Sweet and Sassy Daddies

by Natalie Ann

  After a petrifying nightmare of pieces of roof falling in, crushing the cardboard box, and flames licking its sides, he woke up in the middle of the night with a start, sitting straight up, out of breath and sweating.

  “Are you okay, Saint?” someone yelled.

  “I’ll live.” Memories of finding the baby in the nick of time, right before she arrested, would stick with him for the rest of his life. That tiny, defenseless body, if he hadn’t found her, the possibilities were terrifying.

  Making it through Monday was not easy. He went out on calls for a motor vehicle accident and a small brush fire at the side of the I-15. Candy texted him that she was at the hospital, starting her research internship.

  He called her right back. “Are you at Rady?”

  “I am,” she said. “Did I forget to tell you that?”

  “No, no, not at all. I didn’t put two and two together until just now. Can you talk for a minute?”

  “Joey, of course. What’s wrong?”

  “Yesterday afternoon, that fire we went to, the house on San Pasqual? There was a baby inside.”

  “Oh my God, Joey, no!”

  “She lived! I got her out, Candy. I heard her crying as soon as I got into the house. No one else heard her. I heard her crying and made it up to the second floor, and she was way in back in one of the apartments. Her mother was high and said she forgot she had a baby. An EMT, I don’t know who it was, not from our house, said she was a newborn. They took her to Rady, Candy. Can you find out anything? I can’t stop thinking about her.”

  “I’ll look for her now. Do you have a name?”

  “No, I never thought to ask for a name. But it shouldn’t be hard to find her. She had smoke inhalation. No burns. Newborn.”

  “Okay, I’ll send you a text if I can find out anything. I love you, Joey.”

  “I love you.” He hung up and went to his recliner, slipping headphones on and, because his wife would take over the worry, zoned out until the next call.

  While he relaxed, Candy was on a mission. Someone had left their infant in a burning building, and her husband had rescued her. Joey had referred to it as a her. He’d rescued her. The profundity of it hit her in the chest like a punch. She rushed up to the intensive care floor and started asking around.

  “My husband is a firefighter in North County. He found a baby in a burning building last night and said she wasn’t burned but that she had smoke inhalation. Can you tell me anything?”

  A nurse in the newborn nursery was able to help. “We got a tiny one in last night, a brand-new arrival. She still had part of the cord attached. CPS is involved now.”

  “Can I see her?”

  “Sure. You’ll have to gown up. It’s an isolation ward.”

  Acknowledging that she understood, Candy did as she was told and entered the automatic door, following the nurse. The sound of respirators clashed with the cries of infants and the beeping monitors and alarms, a cacophony of racket that would leave her feeling exhausted and anxious.

  “How do you stand it?”

  “You get used to it,” the nurse said. “I’m Sherrie.”

  “Hi, Sherrie. Candy Saint.”

  “Your hubby is the one who saved her. I recognize the name. The rescue is part of her record now.”

  “Really? Can I tell him that? He’ll be embarrassed, but he needs to know.”

  “Yes, of course. They’ve been talking about it on the news all day.”

  “He’s probably watching reruns of The Office.”

  “That’s safe, mindless entertainment.” They approached an Isolette. “This is your baby. Baby Jane Doe. I hate that, but they don’t like us to name the babies who come in unaccompanied, in case a family member comes forward. It’s early though. She hasn’t been here twenty-four hours yet.”

  “What about the mother? Joey said she was at the scene.”

  “She was high. She claims she forgot the baby. It appears she was probably just born the day before, so about forty-eight hours old. She’s tough.”

  With Sherrie’s encouragement, Candy got closer to the Isolette. “She’s tiny.”

  “The mother got zero prenatal care. There’s no record of the birth anywhere, so she probably had it in that house. They’re saying on the news that it was a pigsty but in nicer terms.”

  “Do you know if she’s full term?”

  “It’s hard to tell now because she has some lung damage. She was breathing on her own when they brought her in, but they intubated her so she could get some rest. She has some evidence of drug withdrawal, so they have her on methadone, which will help with pain. She’s not out of the woods, but she is in pretty good shape.”

  Candy couldn’t take her eyes off the baby, but she had to get back to work. “Can I come back later?”

  “Yes, that would be nice. I like it that someone cares about her.”

  Nodding, Candy was afraid to speak and quickly turned to leave. It was unkind to judge, but some drug-using mother leaving her newborn to die in a fire was unforgivable. She had promised to let Joey know what she found, so when she left the unit, she sent him a text, too emotional to speak with him at that time.

  I found your baby, sweetheart. She’s a drug-addicted newborn who is about forty-eight hours old. The nurse said they mentioned you by name on the news for saving her life. You’re a hero, Joey.

  A fire call had come in about five minutes after he’d talked to Candy, another brush fire not far from the firehouse. Their task was to cut a firebreak through a brush-covered hillside. His phone beep could be heard through the banging. With each slam of the ax, his determination to find out more about the baby grew.

  Chapter Three

  The commute home from downtown was awful that Monday, but Candy was unaware of the passing of time, fantasizing about baby names and what it would be like to be pregnant with Joey’s baby. Just off the freeway exit there was a drive-thru fast-food place she liked, so in spite of salad fixings and other healthy food in their refrigerator, including leftovers from the amazing Sunday dinner at the Saints’, Candy swerved over two lanes to get to the restaurant.

  Studying the menu, she decided to be bad, and in addition to the large iced coffee, she got an ice-cream cone, a cheeseburger kids’ meal, and a burger with special sauce. She’d watch what she ate while Joey was home for the next four days, but tonight she was going to binge and research baby names.

  The house was less than a mile from the exit, but she managed to polish off the ice-cream cone before the garage door opened. A neighbor was outside, watering her lawn, and Candy quickly shut the door before she could come over to chat. After the nurse had informed her that news of Joey’s rescue had been televised, she was sure the neighborhood would be abuzz.

  No one had tried her cell phone that day, aware that she was starting her internship, but the house phone voicemail was packed. You have fifteen messages.

  “No way.”

  Ignoring it, she replaced the receiver without listening and walked through the house with a cardboard container of supersized French fries, looking in the empty bedrooms. One of them would be a child’s bedroom someday. The master bedroom was off by itself at the rear of the house. The other bedrooms were at the front. She’d make a temporary nursery in an alcove they’d originally planned on using for her office.

  Back in the kitchen, she sat at the counter with a paper and pencil and the missal from her childhood Sunday school. Turning to the saints section, she flipped through until she reached “The Saints of Motherhood.” That covered everything from childbirth to newborns to raising children to grandparenting.

  “Saint Philomena,” she mumbled, grimacing. “What an awful name.” She went on to read out loud, “Philomena, a Greek princess who was martyred at age thirteen by a Roman emperor during the fourth century AD.”

  Looking up from the page, she tried to imagine a thirteen-year-old girl murdered by an emperor. What had she taken a stand against that had threatened him? Reading further, sh
e saw that he’d fallen in love with her and she rebuked him. He tried killing her several times, but the story goes that the angels repeatedly saved her until he finally cut her head off.

  Candy shivered, the horror of a young girl’s death unspeakable. No wonder they didn’t teach Philomena in Sunday school. Philomena’s patronage included children, youth, babies, infants, priests, lost causes, sterility and virgins: the hopeful to the depressing.

  “Move on,” she said, shuddering, flipping the pages again.

  She came to a list of male saints, including Saint Gerard, the patron saint of childbirth and unborn children. But she wanted a female saint.

  Then she came to Saint Anne. Anne the Prophetess. That got her attention. Reading aloud: “Anne was the mother of Mary, Jesus’ grandmother. She was a devout Jew, known for prayer and fasting.”

  Saint Anne’s patronage included single women, housewives, pregnant and laboring mothers, women who wanted to be pregnant…She stopped reading there. This was her saint for sure. Anne might not be the name, however. She’d have to wait to see her baby’s face to really know if that was a good name.

  After she finished eating, feeling like she could barf she was so full, she was cleaning up the food mess, hiding the wrappers in the trash cans at the side of the garage, when her phone beeped. It was Joey.

  “What did you find out?” he asked after they got chitchat out of the way.

  “You got my text, right?”

  “I did. We just got in though. Is she okay?”

  “Joey, thanks to you, she’s alive. She’s intubated so her lungs can heal. But she’s addicted. That will take time to resolve. She’s so small.”

  “I’ll be at the hospital to see her tomorrow. Try to join me if you can.”

  “I’ll do my best. I hope you don’t have any calls tonight.”

  “It feels like all the brush around here has already burned, but you know that’s not the case. It’s too early for the Santa Ana winds, but they say they’re on their way.”

  “Okay, fingers crossed,” she said, knowing that the hot, dry wind from the arid interior of the northwest US didn’t cause fires, but drove the fires humans started.

  “Call me when you’re ready for bed,” he said.

  “Kiss, kiss.”

  They hung up, beginning the routine of married life.

  The days before her period was due were so full of hope that on Saturday she’d gone to Walmart and returned home with a giant bag of baby items, from little unisex sleepers to sheets and blankets.

  “What’s all this?” Joey had asked.

  “Just planting a seed,” she said. “I’m not due for my monthly yet, but I have a feeling.”

  “Okay, well, the next time you go, get a test, too.”

  She reached into the bag and pulled out a box with pink printing that said Early Response. “I thought of that.”

  “Let’s try it,” he said, reading the directions. “It says here it has accurate results before a missed period.”

  “I’d rather wait,” she said, taking the box from him.

  The night before, she’d noticed a pimple on her chin, and that could mean she was going to get her period or, better yet, that she was pregnant.

  Please, please, please.

  Then, on the following Tuesday, ten days after they’d made love in the office at the fire station, she went to the bathroom at the hospital, and there it was, like clockwork, the shock of seeing blood on her panty liner like someone had thrown a bucket of cold water at her.

  She stared at it, and a tear dripped off the end of her nose. She avoided telling Joey, he wasn’t particularly concerned, so they went about their lives, making love as often as possible when they were together, and if he was at work over a weekend, she’d visit him there for sex.

  In early October, the same thing, blood.

  Then, in November, she was late. Standing in front of the paper calendar on the kitchen wall, she saw the red X where her period was supposed to be on the previous Monday, and today was Saturday. No period.

  Joey was due home any minute. It would be the first full weekend they would have together in almost a month. Debating whether to do the test while he was home and suffer the disappointment together, or do it now and either have something exciting to share with him or keep the disappointment to herself, she decided to do the test.

  Running for the bathroom, she’d stashed the test in the back of her makeup drawer. It was a quick process: you pee on the stick and wait for three minutes. Placing it on toilet paper on the edge of the sink, she waited, setting the timer on her phone, pulling up her jeans, and washing her hands.

  Please, please, please.

  When the timer went off, she looked.

  Pregnant.

  Covering her face with her hands, she wept happy tears, tears of disbelief. She was going to have a baby, Joey Saint’s baby.

  Preparing for his homecoming, she’d have something ready for him to eat and then show him the bed in case he’d been up all night. She waited in the courtyard for him to arrive, pacing back and forth, happy and anxious at the same time. So many dangers lurked now that safety wasn’t just about her. Chemicals, caffeine, the seatbelt across her belly. Definitely no wine. What was safe, and what were things to avoid?

  The sound of his diesel truck approached, and her heart rate revved up. How would she tell him? She’d saved the urinated-on pregnancy test. His exit from the truck let her know his mood; he had bags of food and a huge box of donuts from Peterson’s.

  “Oh my god, so much for trying to watch it this weekend.”

  He laughed. “Yeah, forget it. You can start Monday. This morning my dad told me they’re having a big party for Charlie this weekend, and you know that means lots of food and beverages.”

  “I’ll take the coffees,” she said, thinking, One more cup won’t hurt me, will it? The mention of alcohol would be a good opening to give him the news, but she’d wait a bit, let the man get inside his house.

  “Did you sleep?”

  “I slept like a dog. That nurse called me this morning with news that they’re going to attempt to extubate Baby Jane Doe.”

  The name made Candy a little sad; not only did she not have parents who gave a crap about her, she didn’t even have a name.

  “Oh, good. I didn’t get to go yesterday, but we can see her this weekend if you want.”

  “I definitely want to go down Sunday after church.”

  They unpacked the food together, catching up, and she almost forgot the news until he excused himself to use the bathroom.

  “Oh! There’s something for you in there on the sink.”

  “Okay,” he said, thinking it was a new deodorant. She’d complained his was too chemical smelling; it gave her a headache.

  She watched him walk to the bathroom off the hallway and waited, anticipating his reaction.

  “What is it, Candy? I don’t see anything.”

  “It’s right on the sink,” she said, moving toward the door.

  “What’s this?” Then at the count of five he popped out of the door with the stick in his hand. “Oh my god! No way!”

  “Watch it, buddy. I peed on that thing.”

  “Come here,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around his beloved Candy. The knowledge gave him chills, the thought of fatherhood overwhelming. “We’re going to have a baby together. I can’t believe it.”

  “I know. It’s a miracle, Joey.”

  “It really is. Can we tell everyone on Sunday?”

  “Oh, no, Joey. Please. It’s too early,” she said, smoothing his hair back. “We should wait at least six weeks. That will be around Thanksgiving, okay? We can tell them on Thanksgiving.”

  “Thanksgiving it is. I’ll have a hard time keeping the secret though.”

  “I know, me too. But we don’t want to announce it too early. Too much can happen when you know this early.”

  “How do you feel?”

  “Fine! I wasn’t going to drink any
more coffee, but one more cup won’t hurt.”

  “Come on. Let’s eat while it’s hot. It’s egg and bacon sandwiches.”

  “Perfect.”

  They sat at the counter, talking about the last three days, all the while knowing that a cell from Joey’s body had penetrated a cell from Candy’s, and it was dividing and multiplying. She’d figured she was about three weeks, and the dot was called a zygote. It was already secreting human chorionic gonadotropin and was a little bigger than a pinhead.

  While Joey talked, her hand crept up to her left breast, and she gently palpated it. It was tender already, the first sign she would have. She was more tired than usual, too. All normal.

  In another two weeks, the brain, spine and heart would begin to form. She knew it was during this critical time that many birth defects might occur in an embryo no bigger than a pea.

  A little knowledge was a dangerous thing, and she knew it. She had no intention of going into obstetrics, but because she wanted peds, ob-gyn was important, so she’d bust the spine of her books that weekend. But she’d try not to micro-examine every new sensation she had.

  “What do you want to do today?” Joey asked. “I’m ready to get out of the house.”

  “Do you want to see a movie?”

  “I was thinking of something physical like a hike or going to the beach.”

  Hiking was the last thing on her agenda, and she knew that when Joey went to the beach, it would mean miles of beachcombing from the Oceanside Pier to Del Mar if she’d allow it.

  “Is that my choice?” she asked, trying to keep a nice smile on her face.

  “We could hike around the lake,” he offered.

  Crap.

  “I think I’d rather go to the beach.”

  “Great! The beach it is.”

  Ugh.

  “I’ll change,” she said, sliding off the stool.

  “Wait. Are you okay with this? Because we should celebrate.”

  “Joey, this is your day off. I want to do what will make you happy.” She really meant it, even though her heart wasn’t in it.