Finding His Wife, Finding a Son

by Marion Lennox

  ‘Beth’s waking now. She’s asking for you—and for someone called Toby?’

  ‘That’s her son.’

  ‘Is he okay?’

  ‘He’s fine. He’s asleep in kids’ ward. Observation only—no obvious injuries.’ He’d checked in on the way to Beth’s ward. Toby had been bathed and was sleeping with his rabbit.

  ‘She’s not really out of it yet,’ the nurse was saying. ‘But her first words were frantic. I’m wondering...we’ll be sending her up to the ward in about half an hour. Would it be possible for her to see her son? I have a feeling she won’t settle until she’s seen him safe. And you, too.’

  ‘She won’t be worried about me.’

  ‘Really?’ The nurse sounded dubious. ‘She sounded...well, be that as it may, if Toby’s okay could you arrange to have him there, just for a moment so she can see for herself?’

  ‘Of course.’

  But...

  He thought of lifting Toby and carrying him through the darkened rooms to sit with him while he waited for Beth...

  It felt like a weird, sweet web was closing about him. A web he’d once embraced and he knew he would again—the web of being needed.

  * * *

  ‘Luc...’

  She was enveloped in darkness, though shimmers of light were breaking through. Harsh light. There was something beeping beside her. Her hand...there was something on her hand.

  She was trapped. The fear was like a tidal wave, smothering her to the exclusion of everything else.

  ‘Toby.’ She heard her own anguish. ‘Toby. Luc...’

  ‘Beth?’ It was a nurse, speaking in cool, professional and blessedly grounding tones. ‘It’s okay. You’re safe and so is your son. You’ve been in surgery for a fractured ankle. It’s gone well and now you’re in Recovery. You’re safe, Luc’s safe and so is Toby. I promise.’

  The light settled. She opened her eyes and it really was light, normal light, reassuring light. A nurse was smiling down at her.

  Would she ever get over that fear of darkness?

  ‘It’s okay,’ the nurse said again. ‘They tell me you’ve been in real trouble but you’re safe now. We’ve stabilised your ankle, we’ve cleaned up your cuts and bruises and you’re going to be fine. And I’ve spoken to your Dr Luc. Your ex-husband, they’re telling me? What a dark horse he is, we never knew. I can tell you now, though, whatever’s in your past the reason you married him must still hold true. There’s no one more caring, and right now he’s caring for Toby. They’re up in the ward, waiting for you. As soon as the effects of the anaesthetic fade, we’ll have you with them. So close your eyes now, Beth, and let us care for you.’

  She let the words wash over her for a moment, settle. Luc, caring for Toby. Of course. He would. And because it was Toby she had to be grateful. Again.

  She was. But...

  ‘I don’t think I will close my eyes,’ she whispered. ‘I don’t want the darkness.’

  ‘There’s nothing to be afraid of.’

  You have no idea, Beth said to herself as she absorbed the reality of where she was, the technology-filled surroundings of the recovery suite. With Luc...somewhere. You have no idea of how much reason there is to be very afraid.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  TOBY WOKE BRIEFLY and whimpered as Luc lifted him from his cot. If he’d woken completely and wailed he might have left him where he was, but he was obviously a kid used to a working mum, odd hours, childcare. He didn’t panic. The nurses helped Luc wrap him in soft, cuddly blankets. He had his rabbit. He snuggled against Luc’s shoulder and he slept again.

  Luc carried him back to Beth’s ward—Harriet’s ward—and settled into a visitor’s chair to wait. Toby slept on, peaceful, supremely trustful. Leaving Luc to his thoughts.

  And Luc thought of what Beth had been doing. Working as a family doctor? The difficulties she’d be facing would be enormous, he thought, but to do it with a child...

  Where was the father? As far as he could figure she was on her own, and if she was... Toby must be used to being shared.

  He held him close and he felt...he felt...

  ‘Want to tell me what’s going on?’

  It was Harriet, speaking sleepily from the bed on the far side of the room. ‘Luc? Is that you?’

  ‘It’s me,’ he growled.

  ‘Are you holding...a baby?’

  ‘Toby.’

  ‘Toby.’ She was speaking as if she wasn’t sure where she was going. ‘It’s true, then. One of the nurses said my new roomie is about to be...your ex-wife? She was under the rubble?’

  ‘Beth.’ The whole hospital would know by now, he thought grimly. The grapevine would be in overdrive.

  ‘Beth?’ Harriet was suddenly wide awake. They’d both kept their voices low in deference to the sleeping Toby. The lights were dim. It was a weirdly intimate setting. A place for asking...and telling...secrets? ‘Is she okay?’

  ‘Lacerations, bruises, plus a broken ankle. She was trapped by falling concrete so compartment syndrome was an issue, but she’s had excellent, fast treatment. She’s in Recovery now and the surgery’s gone well.’

  ‘That’s great.’ But Harriet’s voice still sounded cautious. ‘The baby...’

  ‘He’s twenty months.’

  ‘Toddler, then. Is he yours?’

  And that was a stab from left field. It was a question that required a simple no, but as he held the little boy close there were so many mixed feelings...

  Is he yours?

  He wasn’t. He wasn’t anything to do with him. So why did he feel...?

  ‘No,’ he managed. ‘We’ve been apart for eight years.’

  ‘Want to tell Aunty Harry about it?’

  ‘I... No.’

  ‘Hey, that’s hardly reasonable. How much have I told you about me?’

  And he had to concede that was fair.

  He and Harriet had worked side by side in situations that’d be enough to give normal people nightmares. They’d become the best of friends. Once upon a time he’d even asked her out and her response still made him smile. ‘What? Us? It’d be like dating my twin.’

  It was true. Over the years, in the waiting times between crises, evacuating patients together, depending on each other’s skills, they’d become a team, but it wasn’t until these last few weeks that Harriet had talked about her past. And now... It was his turn?

  ‘So you’ve been married?’

  ‘I told you.’

  ‘And your ex-wife is about to share my ward. Is she a monster?’

  ‘No!’ Unconsciously he held Toby a little closer. ‘She’s...an amazing woman.’

  ‘The nurses are saying she’s a doctor.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you split when?’

  ‘I... Eight years ago.’

  ‘So Toby?’

  ‘I have no idea who Toby’s father is. No one at the scene seemed to know. They’re saying she’s a single mum. That’s why we brought him with us.’

  ‘And it’s why the admin staff listed you as next of kin. The nurses told me. Honestly, this is all over the hospital. Luc Braxton’s secret love child. Or not.’ She was eyeing him cautiously and Luc thought she was using him to take her mind off her own troubles. So when she pushed further... ‘Come on, Luc, tell all,’ he finally did.

  ‘Beth and I dated at med school,’ he told her. ‘And then she copped encephalitis, with complications. Optical neuritis. For months she was almost completely blind. She regained some sight but it’s still...not perfect. Not even close. We married and I took care of her, but...she hated it. And it was more than hating the disability. She hated...having to depend on me. I didn’t mind—hell, it was me who took her camping. I probably caused the damned mosquito bite, but she fought me every inch of the way. How many times she burned herself, hurt herself
because she wouldn’t let me help. And then she swore she’d finish medicine. I thought...maybe with help she could get through. She could think about something like psychiatry but she wouldn’t accept her limitations. And now...hell, Harry, she’s been practising as a family doctor. Plus she’s got a kid. What’s she been thinking?’

  ‘Wow,’ Harriet said softly. ‘She sounds like some woman.’

  ‘She’s an independent, stubborn, foolhardy...’

  ‘Yeah, just like me saying I want to go back to Specialist Disaster Response.’

  ‘It’s not the same.’

  ‘No? But then you have a warped view on what you’d do yourself compared to what you expect the rest of the world to do.’

  ‘Harry...’

  ‘Hey, I think I’m going to enjoy meeting your Beth,’ Harriet said, for once sounding almost cheerful. ‘We sound like we’ll get along. Common enemy and all that. Speaking of which, isn’t that the sound of the theatre lift arriving? Pull my curtains, Luc. I’ll try for sleep and leave you to your Beth.’

  * * *

  ‘One, two, three, lift...’

  How many times had she heard that, the phrase used by every paramedic as they shifted patient from trolley to bed, from bed to trolley?

  She’d never heard it referring to her, though. Even when the encephalitis had been at its worst, she’d been able to move herself. She could help.

  Even if Luke hadn’t wanted her to.

  ‘Be careful.’

  And the words from beside her slammed her back to a time past, the warning, the voice, the care that seemed to be swinging its way through the fog of this nightmare night. It was Luc’s voice. Be careful? She held the thought. How could she not be careful when that voice was with her?

  ‘She’s in safe hands.’ It was an older, big-bosomed woman, talking as the nurses plumped pillows under her head and tucked warmed blankets around her. Beth could hear the smile in the woman’s voice. ‘I’m Hilda Heinz, orthopaedic surgeon,’ she told Beth. ‘I should have caught up with you in Recovery but we’ve had a queue. No matter. We’ve done a lovely job on your ankle. It’s beautifully aligned and should heal really well. The team on site did a great job preventing long-term damage through crush injury and I envisage a good recovery. A few days in here until the swelling subsides, a sexy black boot, compliance with rules, a spot of rehab and you’ll be as good as new by Christmas.’

  By Christmas... Three months...

  ‘But not to worry about that now,’ Hilda was saying. ‘All you need to know is that you’re fine. Your surgery’s all done and here’s Dr Braxton holding your little boy. Sound asleep. Oh, what a sweetheart. No, don’t you move. Any pain? No? Excellent. If you have any breakthrough push this button here, PCA—patient-controlled analgesia—you know how it works? Great. The buzzer’s right by your other hand. Dr Braxton, let us know when you leave, and the nurses will take over obs from then.’

  And she whisked away with the nurses, and Beth was left lying in the dim light, trying to regain her bearings.

  Which seemed very shaky indeed.

  ‘Toby...’ That seemed important to say, and Luc gently lifted his bundle across so she was within inches of her little boy’s face.

  He was still sleeping.

  Toby was a doctor’s kid, used to being cared for by others, used to being lifted in the dead of night when she finally finished at the hospital and carried him home.

  When she’d first moved to Namborra it had seemed more than enough that she was finally able to practise medicine. But then, settled, working hard, living within the community, she’d allowed herself to think past her career. Another relationship seemed impossible. After Luc...well, she wasn’t going there again. But a baby...

  And one night she’d talked about it to the elderly doctor she worked with. She’d just given Ron a sky-dive for his seventieth birthday. He was lit from within. After years of struggling with the death of his wife, treating himself as old and useless, he was back in partnership with her. They both had issues, but between them they reckoned they made one and a half very competent doctors. After the sky-dive Ron was ready to declare the one and a half description was an underestimation.

  ‘There’s nothing we can’t do,’ he’d declared. ‘So, Beth, why don’t you have a baby? Use donor semen—whatever? And don’t say you can’t do it alone. You know this whole town will help you.’

  They could. They did, which was why Toby was accustomed to sleeping in strangers’ arms. Which was why Luc could hold him and he didn’t stir.

  Luc... It was eight years since she’d seen him.

  He was a stranger.

  Focus on Toby.

  She wasn’t wearing her glasses, but they wouldn’t help much in dim light anyway. So she did as she so often did. She saw through touch.

  She put her hand out and drew her baby’s face, reassuring herself there were no scratches. No tears. His eyes were closed. His little mouth was still...perfection.

  ‘The rest of him’s great, too,’ Luc said gently as her palm cupped his cheek. ‘The paediatric staff have gone all over him. He’s perfect.’

  Why did that make her want to cry?

  Why did Luc’s voice make her want to cry?

  She had an almost irresistible urge to move her hand from Toby’s face to Luc’s, to let herself feel what was the same, what was different.

  So much was different. She was different. She’d fought for her independence and won, but at what cost?

  ‘Hey,’ he said softly as she closed her eyes and stopped trying to see. ‘Welcome back to the land of the un-squashed, Dr Carmichael. I can’t tell how good it feels to see you on this side of the slab of concrete.’

  She thought about that for a while, and the warmth, the doziness from the drugs, the knowledge that Toby was safe—and, yes, the fact that Luc was beside her—faded into the background as memories from the afternoon flooded back. The noise. The fear...

  ‘What happened?’ she managed. ‘I mean...it was a plane?’

  ‘A cargo plane,’ he told her. ‘Best guess at the moment is that the pilot had some sort of collapse—maybe an infarct. He ploughed along the top of the plaza, bringing the roof down. The concrete pillars supporting the undercover car park folded—that was where you were. The plane then crashed into the sports oval. No one was on the oval.’

  She thought about that for a while. She tried to feel relief, but...

  ‘The pilot?’

  ‘Killed instantly, but maybe he was dead beforehand. That’s up to the coroner to decide.’

  ‘And...’ How hard was it to ask? ‘The plaza? The...the childcare centre?’

  ‘Lots of noise and dust and frightened children. They were trapped for a while but the staff had the sense not to try and shift things to get them out. They’re all safe.’

  ‘There’s more, though,’ she whispered, remembering the crash, the screams, the terror. ‘I know...’

  ‘There is.’ She could hear the reluctance in his voice and she knew he’d tell her. When had Luc been anything but honest? ‘The car park was the worst hit. We’re confirming identities now but the locals were sure even before I got on the chopper with you. As far as we know there were five deaths. Bill Mickle. You know him? The local greyhound trainer? Ray and Daphne Oddie. Farmers in their seventies. A woman called Mariette Goldsworthy, a friend of Ray and Daphne’s from out of town. And Ron. Ron McKenzie.’ His voice grew even more gentle. ‘Ron was killed instantly as he walked down into the car park. They tell me you knew him very well. Another doctor. Your partner? Your friend.’

  ‘Ron...’ The distress she felt was almost overwhelming.

  ‘I’m so sorry.’ Almost unconsciously his hand slipped into hers and held.

  She should pull away. She should...

  She didn’t. He was cradling her son against his chest. He was holding h
er hand. With the little boy between them they made an island of refuge with the baby enclosed, a nucleus of safety and comfort. It was an illusion—she knew it was—but right now she needed it. Soon she’d have to pull away, as she’d pulled away before, but right now her need was too great. Ron...dead. Her best friend.

  She held on for all she was worth.

  ‘You should sleep.’ He said it softly but he didn’t move and she made no effort to let him go. To let the darkness of the night take over.

  The memories were suddenly all around her, that night in hospital so long ago when her world had suddenly grown dark. When Luc had seemed all that lay between her and horror.

  ‘Where’s your family?’ he’d asked then. They’d known each other for such a short time, he hadn’t even known.

  ‘Absent,’ she’d told him, shortly. They were always absent. Her clever parents, super smart. When the gravity of her illness had become obvious, when she’d been unable to see at all, her father had phoned from Zurich, barking instructions to the medical staff, offering to fly her to the States for some super treatment a colleague was researching. Her mother had flown in from Glasgow and spent two days with her, most of which had been spent on the phone, reorganising commitments. Both of them had transferred money.

  ‘You’ll need carers, at least for the short term, and if things don’t improve you’ll need specialist accommodation. Your father and I will both contribute...’

  But Luc had said no such thing. When the time had come for discharge he’d simply picked her up and carried her home. He’d put his studies on hold for six months. He’d cared for her. He’d told her he loved her.

  She remembered the first time he’d said it. ‘I love you.’ Three little words. Her mother signed off emails with the love word all the time.

  Love you, sweetheart. Mum.

  Apart from that... She couldn’t remember anyone using the words. We’re proud of you. That was her parents’ equivalent. They were proud that she was independent, that when she’d been packed off to boarding school aged five she’d coped. They loved that she didn’t need them.

  But Luc... The first time she’d met him her heart had done a crazy backflip with pike, and that feeling had never faded. During that short camping trip she’d kept asking herself, could love happen so fast? And then, when she’d been so ill, he’d never once thought of walking away. He’d held her and he’d loved her and she’d thought he’d be her home for ever. For the first time in her life she’d felt cared for, cherished, safe.