Then There Was You: A Single Parent Collection

by Gianna Gabriela

  “Fair enough,” I concede without argument. I’ll take it.

  Grabbing Mika’s hand, I pull her with me down the hall to the last room. From the cart parked outside Kelty’s door, I grab us masks, booties, and gloves—a prerequisite to entering because of the risk of infection—and quickly pull them on as Mika does the same.

  “Morning, Princess.”

  Kelty’s blonde hair is spread out on the pillow, her face turned to the window, but when she hears my voice she swings around to the door, her eyes bright and clear.

  “Mika!”

  The fact my daughter totally ignores me, as she grins at my companion, doesn’t bother me at all. In fact, it warms me to know my girl is falling as hard as I am for her.

  “Hey, honey.” Mika’s voice is hoarse when she slips past me and approaches the bed. “You’re looking so much better already,” she coos, gently stroking a few strands of hair away from Kelty’s face.

  “I didn’t mean to make you worry,” Kelty whispers when she notices Mika blinking furiously.

  It’s the second time she says something along those lines. I remember what her doctor said last night, about kids keeping concerns to themselves so as not to worry their parents, and decide it’s time for a reality check.

  “Princess…” Her eyes come to me. “It’s our job to worry about you, look after you. That’s what we’re supposed to do. Your job is to let us, so we can help if needed. But when you hide stuff—important stuff, like not feeling well—you don’t make it easier, you make our job harder.” My heart breaks when I see her face crumple, but I have to make this clear. “Yesterday was very scary for you, but for a lot of other people as well, Kelty. People who love you. People who feel very lucky that you’re doing as well as you are, but, Princess, you need to understand it could’ve ended much differently.” I lean over the bed and brush a tear from her cheek, before putting my hand over the incision bisecting her narrow chest. “This, this precious gift you were given, you need to let us help you take care of it, baby. Do you get that?”

  She nods. “I’m—”

  “That better not be an apology coming out of your mouth,” I threaten her. “I may have to tape it shut.”

  Just as easy as that, she giggles, the tears all but forgotten.

  By the time the nurse comes in and sends us back to the waiting room, Kelty’s dozing off again.

  Mika, who’s been quiet during my parental lecture, grabs my hand when we walk down the hall to the waiting room, stopping me right outside the door.

  “I just want you to know you’re an amazing father, a good man, and a wonderful human being.”

  I don’t get a chance to respond—which is probably a good thing, it might not have been coherent—because in the next moment her hands are cupping my face, and she’s up on her toes, kissing me stupid.

  “Find yawselves a room, will ya?”

  “Morning, Dad.” I grin without taking my eyes off Mika.

  “How’s my granddaughtah?”

  “Better,” I share. “Fever’s down. She was pretty chatty for a bit just now, before zonking out again.”

  He nods and grumbles something before opening the door to the waiting room, leading the way inside.

  Mark joins us not long after, reporting they admitted Cassie to Obstetrics overnight after discovering her blood pressure skyrocketing again. I admire the guy, where I’d probably be a nervous wreck; he seems calm. Only the firm statement his wife’s ass will be staying in the hospital bed, even if it means handcuffing her to it, betrays the level of his concern.

  We spend the morning alternating visits with Kelty while we wait for the cardiologist to check in on her.

  When Dr. Cosgrove walks into the waiting room around eleven, we’re all eager to hear.

  “Kelty’s had a good night. She’s responding well to the antibiotics, and we’ll be moving her to a private room in Cardiology in the next few hours.”

  “That’s good news,” Mark comments.

  “It is great news,” he concurs. “But she’s not necessarily out of the woods yet. I’d like to see if we can adjust her medications, and then monitor her for at least a few more days before I’m comfortable discharging her.”

  “Whatever it takes.” I shake his hand. “Thank you so much.”

  He nods and then his eyes drift to Mika. “Ms. Spencer. I was surprised to see you here last night. I wasn’t aware you knew the family?”

  “A chance meeting right here in the hospital the day of the transplant,” I clarify, speaking for her. “We didn’t recognize the significance of it ourselves until very recently.”

  “I see. I’m sure you know we have strict rules about privacy, both for the sake of the donor’s family as well as the recipient’s. This…is a little unconventional.”

  I don’t even have to look at Mika to know this exchange must be extremely uncomfortable for her, but I don’t get the chance to tell the man to back off.

  “Ms. Spencer is family,” Mark calmly enforces, throwing a casual arm around her shoulders. “And as I’m sure you’ve noticed, Dr. Cosgrove, our family is far from conventional.”

  “Of course. No offense intended,” he says, looking at Mika.

  “None taken,” she assures him, lying through her teeth.

  MIKA

  “Are you sure you don’t mind?”

  Jude’s father shakes his head, waving the newspaper he found on the coffee table at my lawyer’s office. “Missed my Boston Globe. Gives me a chance to catch up. Take yaw time.”

  With the immediate crisis averted, and Kelty and her mother both in the hospital, at least for a while longer, it made more sense for me to head back to Orleans. I’m better off helping out at the Cooker, doing something useful. Not much I can do here, but at least I can take a little off Jude’s load.

  He wasn’t too enamored with my suggestion at first, but when his father said he’d tag along so he could pack a bag for everyone before driving back, he didn’t resist.

  I was a little embarrassed when he came down to the lobby and kissed me thoroughly—in full view of everyone—before watching us walk out to the street.

  My call to Bryan’s office was on the spur of the moment. I figured, while I’m here, I might as well get those papers signed before heading back. Luckily, Bryan was in the office and had everything ready, planning to call me later today.

  “There you are,” his voice is loud and boisterous, as he is. I barely get a chance to turn around before he has me wrapped up in a hug.

  Bryan is the only friend I retained after Emmett and I split. Unlike most of our friends, who either backed away when our marriage disintegrated, or stuck with Emmett—who was quick to garner public sympathy—Bryan had been unwavering in his support for me, even hooking me up with a good divorce lawyer when I needed one.

  I worm from his arms and turn to face Jim, who is observing us closely.

  “Bryan, this is Jim Parks…a friend,” I add awkwardly. “Jim, meet Bryan Stewart, my lawyer and also a friend.”

  The two shake hands before Bryan leads me into his office.

  “Don’t hit me, but you look like shit,” he bluntly imparts when he sits down behind his desk, gesturing to the visitor’s chair.

  “You would too if you had the past twenty-four hours I had,” I fire back, grinning at his familiar teasing.

  “Time to tell me about it?” he asks, but I shake my head.

  “I will, but not now. I don’t have a lot of time. I’ll call you when things settle down.”

  “I’m holding you to that.”

  He hands me a pen and shoves the first of a stack of papers in front of me, and I start signing.

  Twenty minutes later I follow Jim out the door, less a house, but with a whack-load more money heading to my account.

  Jim doesn’t say much on the drive home, but to be honest I’m grateful for the quiet, it gives me a chance to process, and there’s a lot.

  We make a planned detour by Mark and Cassie’s pla
ce. Mark gave us his keys, so we could pick a few things up for them as well. It feels a little weird walking into a strange house and going through their drawers, but it didn’t make sense for Mark to make the trek back here too, just for a few clothes and some toiletries.

  I haven’t even scratched the surface of what’s tumbling through my mind when I pull into the parking lot next to my cottage.

  Everything looks unchanged from when I first drove up here—feels like years ago—except it was just last month. Then I was a visitor, unsure of her place in the world. This time it feels familiar—the sights, the sounds, the smells—it’s like coming home.

  “Are ya comin’ out?”

  I realize Jim is already standing next to the Traverse, while I’m still deep in thought behind the wheel. I quickly turn off the engine and get out, meeting him on the other side.

  “Don’t go driving back right away,” I say, as I hand him the keys. “I wanna make sure you have something in your stomach first. I’ll get some sandwiches going while you pack a bag.”

  He scowls at me and walks off, mumbling something about bossy womenfolk under his breath.

  I’m still grinning as I get to the porch steps and hear my name yelled. I swing around and see Mandy running from the restaurant toward me.

  “Everything okay?” she asks, breathlessly.

  “Much better. They’ll keep her for another few days, but her fever is almost gone and she’s starting to feel better.”

  “And the heart?”

  I notice her generic reference, and although I understand her motivation and appreciate her sensitivity, I correct her immediately. “Kelty’s heart? Steady.”

  She lets out a deep sigh and closes her eyes briefly. “Ah, what a relief. What are you doing back here, though?”

  “Jim is picking up some clothes and stuff for him and Jude before he heads back, and I’m here to work.”

  “I could’ve managed, you know,” she blusters defensively.

  “Don’t doubt it for a minute, but now you don’t have to. Besides, I don’t do well sitting around, may as well make myself useful.”

  I grin at her when she rolls her eyes before they land on me, squinting. “You okay?”

  “Yeah. It’s all good.”

  She scrutinizes me for a few more seconds before nodding. “Lunch is covered, so I’ll see you at four,” she says, starting to walk away before she adds over her shoulder, “Gives you time to wash that hospital smell off and do something about the rat’s nest on your head.”

  I’m just stacking a few sandwiches on a plate when a knock sounds at the door.

  “Door’s open!”

  Jim walks in and looks around, stopping on the bookcase. “That’s new. Yers?”

  “No. Jude picked it up at an estate sale. Have a seat. Can I get you something to drink?”

  “Watah’s fine.”

  “Coming up.” I slide the plate in front of him, when he sits at the table, and go to fetch him a glass of water.

  “More of my granddaughtah’s?” he asks, pointing at the frames still leaning against the back of the couch.

  “Actually, those are my shots. I had those made for Jude, but I haven’t really had a chance to give them to him.”

  Jim gets up, and one by one flips the frames around. There’s my shot of the heron, the one Jude liked with the water spray surrounding his head like a halo. The next one is of the whale’s tail, lifting out of the water; a shot I took on our trip to Provincetown. The last two I made on that trip as well. One is a close up of Kelty’s profile just as she pulls down her mask to say something to her dad, who’s just outside of the frame, her eyes bright and mouth smiling wide.

  Jim’s eyes are a little misty as he looks up at me, before turning the last one over. That picture I took when after we got home and Jude had just laid his daughter on the couch. I caught him bending over her, kissing the tip of her nose.

  I love that picture. Their faces fill the entire frame. Hers sleeping—sweet and innocent—and his dark and brooding, but infinitely tender and protective.

  “He’ll like those,” Jim says in a gruff voice, clearly affected.

  I smile my gratitude as he sits down and eats the rest of his sandwich in silence. It’s not until I walk him to the door after, and watch him go down my steps that he speaks, stopping at the bottom.

  “Was all kinds of wrong about ya.”

  18

  JUDE

  Hospitals get old fast.

  Especially when you’re confined to a small room with a bored little girl and a grumpy old man.

  I’m grateful for Mark, who’ll occasionally pop in and relieve us for half an hour to grab some food, a bathroom break, or a breath of fresh air outside.

  Cassie had been wheeled in here a few times as well, to sit with our daughter for a bit, before she had to get back on the monitor in her own room on the other side of the hospital. They were keeping a close eye on the baby, whose heart rate showed occasional signs of distress. She’s only thirty weeks pregnant and they’re doing their best to keep the baby right where it is so the lungs can mature a little more. Kelty had been a little early too, but born at thirty-six weeks, she’d been healthy and strong and was able to go home with Cassie the next day. Hopefully this baby hangs in there a little longer.

  These last two nights I shared the king-sized bed at the DoubleTree with my father, and let me tell you, it’s not nearly as peaceful as it was the first night sleeping next to Mika. Dad snores, he hogs the covers, and he does not appreciate cuddling, which I discovered as he nearly shoved me out of the bed, when I apparently got a little too close in my sleep.

  Still, I appreciate the hell out of him sticking it out with me. I wish it was Mika here, but if I’m honest, it gives me peace of mind she’s helping Mandy and Daniel keep the restaurant going.

  “Where’s your dad?”

  I turn to find Mark wheeling Cassie into the room.

  “Gone to settle up at the hotel,” I tell them. “He shouldn’t be long and said he’d wait outside with the truck.”

  “Hey, beautiful.” Cassie leans over the bed to kiss Kelty.

  “Hi, Mommy, we’re waiting for the nurse to come back. I get to go home.”

  “I heard, baby. That’s great news.”

  “Are you going home too?” Her little face falls when her mom shakes her head.

  She puts a hand on her substantial stomach. “The doctor wants to keep an eye on me so we can make sure this little pumpkin can come out healthy, sweetie.”

  “How long do you need to stay?”

  “Well, it may be a few weeks. The longer the better it is for the baby, but I hope you’ll come visit me. Dr. Cosgrove will probably want to see you again soon, so you could stop by then.”

  “Can we, Daddy?”

  “We’ll visit as often as we can, Princess,” I assure her, before sticking my head out the door to see what’s keeping the nurse.

  There’s a guy I’ve seen hanging around the hospital, leaning against the desk at the nurses’ station. I’m about to head over there when the nurse he’s talking to spots me and holds up a finger indicating she’ll be right there.

  Not long after she walks into the room, paperwork in her hands.

  “Sorry about the wait. You ready to go?” she asks Kelty, who nods enthusiastically.

  It takes another twenty minutes going over the new medication regimen and her home care instructions. It’s not our first rodeo, but it’s hospital procedure for them to outline every detail again before they can let us go.

  When Cassie and Mark have said their goodbyes, Kelty gets dressed with the help of the nurse, while I pack up the rest of her things. Five more minutes to wait for an orderly to show up with a wheelchair and we’re on our way out the door.

  “Hang on,” I tell them when we get to the lobby. “I’m just going to see if our ride is here.” I head outside to look for Dad, who was supposed to wait for us down here.

  “Mr. Parks?” I turn
around at the voice and watch the guy I saw upstairs at the nurses’ station earlier walk toward me.

  “Yes?”

  “Jude Parks?”

  I don’t bother answering again, but brace myself when I see him pull out some small recording device as he steps closer.

  “John Meister of the Boston Telegraph.” I narrow my eyes at the mention of the weekly local gossip rag you can pick up at the grocery store checkout. “Mr. Parks, what is your connection with Mika Spencer?”

  A sudden rage boils up inside me and my hands curl into fists by my side. I’m aware of my daughter behind me in the lobby, just feet away, and squash the urge to slap the recorder he shoves in my face out of his hand. Last thing I want is for his attention to be drawn on Kelty.

  I try to ignore him as he tries to block my way, pelting questions at me. Was I aware of accusations made against Ms. Spencer? What is the nature of our relationship? How did we meet? Did I know where Ms. Spencer was now?

  From the corner of my eye, I see a security guard by the front doors and make my way over to him, the persistent reporter walking backward in front of me. We catch the guard’s attention and he turns fully toward us, just in time to clamp a firm hand on the tabloid hack’s shoulder.

  “This man bothering you?”

  “He is,” I state firmly. “He’s a reporter and I’ve seen him hanging around patient rooms.”

  The guard nods, ignoring the guy’s protests as he grabs him none too friendly around his bicep, while he makes a call on the radio clipped to his shoulder.

  I don’t wait around to see what happens, but rush outside, where I see Dad behind the wheel of my Traverse parked down a ways. I wave him over and head straight back inside, where I just catch John Meister of the Boston Telegraph flanked by now two guards, being marched through a door behind the information desk.

  “Ready?”

  “Who was that man, Daddy?”

  It’s clear my daughter witnessed at least some of that confrontation, but an answer will have to wait. I’m eager to get her out of here. “Grampa’s waiting outside, Princess. Let’s get you in the car.”