She rushed into the bathroom and slammed the door closed before I had even managed to untangle myself from the blankets and get out of bed. Just as I reached the door, I heard her turn the lock.
Fuck! This wasn’t how this was supposed to go.
“Ravyn?” I tried the knob, just in case. But as expected, it didn’t budge. I rested my forehead against the door and listened. She was definitely still crying, but then she turned on the faucet. The rush of water drowned out any sounds I might have otherwise heard. When she finally shut off the water, I tried again. “Ravyn, please open the door.”
“Why?” she asked. Her voice cracked, and I could swear I heard her hiccup.
“Because I want to talk to you.”
“You can talk.”
“I need to see you.” I needed to hold her, too, but I’d start with just being able to see her face. That would be a hell of an improvement over talking to the door. And it’d tell me a lot more than any words she might say, because I was finally learning to interpret her facial expressions.
But she didn’t unlock it. She didn’t answer me for quite a while, either, and when she did, it was to say, “I can’t do this.”
She might as well have kicked me in the kidneys. I’d thought she was making progress, maybe starting to come out of her depression, and now she might as well be heading right back to square one. Or at least that was how it felt right now. It might not be quite as bad as that, although I wouldn’t hold my breath.
Hard to know for sure, since she wouldn’t open the door and let me hold her.
“Did I do something wrong?” I asked, barely recognizing my own voice because of how pained and strained it sounded. She’d all but demanded sex, so that couldn’t be it. The only thing I could think was that I’d tried to cuddle with her afterward.
If that was truly the problem, and she wouldn’t ever be able to let me hold her after we were intimate, I didn’t know how to deal. Getting or giving the cold shoulder after sex wasn’t in my makeup.
“No. It’s not you.” She sniffled, immediately followed by a fresh wave of sobs.
“Then let me help you,” I pleaded. “Whatever it is. You can tell me about it, or not if you don’t want to. I just—” Needed to hold her. That was it. I needed to hold her, and until I could, I’d be an utterly worthless wreck. Maybe that meant I needed to turn in my man card, but I didn’t care.
I was about to give up and stalk off to the kitchen to make some coffee—no chance I’d be getting much sleep any time soon—when Ravyn unlocked the door and cracked it open.
Her nose was red and puffy, and her face was splotchy from crying. Reflexively, I held out my arms for her even though I doubted she’d come into them.
She surprised me by doing exactly that.
“Hey,” I said, tucking her head under my chin and wrapping my arms around her so tightly she might not be able to breathe. But I needed the comfort of comforting her. “I’ve got you. Whatever it is, whatever’s wrong, I’ve got you.”
She shook her head. Her soft dreads tickled my chest.
“Will you at least tell me what’s going on?” I asked. “I might not be able to fix it—”
“No one can fix it,” she cut in.
Which was possibly true. She and I both knew that there were things in life that couldn’t be undone. “Okay, but it’ll help to talk about it.”
Again, she surprised me, this time by nodding. She pulled away from me, though. Reluctantly, I let her out of my arms. She walked over to the bed and climbed under the covers, so I followed her. She held up the blankets, waiting for me to get in.
I didn’t mess around, taking the opportunity she’d given me because there was no telling how many more chances I’d get. We lay on our sides, facing each other. I brushed away her tears, leaving my palm resting on her cheek, my fingers sinking into her hair, because I needed to have contact with her.
She blinked a few times, and I feared she might have changed her mind.
“They had pictures of their baby,” she said finally.
Her voice cracked so hard it made my chest seize up, but I remained silent, waiting for her to get it out—however much she needed to—in her own time. She blinked again, but another tear made tracks down her cheek. I swiped at it with the pad of my thumb, but another quickly took its place.
“He was so tiny. But he was perfect. Lots of blond hair so light it was see-through. Ten fingers and ten toes. Eyes too big for his face. And I just—” When she broke off, the pain ripped through her so hard it made her body tense up into a ball, and I wondered if she was talking about this couple’s baby, the one who’d died—or her own baby, the one she’d given away.
Feebly, I tried to dry her tears again, but they were flowing so fast now that she was drenching the pillow beneath her.
“Every little thing makes me think of him,” she sobbed. “And then I’m right back where I started, and I can’t do anything because I’m racked with guilt and worry, always wondering, never knowing.”
She tried to bury her face in the pillow, as if she could hide from me, but that wouldn’t work. This was as real as she’d ever been. Even though it made me physically ache to see her like this, I knew it was exactly what she needed. I stroked her cheek, slipping her hair back over her shoulder so it wouldn’t get caught in her tears, then slid my hand over her shoulder and down her arm until she met my eyes again.
The moonlight shining through the windows glimmered in her wet eyes, her cheeks, bouncing off the sheen of sweat covering her bare skin. It made her seem almost ethereal.
“My baby had soft blond hair like that. Not anywhere near as much as this one, but it was so fine and light, like if I blew on it too hard, the hair would float away like dandelion fluff.”
“How long did you have him?” I asked, resting my hand on her hip.
She was still a bundle of nerves, but she was starting to soften beneath my touch. “Only a few hours. Rick helped me clean him up and then drove us to the hospital. I wrapped him up in two of my towels to keep him warm, because it was freezing outside and I didn’t have any baby blankets.”
“Towels are good. You took good care of him.”
“But these people—this couple that came in, Jason and Karen—they did everything right, and their baby still died.”
“Sometimes that happens. Just like sometimes we do everything right, and we still end up getting HIV.”
She stared at me for a long time, blinking those big eyes at me like she was looking for the secrets of the universe in my gaze.
I didn’t have any answers for her, and we both knew it.
“His name was Tanner,” she said, sniffling again. “Their baby. The one who died. They want a tattoo of a baby swaddled up in a blanket or something, with his name on it. And angel wings.” She was still struggling to talk, but it seemed like the worst of this round of tears might be slowly coming to an end.
“Tanner’s a good name.”
She nodded.
“So these tattoos…they’re doing it for closure? So they can move on but not forget?”
“Something like that.”
“Did you ever name your baby?”
“No.”
“Not even just for you?”
Ravyn shook her head, but she kept her eyes on mine.
“It might help. You could paint something—just for you—and put his name on it. Just a thought.”
“Wouldn’t that be like letting myself off the hook?”
“Wouldn’t letting yourself off the hook be the only way to move forward?” I countered.
Her expression was pouty, but she didn’t immediately brush me off.
“Did you ever think about keeping him?” I asked, trying a different tack.
“All the time. Right up until the moment I climbed out of Rick’s car at the hospital.”
“So you must have thought about names. I mean, if you went that long being undecided, you had to have thought about the future.”
“So what names did you think about?”
“The one I kept coming back to was Devon.”
“Devon’s a good name, too. Devon Penn. I like the sound of that.”
“Even if I paint something, though, and give him a name,” she started, and I breathed a bit easier. Because it meant she was at least thinking about doing it. Maybe it wouldn’t work, but how would she know if she didn’t try? “I still won’t know that he’s okay.”
I inched closer to her on the bed, tucking my left arm beneath her pillow. “So it sounds like we need to find out whatever we can. So you can have some resolution.”
“There’s no such thing as closure in a situation like this,” she said.
I was afraid she was right about that. But I wanted to do whatever I could to help her find some semblance of closure anyway. Whatever that might be.
I STARTED MY quest with London. There was always the possibility that she wouldn’t have any answers for me, or that I wouldn’t like the answers she did have, but she had a degree in social work, she was constantly surrounded by counselors, and she seemed like a good jumping off point. If nothing else, she could probably point me in the right direction for wherever I needed to go next.
The team had the day off after getting home so late last night, so once Ravyn headed off to work around lunchtime, I texted Dima and asked if I could drop by to see his wife. He agreed without even questioning why I’d want to see London and not him.
He answered the door in nothing but a pair of faded jeans and huge, dark circles under his bloodshot eyes, glowering at me. “You wake baby up, I chop you up and make you into puppy treats for Bear’s dog.”
I was going to laugh, but the look in his eye warned me not to.
“Got it,” I said. “I’ll be quiet. Just need to ask London a few questions.”
Then he led me into the kitchen, where London was busy putting together a salad for their lunch. Dima stalked off, somehow not making a sound despite his heavy footsteps.
“Hey,” she said, glancing up. She looked just as exhausted as her husband.
“Baby keep you two up last night?” I asked, trying to make polite conversation.
“He’s not sold on the idea of sleeping at night and being awake during the day,” she answered dryly.
I winked. “I thought Dima was the baby whisperer.” The seat next to her wheelchair was empty and waiting for me, so I sat.
“Either his technique only works on Harper Fielding or only on baby girls and not baby boys or only on babies with colic or something. Maybe it’s just that Erik’s determined to put Dima through hell because he loved another baby first. I don’t know. All I’m sure of is that no one in this house is getting any sleep, and I doubt we will be anytime soon. Want something to drink?” she asked, wheeling to the fridge. She took out a bottle of water for herself and glanced over her shoulder.
“Water would be great.”
She tossed a bottle in my direction before wheeling back over. “So what’s up with Ravyn?”
“Why do you assume it’s something to do with Ravyn?”
“Because you’ve never once come over to see me, and because she’s like a ticking time bomb.”
I winced at that description.
“Okay, maybe that’s a bit harsh,” London said. “I’m trying not to be such a bitch, but it’s hard when I’m not getting any sleep. Anyway. Spill. Tell me why you’re here so I can feed one of my babies before the other wakes up and demands to be fed.” She picked up her knife again and resumed dicing a tomato.
Again, I bit my tongue to avoid laughing. No one but London could call Dima a baby and get away with it.
Those two had an interesting relationship. They antagonized the hell out of each other, but in the end, they made it work. But I wasn’t here to worry about their relationship or to analyze what they saw in each other.
I opened the bottle, took a sip, and cut straight to the point. “If someone were to surrender a baby—”
“Surrender a baby?” London cut in, her knife clattering to the table. “Like with the safe-haven laws? Is that what she did?”
But she didn’t wait around for me to answer that question, which was good, since I had no plans to respond. This wasn’t about me letting the whole world in on Ravyn’s secrets. It was just about helping her find the answers she needed for closure.
London pressed her eyes closed for a moment, then picked up her knife again. “Never mind. I shouldn’t have asked that. But that’s what you mean, right? About the safe-haven laws?”
“Yes, like if someone surrenders a baby to the hospital or to police.”
“Got it. Go on.”
“So if someone were to surrender a baby, is there any way for the parent to find out anything about what’s happened? I mean, if the baby’s been adopted or who the parents are or…?”
“Or anything,” London finished for me, with a sad look on her face.
“Right.”
“Okay. Loaded question, but here goes. First off, I’m not an expert, and I don’t know everything there is to know about this subject. My community center is not a safe zone under the safe-haven laws, so all I can do, if someone comes and wants to do something like that, is direct them to places that are safe zones, like hospitals, fire stations, and the police department.” She fell quiet, then, and emptied her diced tomatoes into the salad bowl, then picked up an avocado.
“But…” I prompted.
“But I am almost positive that they won’t ever tell her—well, the biological parent, or whoever surrendered the baby—anything.”
“Never?”
“Never. Once the parent has left the premises, the baby is officially a ward of the state. When the kid is eighteen, they can initiate the process to find their birth parents if they want to. But depending on how much information the birth parents left when they surrendered the child, that may be extremely difficult, if not impossible.”
And knowing Ravyn the way I did, I doubted she’d told the nurse anything that could be used to identify her if he did want to find her someday. I’d have to ask to be sure, but she wasn’t very forthcoming with any information under normal circumstances. And when she was worked up or upset over something? She shut down and closed everyone out.
That didn’t bode well for Devon someday being able to find her, if he even wanted to. If he didn’t want to, there wasn’t any chance of her ever knowing even the simplest things about him.
At least not if London was right. My gut told me she was.
“So what happens to these babies when they’ve been surrendered?” I asked.
London cut the avocado in half. She whacked her knife into the pit before giving it a twist and pulling it out of the center. “If the baby needs medical care, that’s the first thing they’d do. In Oklahoma, they can only be surrendered when they’re three days old or younger, so they’re always the newest of newborns. As soon as everyone is satisfied that the baby is healthy, they’d begin the process of finding an adoptive family. With newborns, that rarely takes very long.”
“So by the time the baby is six or nine months old, he or she would be adopted?”
“I’d guess it would happen before a month goes by, to be honest. Maybe the red tape wouldn’t be completely finalized yet by then, but the child would be in a stable home within days, and would likely remain with that family permanently.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
In the distance, I heard the baby start fussing.
“Unless you have anything else to ask me,” London said, “you should go. I won’t let Dima bake you into puppy treats, but he could probably do some significant damage before I managed to stop him.”
“Duly noted,” I said, getting to my feet. I winked and took my water, then headed for the door. “Tell Dima I’ll see him at practice tomorrow.”
She nodded and waved me off, so I left and closed the door behind me.
I didn’t go home, though
. Instead, I headed for Hunter’s house. Tallie’s father was a partner at a local law firm, and I hoped she could help me find someone there who could give me answers. They might not be better answers than what London gave me, or even different answers, but it was worth my while to ask.
Tallie answered when I rang the doorbell, grinning from ear to ear. “Hey, Drew. You actually just missed Hunter. He’s spending the afternoon with his new backup goalie. Meeting of the goalie guild or something, he said.” She had on a bright-red apron that said Caution: Extremely Hot and had a silicone spatula in her hand.
“It’s actually you I’m here to see,” I said.
“Well, get on in here while the gettin’s good, then.” She winked and took a step back so I could join her.
Before I got through the door, an adorable curly-haired munchkin came racing my way at full speed. I caught Harper before she could dart past me, lifting her high in the air and spinning her around until she giggled.
“Not so fast, little missy,” her mother said, rolling her eyes in my direction. “Good thing Mr. Drew’s got good reflexes. She went straight from taking her first steps to running everywhere. And she’s a heck of a lot faster than me. I can’t tell you how many times she’s gotten away from me when I’m garage sale shopping with Tori.”
Harper ignored her mother and patted my cheek to get my attention. “Go go,” she demanded, pointing toward the door. She nodded and blinked big, serious eyes at me. This little girl meant business, and she was determined to make me into her accomplice.
“We’re not gonna go go anywhere,” Tallie said. “We’re gonna stay stay and bake cupcakes.”
Harper’s eyes went comically wide. “Cup cup?”
“Yes, cup cup. You can help me ice them like a big girl if you stop trying to run away.” Tallie headed back into the kitchen, and I followed, carrying her daughter. “Seriously,” Tallie said, “you’d think we tortured her or something. She wants to be anywhere but where she is and to do anything but what she’s doing. Her favorite thing in the world right now is to go go, and she doesn’t even care where.”
Rites of Passage Page 22