by Gina Wilkins
She couldn’t help wondering if her association with Children’s Connection, which shared board members with the hospital, had something to do with the level of service her family received. She hoped that wasn’t the case, but for Tyler’s sake, she would take any advantage she had.
Several of her co-workers stopped by during the day to see if there was anything they could do to help. None of them stayed long. Because of her unexpected absence, the caseload for the other social workers was increased. In addition to that, there had been several other troubling problems in the agency lately—an attempted kidnapping of one of the babies slated for adoption, a rumored mix-up in the sperm bank of the fertility clinic, a few whispers of involvement with illegal baby trafficking. Even the potential of scandal connected with the foundation was enough to have the board of directors and all the staff on full alert.
Since Laurel was the type to focus intently on her own cases and tended to hurry home to her son as soon as her work was finished, she knew little about the rumors or gossip—only enough to worry her, too.
Children’s Connection performed such a valuable service to childless couples and children in need of homes. Laurel was proud of her association with them, and she refused to believe there was a darker side to the foundation. She tended to agree with some of the other employees that someone was deliberately trying to smear the reputation of Children’s Connection—perhaps someone who had been legitimately turned down as an adoptive parent.
But she couldn’t worry about work issues now, she reminded herself as she rubbed her aching head Saturday evening. She had to concentrate on her child, her family. Even Jackson hadn’t mentioned his business all day, though she suspected concerns about his job had crossed his mind more than a few times.
“Laurel, are you sure you’re okay? You’re looking pretty pale.”
She dropped her hand from her temple and straightened her shoulders. “I’m fine,” she told her mother-in-law, who was sitting in Tyler’s room with her while Carl and Jackson took a break to walk outside. “What about you? You’ve been here all day. Shouldn’t you go home and get some rest?”
“I’ll leave in a little while.” Donna kept her eyes on Tyler’s face. The child was sleeping again, as he had most of the day, a result of the medications being pumped through his IV. “He’s doing well, isn’t he?”
“Yes. The doctor said he’s recovering nicely. In a couple of weeks, he’ll be running and playing again.”
“He’ll have to be careful not to overdo it.”
“I’ve been given detailed instructions about his recuperation.”
“Maybe you should have Beverly stay with you and Tyler for a few weeks after he gets out of the hospital. Just a suggestion, of course.”
“Donna, I don’t need a nanny if I’m going to stay with Tyler full-time—which I will during his recuperation.”
“Yes, but she’s a trained nurse’s aide. She was the one who noticed Tyler’s health problems in the first place, you know.”
Laurel felt the muscles at the back of her neck tense. “Yes, so you’ve pointed out. Repeatedly.”
Donna flushed. “I’m not criticizing you, of course. I’m sure if you had been with him as much as Beverly, you would have seen the signs yourself.”
That comment, of course, only made matters worse as far as Laurel was concerned. “I spend a great deal of time with my son, Donna. I work thirty to thirty-five hours a week. Certainly not that much compared to most working parents. And not nearly as many hours as Jackson works, though I don’t hear you attacking him for not knowing Tyler had a congenital heart condition.”
“I wasn’t attacking you, Laurel. And Jackson works hard because he has a family to support. It’s his responsibility as a husband and father.”
“And my responsibility as a wife and mother is to devote myself entirely to their needs, completely sacrificing my own? Honestly, Donna, what century are you living in?”
Donna started to snap back an answer, but she stopped herself with a visible effort, taking a deep, unsteady breath and holding up her right hand. “We’re both tired. And worried. This isn’t the time to talk about the differences between us. I’m hardly in a position to criticize anyone else’s mothering skills. God knows I’ve made a mess of things myself.”
“You? The perfect mother?” Laurel couldn’t resist saying.
Donna made a sound that seemed to be a cross between a bitter laugh and a choked sob. “Hardly.”
Obviously, this strange conversation had something to do with whatever had been bothering Donna for the past couple of days. Maybe Donna’s uncharacteristically open criticism of Laurel had more to do with her own insecurities than any ill-feelings toward her daughter-in-law. And maybe Laurel should try to reach out to see if there was anything she could do to make things better between them. But as Donna’s hurtful remarks echoed in her aching head, she bit her lip and remained quiet, instead.
Jackson and Carl came back into the unit soon afterward. Laurel thought again about how the hospital had relaxed the ICU rules, allowing families and patients themselves to become more actively involved in their care. As far as Laurel was concerned, it was a change for the better. She wouldn’t have been at all cooperative had anyone tried to keep her away from Tyler.
By Sunday morning, Jackson was becoming almost as worried about Laurel as he was his son. She was pale and drawn, with purple shadows beneath her eyes and a fine tremor in her hands. She hadn’t had a full night’s sleep, or a solid meal for that matter, since Tyler had been diagnosed Wednesday afternoon. The ICU waiting room was no place for a good night’s rest.
He would be relieved when Tyler was moved back into a regular room with a spare bed. The doctor had told them that move could come as early as Monday, and that there was a good possibility Tyler could be home by the following Monday.
When his parents showed up at noon, both still looking a bit more grim than usual, but obviously rested, he drew Laurel aside. “You have got to get some sleep before you collapse. And how many of those antacids have you popped today? You need food—real food, not the quickest thing the cafeteria serves.”
He watched as Laurel dropped the hand with which she had been rubbing her forehead, an obvious indication of a headache. She’d been rubbing that same spot on and off ever since Wednesday. “I’m—”
“You’re not fine,” he interrupted before she could finish her stock reply. “You’re wiped out. Let me take you home for a few hours while Mom and Dad are here to sit with Tyler.”
Her face took on that mulish expression he recognized all too well. “No, I—”
“Laurel.” Jackson placed both his hands on her shoulders and looked directly into her eyes, ignoring the few other people sitting in the ICU waiting room. “Tyler is recovering even more quickly than the doctors expected. He enjoys being with my parents. He’s still sleeping most of the time, anyway. He’ll be okay without you for a couple of hours. You have to get some rest or you aren’t going to be in any shape to take care of him when he goes home next week.”
Her chin rose. “I can take care of my son.”
“I have every confidence in that. But you have to take care of yourself, too. Let me take you home to rest.”
She didn’t want to. Her reluctance to leave the hospital while Tyler was here was evident in every line of her posture. But maybe he had gotten through to her, at least a little, with his reminder that she would have to be in top condition to take care of a recuperating preschooler. “Well…”
“Great. Let’s go tell Mom and Dad we’re going. You know they’ll be perfectly happy to stay with Tyler for a while.”
“I can’t believe your dad is spending so much time here at the hospital,” Laurel murmured, allowing Jackson to practically tow her along behind him. “He’s usually too restless and too worried about spending time away from his shop.”
“I know,” Jackson admitted. “I think whatever it is that’s going on with Mom has Dad worried, to
o. He’s barely let her out of his sight for the past couple of days, and the way he hovers around her, you’d think she was the one who’s sick.”
Stopping suddenly, he looked at Laurel with a frown and a clutch in his chest. “You don’t think that’s it, do you? That Mom’s sick and she doesn’t want to tell us because of Tyler?”
She gave his question a moment’s thought, then shook her head. “I don’t think that’s the problem. It’s just a hunch, of course, but I think something else is bothering her. I’m sure she’ll tell you when she’s ready.”
Hoping she was right, he headed for the ICU again with Laurel close at his side.
It felt so strange entering her house, as if she had been gone much longer than the few days that had passed since Tyler’s diagnosis. Even though Jackson had been home every day to check on things and pick up fresh clothing, the house had a hollow, boarded-up feeling for Laurel. She figured it had to be because Tyler wasn’t there—and because she had left a part of herself at the hospital with him.
Her in-laws had been predictably happy to stay with Tyler. They had both asserted that they were worried about Laurel’s lack of sleep, and wanted to do whatever they could to help her. Familiar paranoia made Laurel suspect that Donna was actually happy to see her leave, giving her total access to Tyler without Laurel hovering nearby.
It was that ignoble thought, as much as the other signs of mental and physical exhaustion, that cemented Laurel’s decision to take a short break from the hospital. As Jackson had pointed out, she would be of no use to Tyler if she turned into a sleep-deprived wreck.
Moving in an almost robotic haze, she threw a load of clothes in the washer. She was watering a few house-plants when Jackson, who had been checking phone messages and feeding Tyler’s goldfish, caught up with her. “You’re swaying on your feet. Come on. You’re going to bed.”
Taking her hand, he led her to the master bedroom, rather than the room she usually slept in to be closer to Tyler. She was too tired to argue about where she would nap, and it didn’t really matter, anyway.
Kicking off her shoes and removing her hoodie, she sat on the right side of the king-sized bed. She briefly considered putting on a sleep shirt, but she was just too weary to make the effort. Raising a hand to the stiff muscles at the back of her neck, she rolled her shoulders in a futile attempt to ease the tension.
Jackson sat beside her. “Neck hurt?”
She dropped her hand. “Kind of stiff, from sleeping in chairs, I guess.”
Placing his right hand on her neck, he gave a light squeeze. “Your muscles are tied in knots.”
She arched reflexively into his gentle kneading. “Yes, I…mmm.”
His left hand joined the right. “Feel good?”
Her eyes were already closed. “Very.”
Rotating his thumbs against a particularly sore spot, he drew a sigh from her. “Lie down and I’ll give you one of my world-famous neck rubs.”
She hesitated for maybe a heartbeat before she swung her legs onto the bed and rolled onto her tummy. Jackson’s neck rubs might not have been literally “world-famous,” but he did have a special talent. She could hardly remember the last time she’d been on the receiving end. It had been quite a while since she and Jackson had spent any time alone together.
A friend of Donna’s who worked in a travel agency had once suggested to Laurel, in front of Donna, that Laurel and Jackson should take a week-long cruise. A second honeymoon.
“It would be good for you both,” the woman had added. “Give you a chance to get away from work and routine and spend some time enjoying each other’s company. I’m sure Donna and Carl would be delighted to watch Tyler.”
Laurel had politely brushed off the idea, saying it wasn’t a good time financially or work-wise for her and Jackson to take a week off.
“Besides,” she had murmured, “I really don’t want to leave Tyler for that long while he’s still so young.”
Donna had seemed to approve of Laurel’s response. “While I would be delighted to keep my grandson, I don’t think Tyler would be at all happy to be left behind for a week. I remember how Jackson clung to me at that age. I never left him for more than one night the whole time he was growing up, and then only for emergencies in my family. When I had to leave, Carl was always there for him.”
Laurel would be with her child even now if she hadn’t been coerced into leaving the hospital, she reminded herself when she began to feel guilty about being at home. And she would spend the night close to him, only a few steps away if he wanted her.
If he did need her during the night, she had to be rested and alert, so she forced herself to relax the muscles between her shoulders. She tried to concentrate on the pleasant massage rather than on her impatience to be back at the hospital with Tyler.
“That’s better,” Jackson approved. “Let it all go for now.”
She sank more deeply into the pillows, deliberately letting her mind empty. She fell asleep with his hands still coaxing the knots out of her neck and shoulders.
She had been asleep maybe half an hour when she woke with a sharp gasp. Though the details were already escaping her, she knew she’d had a bad dream involving Tyler.
She’d heard him calling her, sobbing her name, but she hadn’t been able to reach him. She had known it was critical that she get to him, that he was in terrible trouble, but some force had held her back.
And there had been another voice—had it been Jackson’s mother’s or her own?—telling her she should have known she didn’t know how to be a good mother.
She really should have known.
Eight
Jackson had just drifted off to sleep when Laurel’s strangled cry woke him. Hearing her gasp Tyler’s name, he knew she must have had a bad dream.
“Laurel?” His voice sounded groggy to his own ears as he rose to his elbow. “You okay?”
“I need to go back to the hospital.”
He caught her before she could climb out of the bed. “You haven’t rested long enough. Try to get a little more sleep.”
Her eyes were still unfocused, her movements jerky and uncoordinated. “I can’t. I need to get back to Tyler.”
“Laurel. Honey, you’ve had a bad dream. You’re still not fully awake. Tyler’s fine. Mom and Dad are with him. You’re just so tired you’re loopy. Lie back down, okay?”
She blinked, staring at him as if bringing his face slowly into focus. “I—”
“A bad dream,” he repeated firmly. “That’s all it was. Tyler’s okay.”
Sinking back into the pillows, she looked embarrassed as she turned her flushed face away from him. “I’m sorry I woke you. You need to rest, too.”
“I’m okay. Do you need me to get you anything? A glass of water, maybe?”
She shook her head.
“How about something to help you sleep? We have some of those over-the-counter sleeping pills that are supposed to relax you.”
“No. I don’t want to sleep too long.”
He pulled her onto his shoulder and brushed a kiss across her forehead, wishing she wouldn’t stiffen up when he held her these days. “Just once,” he murmured, “I wish you would let me take care of you. I wish you could trust me enough to believe that you can let go for a little while and the world won’t fall apart.”
“I never implied that you were untrustworthy,” she mumbled in protest. “Not in any way.”
“Then trust me now. Trust my parents. Believe that everything will be fine while we sleep because they’re capable of watching over Tyler. If we’re needed, they won’t hesitate to call us immediately.”
Maybe his words got through to her that time. Or more likely, he thought with a silent sigh, she was simply too worn out to fight him anymore. Whatever the reason, she closed her eyes and went out again, her body going limp against him.
He, on the other hand, was wide awake now. He lay there for a long time, holding her and wishing the physical closeness they shared now was mo
re than just illusion.
The next time Laurel awoke, it was a more gradual easing into consciousness. She became aware first that she felt more rested than she had in days. Her muscles had unknotted and her head wasn’t aching. And then she realized that she was still cradled in her husband’s arms.
She opened her eyes, blinking away the blurriness of deep sleep. Jackson lay on his back with his eyes closed, his left arm beneath her, his right hand resting on his chest. He had removed his shirt, leaving him clad only in loose jeans for his nap.
She lay very still, watching his tanned chest rise and fall with his even breathing. A light rain fell outside, and the watery light slanting in through the bedroom window cast intriguing shadows over Jackson’s strongly carved features. She couldn’t deny the pleasure she took in watching him sleep. He was such a good-looking man.
She allowed her gaze to drift downward, pausing at the pulsing hollow in his throat, sliding down to the broad, lightly furred expanse between his nipples, traveling even lower to his flat, solid stomach. She spent a moment admiring the way his soft denim jeans hugged his lower half, cradling his unmistakable masculinity and making his legs look a mile long.
When she raised her eyes again, his were open.
“Hey.” His voice was still gravelly, a warm groan that elicited a shiver of response in her.
“Hey.”
He studied her face. “Your eyes are brighter. There’s more color in your cheeks. You must have slept well this time.”
“I did.” She glanced at the bedside clock, realizing that she’d slept solidly for just over two hours. “Surprisingly so.”
“Want to talk about the bad dream you had earlier?”