“Oh, baby. It’s okay, sweetheart,” I murmured, running my thumb over her cheek.
Her voice was hoarse and low, the narcotics coursing through her veins, ebbing the pain but also her coherency. “What happened to Nicholas?”
“He’ll survive.” Unfortunately. I looked at the floor before turning my gaze back to her, making a promise I was sure of, though I didn’t really know why. “He’ll never hurt you again, Melanie. It’s over.”
“Thank you,” she whispered. Even though she was slowly sinking into oblivion, her eyes were intense and without disillusion. “I heard you.”
She heard me.
I called out my own appreciation to whatever power it was that led us and brought us together the first time and then again. The one that bound us, the energy that fought for us no matter what obstacles we had to overcome.
I smiled down at Melanie and squeezed her hand, knowing I would never be able to grasp the depth to which I was bound to this woman. “I heard you, too.”
Her eyes fluttered closed, though her grip remained firm in mine.
The curtain rustled and a doctor emerged, introducing himself as Dr. Anderson. He was tall and thin, his dark brown hair meticulously combed to the side, his eyes framed by metal-rimmed glasses. Melanie never stirred during his examination. I watched over his shoulder, clearly making him nervous, but I was certain he would be more thorough if he knew I was paying attention to everything he did.
“I’m going to have a plastic surgeon come down and suture these two lacerations,” he said, pointing to the one on her eyelid and the one under her chin, “and I’ll suture the one in her mouth. The rest are just superficial. We’ll also get a CT scan to make sure she’s not having any swelling from the trauma to the back of her head and an x-ray of her chest and upper extremities, but from my exam, I’m guessing they’ll be negative. Other than that, she looks okay.”
The whole time they worked on her, I stayed by her side, her small hand held in mine. My spirit sang with hers, calming her, promising her she was safe, assuring her she would be fine.
I was certain Melanie’s body would heal easily but feared her worst scars would be from the emotional damage Nicholas had inflicted on her over the last nine years.
When they wheeled Melanie’s sleeping form out of the ER and down the hall to get her CT and x-rays, I sank heavily down in the chair, resting my head against the wall with my eyes shut. I was absolutely exhausted. I began to doze when a light tapping on my shoulder startled me. The same nurse who had tended to Melanie looked down at me apologetically. “Sir, there are police outside who need to speak with you.”
I raked my hands over my face, trying to wake myself. Two officers stood just outside Melanie’s room, talking quietly as I approached them. “I’m Daniel Montgomery. You needed to speak with me?”
“We need to ask you a couple of questions.”
I answered each of their questions as honestly and as straightforwardly as I could, feeling only slightly uncomfortable when they asked about my relationship with Melanie. I could only imagine what they were thinking when I told them of our affair and the events that had led up to this afternoon. They had no idea about our past. They knew only that Melanie had been unfaithful to her husband. No matter what the circumstances, though, Nicholas had no right to hurt her, so I just answered the detectives and hid nothing.
Thankfully, they saw it the same way, another cut-and-dry case of domestic violence. It was obvious who the aggressor had been in the situation, and they promised me Nicholas would be charged as such.
I wandered back to the chair, finding a few moments more rest before they brought Melanie back. She was alert, one side of her face drawn in a small smile when she saw me, though she held herself rigid, guarding herself from moving in a way that would elicit a reaction to her wounds.
“Hi.” She reached for me and I wrapped her up in my arms, careful not to cause her more pain, though she seemed to need my touch more than the caution I was trying to impart by not getting too close to her.
“Hey, beautiful. How are you feeling?” I leaned in to kiss her, so lightly my lips barely brushed against hers.
“Sore,” she swallowed, clearing her throat. “But I’m okay.”
We both jumped when Dr. Anderson rushed in. “So, all your imaging was clear. Nothing’s broken and there’s just a small amount of swelling around your brain, nothing to be too concerned about, but we are going to go ahead and admit you so we can keep an eye on you overnight.”
I trailed behind them as they moved her upstairs to the third floor. The sign indicating Newborn Nursery 5th Floor jumped out at me among the fourteen others.
I still couldn’t believe this had happened. I thought Melanie and I would have time by ourselves at home, time to talk and decide how we were going to handle this, time to plan. Now I’d run out of time and I was a father.
As much as I needed to tell Melanie, I didn’t have the heart to do it. I could almost see the sadness that would cloud her eyes even though her words would be filled with soft encouragement and hope for my future.
She was falling asleep by the time they had her situated in her room. The words were garbled and slurred together as she muttered, “Love...you...Daniel,” her tongue numbed by the meds, her mind lulled into a false tranquility.
“I love you forever.” I kissed her forehead and drew her covers up under her arms and tucked them tightly around her body, hoping they would provide her some comfort while I was away. With heavy feet and a wary heart, I trudged from her room, knowing I could no longer put off the inevitable. My hand shook uncontrollably when I reached out and pressed my index finger to the five, and I held my breath as the elevator lifted me the two short floors.
Chapter Twenty-seven
It felt as if I were in the middle of a whirlwind when I stepped out onto the floor. Everything was calm and serene except for the funnel cloud that swirled around me as the energy snarled and crackled. It was as if I were walking through a field of land mines, not knowing which step would trigger the end but knowing it would come. Feelings of regret and fear and grief circled in an endless cycle. What made it worse was that every painful memory of my life came back to originate in a place so similar to this.
My legs became weak when the glass window came into view. Infants’ beds were pushed up against it with each baby’s name proudly displayed above its tiny head. I tried to focus on the names, but my vision was blurry, my mind rejecting that one of these children belonged to me.
“Sir, may I help you?” A woman in her late thirties looked at me, concerned. “Do you need to sit down?”
“I, uh...I...” I looked at her with a blank expression, having no clue what my own son’s name was. “I’m here to see Baby Montgomery...or Levy?”
Fuck.
I didn’t even know his last name.
“And your relation to him?”
I choked as I forced it from my mouth. “Father.”
She punched a couple of things into her computer.
“He’s in his mother’s room. I need to see some identification so I can sign you in.”
I handed her my license and watched as she printed out the bracelet and secured it to my wrist. I thanked her quietly and turned away, fingering the label that titled me the father of “Baby Boy Montgomery.”
I plodded down the hallway, each step forced. I felt ill as I stood in front of Vanessa’s room. Using my hand to brace myself against the wall, I tried to come to terms with meeting a son I did not want. It was time to be the man my mother always praised me to be—the man my father had taught me to be—no matter how much I wanted to neglect this responsibility. I took a deep breath and pushed the door open.
I stood in the doorway unable to move as the shrill cries of a newborn infant hit me full force. The child was on his back in the small plastic hospital crib, screaming uncontrollably. Vanessa was in bed, a pillow over her head, trying to drown out his incessant call.
“What
the hell is wrong with you?” I spat out, almost unaware I had taken the four steps needed to bring me face-to-face with my son for the very first time.
I barely registered Vanessa’s voice as she whined, “He won’t stop crying,” this tiny person demanding all of my attention. He was dressed in a little white shirt that wrapped around him and snapped in the front, the long sleeves covering his arms. In his hysterics, one hand had broken free of the folded end meant to cover it. His face was pinched and beet red—and absolutely beautiful. The reality of who he was knocked the air from my lungs.
My son.
I shook my head, trying to make sense of what I felt when I looked at this precious child.
I swallowed hard and tentatively reached an unsteady hand out to take hold of his little fist, prying his fingers open to keep him from scratching his face. He instantly reacted and wrapped those same little fingers around my index finger, jerking his mouth toward my hand. The poor little thing was starving.
I gathered all my courage and scooped him up. His cries quieted when he found safety in my arms. I made sure he was secure in one arm, holding him close to my chest as I fumbled around with the other hand to grab the bottle in his bed. I lowered us into the chair. Carefully, I protected his head as I shifted him so I could feed him. I found myself making little cooing noises, shushing him, whispering, “It’s okay, little man,” against the thin material of the cap that covered his head.
He made grunting noises as he adjusted himself to the feel of the bottle in his mouth, and he began to suck. He fell into a rhythm, taking a few gulps and then stopping to catch his breath.
I wanted to look away and ignore the way he tugged at my heart, but his call was irresistible.
With the bottle balanced between my chin and chest, I pulled the little cap from his head, exposing his thin, blond curls. I ran my hand through the soft fine strands, twisting them in my fingers, quivering with the warmth that sped through my veins.
He released a satisfied heavy breath from his nose and snuggled into my side, still suckling, but at a less fevered rate. I ran the tip of my finger around the shell of his ear and over his cheek. His newborn skin felt like velvet from the soft, protective fuzz that covered every inch of him. His legs were long and thin but, at the same time, plump and healthy. I removed one of his socks so I could see his toes, grinning at how big his foot seemed compared to the rest of him. Cupping the whole thing in my hand, I gently squeezed. He pushed back into my palm, the little muscles in his legs flexing their strength.
He was perfect.
With the bottle nearly gone, his mouth had fallen lax, and I pulled it away and set it aside. I turned him to rest against my shoulder. He stretched, his little bottom sticking out and his legs curling up underneath him, his red lips forming a tiny “O” as he expelled a small yawn.
I couldn’t help but nuzzle my nose in the crook of his neck, smelling his soft, clean scent as I patted him on the back and coaxed the bubble from deep within his belly.
His breathing evened out and he fell asleep quietly panting. When his hand came up to rest on my cheek, I nearly fell apart. I brought it to my mouth and placed a gentle kiss against his palm, murmuring, “I love you,” into the delicate skin, shocking myself with my own revelation.
Once I had admitted it, I was unable to keep back the torrent of love that came gushing forth from some unknown reservoir. I never thought I could feel this away again. I had always believed that if I allowed myself to love another child the way I loved Eva, it would somehow diminish the devotion I had for her. But my love for her still burned bright, and I would never forget her, the child who had touched me so deeply. She could never be replaced. I would love her forever, just as I would love her brother forever.
I kissed his head as he slept against me, rocking him slowly. We sat like that for what seemed hours. With each passing minute, I fell further and deeper in love with him. Our spirits learned the other, our hearts melding together. I was bound to him for eternity. He was mine, and I would never let him go.
I didn’t try to engage Vanessa and allowed her to sleep, something she so obviously needed.
Two faint, timid knocks sounded at the door. Dad peeked his head in, an apologetic grimace on his face. “I hope we’re not interrupting. We hadn’t heard from you in a long time, and we were getting worried.”
I smiled at him in reassurance, gesturing with my head for him to enter. The door opened wide. It was not surprising that his hand was firmly intertwined with Mom’s, both of them nervous as they entered the small room. They stopped abruptly when they found me with my sleeping son cradled in my arms. My eyes were red and swollen from the tears I’d shed, this new love un-contained and dancing on my face. Mom and Dad had had no idea what to expect when they found me in this room, but from the relief that poured from them, it was clear that this was what they’d hoped for.
Mom confirmed it when she began crying as she walked toward me and kissed me on the side of my head.
“I knew this would happen.” She beamed down at me, then extended the same love-filled gaze to my son as she caressed the small of his back. “He’s absolutely beautiful, Daniel. Oh, my goodness, he looks just like you.”
I nodded in agreement. He looked exactly like my newborn pictures that Mom so proudly displayed in the den, so much so that I was certain nobody would be able to tell us apart.
“May I?” she asked, whisking him away with very adept hands. Her tone was sweet and melodic as she spoke, swaying her new grandson in her arms. “Hello, sweetheart. You are just precious, aren’t you?” Dad sidled to them, joining in the slow dance and running the back of his hand tenderly over the swell of the baby’s plump cheek.
She looked at down on me, curious. “Does he have a name yet?”
Vanessa may very well have named him, but I had no clue. For some reason though, I thought not. Everything I’d seen so far had only given him the title of “Baby Boy Montgomery.”
I shrugged, inclining my head in Vanessa’s direction. “We haven’t talked about it yet.” I figured that was honest enough. If she had named him without me, that was my own fault. I hadn’t been here for his birth, and I figured I’d pretty much given up that right. I would be okay with whatever she chose.
They both turned at once toward her as if they hadn’t even noticed she was there. Mom had never even met her, and I could see curiosity burn in her as she stared down at her grandson’s mother. Vanessa lay with her back to us, completely still—too still. It was obvious to all of us that she was no longer asleep.
I really couldn’t hold it against her. I couldn’t begin to imagine how uncomfortable she must feel, witnessing such an intimate exchange by a group of people she didn’t know, our only link to her found in the blood that ran through the child.
Reticent, Mom handed my son back to me, mindful of the glaring unease Vanessa was experiencing with their presence. “I love you, Daniel. And you, too, little man. I’ll see you both in the morning.” Her eyes were damp, filled with joy.
Dad kissed my baby’s forehead before clapping me lightly on the back. “Call me if you need me.” His simple words always meant so much more.
“I will...and thank you.”
They smiled warmly and left the room. The door swung closed behind them and left me alone with my son and his mother. Intense pressure weighed down the air in the room. Vanessa’s voice broke through the tension, coarse and muffled by the pillow pressed into her face. “You weren’t here.”
I sighed, readjusting my son and mustering the strength I was going to need to have this very difficult conversation. It was high time we had it, though, because our son deserved that we come to terms, and I knew part of those terms would include me conceding a bit.
I opened my mouth and accepted some of the responsibility, speaking softly to the woman who I still held a great amount of animosity for, but with whom I also shared this amazing child. “I’m sorry. I should have been.”
She sniffled and t
urned her head in my direction, her cheek flat against the pillow. I focused on her. Even in the subdued light of the dim room, the whites of her blue eyes were a shocking crimson from what appeared to be days of crying. There were dark bags under her eyes, her face looked puffy and bloated, her lips cracked. A huge lump formed in my throat, and I nearly choked on my guilt. She looked awful and incredibly tired.
She barely wheezed out, “I needed you,” before succumbing to another bout of emotion that racked her body as she wept into her pillow.
I felt terrible.
“Vanessa,” I tried to comfort her from afar, but had no idea how to do that. I really didn’t even know her and had no idea what she needed to hear. “I really am sorry I wasn’t here. Who was with you?”
Her head snapped up, and she glared at me, yelling, “No one, Daniel! I was alone! I don’t have anybody. I told you that already.”
Cringing at her harshness, I shielded my baby’s exposed ear with the palm of my hand. I bit my tongue to refrain from shouting back at her, trying not to make matters worse. We needed a resolution, and I couldn’t allow this exchange to end the way all the others had.
I focused on my son’s rapid breaths, a reminder of why I was having this conversation.
“I’m sorry, Vanessa. You shouldn’t have had to go through this alone.”
It didn’t seem to placate her, her eyes angry and hurt. “Where were you?”
In the face of such a distraught woman, it occurred to me that lying would probably be a lot easier on her, but I had told her repeatedly that Melanie was my life. She was just going to have to accept it.
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