by L. E. Rico
Why did I leave her? What the hell was I thinking going ice fishing? I’ll never forgive myself if…
If what? If my child dies? If my wife dies? If they both…die?
The noise that comes out of me is totally foreign. It’s a cross between a gasp, and a gulp, and a sob. Win stops chattering away from the driver’s seat while my father leans forward from the back to get a better look at me on the passenger’s side.
“Scott? Hey, man, you okay?” my brother asks slowly, quietly—glancing to his right.
“Watch the road, son,” our father tells him.
It’s slick and dark—because we chose one of the more remote locations to do this. Stupid, stupid, stupid! What was a delicate dance of flurries before has turned into a full-on squall, making the road in front of us almost impossible to make out save for the few feet directly in the line of the headlights.
“Scott,” Win tries again, keeping his eyes glued to what’s ahead of us, “you were out of the country when Jackson was born. I don’t know if James told you this story—but we had a big scare in the delivery room…”
She hasn’t told me anything about that day, and now I’m kicking myself for not asking. Maybe if I’d known there had been a problem before, I could have…
“Anyway,” my brother continues in an uncharacteristically quiet tone, “she’d push…and the baby’s heart rate would drop. Like…a lot. I watched the doctor’s lips moving…but I was having a hard time processing what he was telling me.”
Now he’s got my full attention.
“He was talking about an emergency C-section…and before I knew what was happening, they were whisking her away to the E.R., a nurse explaining that I’d have to wait…that I couldn’t be in there with her. With them. I just stood there, watching her cry and call for me when they wheeled her out of the room on the gurney.”
There’s a long pause, filled only by the rhythmic back and forth of the wipers against the snow that’s pelting our SUV. When Win speaks again, there’s something different in his tone. Something I can’t put my finger on…because I’ve never heard this side of him before this very moment.
“They…uh…they were all right—obviously. And, later on, Doc Douglas told me they were never in any real danger—that he could’ve had Jackson out in under two minutes if he needed to. But…oh, sweet Jesus…I’ve never been more scared in my entire life. Not before then…and not since. Scott, I’m telling you this because you need to know that crap like this happens all the time. We all know that childbirth is painful, and it’s…well, it’s kinda gross, actually, when you think about it. What they don’t tell you is how dangerous it is. A lot can—and does—go wrong. That’s why they’re prepared. They’ll figure out what’s wrong, and they’ll do whatever they need to do to get James and the baby through this.”
I don’t answer. The noise comes up again—louder. But this time, nobody says anything. They let me vent out my frustration and my fear in great, heaving sobs that echo off the interior of the vehicle and reverberate back through my head.
All those wasted moments that I spent, fantasizing about what it would be like to be free again—to go back to the nomadic life I’d lived for so long. The life devoid of this kind of fear and dread…but also devoid of this kind of love. My first instinct was to run away from Jameson and our child.
And I’ll never forgive myself for that.
…
He’s standing outside the entrance to the ER when we arrive—pacing in the freezing night, his breath immediately misting as it hits the frigid air—making it look as if he’s smoking. When he sees our car pull into the lot, Father Romance straightens up, locking his hands behind his back and watching the three of us solemnly as we approach.
I stop halfway there, having the thought that the longer it takes me to get to him, the longer it’ll take me to find out. You don’t get these seconds back—the ones that tick by as you rush toward your fate. Why? Why hurry? If it’s my doom I’m running to, why get there faster? And if it’s my salvation, do a few extra heartbeats really matter?
My father puts a strong hand on my shoulder and pulls me forward with him.
“You can do this, Scott. Whatever it is,” he tells me. “Come on, now, son.”
I take a deep breath, nod resolutely, and allow myself to be guided to my fate—whatever that may be.
I note that the priest isn’t smiling.
“Oh. Oh, no…”
He grabs my shoulders and gives me a firm shake. “No—Scott, son, she’s okay. They’re both okay…”
The dam bursts into splintering shards, the priest folding me into his long arms, patting my back with his big hands.
“They had to do an emergency C-section…and then they had to do a little more work on Jameson…she’d lost a lot of blood, you see. They call it placenta previa. But she’s going to be fine. Both of your girls…they’re going to be just fine.”
I lift my head and peer up into the depths of the priest’s coal-black eyes. I need to know if he’s telling me the truth—if all of the worst-case scenarios that have been running through my head for the last three hours can be buried.
Yes. Yes, they can be laid to rest—for good.
I’m vaguely aware of my brother putting an arm around my father’s shoulders as the older man swipes at the tears running down his face.
“Come,” Father Romance says to all three of us. “Come meet your daughter. She’s been waiting for you.”
The short journey to the third-floor nursery is a blur—the elevator, the labyrinth of hallways and, finally, the super-secure door that swings open only on the command of a nurse. Often times it’s Jameson granting access to this magical kingdom of ethereal little creatures. But now, in the wee hours of a Tuesday morning, it’s someone else who stands guard over her angelic child.
I spot her from across the nursery—exactly the same way that I spotted her mother across the pub last summer, when I laid eyes on her for the first time in so many years. There’s a glow to her—an aura that draws me to her bassinet, totally oblivious to everything else around me.
She’s the only child who isn’t fast asleep and, when I peer down at her, I swear she opens her eyes and looks into my soul. I’m sure Jameson will tell me that this is impossible—that she’s too young and delicate to be focusing on anything in these early hours of her life. But I know what I see when I look at my daughter.
The nurse doesn’t ask if I want to hold her. She simply scoops her up and places her, gingerly, into my arms. I don’t know the first thing about how to handle such a fragile creature, but when I feel her warmth against my chest, my body instinctively wraps itself around her as if I’ve known this sensation since before I was born.
When a single teardrop falls from my eyes, landing squarely on her pink-capped forehead, her miniature face crumples with irritation, and I hear my father, Win, and Father Romance all chuckle around me. I’m somehow surprised that they’re still there—surprised that there’s anyone left on the face of this earth save for me and my precious angel. Both of my precious angels…
“Has she met her mother?” I ask in a combination of croak and murmur.
Father Romance shakes his head. “Jameson is still in recovery.”
The nurse, who I’ve ignored to this point, puts a gentle hand on my forearm.
“Why don’t you go sit with her sisters in the waiting room for a spell. As soon as we’ve got your wife settled in a room, we’ll come get you, and I’ll bring the baby in so you can introduce the two of them, okay?”
I nod, reluctantly allowing her to take the baby from my arms.
And then, something miraculous happens. The moment we are separated, my child lets out the loudest, angriest howl that I’ve ever heard in my life. I’m so startled that it makes me jump, even as everyone else bursts into laughter.
“Quite a set of lungs on her!” my father marvels.
“Holy crap—she’s even louder than Jackson was!” Win adds.
The nurse catches my eye. “Nothing to worry about. She knows her daddy. And she doesn’t like to be away from him,” she informs me.
Well, that makes two of us.
Chapter Nineteen
Jameson
Valentine’s Day
My awareness comes back to me incrementally. The doctors are talking to me, and I’m vaguely aware of mumbling back at them. The nurses chuckle around me when I beg them to let me sleep a little longer… I’m just so tired. Someone cracks a joke about me being tired for the next eighteen years. The comment goes over my head, and I lapse back into blissful darkness.
The next time I have any sense of time or place is when I glance up through bleary eyes, seeing the fluorescent lights of the hospital corridor fly by overhead. They’re moving me somewhere…but not too quickly. I’m not being rushed anywhere. And that’s a good thing. With tremendous effort, I extend a hand to my belly, which is by no means flat but is substantially smaller than it was.
I draw in a gulp of air so quickly and furiously that it sends me into a spasm of painful coughs.
“My baby…” I gasp when I can.
“She’s just fine, Mama.” That’s Dr. Douglas’s voice. He appears in my line of sight, even as we continue our pilgrimage to I’m not sure where.
“She…?” It’s a whisper I can barely hear, even though it’s coming from my own mouth.
“That’s right, Jackson has a little sister! And what a beauty! Jameson, all you O’Halloran girls were lookers…but this one…this little girl is just about the daintiest, most perfect little thing I’ve ever laid eyes on.”
I smile, wanting to ask a million more questions but unable to fight the pull of the darkness once more.
…
When I finally wake up—for good this time—I’m no longer in motion. The sunlight streaming through a nearby window makes me wince.
“Oh! Look who’s awake!” I hear Hennessy say from somewhere close by. “Bailey, pull those blinds, would you? The sun’s in her eyes…”
A moment later, the glare is gone, and I can open my eyes. The blurriness clears over a matter of several seconds, and the hospital room pulls together in sharp focus. My sisters are gathered around me—and looking very, very tired.
“You guys don’t look so hot,” I mutter, and they burst into laughter.
“Look who’s talking!” Walker quips.
I shift and wince at the spike of pain that rips up through my abdomen. Why does it hurt so much? What did I do…?
The force of the memory hits me with such ferocity that I forget how much pain I’m in and try, unsuccessfully, to sit up.
“Whoa! Whoa, there, little mama!” Bailey chides me. “You just had major surgery…”
“Scott…” I say on a desperate gasp. “Where’s Scott? The baby…”
And then they all seem to just float away, making room for the tall, perpetually tanned figure of the man I love. He’s smiling at me so sweetly that I don’t immediately realize he’s holding something. Someone.
“Jameson, there’s someone here who’s been waiting to meet you face to face for a while now,” he says.
Somewhere, somehow, someone is making my hospital bed bend in on itself, slowly raising me to an upright seated position. It seems to take an eternity. And then he leans down and lays the warm, swaddled bundle in my lap, head propped against my chest.
I try to speak, but the only thing that comes out of me are choked sobs.
“Hey, hey, hey,” Scott whispers from above as he brushes the hair from my forehead. “You were so brave, James. You did it all by yourself. You brought our little girl into the world.”
“Our girl…” I choke out.
He nods and smiles down at me.
“I’ve been thinking about names… I know we’d said maybe Cassidy for a girl, but now that I’ve seen her…I think maybe Margaret—Maggie. Maggie Elaine O’Halloran Clarke.”
“Mama…” I manage to croak between pathetic, hiccupping sobs.
“My mom, Margie—and your mom, Elaine. What do you think?”
I can only nod, using my weak hands to explore my new child’s perfect face as she slumbers in my arms. Or, more accurately, on my arms.
“Do you know what day it is?” he asks me.
I have no clue. I don’t even attempt an answer, so he supplies it for me anyway.
“It’s Valentine’s Day, James. The day you wanted to be married. We didn’t make that…but I think this is even better. We’ll always celebrate Maggie’s birthday on Valentine’s Day.”
I can’t stop crying. Or nodding. He kisses my forehead.
“I love you so much,” he whispers in my ear. “I will never, ever leave your side again. Not as long as I live. Do you hear me, Mrs. Clarke? Mrs. Scott Clarke?”
I nod. I cry.
“Hey! Okay, she’s held the baby. Now can we have a turn?” Bailey demands. “He said no one else could hold her until her mama had a chance. I think the aunties have waited long enough!”
There’s a similar outcry from Walker and Henny. I also spot Big Win, lingering in a corner, watching it all unfold, a sweet smile on his big face. With some effort, I raise a hand and point at him. I know once my sisters get their hands on my daughter, it’ll be a while before anyone else gets a chance to hold her.
“Goppa…” I say, just the way Jackson does, and watch with a swell of emotion as the sea of sisters parts for my children’s grandfather.
When Scott places his first granddaughter in his arms, he too starts to cry. Even Win, who’s hanging back by the door, is fighting back tears. I give him a special smile—so he knows. So he’s aware that he’ll always be Jackson’s daddy…and now he can call himself Maggie’s uncle. And he can be proud of that.
“Win was amazing,” Scott is saying softly, so only I can hear. “He told me all about the night Jax was born…how terrified he was…and how everything was okay in the end. You never said, James…you never told me that you almost lost him… I wish I’d known. But, anyway, my brother was the only one who could talk me off the ledge, you know? It was…it was really something…”
I know I’m overwhelmed with emotion…and that I’m feeling the effects of the anesthesia and the pain meds…but I’m quite sure my recollection of my first child’s birth is accurate. Other than being a week late, my baby boy came into the world without incident. My labor was fast—if a little intense, being the chubby chunker that he was. But he was perfect.
I’m about to correct my husband when I catch sight of Win again. He shakes his head ever-so-slightly. And he winks.
Will wonders never cease?
Chapter Twenty
Jameson
May
The church is packed—even more so than usual on christening Sundays. I tried to get Henny to wait to baptize Mick and Bud along with their cousin, but she was adamant she didn’t want to wait—something about Bryan’s mom being able to come to town sooner rather than later.
I look around, noting—also with some curiosity—the stunning lack of infants. This particular mass usually lasts nearly two hours because of the number of babies…but I don’t see anyone other than us at the moment. When I mention this to Scott, he only shrugs.
Three-month-old Maggie is giggling happily as Jackson holds up her favorite teddy bear, making it dance in the air. She can’t take her eyes off of him—never can, in fact. From the moment she was old enough to recognize his face, my daughter has been head-over-heels in love with her big brother. And, while he’s occasionally put off by the amount of time and attention an infant requires of an entire household, he’s never far from her side. And never fails to inform newcomers that she is his baby.
I have a hard time focusing on the mass as I watch the two of them happily interact. When it’s time for the christening, Father Romance calls for the children, their families, and any godparents to come forward. We’re a large group—with my sisters, Jax, Bryan, and Big Win—so it takes a little doing for us to extr
icate ourselves from the pews and make our way to the front of the congregation. That’s when I realize.
We’re the only ones.
I look to Scott, who doesn’t seem to be the least bit concerned. Nor do my sisters, who all seem to be conveniently looking in every direction but mine.
“Oh, here,” Henny says, scooping Maggie from my arms. “Let me hold her.”
“What’s going on?” I hiss.
Like my husband, she shrugs.
“Beats me…”
That’s when Big Win takes my hand.
“Jameson, I need you to come with me for a second,” he says, already pulling me toward the back of the church.
My mind immediately goes to his health—to the stroke he had not quite two years ago—as I allow myself to be guided out of the sanctuary and into the narthex.
“Dad, what is it?” I ask when we’re alone. My right hand is on his forehead, checking for fever, while my left fingers fly to his wrist to check his pulse.
He feels fine. In fact, he’s grinning down at me.
“What? What is it?” I demand.
That’s when the outside doors open, letting in a rush of fresh spring air…along with Julie Freddino of the Knitty Kitty.
“Okay! Here we go,” she says cheerfully, dropping a long, flat box on the crimson-carpeted floor.
“What on earth is going on?”
She pulls the unwieldy lid off the box and extricates a beautiful, hand-crocheted length of material in a lovely ivory. By the time she’s got the whole thing spread out to its full length, I realize what it is that I’m looking at.
“A veil?” I ask, totally confused.
“That’s right,” she confirms, grabbing me by the shoulders and spinning me around a second before she starts to pin the exquisite item to my hair.
“Hey!” I say so loudly that she stops what she’d doing. “What is going on here?”
“You’re getting married, silly!” comes Hennessy’s voice from behind me.
When did she slip back here?
“I don’t…I can’t…what…”
“James, I swear, if you say ‘what’ one more time…” she threatens and laughs at the same time. “Here, hold these.”