by April Wilson
“Thank you. Do you have an idea when she can be released? We need to get back to Chicago to be with our son at Children’s Hospital.”
The doctor nods. “I certainly understand. But under the conditions your wife delivered, and due to the risk of infection, I’d like to keep her at least overnight for observation. She’ll need some pain medication, and possibly an antibiotic, depending on what I find.”
The obstetrician examines Beth and gives her a local anesthetic before stitching her up. I stand beside Beth, holding her hand, grimacing every time she flinches or whimpers. Despite the anesthetic, she can still feel the stitches going in.
“Mr. McIntyre?”
I glance up at the sound of my name, feeling a bit disoriented. I’ve been so focused on Beth, I’d lost track of the time. “Yes?”
The OB smiles at me as she pulls her surgical gloves off. “We’re all done here. Your wife will be moved into a maternity recovery room where she can rest. You can stay overnight with her there.”
I stand. “Thank you. Is everything…okay?”
The doctor gives me a smile. “Yes, she’s going to be just fine.”
* * *
The nurse moves Beth’s bed to a room just down the hall. Walking through the hospital corridor feels surreal. Today wasn’t supposed to go like this. We should have been at the cabin, enjoying some steaks on the grill, kicking back and listening to the insects and birds in the woods. Instead, here we are, a hundred miles away from our son.
Thank God Cooper and Sam are with him. Otherwise, I don’t think I could hold my shit together. Luke is in good hands. Our Children’s Hospital has one of the best neonatal intensive care units in the country, and his godfathers will watch over him like avenging angels in our stead.
Right now, my job is to concentrate on Beth and make sure she gets the care she needs.
The recovery room is nicely decorated, resembling an upscale hotel room. The room has everything we need, including a sofa and a chair that pulls out into a single bed, and a bathroom with a shower. God, I need a shower. And clean clothes.
I check on Beth, who’s exhausted and drowsy from a sedative the doctor gave her to help her relax.
My phone chimes with an incoming message from Cooper.
Cooper: He weighs four pounds, two ounces.
I wonder if that’s good or bad. I have no frame of reference. How much is a newborn supposed to weigh? He came six weeks early, so my guess is four pounds is small. Too small? Dangerously so? I have no idea.
Another update from Cooper follows:
Cooper: He’s breathing on his own, but they’re giving him oxygen.
Then a series of photos arrives, half a dozen pictures of Luke lying in an incubator, looking so damn tiny in an impossibly tiny little diaper. It’s painful to see him with all those tubes and wires attached to his little body.
I scroll through the pictures again, more slowly this time, and study my son. He’s got ten tiny fingers and ten toes. He’s had a bath, and his hair is clean and dry. He’s a blond, just like his mama.
He’s sleeping in all of the photos, so I have no idea what color his eyes are. Probably blue, since Beth and I both have blue eyes. Maybe he’ll have that blue-green shade that Beth has. I think back to when I held him earlier in the afternoon. It was too dark up in that attic for me to clearly see his eyes.
I look down at the palm of my hand and marvel that his entire head fit in my palm, with room to spare. God, he’s so small. So fragile.
My phone chimes with another incoming text.
Cooper: He’s going to be fine in a few weeks. Tell Beth not to worry.
There’s a knock on the door, and I open it to find Jake standing there with our duffle bag and toiletries case.
“Thank God,” I say, waving him into the room. “I need to shower and change.”
Wordlessly, he opens his arms, and we embrace.
“How is she?” he says, after he releases me with a clap on the back. He eyes my temporary shirt. “Nice shirt.”
“I ruined my shirt, so a nurse gave me this to wear.”
I give Jake a quick rundown on Beth’s condition and the updates that Cooper has sent. “Here, pictures,” I say, handing him my phone. While I change shirts, Jake flips through the photos of Luke.
“Damn, he’s so small,” he says. “The NICU paramedics whisked him away so quickly I didn’t get a chance to look at him.” Jake studies one of the pictures. “He looks like you.”
I laugh. “How in the hell can you tell by looking at those photos?”
Jake shrugs. “I can tell.” He pats me on the back. “Don’t worry, bro. He’s going to be fine. Beth’s going to be fine, too.”
Jake abandons me to check on Beth, but she’s sound asleep.
“The doctor gave her something to help her rest,” I say, reaching for her hand. “And something for the pain.”
* * *
Jake leaves us so Beth can rest, telling me he’ll be in the waiting room if we need him. I crash on the sofa and watch her sleep, but my mind is too wired to get any sleep myself.
Sometime later, there’s a quiet knock on the door. I open the door and in walks a woman. She gives me a smile, then observes Beth sleeping. “Mr. McIntyre? My name is Denise. I’m a lactation consultant. Do you know if your wife is planning to breastfeed?”
I nod. “She is, yes. Unfortunately, our baby’s in Chicago right now, at Children’s Hospital.”
“I know. I’m sorry about the difficult circumstances of your wife’s delivery. Since your baby’s not here at the moment, your wife will need to pump to help start the milk production process. I can help her with that. She can save the colostrum she pumps and take it with her to give to the baby when she can.”
“Oh, right.” Good lord, I am so in over my head here. “We have the equipment back at home… a breast pump, bottles, the whole nine yards.”
She gives me a sad smile. “Sorry things didn’t work out as planned. We can give you a hand pump. That will work fine until you get home. And we have cold packs you can have to keep the colostrum chilled.”
The lactation consultant departs, promising to come back when Beth is awake. I sit in the visitor chair next to Beth’s bed, turning the chair so that it’s facing her. I reach for her hand, which is warm and soft, and so very still. I hold it in mine, stroking the back of it. “I’m here, Beth.”
I know she can’t hear me, but I need to talk to her. I kiss the back of her hand, breathing in the delicate scent of her skin, the familiarity of it making me ache. “I won’t leave your side again, honey. I promise.” And then I lay my head down near hers and close my eyes.
* * *
I wake up from my impromptu nap when Beth begins to stir, moaning with every movement. If I could bear the pain for her, I would. Gladly.
She shifts under the covers and a whimper escapes her.
“Beth?” I scoot closer, until I’m at the edge of my seat. “Honey? Can you hear me?”
She moans in response, and then her eyelids flutter open. She blinks several times, trying to focus. Then she turns to face me. “Shane?”
Chapter 20
Beth
Everything comes rushing back like a bad dream, the guilt, the crushing sense of shame that I let Shane down. That I let our baby down. The fear of seeing accusation in Shane’s eyes. I can’t bear that.
It’s all my fault.
“How do you feel?” he asks, as he brushes my hair back and strokes my forehead with the pad of his thumb.
“Better.” At least that part is true. I still feel a lot of physical discomfort, but the sharp edge of pain has been greatly tempered. My muscles are sore all over, and the area between my legs is quite swollen and tender. As I shift my position, I can feel the unwelcome bulk of bandages between my legs.
“Would you like to see pictures of the baby? Cooper sent these about an hour ago. He said Luke’s doing well.” Shane pulls out his phone and slowly flips through images of our baby
lying in an incubator, wearing nothing but a diaper, with God knows how many wires and tubes taped to his tiny body.
It’s all my fault.
I look at Shane, his image swimming through the tears pooling in my eyes. “I want to go home. Please take me home.”
He frowns, his brow furrowing as he watches me far too closely. I look away, staring up at the ceiling, not wanting to see what I’m afraid I’m going to see in his eyes.
“Your doctor wants you to stay overnight for observation,” he says. “If everything checks out in the morning, we can head home then.”
I’m saved from making a reply when someone walks into the room—a woman, a nurse.
“Hello, Beth,” she says, giving me a bright smile. “I’m Ruby. I’ll be your nurse tonight.”
Ruby does a cursory inspection of my blood pressure cuff and oxygen monitor. Then she checks my chart. “How do you feel, hon?”
“Better.”
“Would you like to try using the restroom?” Ruby looks at Shane. “It’s important that we know she can urinate. She can’t leave until we know she can. It can take a while for the body’s functions to start working again after something as traumatic as birth.”
Ruby smiles down at me. “Do you want to try to go to the bathroom now? I’ll help you.”
I’m not looking forward to getting up and walking, but my bladder is full—painfully so. I might as well give it a try. I toss off the blankets and sit up, gingerly swinging my feet to the floor.
“I’ll help you, sweetheart,” Shane says, offering me his hand.
I shake my head, coward that I am, not meeting his gaze. “That’s all right. She’ll help me.”
Frowning, Shane steps back without a word, giving Ruby and me a clear path to the restroom. I can’t bear to look him in the eye.
Pulling my IV pole along with me, I shuffle across the room in my drafty hospital gown to the restroom, Ruby at my side, her hand on my elbow supporting me.
After I’m settled in the restroom, Ruby waits outside the door to give me some privacy while I try to convince my bladder it’s okay to let go. I know I need to go—my bladder is killing me. But it doesn’t seem to want to cooperate. My body starts shaking, and I’m finding it difficult to relax.
“Any luck?” Ruby says through the door.
“No.”
She comes into the restroom and turns on the water faucet to a gentle stream, the water trickling loudly into the sink. I laugh, remembering my mom doing the same thing when I was a little girl. “Maybe that will help.”
Ruby goes back to her spot outside the door and waits patiently. I will my body to relax, and finally have success.
After washing up, I shuffle back to bed, with Ruby’s help, and lie down once more. On her way out, Ruby promises to bring me something to eat. I haven’t eaten more than a protein bar since breakfast that morning, and I’m starving.
Shane’s standing at the large picture window, staring out at the night sky, with his back to me. Tension radiates off his body in waves. I imagine there are all kinds of things he wants to say to me, none of which I’m ready to hear.
He closes the blinds and returns to the chair beside my bed, his expression carefully neutral. “How’d it go in there?”
“Fine,” I say, staring down at my hands folded on my lap. “It took a while, but I did it.”
“Good. That’s great. Beth—”
“Ruby’s going to bring me some supper,” I say, cutting him off before he can say anything more. I’m just not ready to talk. “You should go eat something. I’m sure you must be starving.”
He stands, looking dejected, and I feel even worse. “All right. I won’t be gone long.”
Chapter 21
Shane
Warning bells reverberate in my head as I head down the hall to the delivery waiting room where Jake is camping out, on standby in case we need him. Something’s wrong. Beth’s avoiding eye contact—not just with me, but with everyone—and when asked a question, she gives the barest of answers.
I feel a growing sense of anxiety, but I tamp it down. We’ll get through this, whatever this is. It’s only temporary. Once she’s had a chance to recover from the events of today, she’ll be okay. We both will. But right now, she feels so far away from me, and moving farther with every passing minute. I’m desperate to pull her back to me, but I’m not sure if that’s the right thing to do. Maybe she just needs some space, some time to process everything that’s happened.
I know she’s tired—more like exhausted—and she’s got to be hurting all over physically, not to mention emotionally. I’ll gladly give her all the time she needs… but I can’t dismiss the red flags I’m seeing.
She didn’t ask where Luke is. She didn’t ask how he’s doing. She didn’t ask what his prognosis is. She didn’t ask when we can see him. This isn’t like Beth. If anything, I would have expected her to be in tears, begging and pleading with me to take her back to Chicago tonight so she can see the baby. Instead, nothing.
In fact, I don’t think she’s said more than a dozen words to me since we arrived at the hospital.
I find Jake seated in the waiting room, flipping through a racing magazine.
“How’s she doing?” he says, tossing the magazine aside as soon as he sees me.
I shrug. “I’m not sure. Physically, she’s doing well. The obstetrician said everything looks fine, and that she should be able to go home tomorrow. But emotionally…” I shake my head. “She’s struggling.”
“She’s been through a lot, Shane.”
“I know, but this is different. It’s like she’s shutting down. She’s not herself. And she’s not showing any interest in Luke. That’s not like her. Before, the baby was all she could talk about, and now…nothing.”
I drop down into the empty seat beside my brother. “I showed her the pictures of Luke in his incubator, and all she said was that she wanted to go home.”
Jake pats me on the back. “Give her some time,” he says. “She experienced a hell of a trauma today. Maybe she’s still in shock. I’m sure she’ll be back to her sweet and charming self by morning.”
“I hope you’re right.”
But as much as I want to believe Jake’s right, my gut tells me differently.
* * *
Jake and I go down to the cafeteria to grab some coffee and sandwiches. When I return to the room, the lactation consultant is just leaving. I take a seat in the chair beside the bed. Beth’s sitting up.
“How’d it go?” I ask her.
She shrugs. “Fine.”
“Did you try the pump?”
She nods, staring down at her fingers which are fiddling nervously with the blanket. “She said the milk won’t actually start flowing for a couple of days, but I’m pumping the colostrum and that will get things going.” She grimaces as she shifts position.
“What’s wrong?”
“My breasts hurt. They’re swollen. But I guess pumping will help with that.” Her gaze flickers my way for a brief moment, though she doesn’t look me in the eye. “Would you please turn out the lights? I’m tired. I want to sleep.”
I swallow hard, debating whether or not it’s the right time to address the elephant in the room. I don’t know if I should give her more time, or jump into it head first. I figure there’s no time like the present. I don’t think it’s healthy to let this continue unaddressed. “Beth, honey, we need to talk.”
There’s no mistaking the flash of panic in her eyes as she glances at me, then away. “Talk about what? Can’t it wait? I’m really tired.”
I sigh, blowing out a heavy breath. I’m so out of my element here. “Sweetheart, something’s bothering you, and I think we should talk about it.”
She shakes her head as she reaches for the remote control and lowers the head of the bed. She closes her eyes, effectively shutting me out.
I reach for her hand. “I know you’ve been through an awful experience. You have no idea how sorry I am that this
happened. I know you’re hurting and you’re scared, and you have every right to be. But please, don’t shut me out. Let me help you. Luke is going to be fine. He’s experiencing some complications because he’s premature, but Cooper assures me his doctors said he’s not in danger. He just needs a little time to catch up.”
I get no reaction from her at all.
I bring her hand to my lips and kiss it, pressing my nose against her soft skin. “Honey, talk to me.”
“I’m tired, Shane. I just want to sleep right now. Please.”
* * *
Nine o’clock that night, there’s a quiet knock on our door. When I open it, I’m not surprised to see Tyler standing there, along with their mother.
“Ingrid,” I say, opening my arms to her.
Ingrid Jamison falls into my arms looking like she’s a heartbeat away from losing it.
“They’re okay, Ingrid,” I tell her as I rub her back. “Beth’s resting, and Cooper tells me Luke is not in any danger. He’s going to be fine. They both will.”
“My poor baby girl,” she says, her voice muffled against my shirt.
I glance over the top of Ingrid’s head, at her son. Tyler may be one self-controlled son-of-a-gun, but he doesn’t fool me, not for a second. He’s just as worried as the rest of us.
Ingrid pulls back and looks up at me. “Can I see her?” Her voice is little more than a whisper as she peers around me, trying to get a look at her daughter.
“Of course, you can.” But first, I step out of the room and close the door quietly behind us so we can speak frankly. “Beth has been through a lot today,” I warn them. “She’s pretty traumatized, so don’t expect a lot out of her. She’s not very talkative right now.”
“All right,” Ingrid says, and Tyler nods.
I open the door and stand aside to let Beth’s family precede me into the room. Ingrid swallows hard, her shoulders lifting as she pastes a brave smile on her face. Tyler gives me a considering look as he passes me, saying nothing for the time being. I’m sure he’ll have plenty to say to me later, well out of Beth’s hearing.
I stake out a position at the foot of the bed and watch as Ingrid sits on the side of the bed. Tyler stands on the side opposite his mother.