by April Wilson
Ingrid gently touches Beth’s cheek. “Baby, it’s Mama. I’m here.”
Beth’s eyes flutter open, and she stares at her mother. “Mama?” Her eyes fill with tears as she sits up with a whimper, reaching for her mother.
Ingrid wraps Beth in her arms and kisses her temple. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you, sweetheart,” she says, gently rocking her daughter. “I’m so sorry.”
Beth breaks down, sobbing in her mother’s embrace. My own throat tightens as I watch her.
“It’s all right, baby,” Ingrid says, holding Beth as she cries. “Everything’s going to be all right. You’ll see.”
When Beth’s tears subside, Ingrid lowers her back down on the bed and arranges the bedding just so, smoothing the blanket over Beth’s chest. Beth bites back a pained grimace, and Ingrid pulls her hand back.
“Her breasts,” I say. “They’re swollen, and she’s uncomfortable.”
“Oh, right,” Ingrid says. “It’s been so many years since I had a baby, I’d forgotten. It’s a shame Lucas isn’t here with you. Nursing would help.”
“She has a pump,” I say. “She’s going to pump until she can nurse him.”
And just like that, what little energy Beth had is gone, and she closes her eyes again. “I’m so tired,” she says. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, darling.” Ingrid strokes Beth’s hair. “We understand. Just rest.”
They stay another half-hour, Ingrid sitting on the bed and stroking Beth’s hair. Tyler watches from the side, his expression grave. Every once in a while, he makes eye contact with me, and it’s clear we’re on the same page for a change.
Tyler nods toward the door, and I follow him out into the hallway.
“What’s wrong with her?” he says after closing the door behind us.
I sigh. “I’m not exactly sure, but obviously something’s not right. Maybe she’s still in shock. Clearly, she’s traumatized. Maybe even depressed.”
He glares at me. “Have you tried asking her?”
“Of course I did. She said she didn’t want to discuss it.”
Tyler shakes his head. “She’s not herself.”
“No, she isn’t. I’m hoping once I get her back to Chicago and she sees Luke, she’ll snap out of it.”
“And if she doesn’t?”
“I’ll deal with that when the time comes.”
Ingrid and Tyler take their leave around ten o’clock, planning to head back to Chicago. I walk them out into the hallway.
“I’ll be staying in town with Tyler for the time being,” Ingrid says, “so I can be close to Beth and the baby. If there’s anything I can do to help, please let me know.”
“I will.” I hug Ingrid good-bye. “I’ll take good care of her and keep you posted. I promise.”
“Thank you.”
I offer my hand to Tyler, who shakes it. But he doesn’t say much. I think he’s as thrown by Beth’s behavior as I am. And equally as worried. He gives me a level stare. “Take care of her.”
“I will.”
* * *
After heading back into Beth’s room, I grab a pillow and blanket from the cupboard and make up a bed on the sofa. The last thing I feel like doing right now is sleeping, but a few hours of sleep tonight would be a good idea. Who knows what tomorrow will bring?
Beth’s eyes are closed, and she’s breathing evenly, but I suspect she’s not asleep. She opened up to her mom, and to Tyler, but she’s avoiding me, and I don’t know why.
I sit on the edge of her bed and take her hand in mine, stroking the back of it. I want to be in that bed with her so badly, just to hold her in my arms, feel her warmth and breathe in her scent, but I know I can’t. Right now she needs some space. “I’ll be right over there, on the sofa, sweetheart. Call me if you need anything.”
I get no response, but that doesn’t surprise me.
“Everything’s going to be all right,” I tell her. “Please, don’t worry.”
Still nothing. Until she swallows hard, the corners of her lips turning down just the slightest bit. Her lower lip quivers. Yeah, she’s awake.
“I wish you would talk to me, honey. Let me know what you’re thinking. I’ll do anything to help you, you know that.”
Nothing.
I can’t for the life of me figure out what’s going on with her. She always talks to me about what’s bothering her. She always confides in me. Unless….
An unwelcome thought slams into my head, and I have to know. “Do you blame me for what happened today?”
Her eyes snap open, and she stares at me, horrified. “No! Of course I don’t blame you!”
“Then what’s bothering you? Is it me? Is it something I did? Or something I didn’t do? Beth, please, throw me a bone here. Tell me what’s wrong so I can fix it.”
Her expression falls, and she looks devastated. “You can’t fix this.”
“Of course, I can. I can fix anything. Just tell me.”
She shakes her head, turning away. “Everything that happened today… the baby… it’s all my fault. You can’t change it or fix it.”
I stare at her, completely dumbfounded. “Beth, you can’t be serious. None of it was your fault!”
“Yes, it was. The trip was my idea. You didn’t even want us to go. You only agreed to appease me. And Cooper didn’t want us to go. No one did, but me.”
“You cannot hold yourself accountable for a robbery, or for going into labor prematurely. You’re assuming those two events are tied together, and you don’t know that. You can’t blame yourself for any of this.”
She shrugs dismissively.
“Sweetheart, no one blames you. I certainly don’t. Your family doesn’t. My family doesn’t. No one does.”
“I’m tired,” she says. “Can I sleep now?”
I have to fight the urge to crawl into that damn bed with her, pull her into my arms, and hold on for dear life. But I know she’s still in a lot of discomfort, and I’ll only hurt her if I do. Still, I feel so damn helpless.
Leaning down, I kiss her forehead, my lips clinging to her soft brow. “You listen to me, Beth. None of what happened today is your fault, and I refuse to let you take the blame for it.” I straighten, but she doesn’t respond. “Please, don’t shut me out. I can help you get through anything, but you’ve got to let me.”
Later that night, as I lie on the sofa wide awake, staring at the ceiling, my mind replays the events of the day over and over, in a vicious loop. I’m still awake two hours later when the lactation consultant pays Beth a visit. I can hear Beth’s quiet frustration as she tries to get the hang of using the pump. I want to help her, at least support her, but I don’t think she wants anything from me right now.
She’s too busy punishing herself for something that was not her fault.
* * *
In the morning, a nurse helps Beth to the restroom so she can urinate again. Apparently, everything is working fine in that department, which is good news. It means we might be cleared to leave soon. The obstetrician comes in to examine her one last time, and she gives Beth the okay to be released.
I accompany Beth and the hospital staff member who wheels her downstairs to the main exit, where Jake is waiting for us with a rented SUV. I help her into the back seat and join her there.
“Where to?” Jake says, as he pulls away from the hospital and heads for the highway heading south, back to Chicago.
“Home,” Beth says.
“To Children’s Hospital,” I clarify, reaching for Beth’s hand. She’s shaking.
Dear God, she’s afraid to see her own child.
Chapter 22
Beth
Every mile we travel brings me closer to something I can’t face.
My heart is hammering in my chest, and I can’t stop shaking. The shadows are closing in on me, and the air presses inward, suffocating me. Shane has a death grip on my hand, but even he can’t help me now. No one can. This is my shame to bear. Mine.
I
don’t know how in the world I’m going to face that tiny, precious little boy. I feel sick, my heart aching for him. He deserves better than this. He deserves better than me. It’s all I can do just to keep breathing—in, out, in, out. My chest is so tight, my lungs feeling squeezed. Tighter and tighter, a band constricts around me, making my pulse thunder and my heart jackhammer.
I can’t do this.
I can’t face my child.
I can’t face my husband.
Oh my God, Shane, I’m so sorry. If I could take it all back, I would. I would undo the damage, make different choices. I wouldn’t be so selfish. But it’s too late for that. It’s too—
Shane reaches across me to grab my purse and haul it onto his lap. He digs around inside until he locates my rescue inhaler, which he pulls out and shakes briskly.
“Open,” he barks, holding the device to my lips.
I open my mouth, and he inserts the inhaler, pressing down to release the medication. I draw it into me, sucking it deep into my lungs and holding my breath for a couple moments. Then I force myself to relax and let the medicine do its job.
“She okay?” Jake says, eyeing us in the rearview mirror.
Shane turns in his seat to face me. “Feeling better, sweetheart?”
I cough, my throat scratchy and my breath short. “Yes.” The sad thing is, I hadn’t even realized I was having an asthma attack. If I can’t take care of myself, how in the world can I take care of a vulnerable little baby? My voice breaks on a sob. “I’m so sorry.”
Shane cups my face, his warm palms comforting against my cheeks. I want to dissolve into his touch, just disappear and float away into nothingness.
“Sorry?” he says, giving me a sad smile. “For what? You have nothing to be sorry for, honey.”
“I’m sorry about everything. Me.”
He frowns, then leans close, brushing his lips against my forehead. “If we weren’t sitting in a moving vehicle, I would unbuckle you from that seat and pull you onto my lap—whether you liked it or not—and never let you go. You listen to me, Beth Marie Jamison McIntyre—I mean it, are you listening? You have nothing to apologize for.”
I can’t resist a brief smile, but then reality returns with an ugly vengeance, sucking every ounce of joy out of me. I don’t deserve to be happy.
He kisses my cheek, then skims his lips up to kiss my temple. “I am not going to let you punish yourself over this.”
* * *
Jake pulls up to the front entrance of Children’s Hospital in downtown Chicago, where Sam is waiting for us with a wheelchair. Sam is a sight for sore eyes, looking so achingly familiar in his ripped jeans, chunky combat boots, and I’m With Him T-shirt. He peers through the backseat window looking right at me.
“I don’t need a wheelchair,” I tell Shane. I’ve drawn enough attention to myself the past twenty-four hours. I don’t want any more. “I’m fine. I can walk.”
Shane pats my leg as he opens the door. “I asked him to bring you a wheelchair. You need to conserve your energy.”
Sam eyes me cautiously as I follow Shane out. “Hey, princess,” he says, looking me over thoroughly. “How are you feeling?”
I force myself to smile. “Fine.”
Sam looks at me, his brow furrowing, then at Shane. Then Sam steps forward and wraps me in a bear hug, squeezing me tightly.
“Careful, pal,” Shane says, clasping Sam’s shoulder. “She’s still recovering.”
Sam relaxes his hold on me, and whispers, “Sorry. I missed you.”
“I missed you, too,” I whisper back.
Sam looks me in the eye as he steers me to the wheelchair. “Sit down, rest, and let me take you upstairs so you can meet the most amazing little guy in the world. Just wait until you see him, princess. He’s incredible.”
I can’t help smiling at Sam’s exuberance.
Sam straightens and looks to Shane. “Don’t worry. Cooper’s with Luke. One of us is with him twenty-four-seven. We haven’t left his side for a second, I promise.”
“I’ll park the vehicle and come up,” Jake says to Shane. “Do you want me to bring your bags inside?”
“Yes, bring everything. We’re staying here until Luke is ready to come home. I’m not leaving without my son.”
* * *
Sam wheels me across the hospital foyer to a bank of elevators, and we catch one just as the doors slide open. As the elevator car ascends, my anxiety increases, and I feel sick. Shane grips my shoulders and leans down to whisper. “It’s okay. Just relax. You’re fine. He’s fine. It’s all good.”
We have to be buzzed in to the neonatal intensive care unit. Once we’re signed in, and we’ve gotten our parental identification bracelets, Sam wheels me down the hallway to our baby’s room.
I have a baby, a son, and I’ve never even seen him up close, let alone held him. This is all so unreal, like a dream that I’ll wake up from any minute.
Shane opens the door for us, and Sam wheels me inside a dimly-lit room. The focal point of the room is an incubator surrounded by all sorts of monitors and wires and tubes. There’s a padded rocking chair, as well as a few extra chairs, and on the far side of the room is a single bed. I’m surprised—and grateful—to find we have a private room.
Cooper, who’s seated beside the incubator, jumps to his feet as we enter. “Hey, kiddo!” Meeting me halfway, he smiles down at me, his gaze searching mine. “How are you?”
I force myself to return his smile. “I’m fine.”
Cooper glances over my head at Shane, who’s standing somewhere behind me. Shane doesn’t say a word, but I can tell from the expression on Cooper’s face that the two of them are having one of their silent conversations.
“Wash your hands, honey,” Cooper says. “Then come meet your son. He’s quite the little trooper.”
I leave the wheelchair behind and follow Shane to the bathroom, where we both wash our hands. Cooper and Sam wash theirs as well, a task they’ve undoubtedly performed a dozen times by now.
I follow Cooper to the incubator and peer down at the sleeping baby inside. He looks… so tiny and so peaceful. Ten little fingers, ten little toes. There’s a blue band with his name on it affixed around his tiny ankle.
His skin is a healthy shade of pink, and I’m surprised to see a silky thatch of blond hair peeking out from beneath the blue knit hat on his head.
“What color are his eyes?” I ask, peering down at him.
“Blue,” Cooper says. “Blond hair and blue eyes, just like his mama. Although, his nurse said a baby’s eye color can change later.”
I nod, staring at all the wires and tubes attached to his face and chest and arm. A tiny tube is in his nose, taped to his cheek, and there’s an IV attached to his arm. He’s naked except for a diaper. “Why doesn’t he have any clothes on?” I ask no one in particular. “Isn’t he cold?”
“The incubator is heated.” Cooper slips his hand through an opening. “Don’t worry. He’s plenty warm in there.”
I stare at the baby, mesmerized by how beautiful he is. How perfect. I reach out, wanting to touch him, but my hand hovers inches from the incubator.
“You can touch him,” Cooper says, demonstrating as he strokes the baby’s arm gently. “It’s okay. You won’t hurt him.” Cooper withdraws his hand and takes hold of mine, guiding it to the opening. “Reach through here—”
“No!” Startled, I yank my hand back as if burned, holding it close to my chest. “I can’t.”
Cooper gives me a side-long glance. “Why not?”
I shake my head, trying to clear the loud buzzing in my ears. “I can’t. I might—hurt him. I don’t know what to do.”
“You can touch him, Beth. Touch is good for him. He needs it, especially from you. You’re his mama.”
To demonstrate, Cooper runs his fingers lightly down the baby’s body, over his hips and down his leg. Even in his sleep, the baby responds to the gentle stimulation, shifting and stretching his arms, practically cooing in
his sleep.
Cooper smiles. “See? He likes it. Do you want to hold him? We can call a nurse in to help us if you want, and you can hold him in the rocking chair. You could even try to nurse him. We’ve been feeding him formula from a bottle, but now that you’re here, he can try to nurse.”
I shake my head as the panic surges inside me, threatening to pull me back into the darkness. “Maybe later. He’s sleeping now. I don’t want to wake him.”
Cooper glances back at Shane, his expression perfectly neutral, then at me.
I press my hands against my aching breasts, which are hard and heavy. “Shane, we should go. I need to pump.”
Chapter 23
Shane
My heart aches for Beth, as well as for our son. For the first time in my life, I don’t know what to do. It’s my job to have all the answers and to fix things—but right now, I’m floundering.
I tip my head to the side, and Cooper falls back to join me, while Sam moves in beside Beth and distracts her with a run-down on Luke’s progress since arriving at the NICU.
Cooper follows me out into the hallway, and we close the door behind us so we can talk out of Beth’s hearing.
“Care to tell me what the hell’s going on?” Cooper says, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at me.
“I’m not exactly sure,” I reply. “She’s completely withdrawn, and I think it’s safe to say she’s depressed. She feels responsible for what happened yesterday… all because she wanted to go out of town. She blames herself for all of it… for delivering prematurely… for Luke being here.”
Cooper frowns. “That’s ridiculous. None of this is her fault.”
I scrub my hand over my beard. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to help her. I’ve told her repeatedly that it’s not her fault.”
Cooper looks as pained as I feel. “She needs to hold him, Shane. There’s no way she could hold that precious little baby and not fall head over heels in love with him. Let’s get a nurse in here and have Beth at least hold Luke. And then she can try to breastfeed.”
“Do you think he’s able to nurse? He’s so small.”