Lilah tried to swallow, tried to breathe. Couldn’t. Couldn’t breathe, couldn’t swallow, was choking on silent gagging. She reached up, grabbed the plastic tube blocking her throat. Tried to snatch it away, pull it free, get it out. Get it out.
An arm restrained her; another voice spoke. “I know it’s uncomfortable, honey, but try to stay calm. You’re okay, your baby’s okay, and your husband’s right here. Can you squeeze my hand?”
Lilah squeezed. My baby, my baby.
“Good job. We’re going to send for the doctor and see if we can get you weaned off the ventilator and get that tube out, okay?”
No, not okay. Get it out now. Now! She tried to wrestle free. Why the noise, why the pain? Why couldn’t she feel her baby? She kicked; she thrashed. Must get free.
Where’s my baby, where?
A woman said something about more sedation. Serenity returned.
Lilah woke up coughing, with burning in her throat and pain in her womb.
“Welcome back, Mommy,” a female voice said. “Take some slow, deep breaths. The tube’s out, and you’re doing great.” A nurse was leaning over the bed. She smelled of soap, and a gold crucifix swung between her breasts.
Lilah tugged the oxygen mask down. “My baby?” The words cut like broken glass.
“Upstairs in the neonatal ICU.” The nurse smiled. “With all his fingers and toes. And you’re in the ICU. He’s doing great.”
“A boy?”
“Yes. And your husband’s here. He’s barely left your side.” The nurse pulled back to glance up at the monitors.
“Need to see him.” Lilah shivered. The room was cold, too cold.
“He’s in the bathroom.”
“No.” She ran her tongue over her teeth and swallowed. “My baby.”
“Mama and baby will be reunited soon, but first we’ve got to get you well. How’re you feeling?”
A toilet flushed and a door opened.
“Darling, you’re awake!” Callum rushed at her and leaned in for a kiss.
She turned her head away, and his stubble grazed the side of her mouth. “Please”—she spoke to the nurse—“take me to see him.”
“Soon. Real soon. Do you have any pain?” the nurse said.
Yes. Everywhere. Lilah shook her head. “Let me see him.”
Callum fussed at her hair. “I can’t believe you’re awake.”
“Stop.” Forming words hurt. She batted his hand away. “I need to see my baby.”
“He’s fine, darling. He’s in the NICU.”
“And I’m not. Get me out of here.”
“The NICU nurses are amazing, and they’re taking excellent care of him. And your mom and sisters are camped out in the family room, comparing baby stories. I gather you never cried.”
“I’ll do more than cry if you don’t get me a wheelchair.” She tried to sit up and flopped back, biting into her lip as a burst of pain shot through her belly.
“You are not going anywhere. It’s not up for discussion,” Callum said in a tone she’d only ever heard when a student asked, “Is this going to be on the test?”
An aftershock of pain hit. She closed her eyes, held her breath, and willed it away. Willed Callum away. My baby. I want my baby.
“I need you to get well, Lilah.” Callum took her hand, but she kept her eyes closed. “Please, do whatever the nurse says.”
The pain subsided and she started breathing again. Lilah opened her eyes and focused on his face, searching those blue eyes for the truth. They stared at each other. “Promise me he’s okay. Promise me. Because if you’re lying again—”
“You’re both going to be fine,” Callum said.
“How big is he?”
“Three pounds, four ounces.”
A call came through on the device hung around the nurse’s neck. Lilah’s ears rang as the nurse talked with a disembodied voice.
“What happened?” Lilah asked Callum.
“You had an abruption and an emergency C-section.”
The nurse finished her phone conversation and checked the computer. “Your placenta tore away from the uterine wall,” she said, “which obviously isn’t ideal, but you’re healing up nicely.”
“It happened so fast,” Lilah said. “I didn’t feel anything until one big contraction.”
“Abruptions can happen without warning or symptoms.” The nurse paused her typing. “The bleeding must have been frightening for you and your family, but it alerted everyone to what was going on.” She sighed. “That isn’t always the case.”
“Maisie. She saw everything.” Lilah grabbed Callum’s arm. “Is she okay?”
“Bit shaken, but she handled it well.” Callum smiled the smile that had once shrunk the world to the two of them, and the pain returned. Lilah let go of his arm and stared toward the window, covered in an opaque shade. A nondescript beige, it matched everything else in the room.
“Everyone’s looking forward to meeting Maisie,” the nurse said. “Your husband talks about her all the time. One proud daddy, huh?”
“He needs a name,” Lilah said. “Our baby.”
“Luke was at the top of Maisie’s list for a boy. As in Skywalker,” Callum explained to the nurse.
Top of Maisie’s list for a girl was Theodosia, which she had explained meant “God’s gift.” Lilah turned back to face Callum. “How about Theo? I think Maisie would like Theo.”
“I think so, too. I held him last night, next to my heart. Your mother shot a video.” Callum was messing with his phone. Then he passed it to her.
Lilah watched a jittery video of Callum, naked from the waist up. No sound. He sat in a purple chair, and a pair of blue latex-gloved hands placed their baby on his chest. She touched the screen. He was so tiny, her baby, so wrinkly; his diaper so small. His eyes were covered with a blue mask, and the rest of his face was obscured by a ventilator. Tubes and wires trailed from his body, from the IV in his arm, from sticky pads on his chest. Callum kissed the top of his head, and then the latex hands covered Theo with a small blanket. Theo. Childbirth wasn’t meant to be this way: silence, medical equipment, and a mother’s heartbreak. She hadn’t been the first to hold him.
The video ended, and Callum closed up his phone. Lilah blinked, her sight misty.
“It looks worse than it is,” he said.
“When’s his birthday?”
“September eleventh. Three days ago.”
Lilah sniffed. “Three days?”
“That’s why you need to rest and get your strength back. Theo,” Callum said as if trying the name on for size, “isn’t going anywhere, and neither are you. Dr. Eliot says you could be here for a while.”
The nurse slid the oxygen mask up, but Lilah lowered it. “Who’s with Maisie?”
“Jake. Mom’s flying back next weekend to help out after you come home.” Callum pulled the oxygen mask back into place.
Lilah pushed it aside. “Next weekend?”
With a look that said, You’re trying my patience, he stayed silent until she fixed the mask. “Jake’s living at the house and keeping her close. So far they’ve had a Star Wars movie marathon, including Revenge of the Sith, and eaten the state out of Phish Food. Plus he’s teaching her to cook. I dread to imagine the state of our kitchen after days of Jake’s experimental meals.”
Our. He might be ready to use that word; she wasn’t.
“Katelyn gave him the name of two child psychologists, and I have an emergency appointment with one of them on Monday. Your mother’s volunteered to sit with you that day.”
She shifted to get more comfortable and winced.
“Lilah, this isn’t helping. If you don’t cooperate, you’ll be in here longer than a week. Are you in pain?”
She closed her eyes and nodded.
“Can you give her something for that?” Callum asked the nurse.
“Sure thing. I’ll be right back.”
Lilah lowered the mask again. “Maisie, can she visit?”
He p
eered over his glasses until she tugged the mask back up.
“Let’s wait a few days. You look like the best thing on the planet to me right now, but Maisie might be a little shocked.” Callum paused. “I should have been there when it happened. If I hadn’t lied to you . . .”
But he had, and she lacked the energy for a discussion about broken trust. She blinked. The tears were coming back. Callum pulled a tissue from the box on the table over her bed and dabbed under her eyes.
“You used to look at me with such wonder, but every day I worried that you’d find someone better, younger, less damaged. On our wedding day, when you asked if I was getting sick? I was shaking and sweating out of fear that you’d say no.” Callum slipped the tissue into his pocket. “I’ve nearly told you the truth a thousand times, but I didn’t want to drag you into the deception. Ask you to lie to Maisie. And yes, I was selfish and wanted to keep the halcyon days of our marriage. But I love you so much, Lilah. I couldn’t sully us with what I’d done, with the mistakes I’ve made.” He threw back his head. “With the person I really am.”
Lilah closed her eyes. She didn’t understand what he was saying. And nor did she want to. All she wanted was to hold her baby.
Next time she woke up, it was dark and the oxygen mask had gone. Callum was asleep in the plastic recliner, his eyes moving rapidly behind closed eyelids. She watched him, this man she had never doubted despite the speed at which things unfolded between them. And now, after a crash course on the real Callum MacDonald, she had to sift through her knowledge to reevaluate the facts. Fact number one: he lied.
Their kids were counting on two parents, which meant that if she couldn’t do this, a clean break would be best. After all, she’d never believed in peeling off a Band-Aid. One yank and then you dumped it in the trash.
Callum stirred, opened his eyes, and held her gaze. This was the Callum she saw when they were alone in bed, when they were making love, when they were sharing a shower. Callum without his glasses; Callum stripped bare. He pulled forward and rested his head on her arm. With the other hand she reached over to muss his hair.
“I’m a disgusting person,” he said.
“No, you’re not. But protecting your loved ones by omission doesn’t work for me, Callum. I come from a big family. We have no secrets, and I like it that way.” She sighed. “I’m giving you one hall pass, and if you ever lie to me again, we’re done.”
He sat up. “If Katelyn hadn’t called 911 straightaway, if we didn’t live so close to Raleigh Regional, you and Theo wouldn’t be here. You had massive blood loss.” He swallowed. “Technically, you bled to death. You were dead for three minutes.”
She sucked in her lip.
“Theo’s Apgar score was one. He had a heartbeat and that was all. He was resuscitated once, and the doctors got the score up to seven in a few minutes.”
“And you swear to me on Maisie’s life that he’s okay?”
“You know what one of the NICU nurses told me today? That three pounds, four ounces, isn’t that small. He’ll probably stay in the hospital until his due date, but we will be bringing him home.”
“Is there anything else you’ve kept from me? Anything?”
“Yes.” He closed his eyes.
The only surprise was that she wasn’t surprised. They’d jumped into a relationship, a marriage, a family, without the benefit of research. “Is this worse than lying about your first wife being dead?”
He reached for his glasses, laid out on the table next to her bed with the water pitcher, the tissues, part of the newspaper, two plastic cups, and their matching phones. “Yes.”
“Tell me everything, Callum. I need to know.”
And in the twilight of the hospital room, with light streaming under the door and night on the other side of the blind, Callum talked and she listened. He told her things, in graphic detail, that she would never be able to erase. She didn’t cry, she didn’t speak, and when he stopped, she opened her arms and held him against her chest.
THIRTY-THREE
KATIE
Outside on the old loading dock, sparks flew toward Katie’s leather apron. Grinding was never as much fun as welding, but today the slow process worked as effectively as an extra half tablet of Klonopin. It dulled the edges of her anxiety. Smoothed them out.
I am calm; I am calm.
She finished cleaning up the edges of the steel frame and leaned in to blow off the filings. Noises intruded from inside the studio—banging and screeching. It was inevitable that people would start trickling in. No day jobs to mess with the muse on a Saturday, but the old warehouse had been hers since five o’clock.
I am calm; I am calm.
Sighing, she unplugged the grinder, unscrewed the vise, pulled out the frame, and left the bright morning behind. As she stepped into the dark, windowless space full of artists at work, anxiety hitched a ride. Bored into her body: nibbling, gnawing, and feasting with pointy fangs.
I control fire; I am strong.
Repeating her mantra, over and over, she kept moving: put away her tools and the frame, slotted her right-angled jig back where it belonged, and double-checked the welder was switched off. The WhatNot that Maisie had admired caught her eye. Maisie.
The night before had been the show’s opening at CAM. Would Ben walk over the moment he arrived to give her the highlights? Hopefully not. She didn’t want to know who had been her docent.
Katie picked up the WhatNot and examined the weirdest piece she’d ever created, a piece that had spoken to Maisie. What if she took it to Maisie, as a consolation gift for missing opening night at CAM? Jake could hardly object if there was a legitimate reason for intruding. Katie was trying to not bug him, trying to limit herself to contact four times a day, but trying was exhausting. Everything was exhausting.
Why would she want a gift from me? I’m not her mother. I’m nothing to her. And that WhatNot could kill the baby. Fall on his head and crush his skull. It has no place in the house.
A thought is just a thought; it has no power.
I control fire; I am strong.
WhatNot in hand, she turned around as Ben walked in with a pretty blond Amazon. They made a striking couple. He had a new haircut, a serious haircut that said, I mean business. The crop had taken off the sun-bleached tips. His hair was darker, spiky, and if she was being honest, sexy. And what was with the stubble? Ben stopped by the box of safety glasses and moved closer to the woman. He touched her shoulder and said something. She smiled up at him. Had he taken the woman to opening night? Was this a date still playing out?
Katie turned her back on them.
I am calm; I am calm.
I am not calm.
She could feel Ben’s presence; she could feel his absence. Had he come on his bike, with the woman astride the back, arms locked around Ben? Katie tapped the WhatNot four times. Four to keep him safe.
I don’t deserve his friendship, I’m a shit person. What if I’ve been using him for the last five years? If I answer the final text he sent—four days ago—he’ll crash his bike and die.
The voice kept churning, kept sucking up thoughts into a vacuum of fear and doubt. Reason vanished. Toward Ben’s corner of the studio, a woman laughed. Katie pulled off her apron and sent Jake a text.
How’s Maisie?
Ok, he replied.
Something wrong?
Bad morning.
Anything I can do?
No.
She stared at the phone. Another laugh came from Ben’s corner, and an image hijacked her brain. Him slamming the woman against the wall, covering her mouth with one hand so she couldn’t scream, unzipping her jeans with the other, and . . . Tapping her teeth together, Katie replaced the image with one of Ben and the woman kissing. But that one played out with a cold suspicion that settled in the lining of her stomach: You’ve lost him.
Pathetic. It was none of her business who Ben dated. So why this sudden sense of ownership that told her to dash across the studio, put herself
between him and the woman, and say, “I need you”?
What if he falls in love and gets married and has a whole houseful of babies? What if I never see him again? What if he hates me? What if I’ve lost him?
Grabbing the WhatNot, she headed for the exit and then bolted across the parking lot. Rain had started to fall despite the sunlight. A sun shower. Ben’s truck was parked next to hers. It would be open; it always was. She could crawl inside, lie across the seats, and wait for him to find her, to pick her up and carry her back inside.
I need you.
Instead she unlocked her driver’s side door. His hand squeezed her shoulder—how did he learn to be so quiet?—and her mind rewound to show his hand on another shoulder, touching another woman. A woman smiling up at him. A woman not her.
“Are they bad, the intrusive thoughts?” Ben said. “If you talk to me, it might help. It did before.”
She didn’t turn.
Tell him. But what if I’m playing with him? What if I’m jealous and selfish?
“I’m sorry, Ben. I can’t—” Tell him, otherwise he’s going to crash on the way home and die and I’ll be responsible.
She put the WhatNot down on the passenger seat and climbed into her truck. Then she slammed the door, jammed the stick into reverse, and, watching over her shoulder, pulled out. That was a bump, right? What if she’d driven over someone? Katie slammed her foot on the brake. What if she’d hit Ben?
Daylight fled as the wind picked up, battering the puny crepe myrtles planted around the lot like unarmed border patrol guards. Rain pinged against her roof. She flicked on the wipers, but silent images pelted her brain: Ben’s lifeless body, bloody and broken after she’d run him down.
It’s not real, I didn’t hit him. Don’t go back. It’s not real. Don’t turn around. Don’t—
She turned around. Ben was standing where she’d left him. The rain became a downpour and pounded on her hood. It drenched him, but he didn’t move. Katie collapsed over the steering wheel. The monster nudged her in the ribs, whispered of failures past, present, and yet to come.
The Promise Between Us Page 25