocolate.
“We bring ice cream,” he announced.
Emily dropped a small dish on Millicent’s tray. “Indeed we did.”
“I’ll take him.” Brice transferred Timmy to his arms and stopped by the sink to wet a towel and clean the worst of the smears off his face. “Time to go,” he said to the boy. “The nurses downstairs are getting lonely.”
“Kiss Momma first.”
Brice trotted to the bed and bent so Timmy could kiss his mother’s cheek. “See you soon, tiger,” Millicent said. Transferring her attention to Brice, she added, “Thanks for everything, Doctor.”
“I’ll be in touch.” Emotion was still far too near the surface for him to be comfortable saying much more.
He strode out of the unit and was on his way down the corridor listening to Timmy talk about Miss Em and ice cream and Momma. A startled gasp broke into the boy’s monologue. When Brice sought its source, he saw Juliana, her mouth hanging open, standing stock-still a few feet away.
For once, he didn’t mute his delight at seeing her. “Julie. Meet one of my young patients.” He started toward her, but she turned and fled.
Brice stared after her. So did Timmy. “Who she?” he demanded.
“An old friend,” Brice answered, as puzzle pieces clicked into place. Julie hadn’t heard him when he’d identified Timmy as a patient because she wasn’t listening. She wasn’t listening because she must have assumed the boy was his.
“She okay?” Timmy lurched forward, straining against Brice’s hold on him, clearly wanting to follow her.
“I’m sure she is. Let’s get you back down to your room.” He ruffled Timmy’s hair and set a quick pace for the stairs.
“Thanks for Mommy.”
Brice tightened his hold on the squirming toddler. “Take good care of her once you’re both home. All right?”
“I will,” he said solemnly. “Very good. Promise”
Brice waited until after Timmy was reunited with the Peds nurses before allowing himself to think about Juliana. The more he reflected on her reaction, the angrier he became. This was one time she’d hear him out, by God. They weren’t twenty any more, and rejecting a two-year-old whose only crime was being in Brice’s arms wasn’t a thing he was willing to overlook.
He curled his lips into a tight line. He might not have been strong enough to stand up for himself after the episode with Sarah, but Juliana had to get over being a highhanded bitch. Taking her down a peg couldn’t happen fast enough to suit him.
Chapter Seven
Juliana had been on her way to the ICU when Brice walked from a side hallway carrying a small boy who was a dead ringer for him. Shock punched her in the guts. He was married. Or at least he’d hooked up with someone for long enough to produce a child.
Why had she assumed he’d spent fifteen ye
ars pining for her, waiting for her. Jesus, she was both naïve and stupid. Just because she’d tabled her love life for eternity was no reason to think he would have done the same.
He said something to her, was hurrying over to her, probably to introduce his son. Feeling like a loser and a fool, she turned on her heel and ran. What kind of adult ran away from a child?
A restroom door flashed past; she ducked inside and locked herself into a stall. Tears gushed down her cheeks, and she stuffed a fist into her mouth, biting hard to keep the low, keening moan filling her chest from emerging.
The toilet lid was closed, and she slumped onto it. She didn’t like herself very much. She’d behaved very badly. No excuse for it. Planting her feet on the floor, she emerged from the stall and walked to a sink. Flipping on the taps, she sluiced cold water through her fingers and onto her face.
She had to apologize. Immediately. Aw crap. What if he’d gone home? Even if the hospital had something like a take your kid to work day, it wouldn’t extend to anyone as young as the boy. Sadness tugged the corners of her heart. What a beauty the boy was. Cuddly and cherubic.
Her mother had been nagging about grandchildren for years. Julie had blown her off, but the hard truth was pretty soon it would be too late. Women had kids after forty, but the odds of birth defects skyrocketed, and she was a carrier for CF.
“Stop. Just stop.” She splayed a wet hand across the mirror and then grabbed a paper towel to wipe it clean. “This isn’t about me or my hurt feelings. If Brice finally found a woman who loves him, I should be glad for him, not a sour, prune-faced spinster.”
Fortified, she dried her hands and face and marched from the bathroom. If Brice was still in the hospital, she’d find him and say she was sorry. Maybe the best place to start would be the ICU.
“Juliana. Stop right there.” Brice’s voice sounded from behind her.
She twirled to face him, not ready, not yet. “Look.” She raised her hands, palms outward. “I don’t know what got into me. I’m sorry. Your son is beautiful—”
“He is not my son,” Brice ground out. She knew him sell enough to sense the fury pounding through him. “He’s a patient. I happened to be there last night when he and his mother were in a horrible accident.”