She relents, then reluctantly says, “She’s early and in the neonatal unit. I was so out of it when the doctor was explaining things to me that I’m not sure what’s going to happen.”
She. A baby girl. Emotion grips my heart. “Are you okay?” I ask.
“Yes. I think so,” she says, looking surprised that I’ve asked.
“I’m going to go check on her. I’ll come back and let you know what I find out, okay?”
“Yes,” she says, more contrite now than I’ve ever seen her. She lies back on the pillow, closing her eyes.
Rather than ask which floor the neonatal care unit is on, I pull my phone from my pocket and do a quick search. Turns out, it’s on the same floor, so I follow the signs until I find it.
Approaching a nearby nurse station, I find that I have no idea how to explain my situation. So I decide to go for the closest version of the truth I can manage. I tell her that my ex-girlfriend has delivered our premature baby, and I would very much like to see her.
The nurse I’ve approached is older, with steel-gray hair tucked into a bun at the nape of her neck. Her expression says she has pretty much seen and heard it all.
And so for once, I decide to use the fact that she might recognize me. I take off my cap, and it’s only a couple of seconds before recognition flashes in her eyes, and she says, “Oh, my! You’re Klein Matthews.”
“Sorry, I just wanted you to know I’m not some psycho coming in off the street trying to look at someone else’s baby.”
“Does the mother know you’re here?”
“She does. I just left her room.”
“Okay. Follow me, Mr. Matthews.”
I do, down the hall to a set of doors, which she leads me through with a renewed sense of purpose.
The neonatal intensive care unit is behind a long stretch of windows through which I can see several babies in their tiny incubators being watched over by very attentive nurses.
My heart pumps wildly against my chest as I scan the tiny faces in search of the little girl I instinctively know I will recognize. And I do well before the nurse who has brought me here manages to get the attention of one of the caretakers inside the unit.
“That’s her,” I say, pointing to the tiny baby in the far right corner of the room. The nurse’s gaze goes to the baby I’ve pointed out. I hear her sigh of sympathy, and I swallow hard to prevent the sob in my throat from slipping out.
“The nurses and doctors who oversee these babies are just absolutely the best,” she reassures me. “I know your little one is here way early, but you would be amazed how successful they are at helping these tiny angels thrive and grow. Your little girl is going to be just fine,” the nurse says, grazing my arm with her soft hand.
I glance at her, unable to hide my anguish now, and say, “Thank you. I am so grateful to hear that. Is there any way I could go in?”
“I’m afraid not right now,” she says with sympathy. “As soon as the doctor says it’s okay, we’ll get you in there and scrubbed up so that you can see her.”
“Thank you,” I say, genuinely appreciative of her kindness. “Would it be all right if I just stand out here and watch her for a while?”
“Of course,” she says. “You stay as long as you’d like. I’m going to head back to my station now.”
“Thank you,” I say again. She pats me on the shoulder and sets off down the hall, her rubber soles squeaking on the floor.
I turn back to the glass window and stare at the tiny baby I am half-responsible for bringing into this world. I realize I don’t even know her name or if she has one yet.
I fix my gaze on her small face and wish more than anything that I could pick her up and hold her just so she could know how much she’s loved and how much she’s wanted. Because the moment I knew of her existence, I loved her. I grieved for her when I thought she would never live in this world. It feels like a miracle to see her here. Even with her fragile grasp on life, it is a miracle. I do realize that. I drop my head, close my eyes, and begin to pray a prayer of thanks.
Dillon
“I know my heart will never be the same
But I’m telling myself I’ll be okay”
―Sara Evans, “A Little Bit Stronger”
I DECIDE TO drive the car back to Paris and leave from there. I spend nearly a full day driving, taking my time on the unfamiliar roads. I stay in a hotel near the airport, and my flight is early.
I want to text Klein and ask him how the baby is, but I refuse to let myself. This will go better for both of us if we don’t open the door again, and me asking questions of any kind would be doing exactly that.
On the plane, I pull out my laptop, pop in my headphones, and consider working on some new lyrics. But I find myself tapping my recording app and clicking on the song Klein and I had written.
I lean back and close my eyes, letting the words and his beautiful voice wash over me. Tears rise up. I blink them back, knowing I should turn the song off. But I’m a glutton for punishment, and as soon as he finishes, I click play and start it over again.
Josh
“Opportunities are like sunrises. If you wait too long, you miss them.”
―William Arthur Ward
I DON’T KNOW what makes me decide to text Dillon to check in when I do, but I end up being glad that I did. She answers me right away, surprisingly, and says that she’s on a flight headed for Nashville and will be landing in two hours.
I offer to pick her up at the airport and, again to my surprise, she accepts. I’m waiting on the other side of security when she comes into sight. For a moment, I’m overcome with the need to make up for my wrongs. She approaches me with a polite smile, as if we are more colleagues or acquaintances than husband and wife.
“Hey,” I say, when she comes to a stop in front of me.
“Hi, Josh. How are you?”
“I’m all right,” I say. “You look great.”
“That’s a surprise considering the flight. I feel pretty rumpled.”
“No, really you do,” I say, and I mean that. She looks five years younger. Is that what Paris does for you? Or was it something else? Jealousy stabs my heart as I say, “Here, let me take your bag.”
I reach for the small pull-behind, and we walk toward the exit, awkward and quiet until she breaks the silence with, “Everything going all right with the business?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Actually, really good. Signed a new female artist who’s killing it.”
“That’s great,” she says, and there’s something in her voice that makes me wonder if she’s really interested.
We’ve reached the car and are both sitting inside when she says, “About Klein. Just so you know, I’m not pursuing that. It was petty of me, I guess. I was looking for some way to get back at you and that seemed like something that definitely would.”
I sit for a moment with my hands on the steering wheel and finally find the voice to say, “I deserve pretty much anything you can think of in the way of retaliation, Dillon. I’m not going to deny that. I treated you horribly, and no apology is ever going to make up for that. All I can ask is that somehow, someway could you please, please find it in your heart to give me another chance? I swear I’ll make it up to you.”
She lets out a small sigh and leans her head against the back of the seat. “It’s a big ask, Josh.”
“I know,” I say.
I stay quiet this time, knowing she’s right and what I’ve broken certainly qualifies for unfixable status. “Can we just go home and take a bit to think about things? I’ll sleep in the guest room. It would be nice to have you there, Dillon, and there’s no reason for you to be in a hotel or—” I stop then and add, “If you would like for me to leave the house, I will do that. You can be there.”
She closes her eyes and sighs again. “I’m really tired, Josh. For tonight, it’s fine for us both to be there. We’ll figure it out in the morning.”
“Okay,” I say, and although she has given me no hope
whatsoever, somehow I feel that this is at least a positive sign.
Dillon
“Stronger than lover’s love is lover’s hate. Incurable, in each, the wounds they make.”
―Euripides
IT TAKES ME hours to go to sleep that night. Maybe it’s because I feel like I’m in a stranger’s house, but actually, it’s the bedroom I’ve shared with Josh for years. I no longer feel as if I belong here. The bed is strange and foreign, a reminder of a time in our marriage I would now rather forget. As for the good times, I try to imagine it being that way, and I can’t. I just can’t. Some part of me knows that this stage of my life is truly over. I know Josh wants me to say something different, but we shared a mostly silent dinner at the kitchen table earlier. The food tasted like sawdust in my mouth. The bottle of wine he had opened only enhanced my reservations about being here.
I had realized one thing, though, sitting across from him and seeing for myself that he really does mean it this time when he says he wants another chance. I realize that I’m no longer angry with him. I left that somewhere in France. I’m not sure at what point it dissipated into indifference, but the fire that had propelled me across the ocean to Paris on a mission of vengeance has petered out, and, in its place, there is only a sense of peace now. I can picture nothing of my future except this one thing. I know that Josh and I will not be together.
~
WHEN I WAKE up the next morning, it’s almost ten. I raise up on one elbow and stare at the alarm clock on the nightstand, trying to bring the numbers into focus, realizing I slept far later than I intended to. I turn over. The sound of paper rumples beneath me. It’s a note from Josh.
Good morning. Sorry to leave so early, but I have a meeting. You know where the coffee is, and I’ll call you in a bit. Josh.
I lie back again, staring at the ceiling and wondering if I am being hardhearted. Josh is trying. There’s no doubt about that. There’s something I know this morning that I may not have known yesterday. I can’t spend the rest of my life with Josh, but I do forgive him, and there’s peace in that for me, and I hope there will be for him as well.
~
WHEN MY CELL phone rings, I don’t recognize the number on the screen. I consider ignoring it, imagining it will be yet another of those robotic sales calls that aggravate me to the point that I hang up even as I feel guilty for the bad manners. So I’m not sure why but I tap the screen and answer with a brisk, “Hello?”
“Dillon.”
“Yes?” I say, not recognizing the voice.
“This is Riley Haverson.”
To say I’m surprised would be an understatement of epic proportions. I have no idea why she would be calling me, but I say, “Yes. Riley. What can I do for you?”
“A number of things, actually,” she says, her voice laced with confidence. “I was wondering if you would mind visiting me at the hospital. I’m at Vanderbilt.”
My surprise has now turned to shock. “I’m not sure that’s really a good idea.”
“It’s an excellent idea, all things considered.”
“Are you okay?” I ask, realizing we’d skipped all the preliminaries of admitting that to this point, we’ve never even spoken to each other before.
“I’m doing well, yes, but there is something I would like to discuss with you. Can you come this morning?”
Every instinct inside me screams that the answer should be no, or that I should at least check with Klein first, but something else, maybe something as basic as curiosity, has me saying, “Yes. What time?”
“An hour or so would be great,” she says, and gives me the room number. “Thank you, Dillon,” she adds, and hangs up.
I sit for a moment staring at the phone screen, sure that I should call Klein’s number and tell him about this request. But I don’t. It’s a short drive from the house I’ve lived in with Josh to the hospital. With traffic, it takes me less than fifteen minutes. I park my car in the hospital garage, take the elevator to the lobby, and then another elevator to the floor where Riley’s room is. My stomach has become a knot of nerves, and a wave of nausea has me stopping by a restroom and splashing cold water on my face. I grab a paper towel, dab away the water and stare at my pale complexion in the mirror.
This is crazy. It makes no sense at all. So why am I doing it? I have no answer for the question except to leave the restroom and walk the short corridor to Riley’s room number. I stop at the partially closed door, take a deep breath, and rap once.
“Come in.”
I push the door open and step into the room. I’m not sure what I expected, but it isn’t to see Riley in bed looking as if she just stepped out of a salon. She is undeniably beautiful with thick, shoulder-length blonde hair and long-lashed blue eyes. I feel instantly frumpy.
“Thank you for coming, Dillon,” Riley says. “Please, sit down.”
I take the chair near the bed, and say, “I’m glad to see that you’re okay. And the baby?”
“Our baby is fine,” she says. “Klein’s and mine.”
I give this a pause, pretty sure I know where we’re going. “If you asked me here to make sure that I’m aware of what’s between you and Klein, there was no need to do that. I have no holds on Klein.”
“That’s very nice to hear,” Riley says. “After I became aware of the two of you meeting up in Paris and saw the photo of you, I thought it might be something other than friendship.”
I start to deny it but realize I’m not going to lie to her. Klein and I aren’t anything now, but what we might’ve become, I don’t know. And so I simply wait for her to speak.
“Look, Dillon. I know this is awkward, but Klein and I have pretty significant history, and now we have a child together.”
I try to stop myself. I know I should, but the words are out before I can stop them. “So why did you lie to him?”
My question takes her by surprise. I’m not sure if it’s because she thinks Klein would not have told me this, or that I have the gumption to ask her. Either way, a spurt of anger flashes through her eyes, and she says, “Is that really any of your business?”
“I consider Klein a friend and a truly good man. Yeah, I kind of think it is.”
She gives me a long considering look, as if she’s trying to weigh the likelihood of my being an actual adversary. When she finally replies, her voice is deliberately low and even. “I was hoping once you knew about the baby, you would understand anything that might have happened between Klein and me before this as being just the kind of thing people go through when they’re trying to figure out whether they belong together or not. I wasn’t sure that Klein wanted to be with me because he loved me or if it would only be because of the baby. I guess I thought that mattered, but what I realize now is the only thing that really matters is that Noelle has two parents who truly love her.”
“And you do,” I ask, “love her?”
The anger that flashes across Riley’s face now is something altogether different from the smoldering embers she let me see a few moments ago. This one is involuntary, as if it has risen up from some bottomless volcano pit, outrage at its flaming tip. “I think you are deceiving me, Dillon. I think that you want Klein for yourself, and you’re jealous of what he and I now have. Something I understand you probably can’t give him.”
The jab takes its intended aim, stabbing me in the heart as only truth can. “How do you know that?”
“Rumors in Nashville are usually fairly reliable. I can see that they weren’t wrong this time. I’m sorry that you’ve had cancer. That isn’t something I would wish on anyone. However, we all have our crosses to bear in this life. I’ve certainly had mine, not the same as yours, I’m sure, but mine all the same. Poverty is something I never intend to live again, and Klein and I will be able to give this little angel everything her heart desires.”
I listen to the words as something awful settles over me. A question that comes out of nowhere. What exactly would Riley do to keep him? I know she lied about not kee
ping the baby. What else?
“Does Klein feel the same?” I ask.
“What do you mean?”
“Does he intend to raise Noelle as you’ve just said?”
“Klein will do whatever I want him to, and of course, he’s already madly in love with her. Why wouldn’t he give her whatever she wants or needs?”
“I have no doubt of Klein’s love for her, but sometimes love is about more than possessions.”
“That’s easy to say when you’ve had all of that,” Riley snaps back, “as I’m sure you no doubt have, Dillon. You, being songwriter of the year married to Josh Cummings. I’m sorry that you couldn’t hold on to your husband, keep him out of another woman’s bed, but that doesn’t mean that you should resort to stealing another woman’s man.”
I stand then, realizing it is far past time for me to go. “I think enough has been said, Riley,” I say. “Good luck to you.” I turn then to leave the room, but she stops me with a venomous hiss.
“Do not underestimate me, Dillon. When I say that I will have him at any cost, that is exactly what I mean.”
I turn then, taking in the look of pure hatred on her face. “Is there something you would like to elaborate on, Riley?”
She struggles with the answer, the desire to unleash on me versus the struggle to maintain her composure. “Just know this. I am completely capable of making sure no one else has him.”
A chill of disgust ripples across me then, and without giving myself another moment to take in her poisonous words, I open the door and leave the room.
Klein
“An entire sea of water can’t sink a ship unless it gets inside the ship. Similarly, the negativity of the world can’t put you down unless you allow it to get inside you.”
That Weekend in Paris (Take Me There(Stand-alone) Book 3) Page 19
