The Cannon (Swift Book 3)

by Leslie Pike

  Two nurses are working to get the equipment ready for the baby. One of them keeps an eye on the monitor.

  “Here comes another one,” Brick says watching the contraction on the screen.

  January squeezes his hand and scrunches up her nose, eyes tightly shut.

  Then the doting husband gives his instructions. “Breathe, baby. Whoo whoo whoo.”

  It’s so awesome to watch my brother in this role. Out of his comfort zone but doing everything right. Looks like January is about to break his hand off. But she doesn’t make a sound. It’s all on her face.

  “Oh baby, it’s almost over. It’s starting to recede.”

  He looks at my mother and I who are holding her other hand and giving words of encouragement.

  “Good girl. You’re doing great,” Mother says.

  “I’m sweating. Bristol, come wipe my brow,” he says.

  The humor of his remark hits us all at the same time. Even January finds it funny.

  “Oh no. That’s awful, Brick! Nurse. Think you can give him an epidural?” she says chuckling between the waning pain.

  “Maybe morphine would be a better option,” the nurse laughs.

  I come around and use the handkerchief my dad’s holding out to pat Brick’s forehead and upper lip.

  The contraction eases.

  “That was a big one.”

  Into the room come two nurses wheeling a cart with the baby tray, where it will be examined, cleaned and weighed.

  “We’re getting close now. Doctor’s on his way. Are you all staying?” the older nurse says.

  “No. No one’s staying but me,” Brick says firmly.

  Can’t say that I blame them for their decision. That’s how I’d want things if I was about to give birth. The tears well in my eyes, but for once I’ll be able to hide behind the happiness of the day. I’ve seen misty eyes on everyone.

  “Okay, we’ll be in the waiting room by the nurse’s station. Please come tell us what’s happening as soon as you can,” says Mother, tenderly kissing January on the cheek and giving Brick a pat on his hand.

  “Don’t worry about us. Stay until they’re done with the exam and the scale. Just enjoy it all. And have a nurse take pictures,” I say.

  My father gets up and wipes his face of tears. He holds out his palm up and wiggles his fingers at me.

  “Give me back my handkerchief. I’m feeling a little sentimental.”

  Mom takes the handkerchief from me, goes to his side and wraps an arm through his.

  “Come on, Grandpa,” she says sweetly. “We’ll get teary together.”

  They leave the room and I gather my belongings. Tears stream down my face now. It’s not just because I’m overcome by the beauty of the moment. I cry for for me.

  “God bless you both. Can’t wait to meet your boy. Love you,” I say blowing a kiss in their direction.

  As soon as I pull back the door, I see Sawyer leaning against the opposite wall. I melt into his arms and the tears flow.

  “You okay?”

  “I will be now you’re here.”

  And it’s true, because slowly but surely I regain my composure.

  “I hear baby’s about to arrive.”

  “Yes. She’s dilated to nine and a half. Oh. Here comes her doctor.”

  The physician sweeps into the room and closes the door behind him. As expected, he didn’t make eye contact with anyone. I understand completely. A random greeting or acknowledgement of any family member could result in delay. He’s got more important things to do.

  “Let’s go sit with my parents.”

  Walking down to the waiting room I can hear the voices and laughter of my family. The Swifts aren’t known for being demure or introverted. And when we’re excited, it’s on another level.

  “The gang’s all here,” Atticus says as I walk in.

  Our family has taken up half the space. Only an older couple and a teenager share the room.

  Charlotte has brought her basket of goodies and she’s passing them around. Even offering cookies to the strangers. “Bristol, want a po boy? There’s also Gouda and crackers, some delicious olives, apples.”

  “I’ll take a sandwich. Toss it here,” I say hands in the air. It’s a good throw.

  “Sawyer, want one?”

  “No. Thanks. Let’s go sit on the couch. You can put your feet up,” he says taking my hand. “How many hours have you been up?”

  Looking at my watch, I calculate the hours. “I got up at six yesterday morning. It’s twelve now, so thirty. Thirty hours.”

  We sit and I put my back against the wall, stretching my legs up and out.

  “Why don’t you stay at my place tonight?” Sawyer says.

  “What I’d really like to do is stay in bed all day.” I unwrap my sandwich and take a big bite.

  “That works for me,” he whispers.

  Forty minutes and three mini Snickers later, one of the delivery nurses peeks in the waiting room.

  “You can go back in now,” she smiles widely.

  It’s a stampede. Our food is left where it sits. Every sign of our exhaustion has vanished as all six of us head for room 303.

  My mother and father lead the charge.

  “Let me see! Let me see him!” Mother cries, rushing in.

  Baby boy Swift is in his father’s arms. His tired, proud, teary, over-the-moon, father’s arms.

  The appropriate ohs and ahs are offered as we crowd around the newest family member. That a beautiful baby. Our genes run strong. He looks like a Swift. The tiny body’s swaddled tight and he wears a blue beanie to keep his little head warm. The lips. They’re pursed in an air kiss.

  Every one of us is crying.

  “We haven’t forgot about you, January,” my mother says turning toward her daughter-in-law and touching her face gently.

  “I know. Be with our boy. Isn’t he darling?”

  Brick passes him to his grandmother.

  “Meet your grandson, Beauregard Boone Swift.”

  As she takes Beau in her arms for the first time, Brick’s eyes connect with my father’s. A nod passes between them in acknowledgment of the name. Beauregard was my father’s grandfather’s name. No words are necessary.

  Chapter 15

  Sawyer

  The email to my sister hasn’t been answered. It’s been a while now. Wonder why? Maybe I sounded too needy. Maybe she changed her mind about wanting to find any relatives. Or maybe the facts I stated about my memories didn’t match up with hers.

  I just wish she’d let me know which it is. I’m hanging here by a thread. Not knowing. My habit is to scan the email as soon as I get the day going. But today there’s other more important things to take care of. Need to check the reservations and details for our Blackberry Farm trip.

  Two days isn’t enough, but it’s all we have.

  Bristol’s schedule is almost as demanding as mine. Whether it’s a game or practice, visiting children at the hospital or spending time with the foster kids, my time is booked.

  She juggles a big practice and then everything a single homeowner does. She’s not one to delegate. I’ll throw money at a problem if it can be solved that way. She prefers to tackle most things herself.

  That’s why this trip is going to be good for us both. We’re going to let go of all the stress and be in the moment. Hope she likes the place. But then who wouldn’t? Atticus told me about the Great Smoky Mountain Estate and Resort and she and I did our own investigation.

  My cell beeps. Email.

  Taking it from my pocket I scan the latest mail. My heart skips a beat. It’s a response from my sister. My hands are shaking as I bring it up.

  Sawyer,

  My name is Maria Cortez. I’m the best friend of Anne Bradley, the woman you contacted through Ancestry.com. Maria doesn’t know I’m writing you because she hasn’t read your mail yet. I have her phone and just went through her emails.

  There’s a very good reason for that. She’s been in the hospita
l since last month, after being in a car accident. She’s been in intensive care the whole time. But she’s off the respirator now and breathing on her own. She still has a long way to go and bones to heal before she gets to come home. They’re sending her to a rehabilitation home after she gets released.

  I don’t know whether to tell her of your letter or not. I don’t want to excite her or stress her out. I know Ancestry.com is reliable and this news will raise her blood pressure. So for now we need to keep the secret just a little longer. I’ve known Anne since grammar school, and I know how much she’s missed you. She’s taught her young daughter Kelly your name. Kelly is staying with my husband Alwar and I because Anne doesn’t have anyone else to rely on.

  I’m going to let her tell you about her life. It’s not my story to tell. Let me answer the questions you sent that I can.

  Anne said her father wasn’t around, but her mom always tried her best to care for her and the brother.

  The mother’s first name was something that sounded like a man’s name. But I can’t remember exactly what.

  Her brother was still a toddler when the mother overdosed and that even though they were both so young, she loved him and used to call him “baby boy”.

  I’m so sorry I don’t know more. Hope this helps. Here’s my cell number in case you want to ask further questions. 469- 555-3462. We are in McKinney Texas. I don’t know where you live. You can call me any night after six but before ten.

  Maria

  Oh god. Shit. Think, Sawyer!

  Calling Bristol.

  “Hello, handsome.”

  “You’re not going to believe it. I’m forwarding the email I just got.”

  I do what needs to be done and whoosh it’s sent. I hear the ping of her phone as the mail arrives.

  It takes only seconds before she sees the original sender’s address. “Oh my gosh. Your sister?”

  “Keep reading.”

  After a few seconds there’s an intake of breath. “Oh no. Oh, Sawyer.”

  She continues and every so often reacts to the dramatic story.

  “What was your mother’s name?”

  “Billie,” I say getting around the lump in my throat.

  “Do you remember her calling you baby boy?” she says softly.

  “No. I was too little.” The words even sound sad to me.

  “Doesn’t matter. It’s got to be her. This Anne is your Anne.” Her voice trails off as the emotion of the moment takes over.

  I’m crying too. But between the sobs I begin to hatch a plan. “I need your help. I want to fly there and offer whatever I can to help, but I’m not sure what kind of condition she’s in. Is there a way you can find out?”

  “First you need to call this Maria. Maybe she can tell you, me, what you want to know.”

  “Yeah. Good thinking. I’d like you to be on the phone with me. Are you okay with that?”

  “I’d be honored, Sawyer. Let me find a few phone numbers and contacts in case we need to do some digging. You should see if you can find anything on the internet about this Maria. It’s a common name but you have her city and age. We need to see if she’s legit before you call.”

  “Good thinking. Can you stay the night?” I hear the need in my own voice. “We can brainstorm and you can help me compose my response. I want to answer her by tonight and set up a call.”

  “Of course. I’ll come straight from the office.”

  Over the next two hours I found what I was searching for. It was easy. Maria Cortez, age thirty-two of McKinney, Texas. I narrowed the search by the list of her relatives, which included the unusual name of Alwar.

  There was no criminal record or liens against her home. I was able to find her address, phone number and see the exterior of her modest but well-kept home. Shit. This is how stalkers find their victims. But for me it was gold.

  “I’ve never had a picnic in bed,” says Bristol wiping a rogue piece of cheese off my chin. “I like it.”

  “Me too, baby.”

  I’m writing my response to Maria before I commit it to email. Lines are crossed out, whole paragraphs scribbled away. I need this to be right.

  “Read me what you have,” Bristol says.

  “Okay.”

  Maria,

  Thank you for being such a good friend to Anne. I believe she is my sister and genetics prove it. Being a ninety-nine percent match is a fact that can’t be disputed. It sounds like you and Anwar are great friends and that Anne needs you right now.

  I live and work in Tennessee but have a few days off every few weeks. I’d like to fly in to see my sister whenever you decide to tell her. I’ll need some advance notice because of my work schedule. But I will figure it out as soon as you say it’s a go. What do you think about that? When are you planning on telling her we’ve corresponded?

  I’d like to call you and keep abreast of Anne’s condition. Would that work for you? I respect your time limits and appreciate all you’re doing for my sister and her child.

  I’ll be asking you about what I can do to help Anne’s situation. How old her child is and if she needs any additional financial support. I want to help with that.

  Thank you again for being an angel for her. My cell number is 901-555-9993. Sawyer

  Looking up into Bristol’s eyes I see her smile.

  “That sounds perfect. Except for one thing,” she says.

  “What?”

  “I wouldn’t mention the financial support just yet. Talk to her first and get the whole picture.”

  A long sigh leaves my mouth right before a piece of pizza is offered for a bite. “No. I’m too excited. And nervous,” I say waving the pizza away.

  “What do you think?” she asks.

  “You’re probably right, I know. But I’m going to leave it in. Just my gut feeling.”

  I start copying the text to email.

  Bristol moves the plates to the bedside table and repositions herself facing me. “I understand. Do what you want.”

  “This is like the worst part. I know where she is but can’t get to her. It’s like being tortured.” That’s no exaggeration.

  “But it’s going to work out. You’re past the worst of it. You found each other.” She says it with so much conviction I can’t help but feel encouraged.

  “I still can’t believe it.”

  “Those were some mighty odds. But it seems like your destiny.”

  That comment lightens me. It’s hopeful. I almost respond, ‘I love you for saying that’, but I don’t. Not because it’s not true, but because when I say it it won’t be in response to some random thing she said. It’ll be because I can’t hold it in any longer.

  I feel her hand on mine. “Do you think we should postpone our trip to Blackberry Farm this month?”

  “Let’s keep it for now, but it’s a possibility. Thanks for being understanding, babe.”

  She comes off her elbow and puts an arm over my waist and looks into my eyes. “Spoon me,” she says turning her back and curling against me.

  We fit together like peas in a pod. I breathe in her heavenly scent and nestle against her. She’s my home.

  “Sawyer, you’re out of control! You can’t buy everything you see. Come on, let’s take a five min break. Let’s sit down and regroup.”

  I know Bristol is thinking straight, but it’s hard controlling my impulses when it comes to my new family.

  “I know. But can you imagine how exciting it would be to a little girl to get a roomful of new furniture? A princess bed?”

  Her eyes soften as she takes my hand.

  “Babe. Think. Your sister doesn’t even know about you yet. She won’t for another week or two. What are you going to do with all this stuff?”

  “I’ll just have the store hold it until delivery! Then when we speak I can put things in motion,” I say tapping my temple for emphasis.

  “But you need to consider, just consider, the chance Anne doesn’t want it all. It may be too overwhelming to her while she�
�s healing. Too much of a change for her child.”

  I feel my shoulders sag.

  “Shit. Really?”

  “It’s just one possibility. I understand your enthusiasm. It’s a beautiful thing. But in my opinion, you’d be better served to wait till you speak to her and hear her take on the subject. Maybe she’ll be wildly excited. Probably will be. But I think you should let her be part of the decision.”

  I just look at her. Beautiful and smart.

  “Okay. I see your point,” I say standing up. “I won’t buy the furniture. Yet. But let’s look for a few things I can take home with me to send as soon as we talk. You know, small gifts for them both.”

  Bristol stands and threads her fingers in mine. “Great idea. The Disney Store is a few shops away. You’re going to find all kinds of things there.”

  “What about for Anne? I don’t know her style or size.”

  “How about a piece of jewelry? Maybe a necklace or bracelet?

  “Let’s look for that first.”

  We walk out of Baby Gap and eye the small jewelry store directly across the aisle.

  “Hari’s,” Bristol says pointing, “they have some great pieces. Brick bought January her push present there.”

  “What’s a push present?”

  “It’s what fathers give mothers when they deliver a baby. It’s a relatively new thing.”

  I know nothing about this baby business. A gift for having your child? I guess it makes some kind of sense.

  “Look at that gold bracelet, the one with the carved flowers going around it,” I say pointing in the window.

  “Beautiful. That’s called a bangle bracelet. I love them. Let’s go in.”

  We walk in and it takes about three seconds for a salesman to approach us.

  “Good afternoon. Is there something I can show you?”

  “Yeah. I like that gold bangle bracelet in the front display.”