Miracle

by Deborah Smith

  He released her hands with an exclamation of angry defeat. “It’s pointless to discuss this. I have a plane to catch.”

  “You just got here!”

  “I came here for one purpose. It won’t take long. I have a dozen meetings with my father’s executives this week. Annette is having skin grafts on her legs, Jacques has been suspended from school for fighting, and yesterday he even blackened his sister’s eye. I punish him and he hates me. I don’t know what to say to him. My father has developed a kidney infection.” He rammed a hand through his hair. “I want to be here, but I have to be there.”

  With a sympathetic murmur she slid forward and reached for him. He let her put her arms around his neck and hold him, and after a second he gave in and embraced her desperately, pulling her between his legs so that her torso pressed tight against his.

  She held him so hard her arms quivered. “Don’t you know I’d do almost anything to make you happy? I didn’t want to upset you this way. At first I even hoped that I’d miscarry, to make it easy for both of us. But this baby wants so badly to be born—it’s healthy, and it’s growing, even though it was conceived against all odds. We’re supposed to have this baby.”

  “Miracle, your pregnancy was only an accident.”

  “You believe so strongly in fate bringing bad things into our lives. Why can’t you believe that fate brings good things, too?”

  “We’re talking about your life! I don’t want to lose you, Miracle! I don’t want you hurt or disappointed.”

  “Then don’t hate me for wanting this baby.”

  “You know that’s not it. I’m afraid for you, scared out of my mind. Nothing you can say will change that.”

  “Go home,” she whispered, her voice broken. “And stop worrying about me. That’s one reason I waited to tell you about the baby. You have too much to worry about, already. I don’t need for you to take care of me. I need for you to be ready to accept this baby when it’s born.”

  He set her back on the bench, his expression shuttered and hard. “As I said, I have a plane to catch. There’s no more time for arguing.”

  “Doc, did you come all the way to Minnesota just to—who is that woman?”

  “Your nurse. She’s a specialist in obstetrics. Here.” He whipped one side of his coat back and pulled a thick envelope from an inner pocket. He tossed the envelope on her lap. “Her credentials. I’ve made all the arrangements for her work visa. She goes where you go. When you have medical problems—”

  “I won’t have problems.”

  “She’ll take care of you. Please.” He looked away, his jaw clenched. Amy watched his struggle for control and knew that his anger hid a great deal of fear and sadness. When he looked at her again he had regained his composure. “You owe me this much.”

  “I don’t want a stranger hovering over me, Sebastien.” I want you, you arrogant, stubborn bastard.

  He tapped the envelope. “There’s a set of credit cards for you. And checks for a New York bank account in your name. Buy whatever you’d like. See that you and Frau Diebler travel in comfort. You don’t have to share your hotel rooms with her. I suggest that you book suites for the two of you.”

  “Damn, I was plannin’ to let her sleep at the foot of my bed, like a German shepherd.”

  “Then you won’t argue about this? You accept her?”

  “A spy? A warden? Is that what you want me to accept? Don’t you ever trust me? You left me with a guardian when you went off to Africa, remember? I didn’t like it then, and I don’t like it now!”

  “You liked it well enough, as I recall.” His voice was low and brutal. “Perhaps I should locate Jeff Atwater again.”

  Her hands rose to her mouth, and she looked at him in shock. His cruelty had the effect of a hand twisting inside her chest. She already saw the painful backlash in his eyes. “I can’t believe you said that to me. I don’t deserve it.”

  His control exploded. “I want you to be safe!” He stood, kicking his chair aside. “I want to know you won’t suffer during this insane pregnancy! I can’t stay in America with you, and I can’t force you to come back to France with me! The least you can do is keep the damned nurse with you for my peace of mind!”

  She threw the envelope at a wall and went to him, winding her hands into his shirt and trying to shake him. “Hiring a nurse to traipse after me is not going to solve your problem! Please, Doc, try to want this baby. Try to love it. I don’t want to go the next five months without seeing you.”

  “The choice is yours. Anytime you decide to come to me, you’ll be welcome.”

  She grabbed one of his hands and pressed it to the thickness at her waist. “Say that to both of us.”

  His hand trembled on her abdomen. He looked at her with bitter resignation. “Will you accept the nurse?” he asked between gritted teeth.

  Slowly she moved his hand away. She leaned against him, her anger fading. There was no winner on either side of this battle. She rested her head on his shoulder but turned it away from him. “She’s a poor substitute for what I need from you, but I guess she’s the best you can do. All right. I accept.”

  He stepped back, hesitated, then raised a hand to stroke her hair. She continued to keep her head twisted away from him, but a soft cry escaped her. She listened to the room’s door open and close, then slumped onto the vanity’s bench and covered her face.

  When she got herself under control she went back to the lobby and found Magda Diebler gaping at a comic who was preparing to go onstage with a bouquet of white mums tucked into his unzipped fly. Amy touched her arm, and even through the raincoat it felt plump and hard. I bet she’ll want to watch wrestling on TV.

  The nurse turned wide blue eyes on her. “Hello, again, Frau Miracle. This is interesting, your work.” She went back to watching the comic wiggle his mums.

  Amy looked toward the club’s front doors, her throat hurting with trapped sorrow. Sebastien was alone with his disappointment and anger, heading back to the airport, only a few minutes separating him from her. Even her anger couldn’t stop the ache of missing him or the defeat clotting her veins like cold syrup. She dreaded the next six months of lonely waiting, but more than that she dreaded what would happen if she had to choose their child over him, afterward.

  Her first confrontation with Magda Diebler came the next morning, when the nurse stormed her hotel room at six A.M. Amy drew a robe around her floppy T-shirt and sat on the edge of the bed in a stupor, while Frau Diebler, who did not want to indulge in first-name familiarity, sat stiffly in a chair, a starched brown dress emphasizing a middle-aged physique that was fueled by high-fat foods and discipline. Frau Diebler opened a black-leather notebook.

  “Let’s begin by discussing your daily schedule, Frau Miracle.”

  “I finish work at two A.M., most nights. I go to bed around three. My daily schedule begins at noon. And if you ever wake me up at this time again, I’ll call hotel security and tell them that a foreign terrorist has broken into my room.”

  “Your schedule is not healthy,” Frau Diebler made a note. “I will be reporting your condition to Dr. de Savin twice weekly. You may refuse to cooperate with me if you wish, but every infraction will be included in those reports.”

  “I follow every instruction my obstetrician gives me. I eat right, I exercise right, I get plenty of rest, I do everything possible to take care of myself and this baby. Not to mention all the other stuff I do.” She jabbed a finger at her abdomen for emphasis. “I read children’s books to this baby. I put headphones on my belly and play Sesame Street music for this baby. I talk to this baby all the time. We’re a team. We don’t need a watchdog.”

  Frau Diebler was oblivious. “Now I am part of your team, also. We begin.” She opened a black medical bag by her feet. “Every morning I will check your blood pressure and your temperature. Please lie on your side and lift your robe.”

  Amy stared at the thickest thermometer she’d ever seen. It had an industrial look. She recalled the
most humiliating moment of her stomach virus, in France, and Sebastien’s gentle amusement at her reaction. Love, only Americans put thermometers in their mouths. Now turn over, please.

  “Never again,” she told Frau Diebler. “I had my experience with European thermometers already, thank you. I’ll buy you a nice American thermometer.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re one of those Americans who are embarrassed to admit that they have rectums.”

  The absurdity of the situation burst from Amy in a strangled laugh. Good Lord, it’s six A.M. and I’m discussing rectums with this woman. “I know how to find mine and how to use it. That’s all that matters, I’m aware that Europeans have their own ways of doing things, but don’t try to hornswoggle me. And if you’ve got any herbal suppositories in that little bag of yours, you can forget about them, too.”

  “This will go in my report!”

  “Frau Diebler, you could find yourself bound and gagged in the hold of a cargo plane to Frankfurt, if you’re not careful.”

  “No, you will honor your agreement with Dr. de Savin. Compromise. He told me so as he left last night. He said you will keep your word to him.”

  That was true. Amy grimly considered honorable alternatives. She scrubbed her hair out of her face and gave Frau Diebler a smile of reconciliation. “All right, let’s start over. Let’s be pleasant to each other. Tell me a little bit about yourself. What do you like to do in your spare time?”

  Frau Diebler brightened a little. “Well, I love to shop. That’s one reason I knew I would enjoy this assignment. You Americans have such wonderful stores. Of course, the clothes I admire most are beyond my means, but—”

  “Not if you’re willing to negotiate.”

  Silence pervaded the room. Frau Diebler’s sharp eyes bored holes into Amy’s. “I don’t take bribes. I do my job.”

  “This isn’t a bribe. It’s a compromise. A little business deal between two women who want the same thing. We do have common goals, don’t we—a peaceful partnership, a healthy baby, and an unworried Dr. de Savin?”

  “Ja,” Frau Diebler admitted, but she sounded wary.

  “So … maybe I could help you with your shopping if you’re willing to overlook insignificant disagreements in our prenatal plan. By that I mean that you’ll be, hmmm, careful about what you report to the doctor.”

  “I can’t ignore my professional responsibilities, Frau Miracle.”

  “Oh, of course not! But you could forget about rectal thermometers and suppositories, and six A.M. wake-up calls, couldn’t you? And in return I could make certain that my nurse is dressed fashionably.” Amy gave her a solemn look. “In my business, I have to insist that my … my entourage is chic.”

  “Ah, yes, I see. I wouldn’t want to embarrass you.”

  “I insist that you let me buy you some new clothes.”

  Frau Diebler put her thermometer away, took her medical bag, and stood formally. “Good morning, Frau Miracle. I will see you at noon.”

  After she left Amy crawled back under the covers and, chuckling darkly, pulled them over her head.

  Her agent wanted her to audition for some television shows, and there were offers to do Letterman again, and another cable show. Bev Jankowski discussed these projects with enormous sighs and listed them with a code beside each one: B.M. and A.M. Before Mommy and After Mommy.

  At least being pregnant was funny. Amy grew accustomed to people telling her how huge she was to be only five and a half months. All she had to do was amble out on stage with a coy expression on her face and the audience started to chuckle. Thank goodness something about backaches, stretch marks, and swollen ankles was enjoyable.

  Tonight she was more tired than usual, and she felt as if someone had hung a watermelon around her middle. A rambunctious watermelon. The baby seemed to love being on stage. Maybe it was some internal bond that alerted it to Mom’s change in mood. As soon as she stepped to the microphone every night there was a tumult of movement inside her uterus. Tonight it felt like a game of water polo between elephants.

  By the time the second show ended she was desperate to sit down. Laughing wearily, she grabbed her stomach with both hands the instant she stepped into the wings. “Game’s over, sweetie.” Frau Diebler, her stout little body housed in an Armani dress suit, was waiting with a paper cup of orange juice and a pill. “Time for another vitamin, Frau Miracle.”

  “Danke.” Amy swallowed the juice and palmed the vitamin, then tucked it into the sand of an ashtray cannister when Frau Diebler wasn’t looking. She and the nurse headed toward the dressing rooms through a crowd of people doing various forms of nothing. Dimly she heard running feet behind her.

  “Comic mama, don’t waddle so fast.”

  She halted and swung around. “Elliot!”

  He looked better than the last time she’d seen him, but not good. He smelled like a scotch distillery. His eyes were bloodshot. They should have been plaid. “Amy,” he said with sincere, if slurred, greeting. “Nobody tol’ me that you got knocked up.”

  He hiccupped and swayed in place. He seemed cheerfully benign, more like the old Elliot, before the cocaine. She put an arm around his waist, and he patted her stomach through the candy-cane striped maternity blouse she wore with red slacks. “Did the French Dr. Kildare do this?”

  “Where have you been?” She held his hand. “The last I heard, you were negotiating for a cable special.”

  “Aw, kids are runnin’ things now. I’m too old.”

  Since he was only thirty-four, she suspected other reasons. It was no secret that he was still an alcoholic, if not a cocaine addict. He seemed to have compensated for giving up cocaine by drinking even harder. “So what are you doing with yourself these days?” she asked.

  “Writing, writing, writing. A screenplay.”

  “Great. What’s it about?”

  He thought for a minute. “I can’t remember.”

  “Comeon. I’ll call you a taxi.”

  “Won’t do any good. Can’t remember what hotel I’m at.”

  “What happened to your place at Malibu?”

  “Something about the mortgage payments. Bank expected ’em.”

  “How rude. So you moved into a hotel?”

  “Hmmm-huh.”

  “Think, now. What’s the name of it?” She ignored his incoherent answer as a strange little cramp hit her low in the abdomen. She sagged and bit her lip. The pain passed quickly, but left her cold with fear. She decided to go back to the hotel suite immediately and rest. She shot a glance at Frau Diebler, who was distracted by frowning at Elliot. Elliot continued to smile at her and hiccup. “What hotel are you living at?” she repeated.

  He shook his head. “I’ll find it … eventually.”

  She sighed in defeat. “If you behave, you can come to my hotel. Magda and I have an extra bed in our suite. You can pass out on it.”

  “I will have to call Dr. de Savin about this,” Frau Diebler said, eyeing Elliot for her report.

  “Frau Diebler, did I tell you about the Gucci purse I saw in Vogue? I think you’d like it.”

  She pursed her mouth and thought for a moment. “Ja, I’m sure that I would.” Her silence was bought. Elliot pointed at her. “Whozit?”

  “My personal bodyguard. Frau Diebler, meet Elliot Thornton. I’ll explain later.”

  Frau Diebler arched a brow. “You can trust this man?”

  “Yeah. He might look and act disgusting, but he’s not a masher.”

  Elliot patted Army’s stomach. “I’d never mash a pregnant woman.”

  “I know. Let’s go.”

  He draped an arm around her shoulders and hiccupped louder as she led him away.

  “Breathe slowly,” the emergency-room doctor said. “Calm down.”

  Amy lay back on the gurney and nodded. “I’m just scared. When I woke up and found blood—”

  “It’s not uncommon in a pregnancy. It doesn’t mean that you’re having a miscarriage.”

  Amy shook her he
ad. “You don’t understand. I can’t let anything go wrong with this pregnancy.”

  “We’ll keep you in the hospital overnight, and tomorrow you can see your obstetrician.”

  “I don’t have one in Los Angeles. I’ve been traveling for the past few months. I’ve carried my records around with me and gone to doctors in whatever city I was in. I’ve been fine, just fine! Until now—”

  “We can arrange for you to see one of the staff obstetricians and have some tests.”

  “Good.”

  “I’ll have someone tell your husband that you’re being admitted.”

  “My husband?”

  “The man who’s asleep in one corner of the waiting room. He’s under a potted tree.”

  “Appropriate.” She held her head and tried to think. What could she do about Elliot? She couldn’t desert him. “He’s not my husband. He’s a friend.” Elliot had helped her sneak out of the hotel suite without alerting Frau Diebler to the problem. Amy smiled grimly when she thought of the diligent nurse unsuspecting and asleep in the midst of a major-league crisis that would be worth another Armani with a Chanel scarf as a bonus.

  The doctor shifted with embarrassment. “Excuse me, but is your friend drunk?”

  “You noticed.” She rubbed her stomach protectively. “He helped me get here. I don’t think he can make his way back to the hotel alone. Can he sleep in my room tonight?”

  “I’m sure we can arrange something. I’ll be right back.”

  The doctor squeezed her arm and walked away. She stroked her stomach and talked urgently to the baby, trying to give reassurance with hands that shook.

  “Twins.” The obstetrician grinned at her and pointed to the video screen where the movie of the week—her sonogram—was playing. “Fraternal twins. A boy and a girl.”

  Amy stared in shock. “A boy and a girl.”

  Frau Diebler, her expression like a thunderstorm over the Rhine, sat in a chair beside the examining table, taking copious notes and asking clinical questions. She was in a very bad mood over last night’s deception. This time Amy wondered if there was any way to bribe her silence.