by Ginna Gray
"Everybody but Dirk," Alissa said sadly.
The five weeks that followed Faith's birth were the longest and loneliest of Alissa's life. Not even that long black period after Tom died had been so bleak. The apartment seemed so empty without Dirk's dynamic presence. She was kept busy tending to her daughter, but she missed him terribly, especially at night, alone in the big empty bed they had shared.
Just when she thought things couldn't get worse, his visits stopped.
"There's an epidemic of spring flu," he called to say one afternoon in April. "It's contagious as hell. Half the office staff is out sick. As long as this thing is going around, I think I should stay away. I never get sick, but I've been exposed to so many people who are, I might be carrying the bug. I wouldn't want you or Faith to come down with it."
When Alissa hung up the telephone, she wondered if he wasn't simply using this as another excuse to avoid them.
As it turned out, Dirk's caution was a waste. Alissa caught the flu, but not from Dirk.
Mrs. Appleton took sick on Faith's six-week birthday. By then, Alissa was almost fully recovered from the birth, and she assured Mrs. Appleton that she could manage on her own. Sick and feverish, the elderly woman didn't argue, and she immediately returned to her own home, so as not to infect the baby.
Six days later, Alissa awoke with a scratchy throat.
She gargled with salt water and told herself that it was nothing, but by midday her head was stuffy, her temperature had shot up to a hundred and two, her throat was raw and she ached all over, as though someone had beaten her with a tire iron.
She telephoned Callie in the hope that her sister could give her a hand for a few days, only to discover that three of her sister's children were ill with the flu. Alissa then tried to locate a private-duty nurse, but the bug had hit the city hard, and none were available. Giving up, Alissa tied a mask over the lower half of her face and staggered into the nursery to change her baby's diaper.
The next twenty-four hours were a nightmare. They passed in a feverish haze of achiness and nausea and dirty diapers. To top it all off, Faith, usually the sweetest of babies, screamed constantly.
Unable to breast-feed the child because of her raging fever, which refused to break, Alissa had been forced to give her formula. Faith screeched in protest whenever Alissa stuck the rubber nipple in her mouth, and what little formula she managed to coax down her daughter resulted in colic.
When her sister arrived unexpectedly the next morning, Alissa had not had but two hours of sleep and was almost delirious with fatigue and so sick she could barely stand.
Callie took one look at her and hustled her off to bed.
After making Alissa as comfortable as she could, she left her tossing and turning beneath a pile of covers and, breathing fire, marched into the living room to telephone Dirk at the office.
The instant he picked up the phone, she snapped, "Dirk Matheson, you get yourself home this instant, you hear me?"
There was a beat of silence. "Callie? Is that you?"
"It's me, all right. And if you're not here in five minutes I'm coming to get you. What's the matter with you, anyway? Don't you even bother to check on your wife and child anymore?"
This time Dirk was silent for a full three seconds. Then he barked, "What are you talking about? What's wrong?"
"Alissa has the flu, that's what's wrong. She called to tell me yesterday. She assured me she'd be fine, but I was worried, so I left my sick kids with Roger and came to check on her. And it's a good thing I did. I found her all alone, trying to tend to Faith, and her so sick she can barely stand. She has a raging fever, the apartment looks like a bomb hit it, and in case you're wondering, that screeching you hear in the background is your daughter. My kids need me, or I'd stay, so you'd damn well better get yourself home and see after your family."
"I'll be there in three minutes."
Alissa awoke to find Dirk sitting on the side of the bed with his hand on her forehead, his rough-hewn face taut with worry.
"What are you doing here?" she demanded crankily, frowning. "You don't live here anymore. Remember?"
"Callie called me. Like you should have yesterday, as soon as you started feeling ill. I am your husband, after all."
She made a disdainful sound. "Really? I'm surprised you remembered."
Dirk winced, but he didn't retort.
The snide remark was unlike Alissa, but she felt too horrible to care how grouchy and disagreeable she was being. Her back ached abominably. Groaning and wincing, she twisted onto her side and searched for a comfortable position. "Where is Callie, anyway?" she grumbled.
"She went home to Brenham to take care of her own family."
Alissa bleary eyes popped open. "The baby!" She tried to sit up, but Dirk placed the flat of his palm against her chest and pushed her back down onto the pillow.
"Take it easy. I'm going to take care of you and Faith."
"You? Play Mr. Mom?" Alissa made a croaking sound that was supposed to be a laugh. "You can't even stand to be alone with her. How're you going to handle diapers and bottles and burping?"
"Don't worry about it. I'll manage somehow."
"I had to put Faith on formula. There are bottles in the fridge, and—"
"I know. Callie showed me."
"She doesn't like it," Alissa murmured lethargically, barely able to keep her eyes open. "Has colic. Screams all the time."
"I know. Callie explained about that, too. If I have any trouble, I'll call her or the pediatrician." Alissa gave a weak snort, and twisted again. Dirk got up and moved around to the other side of the bed and started rubbing her back.
"You'll get the flu," she protested halfheartedly, then moaned with relief as his hands moved over her.
"Not me. I never catch anything," he said absently, kneading her soft flesh.
"That's disgusting. I hate people like you," she mumbled, and she was soon asleep.
She slept fitfully throughout the rest of that day, and the next. When she was awake she was listless and cranky. Her fever yo-yoed up and down, and every time it spiked she fell into a stupor that teetered on the edge of delirium, which seemed to terrify Dirk. On the advice of their family doctor, at those times he stripped her and bathed her in cool water until the fever dropped and she drifted into a more restful sleep.
In some remote corner of her brain that wasn't baked with fever and was still semifunctional, Alissa was aware of his ministrations, and of him moving about the apartment while caring for the baby.
Distantly she heard Faith's colicky cries after each feeding. The baby seemed especially distressed after the ten-o'clock bottle, and her screams and Dirk's murmurs lasted far into the night.
Alissa's mother's instinct was tormented by the infant's wails, and several times she tried to climb out of bed and go to her, but she simply did not have the strength.
In the wee hours of the morning, when Dirk finally managed to quiet the baby and settle her in her crib, he climbed into bed beside Alissa so that he could tend to her during the night when she grew restless.
On the afternoon of the third day, Alissa's fever broke, and she sank into a deep sleep, her exhausted body seeking healing oblivion.
Sometime after midnight she awoke with a start. For several moments she lay there and tried to think what had awakened her, aware that something was different, something she couldn't quite put her finger on.
Then it dawned on her; it was quiet. Too quiet.
She sat up in the bed, her heart pounding. She had grown so accustomed to the nightly ritual of Faith's screeching cries that the silence was deafening.
A faint glow filtered into the room through the open door from a light down the hall, in the nursery. The luminous dial of the alarm clock read 2:20. She looked at the other side of the bed, but Dirk wasn't there and the linens and pillow were undisturbed.
Something was wrong.
Pulling on her robe, Alissa climbed out of bed. She wobbled on her feet and had to
hold on to the bedpost for a minute to steady herself. Slowly, holding on to the walls for support, she crept out of the room and down the hallway. In the open doorway of the nursery, she stopped cold.
The sight that met her eyes sent a warm rush of emotions straight to her heart, swelling it until it felt as though it would surely burst. Tears filled her eyes, and she leaned against the door frame and gazed at her husband and daughter with melting tenderness.
In the middle of the room, Dirk sat slumped on his spine in the Boston rocker, sound asleep. His shirt was unbuttoned, and sprawled on her tummy on his naked chest, her tiny fingers clutched in the mat of hair covering it, her cheek nestled over his heart, Faith slept contentedly.
Alissa's chin wobbled, and she pressed the fingers of one hand over her mouth. She was so deeply moved she couldn't breathe.
On wobbly legs, she crossed to the chair. For a moment she simply gazed down at them, her heart overflowing with love. Dirk's head lolled to one side. His hair was tousled and a three-day growth of beard shadowed the lower half of his face. Fatigue had scored deep lines in his face and left smudges beneath his eyes. He looked almost as bad as she surely did.
Smiling tenderly, Alissa smoothed a lock of hair from his forehead, then bent and kissed his cheek.
Dirk stirred. His eyes blinked open, then widened when they focused on her. "What're you—?" He glanced down at the sleeping baby and lowered his voice to a whisper. "What're you doing up?"
"You weren't there when I woke up, so I came to check on you," she replied softly. Her glance flickered to their daughter. "It looks like you've got the magic touch."
A self-conscious half smile twisted Dirk's mouth. "Callie said to warm her tummy when she got colicky. This seemed to work best."
"Oh, my love." Alissa sank down on her knees beside the rocker. Clasping his hand, she brought it to her face and rubbed her cheek against the back, looking up at him with shining eyes. "I hope you realize that you have the proof you wanted now."
"What are you talking about?"
"Don't you see? Nothing can try a person's patience and get on their nerves more than a shrieking child, yet for three days you have taken care of our fussy baby and me, and you've done it with love and gentleness."
An arrested look came over his face. "I … I hadn't thought about it that way."
"Let me ask you something. Did you lose patience and get angry with her, even once?"
He shook his head. "No. I was just worried."
"Were you ever tempted to relieve your frustrations with violence?"
"Of course not!" he snapped indignantly. The baby stirred at his angry tone, and he patted her little bottom. "It wasn't her fault she was in pain."
"There you go, then. It seems that all your worrying was for nothing."
"Do you really think so?" He looked at her with so much hope in his eyes, she wanted to weep.
"I'm sure of it." Alissa turned his hand over and placed a warm kiss in his palm, her gaze locked lovingly with his. "It's time for you to come home, my love. We can continue the sessions with Dr. Houghton, if that will set your mind at ease, but I'm certain that everything will work out just fine. You've broken the circle of violence that has haunted your life, my darling. Now, together, we will replace it with a circle of love."
Dirk gazed looked down at his sleeping daughter, then at his wife. He hooked his hand around Alissa's nape and rocked forward until their lips met. The kiss was long and loving, a tender avowal, and when it ended Dirk leaned his forehead against Alissa's and whispered, "Thank you."
"For what?" she whispered back, stroking his cheek.
"For loving me. For being my wife." His intense eyes looked deep into hers, blazing with love. "For being my own special miracle."
* * * * *
Dear Reader,
In a way, this story was inspired by my husband. At least, my basic idea for a conflict came from him—that of a hero who is reluctant to have children because he is worried that he won't make a good father. In my husband's case, he was twenty-nine when we married, and he had no experience with children. Never mind that he became a super stepfather to my seven-year-old daughter, he continued to doubt that he was right for such an important role. Of course, when our daughter was born, he turned out to be an absolutely wonderful dad, which came as no surprise at all to me. We women know that it is the men who concern themselves with such matters who make the best fathers.
However, one day, remembering how my husband had worried so needlessly, I started wondering what it must be like for a man who truly has a reason to worry. Say, for instance, that he'd been abused as a child. We've all read that abusers were usually abused themselves as children. Their only experience with parenting is what they learned from their own parents, and thus the destructive behavior is passed on from generation to generation.
What if he escaped his abusive home and worked hard to become an educated, successful man and a caring human being, yet, years later, the specter of his childhood still haunts him? What if he likes children and yearns for a family but, afraid of putting another child at risk, has decided that the only sure way to end the vicious cycle of abuse in his family is not to father a child?
What if he then falls in love with a woman who yearns to have children?
With that scenario, the possibilities were rich and varied for a heartrending story of conflict and desire, and the healing power of love, and my imagination took flight.
I hope, dear reader, that you are prepared for an emotional roller-coaster ride as you go with our heroine in search of Alissa's Miracle.
Happy reading!