Somebody's Baby

by Lurlene McDaniel

  She froze for a moment, knowing it was one in the morning and wondered how long he’d been waiting on the deck. He’d left Lindsey’s at nine. Despite the late hour she reminded herself of her mission and came up the steps quickly, then halted with several feet of separation between them.

  “Want to go inside?” he asked.

  “No. This is fine.”

  He felt the air between them fairly crackling, some because of her determination to have a showdown with him, some because he wanted to shorten the distance between them to perhaps toe to toe. Yet he didn’t move.

  And neither did she.

  “You want to talk about the collection jars,” he said matter-of-factly. “Gloria wanted to put them out. Made her feel like she was helping.” He shook his head. “Like she was doing something worthwhile because it isn’t easy to stand by and watch your best friend die.”

  “Not easy for anyone else either,” Sloan said curtly. “Gloria told me Lindsey doesn’t know about the donations.”

  “True. How could she? It isn’t as if she gets out much these days.”

  Sloan had rehearsed a speech, but now, under the canopy of stars, the words fled. “What happened to her insurance?”

  “She had insurance, but the premiums skyrocketed, until it became impossible for her to keep up, and her insurer dropped her.”

  “Is that why she stopped medical treatment?”

  “She stopped because there was no hope for recovery. Not because of insurance.”

  “I would have liked to have been told about her inability to pay her premiums.” She felt renewed anger rise. “Who’s paying for her medications and that pain pump now?”

  “There are medical programs helping out, and hospice costs her nothing.” He offered a rueful smile. “And of course, the donation jars.”

  “What happens after she—” Sloan couldn’t bring herself to say the D-word, finished with, “Well, to Toby and Gloria, later? I mean about money and all?”

  “They’ll get by on what Gloria earns. Been doing it so far. Toby will grow up here, go to school, play baseball, all the usual things kids do, just like Lindsey wants for him.”

  And they have you, she thought, but didn’t say it. “Why didn’t Lindsey want me to know about her insurance problems?”

  “She wanted a sister, not a money tree.”

  His comment went all over her. “I have money, Cole, and I can stuff those collection jars with hundred-dollar bills if I want.”

  “It’s your presence she wants, Sloan, your company, but as you’ve said, you have a career schedule to keep.”

  Her hot anger turned to cold fury. “I’m a singer, Cole. Do you know what people see when they look at me? They see a girl standing onstage basking in the limelight. They buy music from websites, maybe an album in a store. What they don’t see is how hard I’ve worked. They don’t see the years of singing in bars, the friends I lost along the way, the hard scrabble it took to become who I am on the stage. I’ve wanted to be a singer all my life…and you have no idea of the price I paid to get here.”

  He listened, not just to her words but also to her subtext…of hurts still knotted inside her, her past still draped in shadows. “I get it, Sloan. You’ve had a hard slog and you’re in a place where you can help Lindsey financially. That’s excellent. She needs the money, and you have it. A simple fix. My point is that you’ve already helped Lindsey when you accepted her story of your being her half sister. You befriended her. That’s your real gift to her, Sloan.”

  “Gloria and Toby can’t spend gratitude.”

  Cole chuckled, stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “You and Lindsey are very different people. She leads from her heart. You think through every move before you make it. Not a criticism,” he quickly added. “Just an observation from an outsider.”

  “Leading from the heart is unsafe,” she snapped while moving backward, wanting even more distance between her and this man who seemed able to see inside her. She didn’t want to be under his microscope. “I’d better get back.” She stopped their conversation cold. “Don’t want anyone to wake up and find me gone.”

  “Understood.” He watched her hurry down the stairs, jog to the patio next door, and let herself in. He watched her, knowing that she had deliberately sidestepped any kind of intimacy with him, and knowing that, regardless of how long she stuck around at Lindsey’s, Sloan Gabriel was already gone.

  “I want to do this, Terri, so don’t try to talk me out of it.” Sloan paced the carpet in Terri’s office, pleading her cause.

  Terri steepled her fingers, her gaze following Sloan’s quick, determined strides. She listened to Sloan’s plan and her arguments for it, patiently waiting for Sloan to run out of steam. When Sloan finally took a breath, Terri motioned with her eyes to a bright orange leather chair, urging Sloan to sit. “You do know this event can be run online. It doesn’t have to be ‘in person.’ You’ve heard of crowd sourcing?” Terri asked.

  “That’s not the way I want to raise the money. I want a real in-the-flesh, bona fide performance concert.”

  “Donations only? If you do the concert for free, as a charity event, be warned. People often pay as little as possible, so you might not raise as much money as you’d like for Lindsey’s cause.”

  Sloan hadn’t considered that. “She has no money, Terri, and Gloria is committed to raising Toby until he’s eighteen. What if he wants to go to college? I’m telling you I want to do something to help my sister.”

  “Your half sister.”

  “My dying half sister,” Sloan snapped. She’d been unable to get her conversation with Cole out of her head. She thought that giving a fund-raising concert might help him see her in a better light, not as someone able to write a check but as someone who cared. And she did care about Lindsey and Toby very much. “What do you suggest I do to raise the money?”

  “Give a concert and charge admission. That way you can do whatever you want with the money, pay off her medical expenses, set up a trust fund…whatever.”

  Of course Terri’s suggestion made sense. Sloan nodded. “Let’s do it.”

  “And where are you going to have this concert?” Terri asked.

  “Windemere. The town has a rodeo arena at its fairgrounds that can hold lots of people. We can announce it on social media. You can publicize it. One night, one event.”

  Terri shifted thoughtfully. “It will cost money to set this up. The sound and lighting people don’t work for free. Plus the cost of the space you choose, cleanup crews, security…the list goes on. And how about musicians? You’ll need a few. Your label may offer to help, but not necessarily.”

  “I’ll pay for all that myself. I have the money, and I’m earning more.” A chart-topping song and an album earning royalties were adding up. Sunlight filtered through the floor-to-ceiling window and fell across Sloan’s chair and Terri’s desk, sending jeweled sparkles off a cut glass candy dish perched at the desk’s corner. Sloan watched as Terri mentally calculated the pros and cons of Sloan’s plan.

  “Actually, I don’t think it’s a bad idea, Sloan. It will garner some good publicity.”

  “That isn’t why—”

  Terri held up her hand. “I get why you want to do it, but there’re a lot of pieces to pull together. When do you want to do this?”

  “Quickly. Lindsey’s really sick.”

  “Are you ready for reporters digging into your personal garden? ‘Dying Long-Lost Sister Meets Love Child of Jerry Sloan.’ ” She created a headline with her finger in the air. “Are you prepared for the intrusions, because I know you like your privacy?”

  Sloan stood, walked to the window, and stared down on traffic crawling along the boulevard. “I can handle interview questions. I’ll talk about Lindsey, not me.” Since her win on American Singer, the press had been kind to her…“girl from trailer park makes good” stories. There was plenty in her past that she didn’t want in the tabloids. One day everything would come out, but until it
did, she would continue to sing and perform, and keep her mouth and her heart shut tight. “You already know my story….My mother drank, and I got out as soon as I could. I traveled with a band for a while, worked on my solo style in Nashville, moved to LA so I could try out for the show.” She turned to face Terri, crossed her arms. “And I won.”

  “So DNA doesn’t matter?” Terri asked, her eyes challenging but kind.

  “If I’m going to play the part, I’m going all in,” Sloan said, with more bravado than she felt. “In the end, Lindsey will get the money she needs. I don’t want this to be a memorial concert either. I want Lindsey alive when it happens. I want her to know that Toby will have some money after she’s gone. She deserves that much from her ‘sister.’ ”

  Terri spun her chair to face a computer screen, and tapped a few keys. “You have a pretty full schedule through October. A Christmas special to record in August…”

  Sloan headed to the twin mahogany doors that sealed off Terri’s personal office, where she paused and announced over her shoulder, “Well, please clear the way, because I’m going back to Windemere so I can spend some time with Lindsey.”

  Before Sloan could step through the doorway, Terri said, “This is a kind thing you’re doing. Lindsey’s fortunate to have you on her side.”

  A flood of memories from unhappy years washed through her mind, followed swiftly by images from her days in Windemere when she was called the singing lady by someone who had mattered more than she had ever thought possible. With great effort she stemmed the flow from the past. “I would do as much for a complete stranger in dire need, and whatever else Lindsey is, she’s not a stranger.”

  Whenever she entered a child’s hospital room, Lani could easily distinguish the parents of “newbies” from parents of “veterans.” Newly diagnosed children’s mothers and fathers wore frightened, bewildered, and grief-stricken expressions, and were often suspicious of every staff member or tech or doctor who floated near their sick child. Kids who had “been here, done it before” had relatives who looked settled in, cautious, and resigned to again walk the path of hope that this time their child would be made well. The kids fell into categories too. Younger kids screamed whenever anyone they didn’t recognize came close, because strangers might mean needles and shots and bags of fluid hung by their bed that often made them deathly sick. Readmissions knew the ropes, navigated the courses of new treatments with attitudes of resilience or defiance.

  St. Jude’s treated all kinds of childhood cancers, but Lani had always known that treatment of blood cancers would become her specialty—in particular ALL—acute lymphoblastic leukemia, the form that had stalked her cousin Arie until it had metastasized to finally claim her life years before. The irony was that if Arie had contracted it as a child these days, she might have lived. With new medical wizardry such as contemporary chemotherapies, stem cell implants, and gene-targeted therapy, 90 percent of ALL victims could be considered “cured” after ten years if they had no intermittent relapses. Huge progress. Too late for Arie.

  Lani also knew the warnings about not becoming emotionally involved with patients, as did all medical personnel, but that wasn’t the way Lani was wired. She made friends with her patients, and one girl, ten-year-old Sara Beth, and her mother, Pam, had quickly fallen into her “favorites” category. They were from a Mississippi town about the size of Windemere, with deep Southern roots and honey-thick drawls, the husband and daddy in the military, far away from family and, by confession, “Awful bad lonesome.”

  Whenever Lani came into Sara Beth’s room, Pam would light up and talk nonstop about family and home. This morning Sara Beth was sitting up in the bed, wearing earbuds plugged into an electronic port in the side rail, immersed in a movie on the television mounted on the wall. Pam chattered while Lani worked. “Me and Jimmy fell in love in the eighth grade. I felt on fire every time I saw him, and turned out he felt the same way too. We got married the week after we finished high school. We were so happy when we had Sara Beth, but work was hard to come by, so Jimmy joined the army. We’ve lived in North Carolina and Arkansas and Louisiana.” She ticked off the places on her fingers. “Then our baby girl got sick.” She glanced tenderly at Sara Beth.

  The child had been diagnosed at four and a half, had been treated, and had achieved remission at age six. Now, a few years later, she had relapsed. Second remissions were more complicated to achieve. “Four is young,” Lani said, checking Sara Beth’s vitals. “I’m sure she was scared.”

  “She sure was scared. Me and Jimmy too. She had all these bruises on her arms and legs, and when we took her to the hospital, them doctors thought we’d hit her. The idea!” Pam huffed. “But in the end she was properly diagnosed.”

  There were counselors in the hospital, available to parents, but Lani was here in the room, and Pam felt a bond with her, so Lani listened sympathetically, pushing away thoughts of the one case that had broken her heart and almost made her give up nursing.

  “Everything went fine that first time. The chemo done its job, but now her cancer’s come back. And Jimmy’s yonder in Afghanistan. We sure miss him.” Pam stared at the floor, her chin in her palm. “I promised Sara Beth I’d never leave her alone in any hospital, and I haven’t!”

  The room was L-shaped, with the hospital bed in the room’s center and a sleeping bed in an alcove so that a parent could spend the night. Depending on the length of a child’s hospitalization, some parents slept in the room, some stayed in a nearby Ronald McDonald House, and some families couldn’t stay throughout their child’s hospitalizations. Pam surrounded her daughter with pink girly blankets and pillows, books, and stuffed animals that starkly contrasted with the medical equipment.

  “And the doctor keeps telling me about treatments, and I don’t know what to do. Jimmy’s so far away.” Pam’s voice was riddled with indecision.

  Sara Beth pulled out her earbuds. “Is Daddy coming?”

  “No, sweetie. You know he would if he could.”

  Sara Beth’s face fell. “I want Daddy.”

  “He’ll be calling soon, honey.” The army had excellent support systems in place overseas for their personnel, but the nine-and-a-half-hour time difference between Memphis and the soldier’s location made his Skype calls to his family erratic.

  The movie forgotten, Sara Beth asked, “Do you have a daddy, Lani?”

  “My mom and dad live in Alaska….It’s far away, and really cold.” Lani recalled the long, frigid months of seemingly endless night she’d spent there in self-imposed exile.

  “I know! I bet you have a boyfriend!” Sara Beth snickered, and Lani winked at her.

  The girl pointed at the TV screen, where a cartoon character dressed much like a prince was holding hands with a cartoon girl dressed in rags. Cinderella…a little girl’s benchmark of true love.

  “Now, don’t you go getting nosey,” Pam chided, yet they both looked at Lani expectantly.

  Lani laughed. “I do have a boyfriend. And he’s as handsome as a prince.”

  Sara Beth giggled, covering her mouth with the hand not attached to the IV line. “So are you gonna be his princess?”

  “Well, then who’d be your nurse?”

  Sara Beth considered the question thoughtfully. “Okay,” she said with a sigh. “I guess if he’s a real prince, he’ll wait until I get better.”

  Lani understood Sara Beth’s odds of another remission. She quickly put on her busy nurse expression and said, “Watch your movie, and I’ll see you two this afternoon.”

  She left the room, her mind on Dawson. The distance between them was more of an obstacle than she’d thought it would be. She hadn’t seen him since July Fourth because he was swamped with work. They texted and talked, but she missed his touch, his presence, especially on long hot summer nights spent alone. She volunteered for extra shifts rather than face the loneliness that left her in a state of suspended animation. Lani never doubted her love for him, but with so much time and distance between them, wo
uld this separation send him into the arms of another?

  Terri Levine became a miracle worker as she quickly and completely pulled together Sloan’s concert. The fairgrounds became the venue, and Sloan would play on a platform stage within the rodeo ring, under the arena’s bright lights, with colorful spotlights splashing color and special effects over the stage. Her band would set up in the center, allowing her to move in a circle and give the audience full sight lines to her live performance. The early-August event was set for eight p.m. “I’ve had a chat with the weather service,” Terri told Sloan when she chose the date, “and they’ve promised the skies will be rain free, under threat of my eternal wrath.”

  “A frightening thought,” Sloan said, amused, knowing she’d give the concert regardless of bad weather.

  Publicity began on social media, and the concert was sold out in less than twenty-four hours, with all earnings going into a special trust set up for Lindsey, Sloan’s newly discovered half sister, and for Lindsey’s son, Sloan’s nephew. People who remembered Jerry Sloan from “the good old days” posted their memories about him, and online music sites saw an immediate uptick in sales of his old music. The news thrilled Lindsey but delighted Sloan, because royalties from the old music would deposit into Jerry’s estate, left to Lindsey.

  However, Terri lured bigger money through fees that bought entrance into a VIP tent that would offer food and drinks and the chance to meet Sloan in person following the concert. What surprised Sloan was how many well-known country music musicians and performers wrote sizable checks to the concert event. In the final tally, her label covered all the costs to hold the event, and both the arena and the VIP tent promised to be packed with donors and stars.

  The news of the concert also came with a benefit to Lindsey that no one had anticipated. As Lindsey’s spirits soared, so did her health, the divide between the body and mind breached to offer a magical zone of temporary healing called the bounce back. “I won’t miss this,” she promised Sloan, with a glow on her face that hadn’t been seen during the many weeks of her downward spiral.