Digging Deep

by Jay Hogan

  He was trying to be kind, but I knew better. “If I’d gone to see her after she called yesterday, though, if I hadn’t left it too late, I could’ve got her scanned….”

  “She didn’t ask you to come, Drake. She felt fine. A bit puffy but no more than last time. There was no reason to suspect… all this. Give her time, she’ll come around. It’s all just too painful at the moment.”

  I nodded, giving him the reassurance he sought, even though I was on Prim’s side all the way. I’d hate me too. No matter how I looked at it, I knew that if I’d gone and seen her, none of this would’ve happened.

  I PULLED into my allotted car park at the clinic and sat in the driver’s seat, staring at the small weatherboard professional offices I’d been so proud to be a part of. Now, I felt nothing other than dread. I could barely remember the drive from the hospital, and I guessed that meant I shouldn’t be driving at all, but I’d had to see Prim. I’d lasted all of a couple of hours at home before the need had finally driven me there. As soon as Dad had delivered my car back to me, I was gone, sidestepping his questions with watered-down platitudes and leaving him standing in my drive, looking painfully concerned. I’d talk to him later.

  I don’t know what I’d been hoping for. Maybe if Prim had talked to me, if we’d cried together, if I’d been able to say, really say how sorry I was, I don’t know, but seeing her had left me gutted in every sense of the word. It was bad enough to have lost a baby, lost Hannah, but Prim not even wanting me in the same room as her, that cut far deeper.

  Prim was more than a client, she was a friend. I’d delivered her other two boys, and now? Now, she couldn’t stand the sight of me. It was nothing less than I deserved. Maybe Kevin was right. Maybe I wasn’t seeing things clearly. Maybe I was in shock, but that didn’t change the feeling of heart-aching responsibility, and I wasn’t sure anything was going to.

  A rap at the driver’s window startled me out of my spiral of self-pity.

  “You coming in or are you just going to sit there all day and frighten our clients away? I’ve been watching from the window. You look like a fucking zombie.” Dana pulled open the door and stood to the side, waiting. “Come on. There’s a disgusting fake coffee inside with your name on it, now move your arse.”

  I followed her inside and waited while she flicked the Open sign to Back in Fifteen Minutes on the clinic door.

  “What if someone—?”

  “They can wait,” Dana snapped. “Pregnant ladies are good at that. Besides, Carly’s off visiting, and I’ve had a cancellation, so we’re good for a bit.” She nudged me into my office and pushed a coffee cup into my hand. “Get this down you. If nothing else it might at least make you look a little more human. As it is you resemble something the cat spat up, but less appealing.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “Don’t give me any sass. Have you eaten today?”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  She arched a brow. “Don’t pull that shit with me, Drake Park.” She disappeared and came back with a slice of cake from a much-loved health shop. “Eat.”

  I stared at the cake. It was one of my favourites. “Did you get this especially?”

  She snorted. “Of course not. I just happened to be passing….” She caught my look of disbelief. “Oh shut up. So what if I did? You had a shit night, right? The worst, in fact. Let me love on you a little. Now eat.”

  I nibbled on the cake, but it sat like fucking concrete on my tongue. Jittery and raw with sleeplessness, it was all I could do to get that tiny bite down my throat. I managed just one more to satisfy the scowl on Dana’s face, then slid it aside. The coffee went down easier. I’d stick with that. Dana eyed the discarded cake but said nothing.

  “I don’t know why I’m even here,” I said, closing my eyes and letting my head fall back against the chair. “I’m no damn use to you today.”

  Dana sighed. “You’re here because you need to talk, and we’re your friends and partners, idiot. And as for working? You’re not going near another client for at least a few days, maybe a week.”

  I opened my mouth to argue.

  “Don’t even think about it,” she headed me off. “You’d say exactly the same if it was one of us. Losing a baby is the pits, the worst of the worst. You think we don’t know that? You’ve been golden so far, a clean record, but I’ve lost two, you know that. I’ve been where you are, and it fucking sucks, even if you did everything right.”

  “But I didn’t. I should’ve gone to see her yesterday.”

  “Why?”

  That pulled me up. “You know why.”

  “No, I don’t. From what you told me, there was nothing to indicate anything was wrong. Braxton Hicks and puffy feet do not an abruptio placentae make. Would I have gone to see Prim on the basis of what she said? Maybe, just to be safe. Just like you planned to do today. Would I have gone yesterday? Again, maybe, if I was sitting around twiddling my thumbs. But nothing about what she said screamed urgent, so if I’d had a family dinner to attend, then no. I would have done exactly as you did. You are not to blame, Drake.”

  I mulled over her words. It wasn’t anything I hadn’t already told myself time and again. I got what she was saying, I really did. And if the boot was on the other foot, I’d be saying exactly the same to her. That didn’t mean I believed it.

  “I know all that in my head, Dana, but my heart isn’t listening. I can’t get past the what-if-I’d-gone part.” I paused before adding, “They had to do a hysterectomy.”

  Her expression fell. “Fuck.”

  I sighed. “Yeah, pretty much.”

  “You went to see her?” Dana’s expression remained neutral.

  “I tried.”

  “Oh.” Her expression said she guessed what was coming. “Damn.”

  “She didn’t want to see me,” I explained, my voice rough with emotion. “They’re sticking with the hospital staff. I’m… fired I guess.”

  Her gaze narrowed. “Stop it.”

  I glanced up. “Stop what?”

  “Stop wallowing. You lost a late-term baby, it sucks. I know. And her mother’s pissed at you. Understandable. But it wasn’t your fault no matter how much you want to pull on that hair shirt you seem so determined to wear. And Prim will come to realise that too. This is the job, Drake. We deliver babies, and ninety-five percent of the time it goes fine and it’s the best damn job in the world. But sometimes it doesn’t and then it fucking buries you. Miscarriages we all expect. Third trimester deaths? Not so much. Maybe for you, shit got real for the first time. You can’t have it all rainbows and unicorns and pretty family photos. But what happened last night, that’s gonna make you the best damn midwife you can be, if you let it.”

  Was she right? I didn’t know. I wanted to believe her, but feeling the way I did, I wasn’t sure I could take responsibility for another pregnant woman without losing my shit from fear of something going wrong. Could I take that risk again? I didn’t know.

  “Hello in there.” Dana whacked me on the arm.

  I flinched and threw her a glare. “I think you need to take a look at that whole sympathy thing you think you’ve got going. I’m not sure you’ve truly got the gist of it.”

  “Don’t be a baby. I’m not your mother. And I know that look. You were about to say you can’t do this anymore, right?”

  Son of a bitch. How did she do that? “Maybe. I don’t know.”

  “See. You don’t need sympathy. You need a rope to climb up from that well of self-pity you’re drowning in.”

  Jesus Christ. “Wow, say what you really feel.”

  “I will. I’m not being heartless, Drake. Remember, I’ve been there.”

  And she had. I knew that. Lots of midwives never have one late-term death. Dana had dealt with two. The first had been a stillbirth, a thirty-eight-week boy with undiagnosed Down’s syndrome. That had been hard enough, but the second had been a full-term emergency at-home delivery after a domestic assault by the woman’s partner had put a youn
g mum into early labour. Several solid punches to a pregnant stomach would do that. There’d been no time to get them to hospital, and the baby had lived only a few hours. There’d been a coroner’s case to establish cause of death at which Dana had to testify, and then a court case against the partner. At the time I didn’t know how she coped, but I suspected she was made of tougher stuff than me.

  “I know you’ve been there. But I’m not you, Dana.”

  Her expression softened. “No, you’re not. But you can do this equally well, your own way. You’ll get through this, so will Prim. She has a loving husband and two beautiful boys to make sure she does. And you have us, your friends and family and a guy who seems pretty determined to look after you. Use us, Drake. Use us all. Wallow for a bit if you want, you’ve absolutely earned that right, but then start talking, got it?”

  I thought of Caleb and felt a stab of regret. I should’ve let him stay this morning. How different my trip to the hospital would’ve been if I’d had him there to hold me after. I needed him, but I hadn’t wanted to show it. I owed him an apology.

  “I don’t think I did enough to help you at the time, and I’m sorry for that,” I admitted. “I had no idea it felt like… this. I’ll do better next time. Fuck. I feel like I’m ripping apart. I feel so damn useless. I want to hug Prim and Kevin and cry and say I’m sorry, but she doesn’t want me anywhere near her, and I don’t blame her. It just fucking sucks.”

  Dana gave me a small smile and hauled me into her arms to hug the ever-loving shit out of me. I might not agree with all her rosy-glass assessments, but I loved her fiercely.

  “I’m so lucky to have you guys.”

  She nodded against my chest. “Yes. Yes you are.”

  I couldn’t help but smile, which considering everything that had happened was a bloody miracle in itself.

  TWO SECONDS inside my front door and every scrap of positivity I’d managed to scratch together from my talk with Dana seemed to leak into the endless accusatory silence of my townhouse. My midwifery bag still gaped open at the side of the couch, the bloodstained Doppler visible just inside, plastic gloves and monitoring leads shoved in willy-nilly, and the baby ID bracelet I’d labelled with Hannah’s name but never got the chance to put in place. I picked up the narrow strip of plastic and stared at it, tears welling.

  Goddammit. Enough. I snapped the lock on the bag and threw it under the breakfast bar out of sight. Then I made my way into my bedroom, ignoring the untouched breakfast tray staring at me from my bedside table—yet more guilt—and stripped the bed, dragging everything to the washing machine and adding my clothes from last night. But when I slammed the lid down and saw the blood on my hands, it stopped me in my tracks. I sank to the floor, grabbing a towel, and began wiping my hands hysterically.

  How I made it to the kitchen I had no idea, but here I was, shirtless in front of an open fridge door looking for… what? Absolution from the cold herbal tea and low-fibre vegetables? I fucking wish.

  My eyes ran to the clock above the oven. 4.00 p.m. Had I eaten anything? Not since Dana’s slice, and, well… yeah, I guess no answered that. Nothing since some mince thing at the hospital, and as if on cue, my gut did a little twist and shout in protest. Fuck. What I’d thought to be bolognese turned out to be Mexican, but by the time I realised, I was already back in the ER and needed to have something before I passed out.

  I’d stopped at a few spoonfuls, hoping my gut would forgive me, but clearly not. Par for the course the way my luck was going. Caleb had seen it, of course. He knew I didn’t do Mexican, and the look of incredulity he’d sent me after sniffing the congealed mess said it all. But by then I was all out of fucks to give.

  I thought of calling him, but no. He promised to drop by later. No need to ruin what was left of his day. I thought of calling Aaron, but the guy had enough shit on his plate dealing with his ex and the breakup. My parents? Hell no. God love ’em but well-meaning platitudes just weren’t gonna cut it. Unfair? Maybe, but whatever.

  Instead I grabbed a yoghurt and two of the beers I’d bought for Caleb, and headed for the lounge. I was so over the last twenty-four hours. I’d survive. I’d do what I had to do. I might even be able to forgive myself, but I wasn’t there yet. Fuck it. Fuck them all. And fuck my goddamn Crohn’s. I was so sick of its choke-hold on my life. I needed to forget. Just for a night. It owed me that at least. One night to do what any other normal guy would do after such a fucked-up twenty-four hours. Just one goddamn night to get wasted and forget. Then I’d deal with things and get back on my feet.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Caleb

  DRAKE’S CAR sat parked in the drive, so it was a fair guess he was home, but if so he wasn’t answering his locked door. Shit. His dad had called me earlier, concerned that Drake was going to the hospital to see Prim on his own, but it wasn’t my call to intervene, and I told him so. I wasn’t sure our boyfriend status even had the paint dry on it, let alone if it would allow me to push my nose where it clearly wasn’t wanted.

  If Drake had needed me there, he would’ve called, right? But even to my idiot brain that was sounding more and more like a cop-out. This boyfriend shit was so foreign to me, and damned if I had a clue how to do it right. All I knew was how worried I was. I wanted so badly to be there for Drake, to have him lean on me, but would he think I didn’t believe he could handle shit on his own? That was the last thing I wanted.

  I checked my watch. 7.00 p.m. Later than I’d intended, but I’d been held up taking statements on the holdup of a 7-Eleven by some guys brandishing what to all intents sounded like a plastic gun. The owner had bravely or stupidly made a run for it, leaving his business to its fate, and called us from down the road. The thieves had emptied the cigarette cupboard and raided the petty cash jar before taking off in a van with a few cartons of snack food thrown in for good measure.

  I pressed the buzzer again. “Goddammit, Drake, answer the fucking door,” I said to myself, stepping into the garden and peering through the front window, hoping the neighbours wouldn’t call me in. Last thing I needed was a fellow officer arresting me as a gay peeping Tom. I’d be shouting beers till kingdom fucking come.

  The curtains were open, so I had a good view inside, but all seemed quiet. Over the breakfast bar the kitchen stood empty, the door to Drake’s bedroom dark. Maybe he was asleep. I grabbed my phone to call his dad and check if he’d managed to get hold of him, when something suddenly shifted on the floor in front of the couch. What the…? I craned my neck with no luck, so I rapped on the window.

  “Drake?” I rapped again, and what I’d thought to be a blanket on the floor definitely moved. I hadn’t imagined it. And bottles on the coffee table, lots of them. Fuck. I raced up the steps and forced the door. It took a couple of slams, nearly doing in my shoulder in the process, and I made a mental note to get Drake to switch out to a better lock as I ploughed inside.

  Rounding the corner into the lounge, I found Drake curled up on his side, deathly still. His face was pushed up against the couch, and he showed not the slightest indication he’d heard any of the racket I’d made. Shit, shit, shit. I dropped to my knees and felt for a pulse. A little fast but there and steady. His mouth was clear, and he was breathing okay. Thank Christ. My heart thundered a decibel or ten less, and I rocked back on my heels to take stock.

  Two empty beer bottles on the coffee table alongside a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels. A single glass sat next to them on its side, its contents spilled across the wood and onto the carpet next to Drake’s comatose body. Well, okay, then. That answered the how, and the why was pretty self-explanatory, too, though from what Drake had told me about how alcohol screwed with his Crohn’s and how meticulous he was about not drinking the stuff, to say I was shocked to find him like this was the understatement of the century.

  What the hell was he thinking? Why would he do this to himself? Or if he was determined to obliterate himself, he could at least have had someone watching him. Idiot. I did my best to ig
nore the alarm bells sounding off in my brain that this was so very not Drake that I needed to take it as a huge fucking neon warning sign.

  I set about getting him on his feet, easier said than done as his legs seemed to have a mind of their own. But once we got there, it quickly became apparent that wherever he ended up, it needed to be via the shower first. Whether it was the Mexican from last night, or the truckload of alcohol this evening, probably both, his body had said enough via more than one orifice, and he was going nowhere before I got some soap and water over him. I threw his arm around my neck, and with mine around his waist pulling him close, I half walked, half dragged him into the bathroom.

  A set of wet lips nuzzled at my neck as I manoeuvred him onto the closed lid of the toilet. “Hey, Caleb.” He sounded surprised, of course he did, his head rocking back and forth as he tried to focus on me. “Whadda you doin ’ere?” he slurred.

  I bit back a smile. Clearly a cute drunk, not an angry one. Thank Christ. I had enough to deal with as it was.

  “I, um… hadda drink… meebee… two,” he said with a grin.

  I snorted a laugh and grabbed him before he slid sideways onto the floor. “Ah-ha. I never would’ve guessed. Now let’s get you cleaned up, babe, and into bed.”

  He bit his bottom lip and tried to hold my gaze while waggling his eyebrows but managing to look more befuddled than sexy. “You gonna get in wit me? Gonna fuck me, Caleb? Go on. I want you to fuck me. I wanna feel—”