He tucked her hair behind the curve of one ear. Passing the pad of his thumb over the sweet single sapphire on her lobe, he shook his head. “Still intact. What could she possibly want from you now?”
Replacing the phone in its charger on the counter, she replied, “They’re renewing their vows.”
“Your parents?”
“Yes, and she’s not talking a small, traditional vow-renewal ceremony. She’s demanding solstice, swans and butterflies in Bora-Bora.”
“Do it,” he suggested. “It’s nice there. She might decide to stay.”
She blinked hopefully. “You’re right! There is that.”
He stepped closer until her lilac scent infused his senses. Not everyone could wear the yellow shade of her pencil dress. He rubbed the space low on her hip where he’d discovered a quatrefoil-shaped birthmark during one of their beddy-bye capers. “What do you say I get you out of here?”
“Please,” she said, sending him a kiss me stare from underneath the dark swath of her lashes. “What’s on tonight’s itinerary?”
“I’m still working it out, but how’s this so far? We ride around for a while, find a restaurant, fortify ourselves and have a glass of wine.”
“And then...?” she asked.
“From there,” he said, winding his arm low around her waist and bringing her up against the line of him, “we could go straight home—”
“Good so far.” She grinned.
“We could listen to old music, get a little toasted and repeat exactly what we did the other night,” he suggested. Because he’d wanted to before, he pressed his mouth to the tip of her ear. It was blush pink, just like her face.
“That thing with caramel syrup?”
“No, the thing where you try on another piece from your new lingerie collection. But we could tack on the caramel thing, too.”
“You’re right—we will need to fortify ourselves. I’ll grab my coat.” She rushed off in anticipation.
“Hurry, Roxanna,” he told her, and wiggled his brows when she glanced over her shoulder. Her giggle echoed back to him as she disappeared behind the curtain.
The phone in his pocket vibrated. He took it out, saw Grim’s name on the screen and answered instantly. “Hey, brother. Did you touch down?”
“I can’t get in touch with ’Cilla,” Grim said in lieu of a greeting. “I called three times in the last half hour. At work. On her cell. At home. She’s not answering.”
“Whoa, whoa, slow down,” Byron said. “I’m sure it’s fine.” Alarm prickled along the base of his spine even as he leveled out his voice to combat the note of panic he heard in Grim’s. “Did you try Ma and Pop’s? She said she might drive over there for dinner.”
“Your ma said she wasn’t expecting anyone for dinner until later tonight,” Grim told him. “She said ’Cilla wanted to go home first anyway from work and maybe take a nap. I’m freaking out, man.”
“I’ll go by there,” Byron said. Roxie reappeared in her princess coat, her purse over her shoulder. There was concern on her face as she listened to his side of the conversation. She nodded quickly when he lifted a hand in question. “I’m not far away so I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
“I’m at the airport in Fort Smith,” Grim explained. “I’ll wait. There’s a good signal here. And it should be easy to get a flight back if—”
“Grim, it’s fine,” Byron said firmly. “Ma’s right. ’Cilla’s probably just napping.”
“Yeah.” Grim sounded unconvinced. Byron knew, as Grim did, that Priscilla was notorious for two things—sleeping light and never being more than a foot away from her smartphone.
“Hang tight, buddy.” Stuffing his phone in his pocket, Byron followed Roxie out the door. She locked it and they walked down the steps to the parking lot.
The drive was silent. He said nothing and, thankfully, Roxie didn’t attempt to make conversation. His mind was a jumble of what-ifs. In no instance could he justify Priscilla not answering her phone...
By the time he pulled into the subdivision, his stomach was knotted from the unwelcome possibilities. He nearly bum-rushed the door. It seemed to take forever to find the right key for the deadbolt. “’Cilla!” he called once inside. When she didn’t call back to him, he tried again, louder. “’Cilla, where’re you at?”
“The lights aren’t on,” Roxie said mutely, switching on the closest lamp on the end table next to Grim’s recliner.
Dusk had fallen nearly an hour before. Byron started to reason that she simply might have gotten held up at the paper or been out late on assignment. “I’ll check the garage for her car,” he said, heading for the door.
“Byron,” Roxie said from the kitchen. He rushed to her.
She held up Priscilla’s work bag and laptop carrier.
The skin on the back of his neck drew up tight. “’Cilla!” he shouted again as he roamed from the kitchen into the home office beyond. “Answer me, damn it!”
The thud was faint. It came from above. Byron was at the stairs a few seconds after it faded. He took them two at a time. The master bedroom was all the way to the end of the hall. He bypassed the nursery and the spare bedroom and tore through the door.
She’d laid out clothes on the bed. Her shoes had been kicked off at the foot of it. The room was going dark, split only by the light from the bathroom. “’Cilla, I’m comin’ in,” he said and pushed through.
His feet brought him up short and his heart hit the floor. She was lying on the white terrycloth rug by the bathtub. Curled onto her left side, she’d covered herself with her towel. Her hair was wet and it spilled dark around her head. There was blood.
Byron went cold. He stood over his sister and saw someone else—someone else with reams of black hair, wearing purple jogging pants and a T-shirt she’d snagged from his dresser drawer.
She’d stayed home that day because she hadn’t felt well. A bug, she told him over breakfast. Must be coming down with something. He’d insisted she take the day off.
He’d come home for lunch to check on her. On the way, he’d picked up lunch and a heart-shaped box of chocolate turtles as a prelude to their Valentine’s Day dinner later that evening. He’d called through the house when he arrived.
He found her at the bottom of the staircase. She’d fallen. Nobody could tell him later how long she’d been there, but he’d never been able to unsee the blood.
He’d known on some level. He’d known that they would never get to meet their child. He’d known things would never be the same.
“’Cilla,” he whispered, going to his knees. He started to gather her to him.
“Don’t,” she said, her voice teeny. “Don’t move me.”
He heard footsteps and looked up to see Roxie in the doorway. “Call 911!” he howled. When she nodded, reaching into her purse for her phone, he bent over Priscilla. He smoothed the hair back from her face. “Can you tell me what happened? Does anything hurt?”
“Shower.” She grimaced. “I fell in the shower. Stupid,” she chastised herself, closing her eyes. Tears gathered at the corners. “I took out the bathmat to clean it. Forgot to put it back.”
“You’re bleeding.” He snatched another towel off the rack and covered her legs, trying not to look too closely at the rivulets of blood. They had run down her legs and dried.
“I know.” Her throat seemed to close and she swallowed. “By, I can’t feel the baby. She’s been moving all afternoon, but now...”
“’Cilla,” he said, smoothing the hair back from her brow. “Look.” When she peered at him, pressing her lips together until they whitened, he let out a breath. “It’s gonna be okay.” When a shadow of doubt crossed her, he added, “You’re Lois Lane, remember? Lois Lane always comes through.”
The old dialogue stopped Priscilla’s chin from quive
ring. She sniffed. Even as the teardrops smeared across her nose and cheek, she gave him a nod and the helplessness ceased.
Strong, he thought as he gripped her hand in his. His sisters’ collective strength had always been a source of awe. Seeing either of them cry was like getting hit by a bullet train.
“Ambulance is on its way,” Roxie told them. She knelt at ’Cilla’s back. There were other towels folded in the open cupboard. She grabbed two. “Here, let’s put this one under your head. Byron, use this one to dry her hair. I’ll grab a blanket. ’Cilla, we need to get you warm.”
He did as he was told, rubbing the ends of Priscilla’s hair. Again, he saw Dani’s black waist-length tresses fanned across the carpet. His heart pounding in his ears brought him back to the present and he stifled what felt like a whimper in his throat.
Roxie returned with a blanket. As she handed it to him over Priscilla’s prone form, her gaze locked with his. There was strength there, too, and assurance. “All right,” she said, the words silent. “It’s all right.”
Byron looked away. He unfolded the blanket and wrapped Priscilla and her swollen belly like a burrito. The assurance rolled over in his head. It’s all right. It’s all right.
He needed Priscilla to believe it. He needed himself to believe it because there was another unshakeable voice telling him it wouldn’t be, and it was agonizingly familiar.
* * *
THE WAITING ROOM of the maternity ward was vacant when Roxie arrived. She was alone. Byron had ridden with Priscilla in the ambulance. Grim was trying to get a flight back. Roxie had called Vera on the drive in the Camaro to let her know what had happened.
Roxie peeked through the nursery window. A chill raced through her at the sight of empty blanket-wrapped trolleys. There were no nurses milling about.
Byron and Priscilla should’ve arrived before her. Roxie wondered where they were, how Priscilla and the baby were doing. Refusing to take the unoccupied nursery as a sign, she walked to the circle of chairs.
The elevator doors hummed and she turned to see Vera step onto the floor, harried. She saw Roxie and approached her at a half run. “Anything new?” she asked.
Roxie shook her head. “I haven’t seen anyone.”
Vera looked around the quiet space. “Somebody has to know what’s going on. Come on. We’ll find someone to interrogate.”
As they approached the closed doors to the ward, the right one swung open and Byron stepped out. His frame was tired and he’d lost his jacket somewhere. His hair was askew where it had been perfectly combed earlier. There was a splotch of what looked like blood on the sleeve of his blue shirt. “Ma,” he said in obvious relief.
She embraced him. Her hand draped, warm, over the nape of his neck as his head dropped low to her shoulder. For the space of a few seconds, she held him. Roxie could all but see the distress buzzing off him, however still he was in Vera’s arms, and she fought the urge to get in on part of the familial squeeze.
“They’re monitoring her now,” he said. The fatigue worry had brought on was written in his hands as he scrubbed them over his face. “Her left knee’s swollen, her hip’s bruised, and she likely fractured something in her foot.”
“The baby?” Vera asked.
“They took her in for an ultrasound. She told them she couldn’t feel the baby move. They started asking her about contractions...”
“She’s in labor?”
“They’re not entirely sure yet. They’ll need to examine her further. But the reason she can’t feel the baby moving could be due to contractions, the nurse said. Her doctor’s on his way.”
“It could be Braxton-Hicks,” Vera considered. “She’s been having those for over a week now.”
Byron nodded, rubbing the minute bristle of a five-o’clock shadow there. “They’ve got a fetal monitor hooked up. The baby’s vitals look good, but they want to go ahead with the ultrasound to make sure. It’s possible she might have to have a C-section.”
Vera patted his arm. “Okay. It’s okay.”
“What about the bleeding?” Roxie asked with some hesitation.
Byron lifted his shoulders in a weary motion. “They don’t know. I guess that’s another reason for the ultrasound. They wouldn’t tell me much since I’m not the father. Did Grim—”
“He was lucky,” Vera verified. “He’ll catch a return flight in a half hour or so. Let’s just hope he gets here before the baby does.”
“And Pop?”
“He was visiting Athena. He’s on his way now.”
“Athena.” Byron blanched. “He didn’t tell her anything, did he? It’ll kill her if something goes wrong. Literally kill her.”
“Byron,” Vera said as he began to pace. “’Cilla will want one of us with her if labor progresses. One of us is going to have to stand beside her bed and hold her hand. If she asks for you, you need to be prepared for that. You need to be—”
“Strong,” Byron said, combing his fingers through his hair. “I know.”
The sight of him, anxious and unsettled, unnerved Roxie. She reached out to him when he passed by her. “Maybe you should sit.”
“No,” he said with a shake of his head. “I don’t need to sit. I need...”
When he trailed off, at a loss, Vera said, “Take a walk. It’ll help you untangle what’s going on in your head.”
“But what if—”
“We’ll text you immediately,” his mother told him. “Go. We’ll be here.”
Byron looked from her to Roxie. For a moment, she thought he would come to her. Then he looked back at Vera and gave a short nod. “My phone’s on me. As soon as you know...”
“You’ll know,” Vera told him. “Trust me.”
As he turned to go, Roxie saw that the back of Byron’s neck was flaming red. Her lips parted. The pain emanating off him was profound. “Maybe one of us should go with him,” she muttered. Maybe I should go with him.
Vera waited until Byron had walked beyond the elevator doors. For the first time since confronting him, worry crossed her face. “He’s in a race against his own demons right now. As much as I hate him being alone when he’s hurting, he’ll want to be left on his own until he sorts out what he’s feeling, at least somewhat.” Vera linked her arm through Roxie’s and led her back to the chairs. They took two of the hard seats by the window. “It was the same before, with Dani. The way he found her. In the days that followed, even after she lost the baby, he never thought she wouldn’t pull through. He closed everything out and put all his thought and energy into getting her from one step to the next. To say he was heartbroken when she didn’t... Well, that was just the start of it. It took him some time—before he was ready to let the rest of us back in again.”
“He told me a little bit about it,” Roxie admitted. “About her. Still, I can hardly imagine what he went through.”
“He talked to you about Dani?” Vera said curiously. “That’s encouraging. To my knowledge, he doesn’t talk to anyone at all about it. Even we, as his family, try not to bring it up. He survived it, but the wound’s still there and it’s a big one.”
Roxie frowned. The last few weeks had been incredible. They’d been heavenly. But little things had struck her here and there. She’d ignored them mostly, reminding herself of their decision to keep things “cautiously noncasual,” since neither of them had had a relationship to speak of since their respective spouses.
She remembered now, though, waking up alone most mornings. Almost every night he’d gone to sleep in her bed yet he was always up before her the next day, sometimes already over at his place dressed and ready for work.
She was an early riser, so she knew how soon he had to get up to beat her out of the sheets. Up to this point, she’d convinced herself it was the constraints of their workday schedules. Weekends, however, proved the same.
She wondered if he had made a conscious effort to avoid waking up with her.
The odd time Byron did sleep in her bed, Roxie had noticed that he always wound up lying with his back to her. She’d blamed this on the his-her-side-of-the-bed complex. But now she couldn’t help but reconsider.
Vera was right. Despite the fact that he’d opened up once or twice about Dani—his marriage to her, even her death—it had only been in small spurts. And she’d yet to witness an occasion when the subject didn’t put him ill at ease.
This wasn’t the time to think about that, Roxie knew. He was torn up over Priscilla and the complications that might arise from her fall. What would it do to him if something happened to Priscilla or her baby?
Much as it had before, it would unravel him, bit by bit, until there was little left. He’d rebuilt himself once. To do so again would be inconceivable. “This is different,” Roxie told Vera, certain even if none of the rest of them were. “It’s going to be different this time. I know it.”
“You’re sweet to say so,” Vera murmured, smile wavering. “This family has been through its fair share of hurdles. But in this case, I hope you’re right, dear. For everyone’s sake.”
* * *
BY TWO O’CLOCK the following morning, Byron had paced the entire maternity ward a dozen times or more. He’d drunk bad coffee, enough to exceed his high tolerance. It’d made him jittery and tetchy. Nobody approached him as he paced. Not Roxie. Not his mother. Not his father, once he arrived. Grim raced off the elevator shortly before midnight, still wearing the clothes he’d said goodbye in the morning before, looking as worse for wear as Byron felt.
When news came that they would go ahead with the C-section, Byron had taken off his tie and unpinned his collar. “It won’t be long now,” Vera murmured to him as she and Constantine settled into chairs, side by side. Their hands locked.
Constantine had been strangely reticent. Byron had never thought of him as old, but he looked it now with anxiety apparent in his fast-tapping heel and the lines of his visage.
Wooing the Wedding Planner Page 21