Still the baby refused to breathe. Unable to watch, Ben turned away and paced, his normally ruddy complexion as pale as the baby’s.
Five minutes stretched to ten and then to fifteen, and still Arnetta saw no signs of life in the boy. She had once revived a baby after eighteen minutes, but that time, too, passed without success.
Twenty minutes . . .
Twenty-five . . .
After another five, Arnetta finally said it. “I’m sorry. Sometimes it happens this way. Under the circumstances, there’s no charge.”
As he looked at his lifeless son, Ben couldn’t help but wonder if Arnetta had somehow bungled the delivery. If he hadn’t used the cheapest midwife in the area, would his boy be alive now?
“Where’s my baby?” Laura said, suddenly back from her ether holiday. “I want to see it.”
Ben went to her and stroked her hair, his eyes glistening, trying to be strong for her. They had nothing else. The baby was their hope, their only light in a hard life that held little comfort. Now he had to tell her even that had gone wrong.
“I’m sorry, honey. He didn’t make it. But we’ll try again. It’ll be okay. Next time we’ll succeed.”
The screams Laura had emitted during her labor were nothing compared to the one she now produced.
Then she turned ferocious. “I want to see him. Where is he? Give him to me.”
Afraid to resist, Ben went to the body, gently picked it up, and carried it to his wife, who folded it into her arms.
Arnetta quickly gathered up her things, and when she left, she closed the door as quietly as it had ever been shut.
For the next two hours, Laura held the cooling body of her baby, warming it as best she could with her own heat, her quiet sobbing nearly driving Ben crazy with remorse. Finally, weak from crying and all she’d gone through, she let Ben take the body from her.
It was too late to bury the child, and the sheriff would probably want to see him first, but it would be hell having the body there in the house reminding them of what could have been. So while Laura drifted off to sleep, Ben went to the closet and got the shoes he’d bought her a few weeks earlier for her eighteenth birthday with money he’d made helping a couple of local farmers repair their machinery after his regular shift at the siding plant.
He removed the shoes from the box and put them back in the closet. He then lined the box with his best undershirt, the one with only a single small hole under the right arm.
He carried the box to their dead baby and gently laid him inside. He put the lid on the box and took it out to the shed, where he set it on an old door resting on two sawhorses. As he closed the shed door, he said quietly, “Good night, son.”
It was a languid spring evening, and the stars were as bright as he had ever seen them, a night for happiness, not death, not this. As he looked up, he asked God the question he was sure would remain on his heart the rest of this life. Why?
Then he went back inside to face the long hours until dawn.
A little after midnight, the dead baby kicked the lid off the shoebox.
Chapter 14
CHRIS CONTEMPLATED THE gray Glen plaid blazer and pleated trousers lying on the bed. Deciding that she wanted to look less businesslike, she chose instead a dark-rose silk matka jacket, a rose jewel-neck sweater, and ivory slacks. She was just putting on her earrings when the buzzer from the lobby called her to the intercom.
“Who is it?”
“Michael.”
She let him in, then hurried to the bathroom to brush her hair and make sure it curled just right over her forehead. When Michael rang the bell, she was as ready as she’d ever be. Surprised at how nervous and excited she felt, she opened the door to find him standing there holding a potted miniature orange tree full of fruit. Despite the terrible things that had happened that day, his gift seemed so odd she smiled and shook her head.
“What is it—this?” Michael said, lifting the tree. “I was just trying to be original. I thought it might do well on your balcony.”
“Thank you. It was very thoughtful.”
“Where do you want it?”
“Out there, I guess.”
He followed her to the French doors that opened onto her little woodland.
“It could have been worse,” Michael said. “I considered getting you a Saint Bernard puppy.”
“Hooray then for the orange tree,” Chris said, opening the doors.
As he put the tree down and came back inside, Chris studied his choice of clothes: ecru shirt under a gold-and-black checked sport coat; a gold, black, and ecru tie in a diagonal box pattern; and black pants—Halloween colors that could have been so awful, but actually made him look like a fashion ad. Five points for the wardrobe and . . . okay, five for the orange tree.
For dinner, they settled on Terra Firma, an upscale eatery so chic it was in an area that most folks would normally avoid after dark. Entering it was a surreal experience, for the building itself had grungy old planking on the floors, and walls with huge sections of missing plaster that allowed the rough brickwork underneath to show. Yet the place was packed with happy, well-dressed Atlantans at tables with crisp white linens.
Michael had made reservations, so they were shown directly to one of five tables arranged in front of a long pew attached to the wall. Chris chose the pew; Michael, the free-standing chair opposite her.
“I feel like a Nazi in occupied France,” Michael said over the din.
So far Michael had been acting as though they’d just lived through a day like any other. Also wanting respite from the truth, Chris joined the pretense.
“Well, you are blond and blue-eyed.”
They ordered a stuffed mushroom appetizer and two glasses of wine to start. While waiting for those to arrive, they were suddenly surprised to find Sidney Knox, the immunologist member of the transplant team, standing by their table.
“Hello, Chris.”
“Sidney . . .”
“Michael, I got your e-mail about those nurses. Terrible, just terrible. And I have to say I’m not proud to have been a part of it. But I take heart in remembering that I voted against accepting Mr. Collins. If we had rejected him, as I recommended, none of this would have occurred.”
“You don’t know that,” Michael said.
“I understand your need to believe otherwise, but I’m correct. He was the wrong choice, and now we’ve got this mess on our consciences.”
Noticing that the couple at the next table were showing undisguised interest in this conversation, Michael said, “Sidney, you’re forgetting where we are.”
“I don’t care. And don’t lecture me.” His face grew red. “I won’t be lectured to.”
Now the occupants of other tables were beginning to listen.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you,” Michael said.
“Well, you did. I just hope there isn’t more trouble ahead. But if there is, I’m not sharing any of that blame either. Enjoy your dinner—if you can.” And with that, he turned and stalked away, nearly knocking the dishes from a waiter’s hand.
“I’d say he was upset,” Michael said.
“Nice of him to remind us of what we came here to forget for a little while,” Chris said.
Michael could probably have flattened Knox by blowing hard on him. Chris was impressed at the way Michael had kept his temper and hadn’t tried to intimidate the man in retaliation.
Knox’s comments and the general din of forty conversations inhibited Michael and Chris from saying much to each other during dinner. Afterward, Chris made a suggestion that surprised even her.
“Would you like to see where I go to be alone and think when I’m feeling really out of sorts?”
Pleased that she would take him to a place with such personal significance, Michael s
aid, “If you wouldn’t mind sharing it.”
Following Chris’s instructions, Michael drove to 1255 and turned north.
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
A few minutes later, as the exit sign for state 410 was illuminated by their headlights, Chris said, “Get off here and go east.”
“Stone Mountain?” Michael said, referring to the huge dollop of granite that sat on the Georgia landscape like the top half of a bald head. It was such an odd, unexpected thing that it had been a major tourist attraction even before the three Confederate heroes on horseback had been carved into it.
At the gate, while Michael reached for his wallet to pay the parking fee, Chris said, “That won’t be necessary.” She got out of the car and waved at the attendant. “Hi, Bill, it’s me.”
The white-haired guy in the kiosk broke into a grin. He opened the door of the kiosk and waved. “Hello, Dr. Chris. Good to see you. Just a second . . .”
The old man ducked back inside. He reappeared a few seconds later with two small bottles in his hand. Chris went around the back of the car, and he gave her the bottles. “One for you, and one for your friend.”
“You never forget, do you?” Chris said.
“I always try to be ready. You two have a nice night.”
“How do you know him?” Michael asked, driving on when Chris was back in her seat.
“I used to work here when I was in college. Got to know everybody, and a lot of the same people are still around.”
“What’s in the bottles?”
“Apple juice. I used to bring it in my lunch, so Bill keeps some for me in a little fridge.”
“Sounds like he’s got a crush on you.”
“I don’t know . . . maybe. Boy, they’re cold. Is it okay to put them in the glove compartment till we get there?”
“Sure.”
It was now late enough that all the park’s attractions were closed. And at this time of year, the laser show at the carving was only given on Saturday night. So despite the presence of folks who were spending the night at the inn and the campground on the property, the wooded roads were deserted.
Michael followed Chris’s directions along the winding roads for several minutes, until she pointed at a smaller road that went to the left, into the woods. “Turn here.”
About fifty yards down that road, they came to a metal gate.
“Now what?” Michael asked.
“Be right back.”
Chris got out, lifted the latch, which wasn’t locked, and swung the gate open. She motioned Michael through, then closed the gate and rejoined him.
Their destination soon became obvious to Michael from the way the road quickly rose into a steep grade and left the trees behind, so that on both sides there was only bare granite. Another couple of minutes, and they arrived at the mountaintop, a desolate moonscape with a smattering of lights illuminating a snack bar and the sky lift landing.
“Park over there by the building,” Chris said.
Since this was her world, Michael did as she said.
Chris got the bottles from the glove compartment, then opened her door and got out. “Come on.”
A moment later, she handed Michael one of the bottles and led him to a natural wide pocket in the granite where they could sit side by side, their feet comfortably supported by a ridge below.
“Is it clean?” Michael said, eyeing the stone seat suspiciously.
“Don’t be so fussy,” Chris said, sitting down.
When they were settled, Chris opened her bottle, put the cap in her pocket, and took a sip.
Following her lead, Michael did the same.
“What do you think?” she asked, gesturing to the view.
Eight hundred feet below them and sixteen miles to the west, the lights of Atlanta sparkled and glittered.
“Beautiful,” Michael said. “Makes me feel insignificant.”
“And, therefore, your problems don’t seem as big.”
“If they were just my problems that might work better. But people are dead because of me.”
“And me.”
“Why you? I’m the one who started the program. And coerced you into helping me.”
“If I hadn’t called you about my father, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
“Now you’re sounding like Sidney.”
“So are you. There’s just no way I can be detached about this. Regardless of how I got there, I’m the infectious disease person on the team. That makes what happened primarily my responsibility.”
“I don’t agree, but it’s good of you to be willing to share the blame.”
“I’m glad you suggested dinner. If I were alone right now, I’d be feeling far worse.”
“Why does it take something like this for us to get together?”
Chris looked out over the trees to the lights of Atlanta. “Because I’m . . .”
Michael waited patiently for her to continue, worried that if he prompted her, she might not finish her thought.
“I’m afraid,” she confessed.
“Of me?”
Still looking away from him, she said, “Yes.”
“For God’s sake, why? I’d never hurt you.”
“I don’t mean physically.”
“Or any other way.”
“You say that now, but things change. Time works on our minds so that we lose the taste for some things and acquire new ones.”
Suddenly Michael realized what was behind her fears. “This is about your father, isn’t it? What he did to you and your mother?”
Chris didn’t answer.
“I’m not Wayne. We don’t look alike, you could tell us apart on the phone just by our voices, his politics and mine are miles apart, and we don’t think the same things are funny. We’re separate people. So why would you believe I’d ever do what he did? I should be judged by who I am, not by the actions of someone I didn’t even know until three weeks ago.”
“What you say makes perfect sense,” Chris said, looking at him now.
He reached out and took her hand. “You’re cold.”
“In more ways than one, I suppose.”
“Maybe I can help.”
“You think so?”
Michael leaned toward her, and she responded. They met halfway in a soft kiss that Chris interrupted before Michael was ready.
“That was a good start,” he said.
“It’s all I’m capable of right now.”
“Sometimes slow is okay.”
“Is this one of those times?”
“Actually, I’m not at my best on granite.”
Having reached a consensus on where they stood with each other, they were both content to just sit, drink their apple juice, and enjoy the moment. But soon the seriousness of that day’s events again commandeered their thoughts, until Michael said, “Remember when Sidney said ‘If anything else happens . . .’ What do you think about that? I mean, I know there’s a chance Wayne may still . . . could die. But that’s it, isn’t it? You don’t think anyone else will get sick, do you?”
Chris remembered the EIS cartoon in her office and the dictum behind it. Seeing no point in telling Michael about that, or making him worry any more about what appeared to be a well-contained outbreak, she said, “Sidney was just trying to upset you. You shouldn’t be influenced by anything he said.”
Micheal nodded. “You’re right. I’m putting it out of my mind.”
And right then, Chris decided that she would, too.
DAN AND KELLY Gaynor paused in their walk to admire the twenty-foot waterfall that was the centerpiece of their fifty-acre retreat and meeting center in the woods around Dahlonega, an old gold mining town sixty-five m
iles from Atlanta.
“I’d forgotten how beautiful this was,” Dan said, watching the fish in the pool at the base of the falls pluck floating insects from the surface. All around them birds filled the evening air with chatter. “Those two weeks I was gone felt like two months.”
“It seemed like forever,” Kelly said, putting her arm around his waist.
“Lousy timing, too, with that big church group coming on Friday. But I’m sure we’ll be ready, because of you.”
“I felt terrible leaving you like that and only visiting you once. I should never have listened to you. This place could have just gotten along without me.”
“We couldn’t risk not being ready for that group. We need them to be totally satisfied so they’ll tell others. We’re living too close to the margin to make any errors.” He looked down at Kelly. “While I was gone, I missed you a lot more than the falls.”
“I should hope so. I’m warmer, funnier, and have certain skills that give me a big advantage.”
“These skills . . . Would you be interested in giving me a demonstration?”
“Someday . . . when you’re up to it.”
“Wouldn’t your skills take care of that?”
“Lech.” Then her brow furrowed. “You feeling okay?” She reached up and put her hand on his forehead. “You’re sweating, and you feel hot.”
“Guess I got a little out of shape while I was gone.” Forgetting he shouldn’t do that, he ran his fingers through his hair, pulling out another thousand strands that the evening breeze blew from the back of his hand so they rained down in front of him.
“What time do I see that dermatologist tomorrow?”
“Ten thirty.”
“I hope this is just a temporary condition.”
“It’s probably a reaction to the medicine you’ve been taking.”
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