by April Wilson
“What?”
“Do you realize you always call him ‘the baby?’ I don’t think I’ve ever heard you call him by his name.”
I’m stunned. “That’s ridiculous.”
“No, it’s not. I’ve been paying attention.”
I open my mouth, searching for a suitable reply, but nothing comes out.
“Luke needs you, Beth. You’re his mom. You’re the most important person in the world to him.”
Before I can reply, a nurse comes to the door. “We’re ready for you, Beth.”
Shane stands and helps me up, and we follow the nurse to our assigned examination room. After giving me instructions, she leaves. Shane helps me undress and climb up onto the examining table, and then he covers me with the thin paper sheet, tucking it around my body for good measure. It’s sorely inadequate cover, and I can’t help shivering.
“Are you cold?” he asks.
“No.”
“Just nervous?”
“Yeah, a little.”
He stands by the examination table, stroking my hair. “I’m right here if you need me.”
Fortunately, Dr. Shaw doesn’t keep us waiting long. After a friendly greeting, she examines me quickly, checks my stitches, and presses on my soft belly. “It looks like you’re healing well, Beth,” she says, when she removes her sterile gloves.
“How long does this take to heal?” I say.
Dr. Shaw shrugs. “It varies. Another two to four weeks perhaps, maybe longer. If you’re still experiencing any discomfort a few weeks from now, come back and see me.”
* * *
When we return to Children’s Hospital and our NICU room, we find Cooper seated in the rocking chair, feeding the baby. With a burp cloth thrown over his shoulder, Cooper looks perfectly at home feeding his grandson. He would make such a great dad.
Sam’s sitting in the chair beside the rocker, watching Cooper with obvious affection, a silly grin on his face, and his hand on Cooper’s thigh. I wonder if they’ve thought about having kids. They’d be such incredible parents. As I stand there watching them, I’m swamped with so much emotion I can barely breathe.
When I sway on my feet, Shane is there to steady me. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” he says.
My mom’s seated on my bed, and Tyler’s here too, sitting in the recliner. I’m surrounded by family. My family, our family. And then I look at the baby. His family, too.
When my eyes fill with tears, Cooper hands the baby to my brother, who looks less than comfortable with the idea.
“Come here,” Cooper says to me, opening his arms wide.
I walk into Cooper’s embrace.
“It’s okay,” he says in a gruff voice, rubbing my back.
I never knew my birth father. A drugged-out robbery suspect took him from me when I was an infant. My mother did her best to make up for the loss of him, as did my big brother. But as a child, I craved the notion of having a father, like most of the other kids had. When I met Cooper, we found that we needed each other. I needed a dad, and he needed a family, since his own family had abandoned him when he was a teen because of his sexual orientation. So, Cooper and I adopted each other.
“I’m sorry,” I say, laughing to make light of my reaction. “I’m so emotional lately.”
“You’re doing great,” Cooper whispers.
I squeeze him tightly and ask him something I’ve been wanting to ask him for a while now. “Would you mind if I call you dad?”
“Oh, Jesus, honey,” he says, his voice thick with emotion as he holds me close. “I would be honored.”
When he releases me, I glance at my mom to see how she’s taking my request. To my surprise, there are tears in her eyes and a smile on her face.
Sam pulls me close for a hug. “So, what does that make me? Your uncle?” He shakes his head, grinning. “This is one very confusing family tree.”
I laugh through my tears. “That’s what you get for marrying my dad!”
Sam squeezes me. “Hey, never underestimate the old guys, right?”
When I feel Cooper’s arms steal around both me and Sam, something becomes a little more right in my world.
Chapter 27
Shane
Ingrid and Tyler stay for a while longer after we get back from Beth’s doctor visit. They come with us down to the cafeteria for supper, while Sam and Cooper stay upstairs with Luke.
After we eat, Beth’s family heads home, promising to come back soon. I coax Beth into taking a walk with me outside in the flower garden.
“I’m sorry you didn’t get your overnight trip to Harbor Springs,” I say, holding her hand as we walk through the garden.
Night is falling, but the garden path is well marked by strings of twinkling lights threaded through the trees. We stop by a stone fountain lit by colored lights and listen to the hypnotic sound of the water splashing.
“That’s all right,” she says. “It’s inconsequential now. The baby’s all that matters.”
“I know. But I’m still sorry our plans didn’t work out. When Luke’s home, and it’s safe for him to travel, we’ll take a trip somewhere, okay? Anywhere you want to go.”
She smiles. “That’s okay. We don’t have to go anywhere. Besides, he’s so young. He probably shouldn’t be traveling much.”
We walk a little more until we find a swinging bench suspended from a wooden frame. “Come sit with me,” I say, leading her to the swing.
I pull her down beside me on the swing and wrap my arm around her, drawing her close. The evening air has cooled down considerably, and she doesn’t have a sweater or jacket. She shivers.
“I’m worried about you, sweetheart,” I say as I set the swing gently in motion.
She gazes across the path at some purple flowers planted at the base of a lamp. “Why? I’m fine. Dr. Shaw said—”
“I’m not so worried about your physical health. Dr. Shaw said you’re healing fine. I’m more worried about your emotional health.”
The chains creak softly overhead as the swing glides back and forth. I wait patiently for Beth to respond, hoping she’ll open up to me about how she’s feeling. Her hands are in her lap, her fingers twisting and twining nervously. I wait, wanting to give her plenty of time.
But she doesn’t say anything more.
The longer she sits there silently, the more worried I become.
“Beth?”
“Hmm?”
“I think you’re depressed.”
She sighs and looks away. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“But something is wrong?”
She nods, pressing her trembling lips together to still them.
“Can you talk about it?”
Her gaze returns to the flowers directly across the path from us. She’s looking anywhere but at me. “I don’t know what it is.” She sighs again. “I just feel…numb.”
I lean over and kiss the side of her head. “You’ve been through a lot, honey.”
She looks up at me, her blue-green eyes radiating pain. “I feel like I’m drowning in quicksand. Everything’s so hard. Everything’s such a chore. I feel smothered, trapped, and I can’t breathe. The air’s too heavy. I have trouble sleeping because my heart races all night long, and when I wake up, everything comes crashing back in my head, and I start panicking.”
“How do I help you, sweetheart?”
“I don’t know. Last night I dreamed I was still in that attic. It was so hot, I could barely breathe. The baby was there with me—it was just the two of us. He was having trouble breathing, too.” She leans into me, laying her head on my shoulder. “I’m sorry I’m such a disappointment.”
“Sweetheart, you could never be a disappointment. Not for one second.” I hug her tighter. “I love you. Our son loves you. We both need you, Beth. You’re the center of this family.”
She’s quiet then, saying nothing more.
We swing for a while longer, just quietly taking in the night sounds, crickets and other
nocturnal insects, a few quiet bird calls.
“We should get back,” she says, breaking the silence. “It’s getting late. Cooper and Sam probably need to head home.”
I stand and pull her to her feet. “Okay. Let’s go.”
“Will you sleep with me again tonight? I sleep better when you’re near.”
“Of course I will.”
* * *
When we arrive back at Luke’s room, Sam is rocking a sleeping baby, while Cooper looks on.
“Hey, guys,” I say. “Sorry it’s so late. I know you must be tired.”
“Not too tired for this little guy,” Sam says, continuing his rocking.
“We just changed his diaper and gave him a bottle,” Cooper says. “He’s ready for bed.”
“Thank you,” Beth says, then excuses herself as she disappears into the restroom.
Cooper and Sam both give me a look, but don’t say anything. I just shake my head.
Sam hands me Luke, who’s out like a light, and I walk them to the door. “Thanks, guys,” I say. “We appreciate everything you’ve done.”
“Are you kidding?” Sam says. “Baby watching duty is the most fun I’ve had in a long time.”
After they leave, I lay Luke in the incubator. Then I make up the bed for both of us and wait for Beth to come out of the restroom. She’s ready for bed, wearing a nightgown. I get myself ready and climb into the single bed with her, snuggling close.
She lies on her side facing me, with her arm across my chest and her head on my shoulder. I rub her back, saying nothing. I’ve pushed her enough this evening. I don’t want to add to the pressure she’s feeling.
“Sweet dreams,” I tell her, kissing her forehead.
She rises up on her elbow and looks at me. I wish I knew what she was thinking.
“What?” I say.
She shakes her head, then leans closer to kiss me, her soft lips brushing against mine. Her gentle kiss is electric, and I allow myself to deepen the kiss for just a moment.
When she pulls back, there’s a smile on her face. “Thank you for this evening. For the walk in the garden. It was lovely. I wish we could have a garden like that at the penthouse. And thank you for the talk. It helped a lot just to say those things out loud.” Her eyes tear up. “I’m trying, Shane.”
“I know you are, sweetheart.”
She lays her head back down on my shoulder. “I love you.”
“I love you more.”
She laughs softly. “I loved you first.”
Now it’s my turn to laugh. “I seriously doubt that.”
* * *
In the middle of the night, we’re awakened by the sound of a shrill alarm. The noise is shockingly loud, startling us both into full wakefulness. Careful not to toss Beth onto the floor, I shoot up out of bed, my pulse pounding like a jackhammer as I orient myself.
Beth sits up and swings her feet to the floor. “What is it? What’s that sound?”
The door to our room opens and Danielle comes in, flipping on the light before heading straight for the incubator. I meet her there, staring down at Luke, who’s sleeping.
“What’s wrong?” I say, my heart in my throat.
Beth is standing beside the bed, a blanket wrapped around her. She’s pale and her eyes are wide with fright. She looks as frantic as I feel.
“That’s the low-oxygen alarm,” Danielle says, scanning the data on the monitor. “And his heart rate is slow. Those two things usually go hand-in-hand. It’s pretty typical for his gestational age.” She reaches into the incubator and rolls Luke onto his side and starts rubbing his back. “Come on, little guy,” she says. Then, to us, she says, “He just needs to breathe a little deeper. This happens quite often at his age. It’s nothing serious.”
Beth sidles up beside me, and we both watch as Danielle rubs Luke’s back. The numbers on the monitors go back up into the normal range and the alarm stops.
Danielle returns Luke to his back. “He’s fine,” she says, smiling apologetically at us. “It’s a scary alarm, I know. Parents hate it. But he’s fine now. No need to worry.”
Danielle wishes us a good night and leaves the room, turning off the light on her way out. Beth remains beside the incubator, staring down at Luke. I wait quietly by her side until she’s ready to return to bed.
Without warning, Beth bursts into tears.
I sweep her up into my arms and carry her back to bed, laying her down and crawling in beside her. “It’s all right,” I tell her, holding her close. “He’s okay.”
She doesn’t say a word. She just lies there crying, her wet face pressed into her pillow. I rub her back until she finally falls back to sleep.
Chapter 28
Beth
Ten days later, the NICU doctor gives us the okay to take our son home. He’s breathing fine on his own now, and his oxygen levels have stabilized. All those tubes and wires have been removed from him, and he’s doing great. He’s eating and gaining weight as he should be. He’s wetting his diaper like a champ and meeting all the milestones a premature baby needs to meet in order to go home. I’m so relieved. He’s at thirty-six weeks gestation now, and at the rate he’s going, he’ll be caught up in no time.
Shane and I pack up our belongings, and the baby’s. We say a tearful farewell to his nurses, Laura and Danielle, and to his doctors.
Cooper and Sam arrive in the Escalade to transport us home. Cooper waits out front behind the wheel while Sam brings up the baby’s car seat. I watch, trying valiantly not to laugh as Shane and Sam strap the baby in. How many adults does it take to strap one baby in a car seat?
Shane carries the baby down to the front entrance, and Sam and I carry the rest of our things.
After Shane secures the baby’s seat in the back, behind the front passenger seat, I climb in to sit beside him, in the other seat. Sam climbs back to the row of seats behind us, and Shane sits up front with Cooper.
It’s not far to our apartment building, but with each passing block, I can feel a heaviness begin to recede, making it easier for me to breathe. We’re going home. Finally. He’s going home. That’s got to mean he’s doing well. Surely his doctors wouldn’t let him leave the hospital if he was still in danger. And that means I can breathe just a little bit easier.
I find myself staring at the baby, marveling at how small he is, how perfect. Maybe I’m biased, but I think he’s incredibly adorable. Like really, really adorable. He’s got blond hair peeking out from beneath his knit hat, and when he opens his eyes, there’s so big and blue. The splotchy red complexion he was born with has evened out into a healthy complexion. He’s sleeping through his first car ride, looking angelic and peaceful. I’m sure that will change when he wakes up hungry.
After parking in the underground garage, we pile out, collecting all our belongings. Cooper brought the stroller that goes with the car seat, but before he can pull it out of the rear of the vehicle, Sam unbuckles the baby from the car seat. “I’ll carry him,” Sam says, cradling the baby and his blanket to his chest.
On the ride up in the elevator, I find myself sneaking glimpses at the baby, marveling all over again. He’s a little miracle. He was born before he was supposed to be, and under terrible conditions, but he pulled through it like a little trooper. He’s going to be okay.
Sam shifts the baby to the crook of his arm, and the baby’s eyes open. His gaze is all over the elevator ceiling as he stares at the sparkling lights reflecting off the mirrored walls and the shiny gold fixtures overhead.
With a familiar chime, the elevator doors open and we all head through the foyer into the apartment. It feels so good to be home! I set my purse down on a side table and stand there, staring around the great room and feeling a little lost.
Shane comes up behind me and steers me toward one of the sofas. “You sit down and rest,” he says, “while I put our stuff away.”
Sam joins me, laying the baby on the sofa between us. The baby’s unfocused gaze darts all over the place, from me to
Sam and back again.
“Welcome home, little dude,” Sam says, grinning at me.
Shane leans over the back of the sofa and kisses the top of my head. “I’ll be right back. Cooper and I are going to move Luke’s bassinette into our room, so he can sleep near us.”
I tilt my head back for a quick kiss. “Thank you.”
Shane points to the floor behind the sofa. “The cooler with milk is here. He’s going to be hungry soon.”
I laugh and press my hands against my heavy breasts. “I know. I can tell it’ll be time to pump soon.”
Shane gives me an enigmatic smile before he walks away. He didn’t say anything, but I know what he’s thinking. I know what they’re all thinking. I should be trying to nurse the baby. I should be trying to get him to latch on and suck. I want to, but I can’t bring myself to try again. I’m afraid I’ll fail at yet one more thing.
Right on schedule, the baby starts fussing, kicking and squawking on Sam’s lap.
“He’s hungry,” Sam says, looking at me expectantly.
I nod. “I need to pump. Do you want to feed him?”
“Sure. If you don’t mind.”
“Of course not. You feed him, I’ll pump.”
I get up from the sofa and hand Sam the diaper bag. He pulls out a bib—I Love My Uncle—and snaps it around the baby’s neck. While Sam entertains his new little best friend, I warm up a bottle and get ready to pump.
Occasionally, as I pump at the breakfast counter, I glance over my shoulder to watch Sam, who’s making silly faces and cooing at my child as he feeds him. It should be me. I should be the one feeding him. But the truth is, when he offered to feed the baby, all I felt was relief.
My phone chimes with an incoming text message from my brother.
Tyler: Are you home yet?
Me: Yes.
Tyler: Can we stop by?
Me: Sure. Come on over. Mom’s with you?
Tyler: Yes. On our way.
It’s barely noon when I finish pumping and put the bottle of milk in the fridge. I got quite a few ounces this time, which is good. This milk should last us at least two feedings because the baby still doesn’t drink that much yet.