“So, you do plan to stay.”
“I’m not an idiot. This is better than any shelter. It’ll do until I find a place of my own. Besides, Nikki needs someone to play with when you’re gone. Don’t you, girl?” She leaned down to pat the dog.
It was the answer he wanted and his heart took flight.
Straightening, she threw a punch at his midsection. “Right now, I’m starved. I hope you can cook because I hate cooking. Besides, I’m no good at it, and all the pie is gone.”
He’d never seen her this accommodating. He’d half expected a bitter battle just to get her to spend another night here. “I don’t cook much myself, but I guess we’ll get by.”
“Fast food is fine if you want to treat me to Mickey D’s. Hey, I can eat at Mickey O’s or Mickey D’s.”
Surprised, he gaped at her. “Was that a joke?”
She frowned. “Yes. It wasn’t that bad.”
“Not at all. Sometimes, I’m a little slow after I’ve been at work for twenty-four hours. How about some bacon and eggs?”
“Sounds great. I can make the tea. Did you know you should always warm the pot first? I like the orange kind better than the Earl stuff, but please don’t tell your mother I said that.”
Bemused, he said, “Do you think if Prince Charming had known that Sleeping Beauty had a multiple-personality disorder he would have kissed her anyway?”
“Huh?”
“Never mind.” He held the door open. “After you.”
She flounced past him into the house. He followed her to the kitchen and watched as she put the kettle on then slid into a chair at the table. She ran a hand through her short hair. “You got a nice place here. It’s kind of big for one guy, isn’t it?”
He pulled the eggs and bacon from the fridge and carried them to the stove. “A little, but it suits me. There’s always plenty of room when my family comes to visit.”
“Your mom is really sweet. I’m not sure if I should ask, but what happened to your dad?”
“He died when I was eight. He was a fireman, too. How about your parents?”
“Mom OD’d a few years ago. I don’t know who my dad was.”
“Any brothers or sisters?”
“Nope. I always wanted a sister, though.”
“Great! I’ll give you one of mine. I’ve got two.”
“Was that who helped you buy my clothes? Did you know you forgot to take the tags off?”
He sent her a sheepish glance. “I guess I was too worried about getting them into the closet without waking you.”
“Why say they belonged to your mother?”
“Because I thought you might refuse them if you thought they were from me. I don’t know if anyone has mentioned this, but you can be stubborn at times.”
She shrugged one shoulder. “I need clothes, and these fit pretty good,” she acknowledged, rubbing a hand down her denim-clad thigh.
“I see that. I was afraid the jeans would be too small.”
“How’d you know what size to get?”
He propped one hand on his hip. “Having sisters gives one a sense of fashion, darling. Actually, I took your skirt with me and let the saleslady make an educated guess.”
“Be sure and tell your mom that. I think she was worried that you knew how to buy women’s clothes.”
“I think I’ll let her wonder about that one.”
Her giggle did his heart good. “How do you like your eggs?” he asked.
“Cooked, but not burnt.”
He turned to the stove. “Cooked, but not burnt it is. In fact, hand me some mild cheddar, not the sharp, and some Tabasco sauce from the fridge. I’ll make you Mickey O’s famous Scrambled Eggs O’Callaghan.”
When she didn’t answer, he turned back. A frown had replaced her smile. “What’s the matter?”
She jumped to her feet. “Get it yourself, what am I, your servant? Anyway, I-I’ve got to go to the bathroom.” She fled from the room.
“I guess you do,” he said to the empty air.
The eggs and bacon and tea were ready by the time she came back. He set a plate in front of her, then sat down, bowed his head and said grace. Caitlin didn’t participate, but sat quietly until he finished. She ate, but she remained subdued. She answered his questions with monosyllables and none of his jokes brought back her smile.
“Are you feeling okay?” he asked at last.
“I’m fine. Thanks for breakfast.” Her voice held a sharp edge to it. She carried her plate to the sink.
“I can clean up,” Mick offered, wondering how he had offended her.
“No, I do my part.”
“Would you like to go to the hospital when you’re done?”
She spun toward him. “Oh, yes.”
He nodded. “Let me grab a quick shower, and we can go.”
“Don’t you need to get some sleep?”
“I was able to grab a few winks at work. I thought I’d take you to the hospital and let you spend some time with Beth while I came home and pulled in a few more z’s.”
“That would be great.” Caitlin paused, then added. “Your job is a tough one, you must love it.”
It blew him away that this woman could see how he felt about his work when his sisters, who knew him so much better, still didn’t understand.
“I think it’s the calling God chose for me. I can’t imagine doing anything else. Of course, my family thinks I’m nuts.”
“But you said your dad was a fireman.”
Mick nodded and stared at his plate. “He died on the job.”
“I’m sorry.”
He nodded without looking up. “I was eight, but I remember it vividly—the men at the door, my mother’s weeping, the race to the hospital, the smell of charred flesh in the burn unit.”
She slipped onto the chair beside him and covered his hand with her own. “Did you get to see him before he died?”
“I did.”
“Was it terrible?”
“His face wasn’t burnt. One of his arms was covered in a thick bandage. They had a kind of tent over the rest of him. He was conscious, and he said he wasn’t in much pain. I think the hardest part was my mother’s crying. For him, too. He told me I would be the man of the house and that he expected me to take care of her. I didn’t have the slightest idea how I could do that, but he made me promise, and I did.”
“That wasn’t fair.”
He looked at her then. Her eyes were full of sympathy, as if she knew what that vow had cost him. “Maybe it wasn’t, but I did my best to keep that promise. He died the next day. I never wanted to be anything except just like him.”
“Well, you are. You’re a fireman.”
“I don’t mean the job. I wanted to be the same kind of man he was. He was the best dad a kid could have. He always had time for me. We played catch, we went fishing, we took in the ball games—he was always there for me. I wanted to be the same kind of father. But it didn’t work out that way.” Mick voiced the death of his dreams in a matter-of-fact tone that bore little resemblance to the state of shock that he had been in when he endured his doctor’s explanations of sterility.
Sterile—the word changed his life. It made him less than a man, and he knew then that he would never be like his father. In time, he came to grips with the knowledge, even learned to accept it as God’s will.
“But you can adopt, right?” Caitlin asked.
How many times had he heard that platitude from his family? He forced a smile and nodded. “Sure, I can always adopt.”
“Your mother never remarried?”
“No, she never did.” He was glad to change the subject.
“How did she take it when you decided to be a firefighter?”
“My sisters did
n’t understand, but Mom was proud of me. The fact that I wanted to be like him made her very happy.”
“That was lucky.”
“Lucky? Why?”
“Because it turned out to be a job you love.”
He nodded and gave her a small smile. “You’re right. I could have done it to please her and then been miserable.”
“Did you?”
“Do it to make her happy? Maybe.”
“Are you still trying to make her happy?”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Taking me in, naming Beth after her, taking responsibility for a baby that isn’t yours.”
He studied her face a long moment. “Caitlin, I try to live my life the way I think God wants me to live it. Do you know what that means?”
“Kind of. But I don’t believe in all that stuff.”
“What do you believe in?”
“Not much. Life stinks and then you die. That’s it.”
“That doesn’t leave much room for hope, or love or kindness.”
“Sometimes that stuff comes along, but you can’t count on it. If you do, people let you down. I count on me and no one else.”
“You can count on God, Caitlin. He loves you no matter what you think. And you can count on me. Please believe that.”
“Aren’t we going to the hospital?”
It was obvious she wanted to change the subject. “Sure. As soon as I wash up.”
In the bathroom upstairs, he braced his hands on the sink and stared into the mirror. He rarely talked about his father, but it was easy to talk to Caitlin. She had endured a childhood far tougher than his, and maybe that created a bond between them. She was a homeless waif, but he saw the potential for so much more in her.
A frown creased the brow of his reflection in the mirror. He had told her a great deal about himself, but she had shared almost nothing about herself. She was willing to accept a place to live but he sensed that she still didn’t trust him.
Would she learn to? Perhaps if he gave her enough time. If she didn’t, he stood to lose more than the growing affection he felt toward her. He stood to lose both her and Beth.
* * *
Caitlin stood beside Beth’s bed and waited. The baby lay on her back with her arms limp at her sides. Sandra listened to her with a stethoscope.
“How is she?” Caitlin asked when Sandra pulled the instrument from her ears.
“About the same, except she’s up to sixty percent on her oxygen.”
“Her color doesn’t look so good. What does Dr. Wright say about it?”
“She says we need to keep a close eye on her, but we’re doing everything we need to do. This happens sometimes when these little babies get sick.”
“Can I hold her?”
Sandra laid a hand on Caitlin’s shoulder. “I don’t think it would be a good idea. She hasn’t tolerated much today.”
Caitlin nodded. She would do whatever the nurses and doctors thought was best. She’d learned her lesson. Guilt, she found, was harder to get rid of than head lice.
“You’re looking more rested,” Sandra said.
“Thanks, I feel better.”
Pulling a chair close, Sandra sat beside Caitlin. Two other nurses who often took care of Beth came over and stood behind her. Caitlin tensed. What was going on now?
Sandra reached out and covered Caitlin’s hand with her own. “We want to apologize.”
“For what?”
“I think you and I got off to a bad start. Mick told me how sick you’ve been, and how you’d been walking all the way from the Lexington Street Shelter—”
“Sometimes Mick talks too much.”
“In this case, I don’t think so. As nurses, we should have noticed you were sick. You and I weren’t on friendly terms and that led me to believe the worst about you. I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry, too,” one of the women behind Sandra added.
“So am I,” the other one chimed in.
Caitlin met Sandra’s gaze. “It wasn’t your fault. I should have told someone I wasn’t feeling well. If I had, Beth wouldn’t have gotten this sick.”
“It wasn’t entirely your fault. We take part of the blame. Anyway, we wanted you to know how sorry we are.”
Caitlin swallowed the lump that formed in her throat. These women had taken care of her baby day and night for weeks. She resented them for being the ones Beth needed. Sometimes, she even felt that they were trying to replace her as Beth’s mother, but the truth was, without them Beth wouldn’t be alive.
“If you have any questions, about anything, please know that we’ll be glad to answer them,” Sandra continued. “Our job is to see that Beth goes home with you as soon as she can.”
Caitlin nodded but didn’t trust herself to speak. It seemed that all she wanted to do anymore was cry. She wasn’t used to people being nice to her.
The nurses left to attend to other babies, and Caitlin drew her chair closer to Beth’s bed. She kept one eye on the baby’s oxygen saturation monitor. A drop in that number was often the first clue that Beth wasn’t tolerating touch or sounds near her.
“Hey, jelly bean, how are you? I’m sorry I haven’t been in, but I’ve been sick myself. I sure missed you.” Caitlin grasped Beth’s hand but it remained limp.
“I know you don’t feel good. Mick says hello. He wanted to come up—I could tell—but he said he thought we needed some time together—just you and me.
“I’m staying at his place with him and his mom. He’s got a big house with a yard right beside a park, and he’s got a dog.”
He had all the things that Caitlin had dreamed of having. All the things she wanted to give Beth.
“The place you and I get won’t be fancy, but it’ll be decent, and I’m going to tell you every day how much I love you. So, you have to get better.”
Sitting back in the chair, Caitlin was content to watch Beth sleep and study her face. She was so beautiful. Caitlin had heard that mothers always thought their own kids were the cutest, even the ones who had ugly kids, but until now, she hadn’t understood how that was possible. Beth was beautiful in so many special ways. Suddenly, Caitlin had to sketch her.
After telling Sandra that she would be back, Caitlin went to the parent’s check-in room and pulled the duffel bag Mick had given her from one of the tall, narrow lockers. She unpacked her sketchbook then stuffed the bag in again. Back at Beth’s bed, Caitlin flipped her drawing pad open and began to transfer her baby’s most beautiful features to paper.
First she sketched Beth’s fingers, the long, delicate way they lay cupped on the bed. Then her pencil mapped out the faint frown lines on Beth’s brow and the gentle arch of her eyebrows. Soon a picture of her baby’s face emerged, but at the mouth, Caitlin paused. She’d never seen Beth’s mouth without the ventilator tube and the thick mustache of tape that held the tube in place.
Smiling at her daughter, Caitlin said, “I guess that part of you will have to stay a mystery.” Reluctantly, she added a small part of the equipment that was so alien and yet so much a part of her child.
“You draw beautifully.”
Caitlin looked up to find a young woman standing at her shoulder. “Thanks. It helps having a pretty model.”
“Are you a professional artist?”
“Not hardly.”
“You could be. I’ve often admired the poem she has on her bed. It helps me keep faith that my little boy will get better.” The woman pointed to the card with green shamrocks around its border.
Caitlin had noticed the card the first time she had come to visit, and she had wondered what it said, but she couldn’t bring herself to ask. Instead, she said, “Which one is yours?”
“Jacob is in the last bed on this aisle. He weighed almost
the same as your daughter when he was born.”
“Is he doing okay?”
“Pretty good. He got off his ventilator today. It’s the second time they’ve tried him off. Last time, he went a day before he had to go back on.”
“That’s good. Beth has never been off hers.”
“She will. Well, I’d better go. It’s time to feed him. I like to hold him when he gets fed even if it’s just by tube. It’s not like I can do much more for him yet.”
“I know what you mean.” Their gazes met and Caitlin nodded. She knew about feeling useless, about not being able to do a single thing that would ease her baby’s way. She recognized that same emotion in this mother’s eyes.
“I’ll let you get back to your drawing,” the woman said and walked to her child’s bed. Caitlin watched as the nurse moved Jacob to his mother’s arms and attached a syringe with milk in it to his stomach tube. The look on his mother’s face was pure happiness as she held him close.
Glancing around the unit, Caitlin realized she wasn’t the only mother riding the emotional roller coaster of having a baby in the NICU. Some mothers were proudly showing their infants to visitors, one sat silently staring into an incubator and a few others leaned over the sides of their children’s open units to try and be close to their babies. Nurses moved between the beds with a smile or a word for the parents, who like Caitlin, were learning to take one day at a time, and to measure success in a few ounces of weight gained.
Later, when Jacob’s mother was leaving, she stopped beside Caitlin again. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but could you sketch a portrait of my baby? I’d be happy to pay you for it.”
“I don’t know. You can take pictures in here, I’ve seen people with cameras.”
“I know. We’ve taken lots of them, but your drawings...I don’t know...they’re so soft.” She reached down and touched the page Caitlin was working on. “All that’s here is your baby. In a photograph, all the equipment, all their stuff, it’s always in the picture.”
Caitlin turned over the idea in her mind. She could use the money, but somehow, it didn’t seem right to take advantage of a mother with a sick child. “I’ll think about it,” she said.
“If you decide that you want to, I’ll let Jacob’s nurse know that you have my permission.”
His Bundle of Love / the Color of Courage Page 15
