by Beverly Farr
And waited.
How long should it take? Olivia tried not to think about all the horror stories she'd heard over the years: people who died after routine procedures, medical malpractice.
After what seemed hours, the doctor returned. Smiling. Olivia took a long, deep breath, and the constriction around her heart relaxed. “Amelia's okay?”
“She'll be fine.” The doctor said, “We were lucky. We removed the obstruction without surgery.” She held a clear plastic bag with a round wooden bead inside. “Here it is. Do you want to keep it?”
She looked at the bead. Thank goodness it wasn't from the toy she'd given them. “No.”
The doctor pointed to the narrow opening in the bead. “She was breathing through the center, here. What must have happened, was that it originally blocked her airway on its side. We don't know how far down it went. When you administered the maneuver, it made the bead pop up and out, but she swallowed it again, this time not very far back, and most importantly, with a tiny air passage.”
Amelia's guardian angel must have been working overtime. “Thank you,” Olivia said, knowing that whatever thanks she could express were inadequate. Amelia was safe. Thank you, Lord.
“She'll awake soon. We'll want to observe her for two hours, just to make sure she's fine, and then you can take her home.”
“Thank you.”
Olivia first called Michael, who was relieved, and then called Miss Kate to let her know what had happened.
“I'm so glad she's all right,” Miss Kate said. “But I wonder where she could have gotten a bead. Alexis wore a leather vest with beads once, but that was weeks ago.”
One could go crazy worrying about ‘what ifs.’ “We'll never know.”
“And Amelia isn't one to put things in her mouth. If it had been Linc or Jeff, I would have expected it.”
“We'll be home in a few hours,” she told Miss Kate. “Thank you again for staying with the children.”
“I'm going to put them in their cribs and vacuum the entire house again.”
Olivia smiled faintly. She understood completely. After a scare like this, she'd like to keep them in cribs until they were eighteen.
#
Michael called again that evening. It was reassuring to hear his voice. “How is Amelia doing?”
“She's sleeping peacefully. They all are. The doctor said Amelia's throat may be sore for a day or two.”
“And Linc?”
“Took the last of his antibiotics on schedule.”
“And how are you?” he asked meaningfully.
“A little shaky.” For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Then Olivia said, “Michael, I'm so sorry.”
“You think this was your fault?”
“How can it not be my fault? I was in charge.”
“Wash ran too fast, fell down and needed two stitches over his eyebrow. Is that my fault?”
“Wash got stitches?”
“About a month ago. So far -- knock on wood -- we haven't had any serious accidents. But I have several scars myself. It's going to happen. I fell from a tree and broke my arm when I was seven.”
“Oh, Michael, you poor thing.”
“My poor mother, actually. I think she fainted. One of my neighbors drove us to the hospital.”
How could he sound so calm? Olivia said, “I was terrified today. I'd never used the Heimlich maneuver before. I worried about doing it wrong. Miss Kate thought she should eat something, but I didn't dare --”
“Which was right. Your maternal instincts were kicking in.”
That was nice to hear, but she knew it wasn't enough. Didn't Miss Kate have maternal instincts, too? “So you don't think I'll be an unfit mother?”
“Darling, of course not.” He gave an exasperated sigh. “I wish I was there. I'll be home tomorrow morning and I'll give you a big hug. You were brave and wonderful, and I love you.”
Olivia wiped her eyes. “Really?”
“Yes, really.”
“I love you, too,” she said. She also wished he were there. With his arms around her she wouldn't worry. It was just that life was so uncertain. Amelia’s near-miss made her think of all the other things in life that could go wrong.
#
Wash bit Grant. Olivia rushed to separate them. “No bites,” she said firmly. “People are not for biting.” She picked up a stuffed barn animal. “This is good for biting,” she said and held it up to Wash's mouth. He refused to bite it and looked at her with an enquiring look that seemed to say, “Are you crazy?”
She turned to Grant. “Are you okay?” she asked, and searched his arm to see if she could find teeth marks. But he struggled to get away so he could stagger across the room to the couch.
Jeff came up to her with a big smile. “Dada,” he said in greeting.
“No, I'm Olivia,” she said and wondered if Michael would want his children to call her Mommy. She hoped so.
“Dada,” he repeated.
“Close enough,” she said and gave him a hug. How she loved him. How she loved all of them.
Miss Kate let herself in the front door. “With all the excitement last night, I completely forgot to stop at the grocery store this morning,” she said as she unbuttoned her coat. “I'm so sorry. I know we're almost out of milk.”
Olivia stood up and brushed off her jeans. “Don't worry about it. I'll make a quick run.” She walked to the front hall closet for her jacket. To tell the truth, she'd like to take a break by herself for a few minutes before Michael came back. Amelia had slept through the night and appeared to be perfectly fine that morning, but Linc had woken, waking Wash and Jeff each time. Olivia yawned.
She opened the front door. Right across the street was a large gray van. She wondered if someone on the street had company -- or was remodeling. The blue house on the end of the street had been recently repainted and some yard work had been done. “I’ll be back in a few minutes,” she called to Miss Kate. She closed the door quickly, before any of the children could follow after her.
At the grocery store, she bought milk and bananas, but couldn't remember what else they needed. She checked the aisle with pacifiers, Linc's brand wasn't there, and then wandered past the bakery.
It would be nice to get Michael a cake to celebrate his success with the stockade. Last night he'd told her that they wanted to buy his design. All they had to do now was hammer out the details.
She peered through the glass at the decorated sheet cakes.
She debated whether she should have the clerk write “Welcome Home” or “Congratulations” in red frosting, then decided “Congratulations” was better because it could also refer to their engagement.
And if she was buying a cake, she should get ice-cream as well. As she surveyed the different ice-cream options, she wondered what Michael's favorite ice-cream was. She tried to remember what kind of ice-cream he’d brought to her barbecue, so many months before. How could she be marrying a man without knowing his favorite ice-cream?
They obviously needed to talk more. But, she reminded herself, she knew the most important things about Michael. He was honest, kind, and funny. He was a good father. Intelligent. And of course the fact that she found him amazingly physically attractive didn't hurt, either.
She picked up a carton of chocolate chip ice-cream. Just about everyone likes chocolate chip.
I'll have Shannon be my matron of honor, she thought as she wheeled the grocery cart to the front of the store. While she waited inline, she checked her email on her smart phone. There were links to various popular news stories. She saw one entitled, Contestant is mother of quintuplets.
She smiled. It must be like buying a new car. Once you’ve bought yours, you see all the other identical ones on the road.
She clicked on the link and started reading.
Marielle, currently one of twelve finalists in Super, is the proud mother of quintuplets. There was a photograph of her now, wearing a skin tight, strapless red dress that displayed her thin figur
e, and a picture of her before: heavier with darker, limp hair, pale in a hospital gown, holding five tiny children in her lap.
Marielle was Mary Ellen.
Olivia felt as if she were falling. She continued to read.
The five children are now 18 months old. “Naturally I’d like to keep my private life, private,” the divorced singing sensation said. “But you can imagine how difficult it is to be a single mother with five demanding toddlers.”
The cashier interrupted her. “Will this be cash or charge?”
Olivia handed the cashier her debit card and forced herself to focus on the task at hand. Somehow she got all the groceries into her car. She sat in the driver’s seat and searched on the Internet for more information.
She watched an excerpt of a Denver television station’s program that interviewed Mary Ellen and Michael Claiborne. Although he was definitely tired, Michael looked younger, and he sounded so happy to be a parent. He sat with his arm around Mary Ellen’s shoulder and looked at her with pride and love.
Mary Ellen.
That’s why Michael had frowned when he saw the picture of her on her computer, why he hadn’t wanted to hear her sing.
But why was Mary Ellen acting as if she was the quints’ mother when she’d give up all custody?
Publicity, of course. She couldn’t say that she’d walked away from her children, even if it were true.
Olivia suddenly realized that Michael needed to know what was happening, if he didn’t know already.
She called and texted, but he must have been on the airplane, because he didn’t answer.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Michael whistled as he walked down the airport corridors. In less than -- he checked his watch -- forty minutes, he'd be home again. He passed a florist shop, then turned around and went inside. He'd surprise Olivia with flowers. “Two dozen red roses,” he said, and paid with cash.
“Will you need a card with that?” the clerk asked. Next to the cash register there was a tall rotating stand filled with cards.
“No, I'm going to deliver this in person.”
He carried the box of roses in one hand and his carry-on bag in the other.
He drove up to his house, deep in thought. He wondered how soon he and Olivia could be married. The sooner the better, as far as he was concerned, but Olivia was an old-fashioned girl. She’d probably want a big white dress and a large wedding celebration. He hoped Olivia would let his dad marry them. Maybe tonight they could do a video conference, first with her parents and then with his.
He shifted the gears into park and turned off the engine.
He reached over for the box of roses. When he turned back for the door handle, he saw a man and a woman, each with a microphone and behind them, two men with video cameras. They stood between his truck and the back door of the house.
He opened the car door slowly. “What's the problem?” he asked cautiously. His heart seemed to stop beating. Had something happened to Amelia?
“Are you Michael Claiborne, father of the quintuplets?” the woman asked quickly and shoved the microphone up to his face.
His eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“How did you feel when Marielle left you and the children?”
Marielle? Mary Ellen had always said she'd change her name when she became famous. “No comment,” he said tersely, and walked past the reporters to his back door.
“Is it true that since your divorce she's had no contact with the children?”
“How old are the children now?”
“Do you plan to remarry or attempt a reconciliation with your wife?”
Michael unlocked the door and slammed it shut behind him. He turned the blinds to block the light and keep the reporters from taking pictures through the window. Miss Kate was sitting with a laptop at the kitchen table. He said, “What the hell is going on?”
Olivia came in from the hallway. “Thank goodness you’re home. Did you get my texts?”
“I didn’t check.”
“Apparently someone’s discovered that Mary Ellen is the mother of quintuplets and that’s newsworthy because she’s a finalist on Super.”
Michael swore, then caught himself. “Sorry.” He ran his hand through his hair. “Are the kids okay?”
“Yes. They’re all down for a nap.”
“Have the reporters been harassing you?”
“No. The van has been outside for a day or two, but I didn’t notice it. They must have been waiting for you.”
“Good.” Michael paced back and forth across the kitchen. What to do? What should he do first? “How bad is it?” he asked.
Olivia motioned to the lap top. “There are some news stories, but it’s all a matter of public record. The television interview when the babies were born, your divorce, where you live now.”
He considered the information. “And what about Mary Ellen? Or Marielle or whatever she calls herself.”
“So far, she hasn’t said much, but she implies that she’s taking care of the children.”
“Naturally.” Michael glanced at a string of current pictures of Marielle on the internet. She looked different, as if she’d finally gotten the breast job she talked about.
He took out his phone. There were several calls, texts, and emails that he hadn’t seen. He scrolled through the list. “She wants to talk. ASAP.” He turned off the phone.
“What are you doing? Don’t you want to talk to her?”
“Not now.”
Olivia said, “I guess that’s good to first figure out what --
“Let her wait.”
Olivia frowned. “You’ll have to talk to her some time.”
“Why? She’s only a minor celebrity on a minor show. The media attention will blow over.”
“I disagree. Marielle has an astounding voice. And she’s beautiful in a delicate, yet tough way. She reminds me of a blonde Pat Benatar. I think she’s going to win.”
“Maybe.”
“And I think she’s going to make a ton of money.”
Michael snapped, “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Everything. She’s going to be famous. The fact that she has quintuplets is going to be famous, too.”
“She doesn’t have quintuplets. They’re all mine.”
“But for how long?”
“What does that mean?”
“Talk to her. Find out what she wants.”
He snorted. “I know what she wants. She wants a photo shoot with the babies, showing the world what a wonderful mother she is.”
“Find out.”
“No.”
Miss Kate, who had been listening to this conversation, excused herself. “I’ll go check on the kids and make sure all the curtains are closed,” she said.
Michael waited until Miss Kate had left the room. “I will never let Mary Ellen have access to my children,” he said firmly.
Olivia asked, “Do you think she’d harm them?”
“Not physically, no. She’d ignore them. Use them to further her career.”
“If she becomes rich and famous, she could hire a good attorney and maybe get custody.”
“She signed away her rights.”
“She’s still their mother.”
“Biologically only.”
“That counts for something. Besides, she could argue that she was suffering from post partum depression and didn’t realize what she was doing.”
“Whose side are you on?”
“It’s not a matter of sides. I’m just saying that you need to accept reality. Today your life changed. Your ex-wife is famous and you have to deal with it. If you’re gracious now, you might be able to set your own terms. Keep some control.”
He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You want me to roll over and play dead.”
“No. Just talk to her and see if you can work out a solution.”
Olivia was too nice of a person. She didn’t know Mary Ellen. “She walked out on them. On me.” He realized ho
w weak that sounded and steeled himself. “She had her chance and she blew it. I will never forgive her.”
Olivia sucked her breath in sharply. “Life is too short. Please don’t hang onto the bitterness.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She grew pale. “Maybe I don’t. But I do know that I don’t want to live the rest of my life with an angry man.”
“Are you saying you don’t want to get married?”
“We may need to rethink things.”
Her words rocked him. He felt as if all his dreams were crumbling. Had he ever known Olivia at all? How could she turn on him, undermining him? “And I want a woman who will support me and my decisions.”
“Even when you’re being stupid?”
Michael stiffened at her verbal attack. “Go ahead. Tell me what you really think of me.”
“I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “You’re not stupid. You’re hurt. You’re upset. I understand that. But at some point you have to step back and look at the situation logically. You have to try to make things better, if you can.”
She put her hand on his arm, but he pulled away.
He didn’t want her Pollyanna advice.
“I love you, Michael, whether you believe it or not. I want what’s best for you. I’d like you to salvage some sort of working parental relationship with Mary Ellen if you can.”
“Never.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” She gathered her things and walked to his back door. “Good bye, Michael.”
He didn’t look at her as she left. He was too angry to talk. Just thinking about Mary Ellen, and seeing those pictures, had stirred everything up. He didn’t know what to do about the reporters or how to protect his children. He couldn’t deal with Olivia, too. She expected too much from him.
He went back online to reread and watch all the news.
What should he do next?
Sometime later, Miss Kate returned to the kitchen and asked him what he wanted done with the flowers.
The roses he’d bought for Olivia.
“Throw them out.”
#
Olivia waited for Michael to call. She was certain that once the excitement and initial trauma subsided, he’d come to his senses. He might not choose to contact Mary Ellen, but she was positive he’d call or drop by her house to talk to her. He’d apologize for overreacting and she’d apologize for giving him advice when she didn’t have all the facts. He was right. She didn’t know Mary Ellen or understand their history.