The funeral will be held on Friday, July 12 at St. Bastille Cathedral in Paris. A scholarship trust fund has been set up in Dr. Alexandre Sinclair’s name. Online condolences can be …
No. It can’t be true. No. No. Kalia’s hands shook. Alexandre was so young. So full of life. No. Please God. Tremors racked her body as she read the obituary again.
“I love you.” She crumpled in the chair. “Don’t leave me.”
Non-Hodgkin lymphoma. Oh Alexandre.
He hadn’t said a word. I can’t make promises for tomorrow, he’d said. She’d assumed there was someone else. But that wasn’t it at all. Ten months ago. Had he known when he’d met her? Had he found out after the conference? Had he needed her?
It was just too sad.
And now she’d never have the chance to tell him about the baby. Her chest tightened as guilt ripped through her. She had decided to wait until the baby was born and then contact him. She’d wanted him to know. She’d wanted to be a family. She’d played God and made the decision to wait. If something had happened and the baby had died before it was born, she hadn’t wanted to bother him.
Oh my God, how could she have thought that? She hadn’t wanted to bother him with the fact that he had a child? What had she been thinking? Her breath caught on a sob and tears silently streamed down her face. What had she done? “Alex, I’m so sorry,” she whispered.
Her fingers shook as she turned to her computer and started looking up flights. She had to go. She had to say good-bye. She tried to wipe away the tears that blurred her vision so she could read the screen, but she just couldn’t do it. She laid her head in her arms and cried.
“Kalia. What’s wrong?” Krista walked in with an armload of groceries and found Kalia slumped at her desk, sobbing. She set the groceries on the counter and rushed over to wrap her arm around Kalia’s trembling shoulders. “What’s wrong? Is it the baby?” she asked gently, helping Kalia up and guiding her to the sofa. She looked at Kalia’s pale face, tears streaming down, and tightened her hold as Kalia shuddered.
Kalia looked at her blankly and tried to speak but buried her head in Krista’s shoulder, sobbing harder.
“Hey, it’s okay. Shhh.” Krista’s gut clenched. She rubbed Kalia’s back. “Are you in pain? In labor?”
Kalia shook her head.
Krista rested her hand on Kalia’s abdomen and felt the baby kick. Reassured, she held Kalia quietly until her sobs slowed and her breathing hitched.
“Try deep, easy breaths, Kalia. Just in and out,” she said soothingly. Krista looked over at the computer, wondering what had set this off. She had been one of the first people Kalia had told about the pregnancy. She had accompanied Kalia to the prenatal classes, had been there for the ultrasound, and had tagged along to some of the physician visits.
She spoke with Kalia every day and had marveled at her calm and patient acceptance of all the changes that were happening. Kalia had seemed so sure about her decision to keep the baby and become a parent. She had been excited to move into the little house and was immersed in the decorating and organizing – in the nesting. She hadn’t seemed stressed or at least no more stressed than any new mom-to-be. She took care of herself – ate well, slept, exercised, read. She seemed so together.
Kalia looked up. “I n-n-need to g-g-go to Paris.” She hiccupped.
“Okay,” Krista said slowly, handing Kalia a tissue. “After the baby’s born, maybe the three of us could travel there together.”
Kalia looked up, alarmed. “No,” she said, her voice rising. “I need to go this week. For Friday.”
Hello, the due date was what? Less than a week away? No airline, or doctor for that matter, would allow travel this late in a pregnancy. She looked at Kalia’s tear-streaked face. Don’t upset the pregnant lady. “Why do you need to go this week?” Krista asked as she rubbed Kalia’s back.
“To say good-bye,” Kalia sobbed.
“To say good-bye?” Krista echoed. What about email, texting, a quick phone call? “I don’t understand. Why do you need to travel to Paris to say good-bye?”
Kalia tried to speak but couldn’t. She pointed to the computer.
Krista walked over and sat down. She toggled the mouse and read the obituary, then looked over at Kalia. “Who is this?” she asked slowly.
“Th–the father.” Kalia wiped her eyes.
Kalia had never mentioned the father, and Krista hadn’t pressured her for answers. “And you found out that he passed away. You just read this?”
Kalia nodded again, with fresh tears running down her cheeks.
“Oh Kalia. I’m so sorry.” She closed the laptop and returned to the sofa. She gathered Kalia in her arms and held her close. “I’m so sorry,” she repeated, her heart aching.
She imagined how she would feel if anything happened to Kalia. She didn’t love her like a sister and wasn’t just a friend. She loved Kalia … well, like a lover. She had loved her for a long time.
They had known each other since high school and had been best friends. They had hung out together and double dated.
She had always wondered, but about three years ago, she had embraced the fact that she was gay. In the past, she had dated men and enjoyed them, but it never fit. For her. She’d suppressed the feelings for a long time but had never quite felt whole.
Until she finally had the nerve to join the LGBTQ community at university. The group had literally saved her. It wasn’t easy, and she must have walked by the meetings a dozen times before she had the courage to go in and introduce herself. But then, being gay had felt so right. She could be herself and enjoy the company of other women.
She dated women now and felt whole and alive and well. Except she hadn’t come out to her family or friends. She wasn’t ready for that and wasn’t sure if she ever would be. She hoped someday. But it wasn’t yet. So she had never mentioned it to Kalia.
When Kalia had called and told her about the baby, Krista had ached to be a part of this new family. She loved Kalia. She pictured herself with Kalia and the baby, in the new little house, like a real family, with a baby to love and take care of. It would be so perfect.
So she’d never asked about the father. She hadn’t wanted to know that Kalia still loved him or that he might come and take her place in the family or take the baby away. She hadn’t wanted him to upset her dream.
She had wondered if Kalia even knew who the father was. He was never mentioned. Ever. Krista just assumed that Kalia didn’t know and didn’t care. And that was good.
But obviously this wasn’t good. Kalia obviously did have feelings for him. Maybe it was just the shock of learning about his death through an email. That was brutal, almost cruel. She looked at Kalia and stroked her hair in comfort. It was heartbreaking to see someone she loved so distressed.
“C-c-could you look into booking a flight for me? Please,” Kalia asked quietly.
Krista wiped away the tears on Kalia’s cheeks and sighed. “Kalia, they won’t let you fly at this late stage of your pregnancy. The airlines have rules about that.”
Kalia looked at her with wide eyes. “But I have to go. I have to.”
Krista felt her own eyes tear up. “I’m sorry, love. I don’t think you can. You’re due any day now. I could call the airline, but I’m almost certain they won’t allow anyone over thirty-six weeks on a commercial flight. The risk of delivering is too high.”
Krista watched, worrying, as Kalia’s tear-streaked face went paler still.
“I can’t go?” Kalia asked in a daze, staring out into space.
“No,” Krista whispered, rubbing Kalia’s hands. “When’s the last time you spoke to him, Kalia?”
“Umm … the night we made love.”
“Did you try to contact him when you found out you were pregnant?”
“No. No, I didn’t.” Kalia’s breath hitched. “I was going to. I meant to. I was planning on waiting until the baby was born. I thought it would be better to wait, to, you know, make sure everything t
urned out okay. Then I would tell him.” It was a moment before she could speak. “Didn’t really factor in that he might die in the meantime,” she whispered. “I’ve missed him so much. He told me he could only give me one night. He didn’t explain why, and I didn’t ask. I wanted one night. I’ve tried to get on with my life. And having to deal with the pregnancy, a new place, that helped.” She wiped away tears with the back of her hand. “But, God, I missed him. I couldn’t wait for the baby to be born because then I was going to contact him. I didn’t want to jinx anything–” She winced. “I know, it sounds stupid when I say it out loud now, but I didn’t want to, I don’t know, create a big hoopla–” she waved her hand in the air “–for nothing.
“I didn’t have the chance to say good-bye that night, and I won’t have the chance to say good-bye now.”
Krista gathered Kalia close. Some day she hoped Kalia would feel that deeply for her.
She brushed hair from Kalia’s face. “When I was ten years old, my grandmother died. For most of my life, she lived with us for half the year and with her sisters in England for the other half. She died when she was in England. My mom went over for the funeral, but it was too expensive for all of us to go. I missed her something fierce, and my mom suggested I write a good-bye letter to her. Tell her the things I would have said if I’d had the chance when she was dying. It really helped.
“Maybe you don’t have to go to Paris to say good-bye. Maybe he …” She waved at the computer.
“Alexandre,” Kalia supplied.
“Maybe Alexandre can hear you. Maybe you could write a letter with everything you want to tell him. Like a long-distance email.” She rubbed Kalia’s back.
Kalia sniffed. “I like that idea.” She rested her head on Krista’s shoulder. “Do you think that when people die, they become angels and watch over us? That they see what we do and hear what we have to say?”
“I think so. I like to believe it. Otherwise, it’s too sad to think they won’t be a part of our lives. I don’t know if I believe that they talk to us, but I think they keep an eye on us – sort of like guardian angels.”
Fresh tears ran down Kalia’s cheeks. “I hope so, too. I really hope so.” She swallowed. “I want Alex to know I loved him. That I love this baby and that he has a son or daughter,” she said, her voice hitching. “I could really use a guardian angel.”
“Write a letter,” Krista encouraged.
“Uh, Krista?”
“Yes, love?”
“I think my water just broke.”
Chapter 8
Krista leaned back in the visitor’s chair, holding the little bundle swathed in blue. Only the tiny face was visible.
Kalia sat on the edge of the hospital bed, dressed and waiting impatiently for permission to go home. “Why is it that it takes longer to be discharged than it does to deliver a baby?”
“I think most women spend longer than four hours in labor,” Krista said with a wince. “I really didn’t think you were going to make it to the delivery room.”
After Kalia’s water broke, things had happened pretty quickly. By the time they’d started timing the contractions, they’d gone from five minutes apart to two. Krista’s mantra during the twenty-minute drive to the hospital became “Don’t you dare deliver in the car.” Kalia had been more than happy to oblige, but had pointed out that it might not be within her control. Luckily, they had made it to the hospital, and shortly after the obstetrical nurse examined Kalia, Dr. Finn had arrived to deliver the baby.
A boy. Six pounds seven ounces. Twenty-three inches long. Absolutely perfect in every way.
“Have you considered what you’re going to name him?” Krista asked, eyeing the bassinet labeled Baby Boy Beck.
“I’ve thought about it,” Kalia mused. “It’s really hard to find a name that doesn’t conjure up the image of a boy I once knew and don’t want to be reminded of. My brother was named after my dad, and he’ll probably want to pass that name onto his son, when the time comes. I was thinking of naming him after my mom.”
“You want to name your son Geneviève?”
“No.” Kalia smiled. “Her maiden name is Mani. I was thinking of calling him Mani. What do you think?”
Krista looked at the little bundle she was holding. “I like it. And I bet your mom will love the idea.”
“I was thinking of Alexandre for his middle name. He looks like Alexandre,” Kalia said quietly, her eyes watering.
Alexandre was pale, bald, wrinkled, and smelly? Probably not what Kalia meant. She rested her hand on Kalia’s shoulder and squeezed.
Krista had had a moment during the labor and delivery. Sure, it was hard on the mother, but the partner watching? Oh. My. God. She had felt absolutely helpless. The one she loved had been in pain, significant pain. Blood had been everywhere. She could not believe the size of the baby after it slithered out. To think it was curled up inside of Kalia. Krista wondered why anyone would have a second child. Going through one birth was enough to last her a lifetime, thank you very much. And she wasn’t the one in stirrups.
“Here, give him to me and I’ll change him,” Kalia said, holding out her arms.
Krista handed her the baby, and Kalia hugged him close. Her decision to have him had been so absolutely right.
Her love for this tiny being was so huge. A baby boy. He was so adorable. Tiny fingers that didn’t even wrap all the way around her finger. Tiny toes. The cutest little ears and a button nose. Just the scantest amount of fine dark hair.
The pediatrician had already been in that morning. He had given the okay for the baby to go home and had transferred the well-baby care to Dr. MacMillan. They were just waiting on Dr. Finn.
Kalia unwrapped the blanket and focused on changing him, fumbling a little as she fit the tiny diaper around his waist. She set aside the little hospital gown and pulled out the pale yellow sleeper she had brought for the trip home. Mani looked at her with sleepy eyes as she slipped it on him and zipped it up. Wrapping him snuggly back in the blanket, she eyed the car seat, wondering how it was going to work.
At a knock on the door, Kalia looked up. Dr. Mikaela Finn walked in with Dr. Margo MacMillan close behind.
“Hi, Kalia, Krista.” Mikaela smiled at them both. “Sorry I’m late.”
“Oh, I’m the one who should apologize,” Margo said with a wince. “She was waiting for me to pick her up. I had car trouble and had to borrow my husband’s car. It needed gas, and he had his ball hockey gear taking up most of the back seat. And then, to top it off,” she said, her voice escalating, “I ended up behind a green van.”
Mikaela chuckled and winked. “Don’t get her started on green vans. I think we made up some time in Trace’s ’Vette, though,” she said, tongue-in-cheek. “Until we got stopped for the speeding ticket.”
Margo looked sheepish. “Don’t tell Trace. I’m always bugging him about going too slow.”
Mikaela laughed and bumped her shoulder. “My lips are sealed.” She peered at the bundle in Kalia’s arms. “He looks content. Are you ready to go home?”
“Yes. Not that I don’t like it here,” Kalia said. “But I can’t wait to get home.”
“I’ve felt that way on occasion, too,” Mikaela said with a wide smile. “Do you have any questions?”
“Not really. The pediatrician came by and examined the baby and said he was healthy. I’m a bit sore, but I assume that’s natural.”
“Yes. You can use an ice pack or soak in a sitz bath to help. It should settle in a day or two. How’s the breastfeeding going?”
“The nurse was in earlier to help me. I don’t think my milk is in yet, but he seems to latch on well.”
“Good.” Mikaela nodded. “It may take a few days. I’ll arrange a home visit with a nurse in the next couple of days to make sure it’s coming along. And I’d like to see you again in the office in six weeks for a check-up.”
Kalia nodded and stroked Mani’s cheek.
“It’s normal to feel a little ov
erwhelmed, Kalia,” added Margo. “You’re recovering and the baby’s settling. If you have any concerns, give my office a call. I’d like to see him again in two weeks. We can weigh him and make sure everything is on track.”
“Sounds good. Thanks for everything. Both of you.”
“You’re welcome. He’s a beautiful baby. Enjoy.” Mikaela and Margo said their good-byes and left the room.
“Okay, I guess we’re set to go,” Kalia said to Krista, taking a deep breath.
Kalia set the sleeping baby in the car seat, adjusted the straps to suit his tiny frame, and clicked him in securely. She handed him to Krista and grabbed her overnight bag. “I hope he sleeps until we get home.”
Krista brought the car around, and they snapped and belted the car seat in place. Kalia got in beside the baby in the back seat, and Krista drove. As they pulled out of the hospital parking lot, the baby opened his eyes and started to whimper.
By the time they arrived home, Mani was screaming at the top of his lungs. His little face was red and the cries continuous.
“Well, we know his lungs are fine,” Krista said, covering one ear with her hand. “What is wrong with him?”
“I think he’s hungry,” Kalia replied, biting her lip. “I should have fed him before we left, but I thought we could make it home. Hold on little fella,” Kalia crooned, rubbing Mani’s chest and hands. “We’re almost home.”
“Holy cow. For a little guy he sure makes a lot of noise,” Krista said as she pulled into the driveway.
As soon as the car stopped, Kalia unbuckled her own seat belt, unfastened the baby’s, and lifted the car seat out. The cries subsided as she hurried into the house, threw off her jacket, and undid the straps holding him in. He’s so light, she thought, as she lifted him, carefully supporting his head, and took him up to the nursery.
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