by S. E. Lund
I promised myself that I would become a great father.
So, it was all the harder to encounter the next case that took me from the staff room.
A young boy in a coma, victim of child abuse, his little body battered. He was brought in by EMS just before nine in the evening. Parents had called 9-1-1 with claims that the boy had fallen down stairs and was unresponsive.
When I saw his little body, I knew different.
He was maybe four years old and when we scanned him for trauma, we saw old broken bones that had never been set. He had been abused repeatedly.
"Oh, God." The three of us on the team looking after the boy sat in front of the monitor and studied the damage, imagining the abuse inflicted on such a small child.
"It makes me want to puke," Pete said from the chair beside me. "It's really too bad that any fucking moron can have kids while so many really great people can't."
"I know," I said, a choke in my throat, glad that if this poor child survived, he would be taken from his abusive family and put in foster care, with strangers or maybe other family members. Even if it were for the best that his abusive parents lose custody, it was the only one he had known and it would be hard for the boy to grow up knowing that his parents almost killed him.
If I was skilled enough, the boy would survive.
"You have some pediatrics background, right?" Clint said, turning to me. "This is yours."
"Yes," I said. "This one's mine. I better go scrub in." I stood up and made my way to the OR where they were prepping him for surgery.
Several hours later, after doing everything I could to save the boy's life, I left the OR and went to speak to the family – such as they were. The mother and father had been taken into custody and now, a grandmother sat with another daughter and waited for me. I had to break the news that the boy might not survive the night, despite my best efforts.
I sat down with them in the small waiting room and removed my surgical cap.
"He's very sick," I said, making eye contact with them both. "He has a serious brain injury plus multiple broken bones. He had some internal hemorrhaging and we had to remove his spleen. If he survives the next few hours, he has a chance but we won't know until we do some more tests."
The grandmother covered her mouth with a hand and she and the other woman embraced.
"His scans suggest that he's been abused over a long period of time," I said. "We saw old fractures that suggest he's been abused repeatedly. Were you aware of him being treated for broken bones?"
"I had no idea. I knew that something was wrong between my daughter and her boyfriend," she said. "But we had a falling out over it and I haven't been by for months."
"I'd say this has been several years, by the way the bones have healed."
"Oh, God," she said and closed her eyes. "I had no idea..."
"I'll keep you updated on any change in his status," I said and stood up, feeling bad for the woman who was obviously traumatized by the thought her grandchild had been abused under her nose and she had done nothing about it. I knew enough about the issue to understand that most people learned abuse in their families. If the father had been the culprit, he was likely abused in his childhood and so on. Child abuse was largely a multi-generational issue.
I knew that the child welfare system was overworked and underfunded and never seemed to be able to keep completely on top of some cases. I hoped little Nathan wasn't one of those cases, but I had a bad feeling that he had never come to the attention of the authorities and so the abuse had gone on for years and had accelerated recently, probably due to some stress in the family system.
I spoke with Dora, the social worker on shift, who stayed late so she could meet with the family to discuss the child's future – if he survived.
"We'll check on the grandmother and see if she can safely care for him if and when he is discharged. If there are adequate supports, it's best he goes with his family than being placed in foster care."
"As long as his grandmother's safe," I said, uncertain myself if she was.
"We'll make sure," Dora said and nodded. "This one is hard to deal with."
"I know," I said softly. "I have a son a few years older than him," I said and thought about Liam. "I can't imagine anyone harming a child. It's unthinkable."
"Sadly, it's all too common," Dora said with a sigh. "Talk to you later. I'll let you know what happens with him."
"Thanks."
When I finally left the hospital and arrived home, I popped my head into the bedroom to see that Sophie and Kate were asleep in our bed, Sophie snuggled up to Kate, her pacifier in her mouth.
I had a quick shower and then slipped into bed, trying my best not to wake them, a choke in my throat at the memory of the small boy whose life I saved, wondering what kind of life he'd have. It made me even more determined to get joint custody of Liam so I could make sure that he had a father there all the time – a father who loved him. I did love Liam with a fierce love I was surprised to feel considering that he had lived most of his life not even aware of my existence.
But I did. I lay beside Kate and Sophie, my arm draped around them, thinking of little Nathan. Then, I thought of Liam, and how his life would change with his mother gone to Indonesia for six months. I had to cover my eyes and bite back tears.
How could he feel anything but abandoned?
There were only a few things I knew in life with complete and utter certainty: I loved Kate and Sophie with all my heart. Another thing I also knew.
I wouldn't abandon Liam.
I'd fight to the bitter end to get joint custody so he could live with me.
I pulled Kate and Sophie closer to me and tried to sleep, but it evaded me and I drifted in and out of consciousness, images of Liam's smiling face interspersed with Nathan's battered little body haunting my dreams.
Chapter 9
KATE
I woke early to find Sophie sitting up in the bed, playing with a toy we'd brought in with us when I went to get her at around 2:30 a.m. Drake wasn't in bed, but I could tell he had been because his pillow was propped up the way he always left it and his dirty scrubs hung out of the laundry hamper just outside our en-suite bathroom.
He must have woken up early. Then I caught a whiff of bacon cooking and realized he'd got up to make breakfast. I smiled and turned to Sophie.
"Daddy's up and made us bacon," I said to her. She smiled at me around her pacifier and shook her toy – one of the minions from Despicable Me – Stuart. The toy Liam had given her that first time they met. It was Sophie's favorite and I had to wash it repeatedly so she could keep it in her crib.
I got up and quickly pulled on a sundress, then I took her and Stuart to her bedroom for a quick diaper change. When we were done, we went to the kitchen where Drake stood at the stove, dressed only in his boxer briefs, his hair still wet from his shower.
"Good morning, early bird," I said to him, going up behind him with Sophie in my arms.
He turned and smiled at us, then leaned down, kissing me and then Sophie.
"Good morning, my two girls," he said and stroked my cheek and then Sophie's. "What a nice way to start the day."
"You should be sleeping," I scolded while I put Sophie in her chair. "You worked last night."
"I couldn't sleep in," Drake said, his voice sounding weary. "Had a bad night."
"Oh, I'm sorry," I said and went over to him after I had her secured in her chair and some Cheerios on her tray. I put my arms around his waist and hugged him from behind. "What happened? Do you want to talk about it?"
He shook his head and didn’t say anything, so I knew he was really upset. It must have been bad, whatever it was and my heart clenched for him. Drake was always so positive and quick with a smile and laugh. To find him like this meant something had really upset him.
"Okay," I said softly, hugging him harder. He squeezed my hands, which were clasped around his waist. "If you want to talk about it, you know you always can with me."
"I know," he managed, his voice low.
I let him cook away without trying to make small talk, because I could tell his mind was elsewhere. Instead, I busied myself getting Sophie's breakfast ready and after pouring myself a cup of coffee, I sat beside her and fed her. Drake would talk when he felt up to it. I had to give him the space to do so.
"How do you want your eggs?" he said after a while. "Fried or scrambled?"
"Scrambled," I said and he nodded. I watched him whip the eggs in the bowl before cooking them, while I fed Sophie, the silence broken by the sound of news on the television in the family room beside the kitchen. He was efficient in the kitchen, moving from the frying pan where the eggs cooked, to the toaster and the pan with the bacon like an old short order cook.
He plated our breakfasts and then placed them on the island countertop in front of me.
"There you are, Mrs. Morgan. Just the way you like them."
He smiled at me, and I could see that he recovered by the way his eyes crinkled at the corners the way I loved.
"Thank you, Doctor Morgan," I said with a smile. "Or should I say, Chef Morgan?"
"Ha!" he replied and came around to where I sat, pulling out the stool and sitting beside me. "Not likely. More like Grill Cook Drake."
He bent over and kissed me and together, we dug into our plates.
"Sadly, I have to go in again tonight, but I switched shifts on Friday so I'll have two days off in a row."
"That's too bad," I said and brushed hair out of Drake's eyes.
"No, it's really okay," he replied and glanced away. "I want to work tonight. I have a patient..."
Then he said nothing more and I knew he wanted to go in to check on a patient he worked on last night.
It must have been that patient that upset him so much.
"I understand," I said and turned back to my plate. We ate for a few moments and finally, he sighed.
"A boy, Nathan, about four years old."
"That must have been hard," I said softly.
"Yes. It was."
I nodded in understanding. "You want to be able to check on him, and working tonight will let you."
"Yes," he said. But that was it. He didn’t say any more so I knew it must have been a bad case. The boy must have been near death or maybe still was. A car accident, a bike accident, a brain injury from a fall at a playground – Drake had seen so many since he started working at the hospital ER. Usually, Drake took on cases that were a whole different kind – brain tumors, epilepsy, spasms. Trauma cases were a whole different world. He wasn't used to it yet and having a small patient nearly the same age as Liam would just be all the harder.
Finally, after another few moments of silence, Drake turned to me.
"How are you? How was your time at the studio?"
I smiled at him. "Great. I got two solid hours in on my waterhole piece."
"That's fantastic," Drake said and stroked my cheek, brushing a strand of hair back from my cheek. "I'm so glad you're getting to do what you love."
"Me, too," I said and squeezed his hand. "Do you want to keep working at the hospital? You seem to have been really affected by your patient."
"No, it's fine." Drake turned back to his plate and picked up a piece of crisp bacon, crunching on it. "I actually enjoy the excitement, but this was just a really hard case. Child abuse. I'm used to accidental injury not intentional."
"Oh, Drake, I'm so sorry," I said and reached out, squeezing his arm. "That must be unimaginable to deal with."
He nodded and stared out at the ocean outside our window. When he said no more, I didn't either, letting him take his time. He'd tell me more when he felt able.
"Can you get Elaine to come by or can you drop Sophie off at their place and go to the studio again today?" Drake asked, not looking at me. "I hate that you might lose a day there while you're working on a piece."
"Yes, Elaine said she'd drop by and sit with Sophie again today if I wanted."
"Good," Drake said. He turned to me and smiled finally. "I like to think of you in your studio, absorbed in a painting, losing track of time."
I smiled back and then stood up and went to him, slipping my arms around him, our foreheads pressed together.
"I love being there. Even two hours a day feels like a complete and total indulgence. It makes me happy to come back here and spend time with you and Sophie. I feel so blessed."
"We are blessed," Drake said and kissed me warmly.
"We are."
I sat back in my place and gave Sophie a tiny piece of my toast, which she happily shoved in her mouth.
When we were finished, I stood up and took Drake's plate. "You go back to bed. I'll clean up. You'll need your sleep if you're going to function tonight."
"Thanks," Drake said and yawned. "I need another few hours. I'll set the alarm for one o'clock. That'll give me some time with the two of you before I go back."
"Whatever you need," I said and carried our plates to the sink. Drake came over and pulled me into his arms.
"Thank you for being so understanding," he said, his voice low and full of emotion. "I'm just processing everything. It's taking me a while to adjust to this kind of case."
"You don't have to thank me," I said, my own emotions swelling. Drake was such a loving man, a caring man. His patients were lucky to have him.
Sophie and I were lucky to have him.
We kissed once more, a nice warm kiss, and then he left me and went to Sophie, kissing her on the cheek before returning to the bedroom so he could sleep for a few more hours.
On my part, I quickly finished tidying up the kitchen and then I took Sophie to her room and got her dressed in a romper so we could go for our usual walk and let Drake fall back to sleep. I put her in her stroller, tied her sunhat under her chin and together, we went for a walk along the walkway that bordered the ocean. It had been packed down and was used by the city workers who cleared off the beaches each day so it was good to walk on with a stroller. We found a nice spot and I took Sophie out and put her onto the sand with her pails and shovels and then we sat for a while, the surf lapping at the beach a few feet away.
About fifteen minutes later, my cell chimed. I checked and saw that someone messaged me on Facebook.
Hello, Kate. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Kent Reynolds. I wanted to contact you before I contacted Drake, your husband, who is my half-brother. Our mother, Louise, is very sick and may not survive. We wanted to give Drake the chance to come and see her if he wants. We understand that this is completely out of the blue and that they have had no contact since soon after she left Manhattan when he was a boy. We thought it would be best to contact you first, for you would know if this was something Drake would even want to do. If he doesn't, we understand, although we would be happy to meet him. Family is the most important thing in the world and it's often only too late that we realize that. Please call me back at the following number. Cheers, Kent
Then he listed a phone number.
I sat for a moment and tried to absorb what I had just heard. Drake had talked only rarely about his mother and most of the time, it was with considerable pain in his voice. He had grown up with a series of housekeepers and nannies who provided good care for him, so that he was never alone when Liam was busy working in the ER as a trauma surgeon or on one of his jaunts to Africa. But he had been very lonely and of course, he never had a real mother after he was ten. Liam certainly didn’t take over that role and never remarried, preferring to have temporary liaisons with women but never getting serious again.
As a result, Drake was very self-contained as a person. He looked after himself from then on emotionally. He became very intellectual, and kept his emotions in check by focusing on his studies and had graduated high school early and attended college early. A high achiever, he overcompensated in life by being the best at everything.
I couldn't imagine not having a mother. Losing my mother when I was an adult was hard enough. I couldn't imagine how hard
it must have been for Drake as a ten-year-old. What happened at Christmas? On birthdays? When Drake had a broken heart or injured ego? There was no one to kiss him better.
He met and married Maureen, but he had never really opened up to her, and theirs had been a distant marriage after the first year or two.
Drake had opened up with me and with Sophie. I could see the change in him. He was still an achiever but he devoted his every waking moment, when he wasn't at work, to us – to Sophie and me. He always wanted to be with us when he wasn't at the hospital.
How would he react to the news that his half-brother had tracked him down and wanted to meet him? How would he feel to know his mother was dying?
I called Kent's cell right away. Once we got our introductions out of the way, I got right to the meat of things.
"Does Drake's mother want to meet with Drake? I think that will have a bearing on his decision."
"She's got early onset Alzheimer's. She's confused at this point so, no, she's not aware of this. My siblings and I got together and thought it would be a good idea to contact Drake and give him the chance."
"Oh, that's too bad. We didn’t really know anything about your mother. How many half-siblings are there?"
"Four, including myself. Then, there's Amanda, my little sister, and my two younger brothers, Craig and Andrew. The four of us have seven kids between us so he has nieces and nephews as well."
"I'm sorry to be so forthright, but is your mother dying because of the Alzheimer's?"
"No. She got septicemia after a virus and the doctors said she may not survive. She's been living in a nursing home for dementia patients and she must have picked up an antibiotic-resistant bacteria. They tried everything but she's very sick. She's at UCSF right now."
"Oh, God."
"I debated contacting Drake earlier, but I didn't want to just call up and talk to him out of the blue so we tracked down someone at New York Presbyterian and he filled me in on you and that you'd moved to California. Luckily, he gave me your name and I checked Facebook because I would never have found you otherwise."