Now he knew what he had to do, and there was no time to waste. Thank God Charlotte reminded him JL’s suite was stocked with extra patient gowns, hygiene items, and blue scrubs for the convenience of partners. He needed only moments to shed his street clothes and dress in hospital garb. He kept his ID card hanging on a lanyard around his neck, visible in case he was stopped and questioned.
He started down the empty corridor toward the swinging doors, his bootheels echoing loudly along the hollow hallway until he marched into the surgical suite with the confidence of someone authorized to be there.
The first room on the left was an unoccupied dressing room. He slapped on paper booties and a bonnet and tied a surgical mask around his nose and mouth. No one would recognize him, and he could walk freely through the unit and search for the room with the most activity.
An empty hospital bed was parked outside one of the operating rooms. The blue disposable underpad in the center of the bed had a large pool of blood with several small clots.
JL was behind that closed door. His heart surged up into his windpipe and lodged there, beating hard, trying to choke him. An explosion of adrenaline gave him a heightened awareness, along with stiffening his spine.
What was he going to do now? Barge in? Disrupt their preparation? Certainly not. Distract them and possibly cause an accident? God forbid. Then what? The truth was, he couldn’t do any of those things. He could only stay outside and wait the way he was told to do.
He peered through the small window in the operating room door. I love you, JL. I’m waiting here for you.
He was dressed like the half dozen staff in the room. The anesthesiologist stood next to JL’s head, Dr. Winn at her side, with two nurses opposite her. JL was covered with sterile drapes.
The anesthesiologist injected a series of medications into the IV lines, and within another couple of seconds she intubated JL. Thankfully the doctor had her back to Kevin, so he didn’t have to watch the foot-long tube going down JL’s throat. Knowing what was happening cramped his stomach. As soon as the tube was in place, the doctor hooked up the other end to the anesthesia machine.
Another woman entered from the back room, also wearing a surgical gown. She held her hands high, and one of the nurses helped her put on gloves, after which she folded her hands over her chest to keep them sterile.
As a former EMT, Kevin knew all the procedures, and that knowledge helped distance him emotionally from what was happening.
The woman who just entered glanced his way. Charlotte. He would have known her eyes anywhere. She’d saved his life, and now she would be there to save his wife and son. She walked over to the table and stood opposite Dr. Winn. Kevin was surprised the obstetrician agreed to let her participate, since she was related to JL. But, as he knew from experience, no one ever stood in Charlotte Mallory’s way—not General Philip Sheridan, not Abraham Lincoln, not even Elliott Fraser.
Behind Charlotte, six others entered, one pushing an incubator. Must be the NICU team.
Kevin watched the anesthesiologist’s motions closely. She would be the one to signal the surgeon when JL was successfully under anesthesia and the surgery could get underway. The nod came, and the surgical team moved quickly and efficiently. He checked the time. The baby should be out within ten minutes.
Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with thee.
Kevin had never been religious, but he grew up in the Catholic church, and now, when he needed his faith most, he knew he could rely on it.
Blessed art thou among women…
With the ether screen at JL’s chest level, Kevin couldn’t see what the surgeon and nurses were doing.
…and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.
He watched Charlotte for a sign, some indication of what was happening.
Holy Mary, Mother of God…
Charlotte occasionally glanced toward the anesthesiologist, checking the monitors.
…pray for us sinners…
From previous observations of C-sections, he would know from the motions of the surgical team when the baby was out.
Now and at the hour of our death.
He waited for a cry, a sign, a signal. Anything to tell him his son was alive.
And then a faint cry. So small, so quiet. Was it Lawrence?
Blane screamed when he was born, but Lawrence could only whimper. Then he cried out again, and in Kevin’s heart it sounded like a sonic boom. His son was alive.
With her hands still folded, Charlotte gave him the okay sign.
His knees buckled, and he grabbed the doorknob to keep him upright. The baby was placed in Charlotte’s arms. When that fact registered, Kevin pressed his face against the glass. For a brief second, she tipped the baby so Kevin could get a good look before she handed his son over to the NICU team.
As if in slow motion, he turned the doorknob, but his internal voice smacked him down. Don’t. There’s too much at risk to interfere now.
He stood on wobbly legs for another twenty-five minutes while they worked on JL, until several things happened simultaneously. The drapes were removed, the anesthesiologist turned off the medicine and removed the intubation tube, and Dr. Winn removed her gloves. It was over, and JL would be moved to recovery.
The adrenaline pumping through his veins shut off and fatigue set in. His shoulders slumped, and his legs shook the same way they did when he finished running marathons. He trudged back to JL’s suite. He needed a few minutes to recover before he faced whatever came next.
Moving zombielike, he changed back into his street clothes, and was checking his phone messages when Dr. Winn entered the room. She squeezed his arm. The warmth and strength of her hand surprised him as much as steadied and reassured him.
She withdrew her hand. “The surgery went great. Your wife is still asleep. As soon as she wakes up in recovery, someone will come get you.”
“And my son. How’s my son?” His voice was much stronger than he expected—clear and pointed—like a gong summoning him to action.
“I don’t know,” she said, “but everything seemed fine when he was born. He was making crying noises and moving his arms and legs, so he didn’t suffer from the abruption. Now he’ll have to deal with the problems of prematurity. Someone from the NICU team should be here to take you up as soon as they’ve done their assessment and started treatment. In fact, Charlotte might be with him now. If so, she’ll have more information for you.”
He managed a smile, but it was short-lived. “Thank you, Dr. Winn. I’m sorry I acted like an ass earlier.”
She returned his smile, but hers lasted much longer. “You behaved like a protective husband and father. Don’t give it a second thought. I’m glad I could be here for your wife.”
Having had surgery himself, and gone through several with Elliott, Kevin knew all about postoperative pain and wound care, but a C-section was different. On top of the pain from an incision, the patient also had to deal with postpartum concerns. “Are there any post-delivery issues I should know about?”
“There were no problems with the surgery,” Dr. Winn said, “but there is a chance she’ll need a transfusion later. We’ll see how she does over the next few hours. In the meantime, feel free to call me if you have any questions. I’ll be in the hospital a while longer and will be back for rounds at seven.”
The doctor left, closing the door softly behind her. Kevin leaned against the wall, his legs refusing to hold him up a second longer, and he slid down the wall, coming to rest on the cold tile floor, to sit with his knees pressed against his forehead. And he cried. Just a little at first, from the corner of his left eye, a tear dripped past the bridge of his nose and into his new reality.
A cell phone rang. His phone or JL’s? Both were on the bedside table. It didn’t matter. There wasn’t anyone he wanted to talk to right now. But if it was Elliott, he couldn’t refuse his dad’s call. Before he could push to his feet and reclaim his phone, the door opened, and a draft of cool air washed over him.
Then his father was there, squatting beside him, pulling him into his arms, tenderly patting his back. Elliott didn’t speak. He just held Kevin and let him cry on his shoulder. When Kevin finally pulled back, Elliott handed him a monogrammed handkerchief. Kevin had thrown his bloodstained one away in the ambulance after the EMT applied a temporary bandage to his cut face.
“When ye’re ready, tell me what happened.” Elliott’s voice was like the crunch of fine gravel.
Kevin climbed to his feet and stumbled into the bathroom, where he stood holding on to the edge of the sink, staring into the mirror. Who the hell was staring back? Whoever it was wore a damp, wrinkled polo shirt, had bloodshot eyes, and a fresh Band-Aid on his cheek covering the stitches Charlotte put in while he was in the ED.
He looked like a dead creature recently washed ashore. He splashed cold water on his face, knowing it wouldn’t begin to repair the damage.
Goddamn it.
He hit the drywall with his fist. Why the hell were they here? They shouldn’t be. This wasn’t how they’d planned their weekend. Something in the cosmos had gone horribly wrong. Salty tears seeped into his bandage and stung the skin beneath.
Elliott walked through the open bathroom door and settled his arm on Kevin’s shoulder. “Come on, lad. Let’s sit down. Tell me what happened.”
It was time for the analytical side of Kevin’s brain to take control so he’d be ready for whatever came next. He eased out of the bathroom, dabbing at his wet face with rough paper towels.
“The abruption got worse. They had to do an emergency C-section. JL’s okay. She’s in recovery now. The baby whimpered when he was born and moved his arms and legs. The NICU staff rushed him away. I haven’t heard anything else.”
“Where’s Charlotte?”
Kevin threw the wet paper towels into the trashcan. “Probably still with Lawrence in the NICU.”
“I stopped by there, but the receptionist wouldn’t tell me anything,” Elliott said.
“If a smile or wink didn’t work for you, there’s no hope for me.”
“To hell with a smile. I offered a bonus. A big one, including a year’s supply of donuts. The receptionist didn’t say a word. She just smiled at me until I gave up.”
“You’ve lost your touch, old man.” Kevin flopped down onto the sofa while Elliott inserted a pod into a Keurig coffee maker. “Fix me a cup, too.”
“Large size?”
“Add a shot of whisky.”
“Sorry, son. Don’t have any. So what about Austin? Have ye called him?”
“JL didn’t want to tell him. She’s afraid it’ll mess with his focus.”
Elliott turned and stared at Kevin. “Last time she kept a secret from him, all hell broke loose. Is she sure she wants to do this? He’ll be pissed as hell.”
Kevin stared back, forcing himself not to overreact. “It’s too late tonight.” The cup filled with coffee, and Elliott handed it to Kevin, then fixed one for himself. “Besides, I can’t call him without telling JL first. She’ll see it as a betrayal. But as soon as I see her, I’ll encourage her to call him, or let me call. That’s all I can do.”
Elliott sat down next to Kevin and sipped his coffee. “Austin is in Las Vegas. He’s probably still in the gym.”
Kevin raised a hand, gesturing his frustration. “Give it up, Elliott, or go home.”
Elliott set his cup on the small table next to the sofa and pulled a sheet of paper out of his pants pocket. “Why don’t ye start at the beginning so I’ll have all the facts? Meredith will ask exactly what happened. If I don’t have the answers, she’ll call ye. And then she’ll tell ye to call Austin, too.”
Kevin counted to ten to keep from snapping at his father. Then counted to ten again.
“I talked to Charlotte once after we spoke, but it was before JL went to surgery. What happened to her?” Elliott asked.
Kevin’s brain racked his last conversation with Elliott and replayed it. Then, as calmly as he could, he told Elliott everything that happened since.
Elliott sat back and drank his coffee while Kevin closed his eyes and rested for a few minutes. He had almost dozed off when the door opened with a whoosh. He jolted upright.
“Good. I’m glad you’re both here,” Charlotte said. “Did Dr. Winn come in to talk to you?”
Kevin nodded. “She told me JL tolerated the surgery well and was in recovery, but she didn’t know anything about Lawrence. She said you were with him.”
Charlotte pulled a chair up next to the sofa. Since he last saw her in the OR, she had changed into a fresh white coat over unwrinkled scrubs, brushed her hair, and put on lipstick. And she either had a twin who’d just come on duty after eight hours of uninterrupted sleep, or she’d taken a restorative drug. And if it was the latter, Kevin wanted one of those pills. The truth was, Charlotte Mallory was the epitome of a Southern lady and always, regardless of the circumstance, exuded grace, strength, and gentleness with the hint of fire. He found her composure comforting.
“I know you expect an honest report from me, without sugarcoating. So here it is. Lawrence is off to a good start for a twenty-eight-weeker. At delivery, he appeared to be in good shape, crying, making breathing motions, and moving his extremities. The NICU team took over right away, intubated him, got him stabilized, then moved him up to the unit.”
Elliott referred to his sheet of paper. “How much did he weigh—”
“What were his Apgars?” Kevin asked over Elliott’s question.
Charlotte looked from Kevin to Elliott, then back to Kevin. “Hard to say, since he was intubated right away. But probably seven or eight, which are good scores for being so premature.”
“What—?” Kevin stopped and cleared his throat. “What are his chances?”
Charlotte didn’t blanch. “A twenty-eight-weeker has about a ninety to ninety-five percent chance of survival.”
“What about his weight?” Elliott asked again.
“A little over two pounds.”
Kevin heaved himself up off the sofa and staggered over to the window perched high above the parking lot facing the heart of Richmond, as if he could find all the answers and solutions in the darkness of a city that had faced its own hardships and rebuilt from the ashes.
Elliott folded the piece of paper, returned it to his pocket, and rose to his feet, orator-style. “What problems are we facing? And is my grandson receiving the best treatment and care available?”
“I’m not a neonatologist,” she replied calmly. “We have excellent physicians on staff, and they’re with Lawrence now. Let’s wait for their report.”
“I want yer opinion.” Elliott’s voice lost its smoothness, and as usual, his tone made everyone around him tense.
Charlotte stood and gripped the back of her chair, her knuckles turning white.
Kevin didn’t blame her for losing her patience with Elliott. He knew from experience that trying to control his father’s demanding personality was pointless, at least for everyone except Meredith. If she’d been here, she would have told Elliott to stand down, and he would have done whatever she asked.
“I don’t have an opinion. All I know are statistics. I don’t know Lawrence’s condition or the results of his labs. I can’t tell you what you want to know.”
“Then give me the statistics.”
“There’s a possibility he could have some level of learning disabilities or other developmental impairment. But again, this isn’t my field of expertise. The folks in the NICU can answer all these questions.”
Kevin’s stomach lurched, and he barely made it to the bathroom before he threw up. Charlotte followed him, turned on the water, and handed him a cold washcloth. Kevin flushed the toilet and followed her out, wiping his face. She leaned against the counter, reached behind her, and grasped the edge while Kevin searched the closet for the hygiene kit. Finding it, he returned to the bathroom and brushed his teeth.
When he came back, he said, “Finish what you were going to say. I ne
ed to hear it all.” Except for the one question he couldn’t ask, and he hoped to God his father didn’t either, because Kevin wasn’t prepared for the answer.
Charlotte filled a cup with water from the sink in the room and drank deeply. “The severity of the disabilities or impairment can vary, and depend on many factors, including the need for and types of treatment received in the immediate neonatal period. The more intense the treatments, sometimes the greater the risk factors.”
“But the odds aren’t a hundred percent that he’ll have disabilities or some impairment. Correct?” Kevin asked with a hopeful edge in his voice.
“About twenty percent will have no long-term problems,” Charlotte said.
“So what ye’re saying,” Elliott said, “is Lawrence has a one in five chance that he won’t have long-term problems, and the type of problems he could have depends on his specific needs during the immediate neonatal period.”
“Elliott, again, these are only statistics,” she said.
“What’s his status right now?” Elliott asked.
“I don’t know. The NICU will give Kevin a complete status report when he meets with them.”
Kevin had heard enough. Whatever disability or impairment they might have to deal with, he could guarantee his son would be loved and cherished by the entire MacKlenna Clan, and the children would accept him with open arms and an abundance of patience. Whatever issues they had to deal with in the future, Lawrence would have the best treatment and care possible.
“When can I see him?”
“I don’t know if they’ll let you in yet. We can go up and see,” Charlotte said. “The NICU is a family-centered unit.” She pulled her phone out of her pocket and swiped with her finger. “I snapped some pictures.”
Kevin accepted the phone in his shaking hand. Lawrence had a tube in his mouth and a bandage over his eyes. His skin was paper thin, and, young as he was, he looked old and wrinkly. And yet Kevin experienced such an outpouring of love for his tiny son, a frail imitation of the baby he’d expected.
The Pearl Brooch Page 14