by Tamara Leigh
I shake my head. “I’d better wait.” Then, for fear that he might offer to wait with me, I add, “But I’ll see you tonight—picking me up at six, right?”
“Right. The symphony, then a late dinner.”
Can take or leave the first, but love late dinners with Clive. “See you then.”
It’s an hour before any of us are allowed inside, but Beau pops his head in and out to recount the cord-cutting (Maia flaps her hands before her face), the pediatrician’s exam (Maia sighs deeply and rolls her eyes), the difficulty in getting his son to latch on to Belle’s breast (Maia protectively crosses her arms over her own), and the measurements.
Finally, Belle’s mother and sister are allowed inside.
Maia lifts her head from Michael’s shoulder. “I’m hungry.”
He pushes the silken hair off her brow and plants a kiss on her forehead. “As soon as we’ve seen the baby, I’ll take you to someplace nice for lunch.”
A half hour later, Beau motions me inside, then says to Michael and Maia, “You’re next.”
“Mind keeping an eye on my purse and jacket?” I ask as I rise.
Michael nods. “We’re not going anywhere.”
Smiling encouragement over my shoulder, I step inside and accept the mask Beau shoves at me. As I fit it, I look to Belle’s mother and sister, both of whom have slid their masks down now that they’re no longer touching the baby.
Belle beams as I step forward. “Kate, meet our son, John Mark.”
I cross to the bed where the bundled infant rests beside Belle and sigh as I take in his wide eyes staring out at this new world.
That’s when it hits me—how well I’m handling Belle and Beau’s blessing. Though I’ve avoided acknowledging my misgivings over this moment when my friends’ prayers would be answered, I twinge. Well, maybe a little more than twinge, but I’m fine. My joy for Belle and Beau is much bigger than “if only I …”
“Would you like to hold him?”
Should have known that was coming. Shouldn’t be surprised. It is, after all, to be expected. And yet I’m jolted.
“Kate?”
I look to Belle and, past her encouraging smile, glimpse her own uncertainty over my reaction to this blessing. Uncertainty I do not want her to feel—uncertainty she shouldn’t feel. Though John Mark is not of my body, his blessing extends to me as well.
I smile from behind the mask and know that the expression reached my eyes when the tension between us falls away.
Beau pokes me in the back. “Pick him up, already.”
“Okay.” I slide hands beneath the little bundle and ease him into my arms. And all the while he stares at me without the slightest show of concern. As if he trusts me completely.
“Oh,” I breathe, drawing him in and settling him against my oversized chest, beneath which beats a heart swelling with adoration.
He smells new … and pure … and sweet.
Opening his perfect little mouth, he gurgles.
And that swollen heart of mine threatens to burst. And my stinging eyes threaten to tear. And my voice comes out all choked. “Welcome, John Mark.”
“He’s alert, isn’t he?” Belle says.
I nod. “And beautiful.”
I touch one little fist above the blanket wrapped around him and hold my breath in anticipation of him grasping my finger. But he doesn’t. With a little sigh, he lowers his lids to half-staff, remains thus for several moments, then lowers his lids the rest of the way.
He does trust me. Completely. And I can’t help but wonder if this is how God feels when I trust Him. Completely. Of course, He’s probably never experienced this with me. Always some part of me I hold back.
“Oh, look there,” Beau croons over my shoulder. “Kate’s bored him to sleep.”
“Beau!” Belle protests.
I make a face at him, but it’s lost behind the mask. Deciding to let him off easy—this time—I return my attention to the bundle in my arms as a knock sounds. Guessing I’m about to be shuttled out so Maia and Michael can have their turn, I hold John Mark closer, the better to savor God’s gift one more moment.
“Dr. Alexander,” Beau says.
I give a little jerk which, fortunately, doesn’t rouse the baby.
“I understand congratulations are in order.”
Slowly I turn to where he stands in the doorway, wearing his doctor’s coat.
He meets my gaze above the oh-so-flattering mask, and a light enters his eyes that I suspect arises from the memory of when I attempted to subdue the powder-coated monster with pepper spray. As for the smile slung from his mouth, that would be the shower we shared …
“Babies look good on you, Kate.”
Suddenly spitless … uncomfortable with my armful … grateful for the mask, I murmur, “Thank you.” Aware of my trembling hands, I gently return Belle’s son to her, all the while wishing she wouldn’t seek my gaze. But she does.
I know, I tell her with my eyes, I know. And I will.
Her mouth purses. She is not happy with me. That makes two of us.
I focus on the little one’s sleeping countenance and experience another melting moment; this one, however, is spiked with regret for what can never be.
I step back, remove the mask, and settle my hands to my thighs as I turn to Clive. “So—”
Oh, no. The smooth microfiber beneath my palms thrusts me into an awareness of my appearance, and I suck in my tummy lest it peek from the gap between bottoms and top. Unfortunately, my hips and thighs don’t respond with equal enthusiasm. Or my breasts.
I don’t know them! I long to pull a Peter. However, unlike Peter, who three times denied Christ and succeeded in sowing doubt, it won’t work for me no matter how many times I deny the speed bumps that force one to slow as they travel the lines of my body. They’re all mine.
The silence of the room growing louder, I smile tightly at Clive, who’s beginning to frown. “I doubt you dropped by to witness a mushy, gushy sentimental moment.”
“Actually, I did.”
“Oh.”
He looks to Beau and Belle. “May I?”
Belle nods. “Of course.”
He eases the door closed and crosses to where I stand alongside the bed.
“Mask?” I thrust mine at him.
He shakes his head. “A look will suffice.”
And I’m grateful, as the only thing worse than him seeing an infant in my arms would be me seeing one in his.
As he peers into the little face, I ease my protesting stomach muscles.
“He’s handsome,” Clive pronounces.
Belle smiles her gratitude. “Thank you.”
Clive turns to me. “You’ll be here a while?”
I suck it in again. “Actually, I’m on my way out.”
“To work on the burn unit?”
That was the plan, but now the day is half gone. “No, I think I’ll just enjoy a day off.” Rare beasts that they are.
“Then spend it with me.”
I startle. “But you’re taking me out tonight.”
Beau drapes an arm across my shoulders. “Kate doesn’t get out much. You’d be doing us all a favor if you’d sweep her off her boring little Birkenstock feet.”
From the crown of my head to the top of my chest, I break out in red.
Fortunately for Beau-zo, Clive takes my elbow and draws me away. “I’ll do that.”
I look over my shoulder to give Beau warning of what to expect the next time I see him; however, he’s turned to Belle. As she shakes her head at him, he cranks an arm up behind his back and gives me a wave.
When we step into the hall, Michael and Maia straighten in their chairs. Great. The ex-boyfriend and Wonder Woman in a workout outfit—not a bulge in sight. So why torture myself? Especially when my jacket is within reach.
Easing my tummy muscles, I grab the third piece of my exercise ensemble from the chair and meet Maia’s gaze. “Your turn.”
“About time.” She rises and s
lides a hand through her silken hair to redirect it over the opposite shoulder, then steps past with Michael on her heels. “Dr. Alexander,” she acknowledges Clive with a sweep of her lashes.
Ah! Despite the cover afforded by my jacket, I tighten those lazy, good-for-nothing tummy muscles. I may have handed over Michael, but I am not handing over Clive.
“Oh!” Maia turns back. “Your cell phone rang, Kate, and it’s been beeping ever since—Christopher something or other came up on caller ID.”
Oblivious to the slap she just landed across my face, she steps into Belle’s room.
“Stapleton?”
Though I wouldn’t say it’s condemnation in Clive’s voice, there’s certainly wariness.
Nothing to feel guilty about.
“He’s been calling.” I turn to him.
“Then this isn’t the first time.”
“No.”
He scans my face. “I understand he’s still married.”
“I wouldn’t know, as I haven’t spoken to him since the day I crashed your party.”
“And yet he persists in calling you?”
I draw a deep breath. “And I persist in not returning his calls.”
He considers me a long moment, then nods. “Good. Shall we go?”
Not until he guides me into an elevator do I ask, “Where are we going?”
The doors swish closed. “I need to stop at my office; then maybe we can grab some sandwiches and head to the park.”
I imagine lounging on a blanket alongside Clive, the spongy grass our mattress, the cloud-laced sky stretching above us. “Sounds great.” At least until I remember my state of dress. “After I stop by the house and change.”
“Why?”
I snort. “Are you blind?”
“Are you, Kate?”
I throw my palms up. “I can’t go out like this.”
“You came in like that.”
“Yeah, but Belle was in labor.”
The doors open to reveal a janitor who’s wiping down windows that pour light into the reception area.
Dropping the matter of my clothes, I follow Clive to his office.
Inside, he sheds his coat and crosses to his desk. “I just need to get a few things together, and then we can leave.”
“No rush.” I look around. As with the first time I visited his office, I’m struck by the absence of pictures depicting his life beyond these walls. Will he ever get over his loss enough to set Jillian and Sam’s faces before him?
“It bothers you, doesn’t it?”
I jump as Clive comes around the desk. “What?”
“You believe there should be photos.”
“Uh …”
“There are, Kate, and I will put them up. Soon.”
My heart gives a little leap. “That’s great. It would really warm it up in here.”
He nods, but before he can change the subject, I become the voice of his mother-in-law. “Have you considered a picture of Jillian and Sam for the domed room?”
From his sharp breath, I’m certain he’ll concur that it’s not my place, but he doesn’t. “I’ve considered it, but haven’t had time to do anything about it.”
Though I open my mouth to offer assistance—to tell him I’ll coordinate it with Gloria—he says, “Is it really necessary to stop at your house?”
It takes me a moment to place myself, but when I do, I wrinkle my nose. “I’m a mess.”
“No, Kate, you’re real.” He steps close, tips my chin up, and slides a hand around my back to draw me nearer. Nice—until the sensation caused by skin on skin alerts me to his hand on the bulge between my pants and top.
I pull back. “Yes, we should definitely stop at my house.”
With a smile so crooked it appears as if knocked askew by seismic activity, he says, “Definitely.”
A perfect day. A perfect night.
Following a change of clothes, Clive and I picnicked in the park—on a blanket … side by side … fingers entwined … while I asked and Clive answered about his parents and a sister he rarely sees since her marriage and move to Australia two years ago. Then the second change of clothes, and the symphony, and a candlelit dinner overlooking the bay. Too perfect to end on a bad note.
Belle will just have to be mad at me. As for God—
I punch my pillow, toss and turn. Toss and turn.
ree. Unleashed. At large. On the loose. Done. And a week before deadline.
If not for the buzz of activity around which I’ve had to work these past three weeks while the unit is fit with equipment, I’d do a little dance. Guess I’ll have to content myself with another sigh. And another. And one more.
“Hey, brushing up on your Lamaze breathing?”
Lamaze …
I swing around to where Dorian stands three feet back, a broad smile showing teeth. “Yes?”
“Cleanup complete.” He nods at the double doors that have replaced the plastic sheet through which I’ve so often passed. “How does it feel to put the final brushstroke on your masterpiece?”
I sigh again. “Wonderful.”
“Well, I’d take you out to celebrate, but I’m afraid the good doctor wouldn’t approve.”
He’s right. Clive and I are definitely a couple, spending as much time together as possible. Which is how Dorian knows about us. As I hired him to assist with touch-up, he was here when Clive brought me dinner yesterday. Though Clive left shortly thereafter, there could be no doubt about our relationship.
“No, he wouldn’t approve,” I concur. “Besides, if I get out of here in the next hour, I can pick up that picture I told you about.”
His eyebrows rise. “The surprise.”
A good one, I pray.
Not my place, I kept telling myself. And yet I did it—coordinated with Gloria to ensure that not only will Jillian and Sam’s names be present for the opening, but also their likenesses. Gloria chose a picture of mother and son taken a few months before the tragedy, and I’d had it enlarged and framed with an engraved plaque.
“I hope I’ve done the right thing.”
Though I haven’t revealed intimate details of Clive’s loss, when Dorian commented on the memorial plaque and tied it to Clive, I’d told him about the picture. He asked if Clive knew, and I confessed he didn’t. Dorian had looked doubtful, making me question if I was making a mistake. Gloria didn’t think so.
“Just don’t spring it on him, Kate.”
That I’ve already decided—no ta-da! and whipping the cover off during the grand opening. By presenting it to Clive tonight, he’ll have time to adjust if needed. “I won’t spring it on him.”
Dorian gives me a peck on the cheek. “Let me know when you have more work for us.” Then, with a tug at his low-riding jeans, he hefts his tool bag. “Good luck, Kate.”
Amazing how painful silence can be, especially from someone who a short while ago was smiling and making a careful examination of my hand in his. Now he’s still as stone.
You should have prayed about this, Kate. But you didn’t. Just as you haven’t prayed about anything lately. Oh, you’re still talking to God—rather, at God—but there’s no conversation. You’re too afraid of what He’ll—
“You should have asked.” Clive continues to stare at the framed picture on the drafting table in my office. “Why didn’t you?”
My expectant smile having long since faltered, I open my clenched hands. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”
“It is.” He looks to where I stand alongside the drafting table.
“I’m sorry.” And I am. Lord, I’m sorry! “I just thought—”
“Gloria.”
I shake my head. “I approached her.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
“Without any prompting?”
I wet my dry lips. “The night of the birthday party, she showed me the pictures in the—”
“I thought so.”
This is not going well. “Do you remember when I asked ab
out a picture of Jillian and Sam for the domed room? You said you’d considered it, but didn’t have time.”
He blinks—a sure sign of life. “My mistake.”
I stare at the air between my nose and chest as my emotions roll over and defenses rise. “I’m really sorry.”
Shortly, his shoes come into view. “Kate, I understand your wanting me to get over what happened, but neither you nor Gloria has the right.”
I jerk my chin up. “I wanted to help.”
His eyebrows lower. “No, you wanted me to push through it. For me to get on with my life.”
I thrust my shoulders back, which causes a sharp pain to slice down between my shoulder blades. “And don’t you want that?”
“I do, but … for God’s sake, Kate! I took off the ring.”
I blink at him and dive in though this little voice urges, “Pull up! Pull up!”
“For God’s sake?” I take a step toward him. “For God’s? Really? But you’ve turned your back on Him.”
As have you, Kate.
Skipping over the wounded look in Clive’s eyes, I say, “Tell me, do you miss the ring?”
His wounded eyes harden. “I do today.”
I nearly lurch back.
“You’re right, Kate. I took off the ring for my sake, not God’s. Because of what I thought I wanted. But perhaps I’m not ready after all. Of course, perhaps you’re not either.”
I feel as if the world has stopped spinning. “What do you mean?”
“You ask and I answer—as well as I can. But when I try to understand you better by asking about your relationship with Christopher and the years between then and now, you hold out.” He draws a deep breath. “How do you think I feel knowing he’s calling you?”
I knew it bothered him, especially last week when Christopher called while Clive and I were out. I’d grimaced at the name that came up, and he’d guessed correctly.
“I wonder if you still have feelings for him, and because of those feelings, don’t want to talk about your past together.”
At last, I pull out of the nosedive that crash-landed me in this very bad place. “You’re wrong. My feelings for Christopher are gone.”
He steps nearer. “Why didn’t it work out between you?” Another step, forcing me to tip my head back. “And why does he seem to think it will work out now?”