Physis (Phoebe Reede: The Untold Story #4)

by Michelle Irwin

  I fell to pieces even as the thought of how selfish it was to fall apart now ran through my head. It didn’t matter though, I couldn’t stop the downward spiral of my thoughts.

  Beau’s hand reached for the bag, grabbing it off me. “What d’ya need from here, darlin’?”

  I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the blood-stained sheets.

  “The baby’s dead,” I muttered, pressing my hand against my stomach.

  Beau crashed in front of me, meeting my eyes. “Are ya sure? Is that what your daddy said?”

  I looked down at my stomach. In my mind, my hand was coated with blood and I could see our child resting against my palm. “He killed it.”

  Beau closed his eyes and sighed with an edge of relief. Obviously he’d realised I was reliving the past and not relaying information.

  His hands caressed my face. “Look at me, darlin’. What do you need to get for your folks?”

  I stared at him, focusing on his lips to process his words through the white noise rushing around inside my head. “Clothes,” I said when I could. “A set for each of them.”

  If Beau felt any embarrassment over going through my parents’ drawers, he didn’t show it. After watching the indignity suffered by his sister for so many years, I guessed he was probably used to that and so much worse.

  “And something for the baby.” I didn’t know if they would need something, but after seeing how much blood there was I was certain of one thing—after tonight Mum wouldn’t be coming home pregnant. Thirty-two weeks was still far too early, but it wouldn’t matter if the baby was in danger. There were only three options I could see: a preemie baby, a stillbirth, or a hospital stay under the watchful eye of a doctor.

  I prayed that it was the first or last. I wasn’t sure the family was ready to cope with a death anytime soon.

  “Okay, I think I got enough. Are ya ready to go?” He offered me his hand to help me to my feet.

  “As soon as Uncle Flynn gets here.”

  “Angel’s gonna wait until then so we can get on the road sooner. Ya don’t mind her takin’ your bed once everyone’s gone back to sleep, do ya?”

  “Of course not.” I headed back out toward the living room but stopped after I crossed the threshold of Mum and Dad’s room. “Can you lock that door and pull it shut?” I asked Beau.

  “Locked? D’ya have a key?”

  I shook my head. “A butter knife will open it when we need to, but I don’t want one of the kids walking in there and seeing that.”

  “Course.”

  I found that Angel had dropped Nikki, Parker, and Beth back into their bedrooms while I’d been busy getting ready and talking to Dad.

  “How is she?” Angel asked when I emerged from the hallway.

  My lip quivered. “I don’t know. Dad’s not at the hospital yet.”

  Angel reached for both my hands. “She’ll be okay, Pheebs.”

  “I wish I could believe that. But you didn’t see how much blood . . .” I squeezed my eyes tight and tried to catch my breath. My fault.

  Angel leant forward and rested her forehead against mine. “She’ll be fine. I promise you.”

  “Are you sure you’re going to be okay until Uncle Flynn gets here?”

  “I’ll be fine, girlie. Just get yourself to the hospital to help your dad. I’ll look after the kids and sort out your parents’ room.”

  “I can’t ask—”

  “You’re not asking. I’m offering. No, I’m telling you that’s what I’m doing.”

  I pulled my hands from her hold and wrapped my arms around her instead. “Thank you. We locked the door, so you’ll need to open it with a knife.”

  “Nothing I haven’t had to do before with Mum. Now go.”

  “Thank you,” I said, drawing away from her slowly. She reached for my hand again and held it for as long as she could before we had to break apart so I could leave.

  After I climbed into the passenger seat of Beau’s car, I sent Uncle Flynn a quick text to let him know what was going on.

  “She’ll be all right,” I murmured as I stared out the windscreen, needing to hear the words again.

  Beau offered me his hand across the car for as long as he could before needing it to change gears. I tipped my head back to rest against the seat as the semi-robotic voice of the GPS on Beau’s phone guided him where to go. I didn’t know how I would survive if either Mum or the baby didn’t make it. Either way, it would be my fault.

  AFTER CHECKING both our phones had enough charge to arrange a meeting place inside, Beau dropped me off at the hospital entrance before going in search of a car park. Because of the late hour, almost everything was closed, but I found my way in through one of the ER entrances.

  Dad met me wearing a grey T-shirt and pair of tartan boxers.

  I tossed the bag at him and he pulled it open straight away. His breath hitched when he saw the outfit on top—the pink onesie for the baby—before he dug through for the pair of jeans Beau had thrown in there.

  “How is she?” I asked as he dropped the bag on the floor and got dressed standing in the middle of the corridor.

  “I still don’t know. They were talking about scans and possibly surgery, but I had to leave her. No one seems to be able to give me a straight answer yet.”

  I wrapped my arms around him. “I’m sure they’re just busy trying to make her better.”

  He kissed my hair. “Where’s—”

  He didn’t even have to finish his sentence for me to know what he was going to ask. “Parking the car. He’ll be in as soon as he can.”

  Less than a minute later, Beau rushed in with his phone in his hand. He didn’t finish the text to me because I shouted his name to call him over.

  Together, the three of us sat in the nearly deserted hospital and waited. The hum of the air conditioning system and the occasional banging of doors in the distance were the only sounds; the near silence almost eerie.

  I kept running the words through my head that Mum and the baby would both be fine, but the longer the time stretched on, the less I believed them.

  “SHE DIDN’T EVEN complain about any pain tonight. Not that she would.” Dad’s skin was almost grey in colour and he went from pacing to sitting with an all-too-regular shift in routine. It was eating at him not knowing where Mum was, or how she was. I was certain he was saying silent prayers that she was okay whatever the cost, and then hating himself for the thought, considering the consequences that wish would have on the baby.

  I knew because the same cycle was working through my head. Except I had the added guilt of being the one who knocked her over earlier in the evening. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “If I hadn’t . . .”

  “It’s not your fault, Pheebs,” Dad said, doing a decent job at making it sound believable.

  Beau sat at my side, not saying a word because nothing more needed to be said.

  “We were just talking baby names tonight.” He paced around the space. “She wanted to call the baby Georgia,” Dad said. “In light of everything.” He glanced up at Beau as if there was any doubt what he was referring to.

  “That’s a mighty fine name,” Beau said.

  “It’s also because we’ve burned through all our girl names.” Dad laughed. The sound held very little true mirth. “After Nikki, we thought we were done.” He leant forward and dropped his head toward his lap. “Maybe we should’ve been.”

  I wrapped my arms around his shoulders but didn’t offer any words of comfort.

  “Will you hate the baby if Mum doesn’t make it?” I asked the question on the edge of my breath, afraid of giving the words any power by gifting them volume. Afraid of the biggest implication that he would hate me. Not that it would matter; I’d hate me.

  “What?” Dad pulled away from me. “Of course not. I couldn’t hate any of you. She’ll be just as special as the rest of you guys regardless of what happens.” When he said the last words, his head drooped and his voice hitched. As strong as he was trying to be
, I know losing Mum would kill him.

  A little less than an hour later, Dad got a phone call. I watched his reactions to whatever was being said to him with a practised eye. Relief. Stress. Anger. Sorrow. They all passed over him in rapid succession as he gave one-word answers. It sent cold fingers marching down my back, especially when he gave the person on the other end of the line my phone number and name. Why would I need to speak to them? Unless he was going somewhere . . .

  When he hung up the phone, it seemed like a hundred years of life had weighed him down.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  Fear ran over his ashen face. “It was what your mum thought it was. A placental detachment like she had with you. They . . . they had to deliver the baby.”

  It didn’t escape my attention that Dad’s words weren’t a celebration like they should have been. His tone was devoid of any joy.

  “The baby’s in NICU. Her lungs haven’t developed properly because she’s so young. She’s . . . she’s struggling and they want me there. Just in case.” The words oozed with the agony printed across his face.

  “Oh God.”

  “They—they also said. Your mum. She’s—” His voice broke and his breathing hitched.

  Oh my God. My mind leapt to the worst conclusion. So much blood. First I’d lost a child, and now I’d lost a mother. Both were my fault. I pressed my fist against my mouth to stop myself from screaming.

  “No,” I mouthed around my fingers, unable to consider a world where Mum wouldn’t be there for me when I needed her. I’d been selfish and caused her pain. Even though I knew she didn’t hate me for it, I’d never forgive myself if the previous few months, with all the tension and heartbreak we shared, were my last memories with her. Or if my careless action set off the chain of events that led to her not being with us anymore.

  “She’s . . . she’s not . . .” Dad’s breath hitched and his voice lost all volume. “It’s touch and go. The site where the placenta detached is haemorrhaging. If they can’t stop the bleeding . . .”

  She’ll be okay. The words were on my tongue but I couldn’t make that promise with the information Dad had just given me.

  “I’ve got to go to NICU to be with Georgia.” It seemed the name had stuck without waiting for the final say from Mum. It seemed better, more humanising, to call her that than Baby Reede or simply her. “I’ve given the ward your number so they can call you as soon as . . . as soon as they know anything.”

  While Dad headed off to find an elevator to take him upstairs to NICU, I curled into Beau’s lap and drew what comfort I could from his presence as my silent sentinel.

  “I’m sorry our night at your place was cut short.”

  “It don’t matter. This here, family, that’s what matters.”

  “Do you think I should ring home and let them know what’s happening? I don’t want to wake them up if they’re still asleep.”

  “I’m sure they’d wanna know.”

  If nothing else, it would give me something to do for a few minutes. I dialled the home number, figuring it’d be easier than trying to guess who would still be awake out of Angel and Uncle Flynn.

  When she answered the phone, Angel sounded like she’d been on a week-long bender. I wondered whether she’d had any sleep.

  “I can’t talk for long,” I said. “I need to keep the line clear, but I wanted to fill you in on what we know.”

  “Okay, shoot and I’ll relay.”

  “You can share it with Uncle Flynn, but please don’t tell anyone else until I know more, okay?”

  “What’s going on?”

  “The placenta detached and they had to do an emergency C-section.”

  “Oh God.”

  “The baby, Georgia, she’s gone to NICU, and Mum’s still in surgery. It’s still touch and go for both of them.”

  “Fuck.” The word left under her breath, but it was still clear as day to my ear because of the utter silence around me.

  “Yeah, that’s about it.”

  “I’ll tell Flynn. Call back when you know anything more.”

  “Will do, Angel. Thank you for holding down the fort.”

  “Anytime.”

  I passed the phone to Beau and rubbed my eyes with my hands. I needed another few hours of sleep and some food. Ideally, something sugary. The cafe still wasn’t open though and I didn’t have change for the vending machines. In lieu of the things I needed but couldn’t have, I claimed one thing I could—my place in Beau’s arms. I rested my head against his chest so I could listen to the rhythm of his beating heart, and stayed there even though I felt unworthy of his attention with the guilt bubbling inside of me.

  THE SUN had risen, filling the atrium with the dull light of early morning, and we still hadn’t heard anything more about Mum or the baby.

  Dad hadn’t returned or called. It could have been either a good or bad sign.

  Just as the super early wake-up was starting to play havoc on my body and drag my eyes closed, the phone rang. I leapt for it at once and listened intently as the nurse explained what was happening. After she told me Mum was out of surgery and had been moved to the high dependency unit, I was barely listening to specific words anymore. I grabbed Beau’s hand and tugged him toward the elevators, trying to figure out which way to go.

  “Thank you,” I shouted down the phone when it was clear she’d finished. I shoved the phone in my pocket, not even caring to check whether the call had ended. If it hadn’t she’d end it before long. Despite the fact Beau had already pushed the call button for the elevator, I jammed my finger against it a few more times.

  “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon!” I growled when the doors didn’t instantly open.

  “Good news, I take it?” Beau asked as I smashed the button again.

  “Mum’s out of surgery and stable.” The elevator doors slid open and I charged inside before sagging against the wall as Beau pushed the button for the right floor. I wasn’t aware I’d repeated where I needed to be, but I must have at some point.

  When the doors opened, I flew from the elevator and raced to the ward.

  “Alyssa Reede,” I said as I skidded to a stop in front of the reception desk.

  Within a few minutes, I had her bed number and directions to find her. It didn’t occur to me to be slow or patient when I needed to get to Mum, and I realised my mistake as soon as I caught a whiff of the disinfectant at the same time I spotted a hospital bed. It wasn’t even Mum’s. The memory of the days after my rescue all flooded in at once. So much time spent being poked and prodded physically and mentally. As if I hadn’t been tortured enough, I had to relive it over and over for them.

  Beau’s hand came to rest on the base of my spine, and it gave me enough focus to fight off the memories and keep going to find Mum.

  Nothing could have ever prepared me for the sight. I’d expected a crush of machinery and a stack of wires and tubes, but there was nothing. With the exception of the drip in her arm, she could have almost been sleeping. Only, I’d never seen anyone so pale in all my life.

  “Can you go find Dad and let him know she’s okay?” I asked Beau. “I don’t think he’ll be allowed his phone in the NICU.”

  “Are ya gonna be all right here on your own?”

  I drew in a breath and nodded. “I’ll be fine.”

  I covered the distance to the bed, pulled up the chair and sat beside Mum. Taking her hand in mine, I spoke to her as if she were awake, apologising for any grief I’d caused her over the baby and for the part I’d played in her injury.

  Nearly twenty minutes passed before Dad and Beau came to Mum’s bedside.

  “Thank you, Lys,” Dad whispered before brushing his lips over her hand. “I couldn’t do this without you.”

  “How’s Georgia?” I asked.

  Dad’s blue-green eyes found mine. “She’s as good as can be expected. They’re happy with how she’s going so far now that they’ve stabilised her. Thirty-two weeks apparently gives her a survival rate of aro
und 98 percent, so we’ve just got to cling to that. I think they’d be happier if Lys was able to express some milk, but she’ll just have to be on formula until we can get there.”

  As soon as I heard the number Dad quoted, I wanted to scream. It might have been a good number, but it was evidence of what could be in store for her—the same thing Nikki and I faced—a life lived with statistics and numbers.

  The one thing I’d learned with the statistics hanging over my head though was that odds were made to be beaten, and she had better odds than I ever did. Other than an adjustment to my meds after the damage done to my kidney by Bee, I was beating the odds. Despite the warnings that I’d been given all my life that it could fail and leave me needing another transplant—or worse—Emmanuel’s kidney was still going strong. Nikki too had been given a clean bill of health despite the risks she’d faced with surgery.

  Soon after Dad turned up, the doctor came back around and explained what had happened. I let Dad ask the questions and talk to the doctor, but listened in as the doctor explained about Mum’s condition—the detachment, the bleeding, and the things they’d had to do to save Mum’s life—including a blood transfusion and the removal of her uterus when they couldn’t patch the open blood vessels at the site of the tear. As he spoke, I squeezed Mum’s hand tighter and Beau rubbed my shoulder.

  The doctor went on to discuss the ins and outs of Mum’s recovery with Dad, but I stopped paying attention when he said she’d probably be asleep for a few more hours.

  “We should ring home,” I murmured to Beau. “Let them know she’s okay and so is the baby.”

  “Leave it with me, darlin’. I’ll be back soon.”

  It should have been my duty, but I was more than happy for him to do it for me. I didn’t want to leave Mum’s side until she was awake.

  “How are you going, Pheebs?”

  I jumped when Dad spoke. I hadn’t noticed the lack of conversation in the room signalling the doctor had left.