Amy, on the other hand, was frozen to her chair, unable to move. But she did register helplessly that Patrick wasn’t alone. His mother hurried toward her, one step behind her son.
Amy had never met her mother-in-law in person—she’d been spending several months in South Africa when Amy had lived in Connecticut with Patrick—but the woman’s appearance went beyond her current capacity for comprehension at the moment. Her throat was dry as a desert, and her knees wobbled as she rose to her unsteady feet.
“Patrick …” She was frightened by her own broken voice.
He stopped in front of her and balled his hands into fists. “I want to see my daughter!” he barked out without salutation. “Now!”
In the face of his violent anger, Amy took an automatic step backward, and the backs of her knees hit the chair. She almost lost her balance. As it was, she feared she might break down in front of him at any moment.
Patrick didn’t notice, or maybe he didn’t care, but his mother reacted by taking the coffee cup from Amy’s hand and putting a comforting arm around her back to steady her.
Amy had been prepared for a lot of things, but not her mother-in-law rubbing her back. O her soothingly concern. “Honey, you’re trembling like a leaf …”
“Do you have any idea what you did to me?” Patrick yelled at Amy. “How could you keep my child from me?”
“I-I’m sorry,” she stammered, noticing, as if from far away, that her breathing came fast and shallow. She was even seeing white spots before her eyes.
“Patrick,” his mother snapped at him, suppressed anger in her otherwise calm voice. “Enough.”
“It is not enough!” He pointed an accusatory finger at Amy, the vein in his temple pulsing ominously. “If anything happens to my child—”
“Patrick!” His mother shook her head in frustration. “Don’t you see she’s close to a breakdown? This is not the time or place for accusations! Will you please calm down? Now!”
“Mom, you stay out of this!” He fumed with righteous anger. “I have a daughter. One she never told me about, in all those years, and now she’s been in an accident! How am I supposed to calm down?” He capped it all off by giving Amy a look that hit her like a painful punch. “If anything happens to her, I swear I’ll—”
It was the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back.
Amy erupted into uncontrollable sobs and buried her face in her hands, gripped by the nightmare that Audrey could die, a horrific vision that Patrick had finally put into words. Galloping fear, guilt, and a strange, suffocating sensation drowned her with their concerted onslaught.
“You’re not helping anyone!” Patrick’s mother barked at him, simultaneously patting Amy’s back, her other arm still around her shoulders. “The two of them just came out of a terrible car crash, and it was not your wife’s fault. Instead of yelling at her—”
“I might never have a chance to meet my child now,” Patrick interrupted, his voice wavering between anger and despair. “Whose fault is that, Mom? Certainly not mine!”
Amy’s stomach lurched painfully, and she gasped for air. When she reluctantly raised her eyes again, she could see in his face that there was one emotion behind all that anger and reproach: naked fear.
“Patrick,” she croaked between sobs. “Please … I’m sorry. Please …”
“No.” He shrank back, stiffening. His even face contorted into a mask of disdain. “Don’t speak to me. Not you. I’m done with you.”
Next to her, Eleanore Ashcroft sucked in air with a hiss. “Patrick! This is no way to handle the situation.”
Amy watched him shake his head dismissively, and finally gave in to the urge to sink down on the chair behind her, because her legs wouldn’t stop shaking. She was shocked, though she probably shouldn’t have been, to realize that he didn’t just scorn her—he positively hated her.
Patrick’s mother sat down next to Amy, still holding her, and murmured words of comfort.
The thought that she had not only deprived Audrey of a father, but also the affection of an obviously warm-hearted grandmother, made her so ashamed she wanted to hide. She had only ever spoken to her mother-in-law over the phone, so she couldn’t fathom why Eleanore Ashcroft was being so nice to her, but she accepted the comforting embrace gratefully.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, addressing the brown-haired woman holding her. “I … I never wanted to …”
“It’s okay,” Eleanore murmured softly.
Unfortunately, Patrick’s ears were very good. “What was it you never wanted, Amy?” he bellowed. “To leave me and take away my child?”
She felt like retching. “Please … try to understand … I—”
“How could I ever understand you?” He was shaking all over, clenching and unclenching his fists and drawing hissing breaths. “I have a mind to—”
“In case you forgot,” his mother cut him off sternly, “this is not about you two, Patrick, but about a little girl who needs help. Audrey should have top priority right now. The things you two need to settle can wait. They will have to wait. Do you hear me?”
He didn’t say anything, simply scowled at the both of them before turning abruptly and taking three quick steps toward the window, which afforded a glimpse into Audrey’s room. When he uttered a pained groan and clutched the handrail under the window with both hands, Amy flinched and clamped a hand over her mouth.
“Oh God,” he said hoarsely, lowering his head.
When his shoulders began to shake, the sight broke her heart.
She had the urge to at least justify herself to the woman who was being so incredibly caring, so she turned and looked into her mother-in-law’s concerned face. “It … I … I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice raw and desperate. “I didn’t mean t-to hurt anyone!” The lump in her throat was growing by the second. “If Audrey doesn’t …”
As she faltered, her mother-in-law didn’t look any less anxious, but she bravely forced a smile. “We can’t let the panic take hold, Amy,” Eleanore told her in a small, broken voice. “I’m sure … I’m positive the doctors will be able to help her.”
Amy stared at her hands. “I-I don’t understand what h-happened. We stopped … at a red light and … and Amy was telling me … about her day at school. And … and then there s-suddenly was this bang.”
“Honey.” Eleanore stroked her hair. “Don’t blame yourself. It’s not your fault.”
Amy’s eyes flitted to where Patrick was standing, his back to them, his head hanging low, but still looking at Audrey through the glass. His broken posture reminded her that she wasn’t the only one struggling to be okay right now. He’d left little doubt in her mind that he now detested her, but she still felt the increasing urge to give him what comfort she could.
She knew he could hear her. Sniffling, she said, “She … She has your eyes, Patrick. And she loves … peanut butter with bananas. Just like you. She’s so very much like you.”
She burst into tears again, so she could hardly see his face when he turned around and studied her with a tortured expression. His haunted eyes were wet, too.
“That doesn’t fix this,” he said quietly.
Amy nodded. “I know it doesn’t.”
***
Arms crossed, Patrick listened as the doctor informed him of the risks associated with the operation. The man stood next to Patrick’s daughter in her hospital bed, and the beeping of the various machines threatened to drive Patrick insane, together with the horrible hospital odor and the scratchy coat he’d had to put on before entering the room.
They could have had this conversation in the hallway or in another room, but no power on earth could have kept Patrick from finally getting to see his daughter up close, from being in the room with her. It wasn’t enough to stand behind a pane of glass and look at the fragile little thing, who lay helplessly dependent on different monitors and machines. No, he’d needed to bridge the terrible distance, take her small hand in his, and touch her tan
gled curls, which were the same shade as his own.
While Dr. Fairhaven went on about coagulation, Patrick felt his heart grow heavy.
He had a daughter. Pretty as a picture, the five-year-old little girl didn’t just have his eyes, she also loved to eat her peanut-butter sandwiches with banana—just like him. But he’d never gotten to watch her devour their shared favorite. He’d never been allowed to look into her eyes, had never felt her wrap her small arms around him and call him Daddy.
The thought made his eyes sting. He struggled to swallow the painful lump in his throat.
When he’d sat beside her a few minutes earlier, holding her tiny hand, he had felt horribly sick. Her right pinkie was a little splayed apart from the rest—just like her mother’s—while her fingernail had the same shape form as his. He could have studied this living, breathing miracle for hours on end if he hadn’t felt sick at the sight of the gigantic IV line sticking in the back of her hand. The thick needle was surely hurting the little girl. Not to mention the many bruises and abrasions on her face. He felt physical pain at the thought of his small daughter suffering so much, having undergone major surgery and requiring another that was anything but small.
He was struggling to process and manage such a maelstrom of different emotions that he feared he might explode.
If someone had told him this morning that he had a five-year-old daughter, he’d have called that person insane. What man became a father of a kindergartener overnight? Flying from New York to Chicago, underneath the worry, the anger, and the fear, there had also been the nagging question of whether he could even develop fatherly affection for a girl he didn’t know. Over the last few years, he’d heard people say that he seemed cold, barren of emotion. His business partners described him as unbreakable, or tough as nails. So it was no wonder he’d doubted whether he was cut out to be a father.
He got along with children in general, he thought, for he adored his two nephews and could claim that they were always eager to spend time with him, but how was he to know how he would feel upon meeting his unknown daughter? What did he know about girls, especially five-year-old girls? His only experience with them stemmed from his own childhood, with his sister. But apart from the frogs he’d smuggled into her dollhouse and the fierce fights about candy, he had no clue.
All of those concerns had vanished into thin air at the first sight of his daughter.
One glance had been enough to let him know that he would have done anything for the little doll. One glance had been enough to take his daughter into his heart. And that first glance had also been enough to know that he could never forgive her mother.
Everything he was entitled to as her father had been withheld from him.
Starting with ultrasound images, her first cry, her first smile, and so many more firsts that were lost forever, irretrievable.
He felt only scorn for his mother’s attempts, en route to Chicago, to calm him and remind him of his usual levelheadedness while he’d seethed with aching, sharp anger. There was no excuse for what Amy had done. His mother might repeat a million times that his wife had probably not acted with malicious intent, but it wouldn’t change the fact that she had kept his daughter from him.
He glanced briefly through the window and saw his mom, wearing a worried expression, out in the hall, her arms wrapped around herself. She’d also been stunned by the developments of the day and had burst into tears when she saw her granddaughter for the first time. Not that he hadn’t been expecting that. The fact that she’d insisted on accompanying him to Chicago told him she was just as scared as he was. And he was grateful she was here, secretly, even though, in his opinion, she’d reacted to Amy with far too much understanding.
Once his thoughts centered on her, his eyes searched for Amy. She was there, in the hall, looking frighteningly pale, haggard, and downright frantic. A small voice in his head warned him that she was close to a nervous breakdown, but Patrick refused to allow himself to think about her feelings at the moment.
He had to admit that the Amy he’d met today was only a weak shadow of the Amy who had become his wife six years ago. Today, she had looked like a ghost. Her blue eyes were far more deep-set than he remembered them, and they’d been wide with shock, pain, and dismay when he first spotted her. While her trembling body had left the impression that she could barely keep on her feet, the sight of the bruises on her face had made him flinch.
He’d rather not know the details of how the crash had played out.
He didn’t want to stare at her for too long, didn’t want to be influenced by the image of her sitting by the door with the unhappiest face he’d ever seen on a person. So he refocused his attention on the physician.
“Mr. Ashcroft,” the man was saying, “you need to understand that while we were able to place Audrey near the top of the list, we can never be sure when we’ll receive a matching organ. Your daughter’s condition is—”
“What about a living donation?” he interrupted with a frown. “I read about taking a piece of the parent’s liver and transplanting it into the child’s body.”
Dr. Fairhaven nodded gravely. “That is correct, it’s possible. We can test both you and your wife, and if one of you is a match, we’d only need to remove the left lobe of the liver. At age five, your daughter doesn’t have the same organ volume yet. The capacity for regeneration—”
“Yes, please proceed with that,” Patrick interrupted once again, becoming more agitated by the minute. “I want to be tested immediately, Dr. Fairhaven. If one of us is compatible, when would you perform the operation?”
“Given Audrey’s condition, I want to proceed as quickly as possible,” the doctor replied calmly, but his words set off alarm bells in Patrick’s head.
“Dr. Fairhaven,” he said firmly, “I want you to do anything that’s medically possible to save my daughter. I don’t give a damn what it costs or what is necessary. If you need my liver to save her, then by all means, take it out.”
“Don’t panic,” the doctor said soothingly. “Your daughter’s condition is serious, but with the right treatment, we can minimize the risk of complications. And we will of course make sure Audrey doesn’t want for anything. If you consent, we can have you tested right away. But as far as your wife is concerned …” He hesitated and emitted a concerned sigh. “We are required to verify that potential donors are in good physical condition, so I’d rather not take your wife into consideration right now.”
Patrick exhaled with a huff. “Why?”
“She needs rest,” the gray-haired doctor stated plainly, his hands in his lily-white coat. “My colleague in the ER did not find any severe injuries, apart from a concussion, but it was decided she should remain here to be monitored at least a few days. Naturally, we respect her desire to be close to her daughter, but she needs to rest and regain her strength. A concussion, shock, and trauma are no laughing matter.”
Patrick wanted to tell the doctor not only that he did not care whether his wife rested or not, but also that he had never been able to tell her what to do or what not to do. Amy always did what she set her mind on.
But he simply nodded curtly. “Fine. If everything goes as planned, how long will it take Audrey to recover from the operation?”
“That’s hard to estimate, Mr. Ashcroft, but I’d estimate that she’d need to stay here for at least three weeks. After her release, we’d have to see her regularly in our outpatient clinic for the next three months or so. ”
Patrick shook his head. “No,” he said firmly. “When she’s released, I plan on taking her to Connecticut with me. I’m sure we can make arrangements to have her condition checked somewhere in New York City.”
“Of course a colleague in that region could assume this responsibility, Mr. Ashcroft, but we should weigh the pros and cons of that when the time comes. Right now, the operation is paramount.”
A few minutes later, the doctor led Patrick to another part of the hospital to undergo a myriad of different tests.
He didn’t tell the doctor, but even before Dr. Fairhaven had agreed that Audrey’s follow-up care could take place in New York, Patrick had already decided he would take his daughter home with him as soon as she was released.
And Amy wouldn’t get to say a word about it, or anything else, for that matter.
Chapter 4
Amy felt sick enough that she feared she was going to would vomit any moment. Not that she had eaten anything recently, thanks to her skyrocketing anxiety. But when she glanced at the clock, she felt the sharp sting of stomach acid rising in her throat. It had only been twenty seconds since the last time she’d glanced at the damned clock.
She couldn’t stay in her chair another second, so she rose and paced the brightly painted waiting room around its cheerful furniture. After another peek at the clock, this time over her shoulder, she turned toward the window and stared down at the misty Chicago skyline. For a brief moment, she closed her eyes, clutched the windowsill with both hands, and leaned her head against the cool glass.
“Amy … my dear,” her mother-in-law sighed. “You need to stay positive. Dr. Fairhaven is going to do his best.”
Amy drew in a shaky breath, pulled up her shoulders, and began biting her nails. The overwhelming sense that her life had derailed and her complete lack of control over her daughter’s fate conspired to disable her calming mechanism. And her appetite.
For two days straight, she’d been beside herself, unable to close her eyes for more than a few seconds. When the operation had been scheduled for today, she had burst into tears of relief, but she’d also been agonizing since the decision was made. And in this exact moment, Audrey was lying on the operating table while doctors removed the left lobe of Patrick’s liver.
Only yesterday, the doctors had explained to them in great detail how they would proceed, how long it would take for Patrick’s liver to regenerate, and what Audrey’s prognosis was. That conversation had been the first ray of light in what seemed like a hundred years, but Amy still desperately wished someone would finally free them from this waiting and inform them the procedure had been successful. That both patients were well.
Just one kiss (The Ashcrofts Book 1) Page 17