“I didn’t think I’d have a need of one yet.” She sat helplessly as more water rushed onto the floor. “The stomachaches I’ve been feeling—it must have been the start of labor. I thought it was your cooking.” She smiled a little.
“Gee, thanks.” He squeezed her knee, then got up, and jumped into action. She watched as he gathered towels from the hall closet and spread them over the floor. Damien disappeared into his room and reappeared with an empty duffel bag.
“I’m going to pack some of your things, okay?” he asked.
She nodded and concentrated on the second wave of pain. Was it supposed to start this quickly? Feel this intense? She did her best to remain calm. Panicking wouldn’t help her or the baby get through this. Damien came back and handed her a pair of yoga pants and a T-shirt.
“Do you need help changing?” He kneeled down and switched the sopping towel on the floor with a dry one. Heat rose on her cheeks.
“No, I can handle it.” She went into the bathroom and slowly pulled on the pants and T-shirt. Her toothbrush was gone from the holder by the sink, as was the toothpaste, and her hairbrush. Even though she was slightly bashful that he was witnessing her most vulnerable moments, Lindsey was thankful she wasn’t alone. When she emerged, Damien was filling Daisy’s bowl with dry food and getting her fresh water.
“I’m guessing we might be a while.” He slung the overstuffed duffel over his shoulder. What could he have possibly packed that had it stretching at the seams? He took her car keys off the counter, put his hand on the small of her back, and led her gently to the car. Damien spread a towel on the passenger seat, and moved aside so she could sit.
“Do you want me to readjust the seat? Would you be more comfortable leaning back?”
She shook her head and rubbed her belly as another wave hit—stronger this time. If the stomach pains she’d experienced earlier had been contractions, too, maybe she was farther along than she thought. She gripped the side of the seat, knuckles going white, as she considered the timing. She was only thirty-seven weeks. Lindsey knew from What to Expect When You’re Expecting that the dangers of an early birth decreased each week. What if her baby needed more time, though? Would the baby be strong enough? Was it too soon?
Every so often, she could feel Damien’s eyes on her. Each time they hit a red light, impatience simmered off him like the steam rising from a boiling pot.
By the time they pulled up to the hospital, sweat beaded over Lindsey’s brow. When a contraction hit, a vise gripped her insides and twisted. The pain radiated around her belly and across her back. Damien passed the keys off to the valet attendant, took the duffel from the backseat, and rushed to the passenger door. He helped her stand, and together they walked into the hospital. Lindsey checked in as Damien stood closely behind her. They were directed straight to triage. Lindsey lay on the metal rollaway bed covered by a paper protector, and shortly after a nurse pulled open the blue-and-white curtain.
“Nice to meet you both.” She smiled at Damien, then at Lindsey. “My name’s Tina and I’m the RN here in triage.” When she looked down at Lindsey’s file, her cropped chestnut hair skimmed just above her jawline. Tina began asking Lindsey questions.
How far apart are the contractions? How many weeks are you?
“Okay, then,” Tina said eventually. “Let’s get this baby on the radar and see what it’s up to.”
She put a band around Lindsey’s stomach and tucked in round monitors. Damien sat in a chair nearby and rubbed her shoulder steadily each time a contraction hit.
“The contractions are coming close. Let’s see how far you’re dilated,” Tina said, and draped a sheet over Lindsey’s legs. Lindsey was momentarily embarrassed having Damien there, but when the next contraction broke over her, strong and painful, she gripped his arm.
“Don’t worry,” he whispered in her ear. “I’m right here, and I’m not leaving.”
“All right.” Tina looked up with a delighted grin. She was so cheerful, Lindsey wanted to snap. “It’s almost showtime. You’re eight centimeters dilated—fast for a first-timer.” She rolled the wheeled chair to the computer and punched in some data. “How are you handling the pain?” Tina asked.
“It’s okay.” Lindsey gritted her teeth. It hurt like hell.
“I’m not sure what you had planned for pain management, but at this point the baby will probably be out before we can get an epidural.”
“I hadn’t planned on one,” Lindsey said through short pants. “But I sure wish I had.”
She was wheeled down the white sterile hall to a birthing room. Damien was a constant source of comfort through the pain. He gave her an anchor when distress threatened to overcome her. The contractions became stronger and stronger, until she thought she couldn’t bear another moment. Her body was exhausted from fielding the intensity of labor, and she hadn’t even started pushing yet.
“You’re doing amazing, Lindsey.” Damien encouraged her and ran a hand over her hair. “Keep fighting.”
When it was time, she bore down with all her might. The pain was an enormous force that overtook her body and mind. She was so tired, and the man that should have been by her side was uninterested in the birth of their baby. She was so confused by all the feelings she had for the man who stood beside her now. She was just divorced, yet she found herself slipping into love with Damien. He was so many things and the combination lured her. Hard yet kind. The type of kindness that moved him to not only rescue her from the side of the road, but stay with her at the shop. The type of kindness that packed a hospital bag and offered encouragements and endearments throughout the trials of labor. A warrior with deep scars and eyes that held painful secrets—the same eyes lit when her baby kicked against his hand.
Lindsey looked over at Damien, and was so thankful for him. He held on to her like a steady anchor in a swirling storm. In his eyes, she found the strength she needed to make the final push. The pain was so great, she cried out. Suddenly, it subsided and she heard a cry, then another. Lindsey sobbed in relief as the baby was placed on her chest.
“Congratulations,” the doctor said. “It’s a healthy baby girl.”
So precious and small, this tiny life was the most miraculous thing that had ever happened to her. Lindsey imprinted the moment in her brain, the sound of her little girl’s first cries, the way her tiny hands fisted tightly, the downy fuzz that wisped over her head, but most of all the magical emotions that wrapped around her heart. She sighed and nuzzled closer to the baby. Overcome and overwhelmed with the moment, she had forgotten Damien was still in the room. She glanced up at him, and the strangest look swam in his eyes. Was it pride she saw there? Relief?
“What will you call her?” He stepped closer to the bed, and ran his thumb over the baby’s cheek. Her daughter’s hand reached out and grasped his finger, like a seahorse curling around ocean grass. Her heart faltered at the sight of the baby’s tiny pink finger wrapped around Damien’s.
“Maris.” She smiled. “It means of the sea.”
“Maris.” He spoke it slowly, and it sounded like harp chords flowing off his tongue. “It’s just right. She’s just right.”
He smiled down at her, and in that time in space, everything truly was just right.
Chapter Seven
Fog hung like a thick shawl over the hospital parking lot. The valet attendant zigzagged between cars, found Lindsey’s, and pulled it out of the tight parking space. Damien would be back to the hospital before she woke. They had a baby and nothing at the cottage was prepared for her. Lindsey had a baby—but watching the birth had been so powerful and incredible, he had been part of it, too. He tipped the attendant and slid behind the wheel of Lindsey’s car.
Something had loosened and stirred inside him as he looked at Maris’s tiny face. He stole a few private moments with her in the dead of night as Lindsey slept, and cherished them. After the intensity of labor, he hadn’t wanted to wake Lindsey right away. Damien had slipped the baby gingerly from the hos
pital bassinet. He made sure to hold her head, just like the nurse had instructed the day before, and sat in the rocker by the window. He’d pressed his lips to her forehead, and her downy hair tickled his chin. He loved her light powdery scent and the way her fingers wrapped around his.
Somehow, he’d started imagining they were both his; mother and baby. Everything he vowed he would never want had snuck up and wrapped itself tightly around his heart like vines of ivy creeping up a stone wall.
He drove toward the outskirts of Barnstable County where his GPS promised he’d find a baby supply store. When he reached the shopping plaza, he put the car in park and grabbed a cart. He figured he’d need it—they barely had anything for the baby—she barely had anything. Not they. The doors to the store automatically slid open when he approached and he stood there dumbfounded. A sea of endless aisles ran in straight lines under rows of fluorescent lights. Why did he think he could do this? He had no idea what a baby needed.
“Honey, you look a little lost. Can I help you find something?” A woman with silvery-white hair and a name tag that read Mary approached him.
“I could use some help,” he admitted. “My…friend’s baby made a surprise appearance. She needs it all.”
She smiled and her brown eyes twinkled. “Well, you came to the right place. I think you might need an extra carriage, though.” She grabbed one from the row outside the store. As she pushed her cart down aisle A, she said, “Let’s start with the mama. Is she nursing or bottle feeding?”
“Nursing,” Damien answered. He’d gone to get a coffee the night before when the lactation nurse had come to see how Lindsey was doing with feedings.
“She’d be grateful for this soothing cream then, and a special pillow to make feeding easier.”
“Whatever you think is fine.” Damien watched as the salesperson chose a salve and then hesitated at the pillows, which looked like half-eaten donuts.
“Boy or girl?” she asked with a hand hovering over the pillows.
“Girl.” Damien moved closer to shelves. “This one will do.” He chose the one with pink seahorses and shells.
“We have a bedding set and a mobile to match that,” Mary said. Her silver hair brushed against her purple store shirt and her kind eyes sparkled, either with pity or delight over the commission she was about to earn.
Damien added both to the cart when they made it to the bedding and furniture aisle. The cart was quickly becoming close to full. He’d picked out onesies, hats, and swaddling blankets and Mary had helped him select diapers and rash cream. Now he stood debating over cribs. Had he ever imagined he’d be picking out a crib? He was probably overstepping his boundaries buying all this stuff, but the baby needed it, right? Lindsey and the baby would be in the hospital for a few days under observation—he wanted to surprise them with a nursery.
Mary walked over to the display beside him. “This crib is convertible.” She trailed her fingers over the white curved rails. “It transitions to a toddler bed, then a daybed. The attached changing table will give you some extra space if the room is small.”
The third bedroom was small, but the perfect size for a nursery. “This one’s good,” Damien said and flipped the price tag. He winced a bit. It wasn’t like he didn’t have the money; he’d spent years in the Marines, only touching his paychecks occasionally when on leave. What good was it doing just sitting there? If anyone deserved a surprise, it was Lindsey. He was sure she had thought of the baby’s father as she powered through labor like a champion fighter. Damien had seen the pain radiate in her eyes, but she’d pushed through it. A new level of admiration had been layered onto the respect he had for her.
“All right, the last piece would be a rocker,” Mary said and led him down another aisle in the seemingly endless store. “Now, it’s not essential, but it’s so nice and soothing to rock a baby to sleep.”
Lindsey deserved a rocker, too. He knew she didn’t have money to splurge on things, and he picked a tan-and-white glider with a matching ottoman. At checkout, he paid extra for next-day delivery. It would give him just enough time to paint before the furniture arrived. He tucked his debit card back into his wallet, pocketed the receipt, and pushed the consolidated cart into the lot. After loading the back of the car with shopping bags, Damien sparked the ignition, and backed out of the parking lot.
Salt marshes lined each side of the road. He left his windows rolled down, and the warm breeze hit his face carrying the scents of peat, salt water, and earth. He glanced out at the golden grass that speared up from a lacework of pools and streams. Damien had never really noticed how beautiful the landscape was growing up, but now that he returned as an adult, he could appreciate the little details. His plan was to drop the purchases off at the cottage, pick up sandwiches, and get back to Lindsey just in time for lunch. He did just that, making an additional stop in the hospital gift shop for an arrangement of flowers, with glittery pink alphabet blocks adorning it.
A smile burst over Lindsey’s face when she saw them. Like the swift strike of a match, something lit inside Damien and burned straight through him. He was taken aback at his reaction. His feelings for her were intensifying and it scared the hell out of him. She was so pretty leaned back in the hospital bed, face serene and glowing. The sight of her always stole his breath. Steadier, he snuck over to her bedside, kissed her forehead, and placed the flowers on the nightstand.
“Damien—thank you.” Her voice was filled with so much appreciation, it made him wonder when the last time was that someone had brought her flowers or had done something nice for her just because. It made him glad he’d snuck away early and faced the perils of the baby store.
“I think you’ll be more thankful for this.” He held up the takeout sack and her grin widened.
“You know me well. This hospital food just isn’t cutting it.” She shifted to sit up and he tried not to look at her full breasts as the white sheet slipped revealing a thin-strapped top.
“And that pamphlet said you need extra calories for nursing.” He pulled the sandwiches out of the bag and some potato salad. “There, just like a picnic.” When he looked up, she was staring at him.
“You read pamphlets? On breastfeeding?” Lindsey raised her eyebrows at him.
“Yeah, it was in that folder they left you. I thought it might be helpful to scan through things.” That was how he learned about baby proofing, and it served him well that morning when he chose outlet covers and cabinet locks.
“You surprise me, Damien.” She offered him a saucy side smile that was a reward in itself.
“Well, your bunkmate should know a thing or two about babies if there’s one in the house,” he said and bit into his grinder. A thought popped into his head. Now that Maris was born, maybe Lindsey didn’t want him under her roof. Her parents would eventually come home to visit and she’d have to explain why a man was living in her house.
“That is, if you’re still okay with our arrangement.” He leveled his eyes with hers and searched for any sign that she wasn’t.
“It’s nice having you around, Damien. The cottage has never looked better and I can’t say the extra money doesn’t help—especially now that Maris is born and I have nothing for her. I’ll have to find a store to stop at before we get home.” Worry clouded her eyes.
“Don’t think about it now.” He grasped her hand to distract her and glanced over at Maris, who was still sleeping soundly in the bassinet. “When you return to work, what will you do?”
“I’ll have to find a day care and maybe when my parents are home from Aruba they’d be willing to take a few days. I’m just not sure I’ll want to go back to the same type of job I had before. The hours are long, and I want to spend every moment I can with Maris.” She took a sip of the apple juice sitting on her table.
“Why don’t you paint?” he asked. Lindsey tensed up. She had always loved art and talent couldn’t just poof into thin air, could it?
She shook her head. “I could never make enough from
it. It’s just a silly hobby.” Lindsey twisted the straw in her drink.
Now he understood. “Did he tell you that?” He could see the answer in her eyes. “When we were young, you knew you’d grow up to be an artist. You have a special talent, Lindsey. Don’t give that up.”
“That’s exactly it.” She sighed. “We were young, with no worries or responsibilities. It’s easy to dream big when you’re not accountable for anything.” Her words were true for her, but his childhood had been riddled with worry and responsibility. When he got home from school, would his father be passed out or waiting there with a belt? If he was really good and well behaved, his mother would come back and fix everything. But she hadn’t and he was left to fend off his father on his own.
“I bet every single nautical shop would knock down the doors to buy your work. Tourists would eat up seaside paintings from a local artist with a spoon.” Lindsey looked down at her lunch. Where was the spark of confidence she’d always had?
“I think you’re overestimating my skills, Damien.” She laughed it off and crumpled the empty sandwich wrapper.
They both whipped their heads around to the bassinet when Maris wailed. A smile broke over their faces and they giggled at their reaction.
“Stay there,” Damien told Lindsey when she started to ease out of the bed. He walked over to the baby, lifted her carefully out of the bassinet, and placed her in Lindsey’s arms. They made quite a picture snuggled together and again he longed to be part of that picture. He might enjoy playing house with Lindsey and the baby, but he couldn’t stay here forever. His father’s house had gone on the market and it was only a matter of time before it got snapped up. Real estate didn’t sit long on the Cape. It would be easier for them both if he didn’t get too attached. The problem was, he was already wrapped up in both of them.
Chapter Eight
Maris slept the entire ride back to the cottage, securely fastened in the car seat that Damien had managed to purchase in-between hospital visits and caring for the dog. Lindsey would pay him back for it, as soon as she could get on her feet. He’d done so much for them. The tires crunched over the crushed seashell drive. Damien had brightened and sealed the shaker shingles, returning the cottage to a natural seaside gray and had painted the porch white. It looked just as she remembered it now. Tears stung her eyes—she was more sentimental now than when she was pregnant.
In with the Tide Page 5