by Susan Wiggs
Those minutes with her newborns were precious. The ordeal of the birth, primal and violent and full of agony, subsided like an ebb tide. Sarah’s pain went away somewhere, unremembered, as though it had been a bad dream that dissolved upon waking. Feeling the soft press of the babies’ weight on her chest, she sensed every cell in her body glowing with pure joy. She was transformed, a mother now, with a soul as deep and infinite as time.
“Thanks for everything you did,” she said to her father.
“It wasn’t anything at all.”
“It was exactly what we needed.”
Thirty-Four
Will figured Sarah probably had enough flowers, so he didn’t bring any to the hospital when he went to see her. Instead, he stopped at a shop near the hospital and picked out a simple digital camera, one that could be operated in light or dark with one hand, and a battery that lasted forever. He’d checked with her grandmother, who’d told him it was just what Sarah needed.
A good camera was something he remembered wanting when he brought Aurora home. It was like falling in love again, not the way he’d fallen in love with Marisol, but in a way that was completely uncluttered and crystal clear. Here was this wide-eyed, new little person in his life. He would wake up each morning, eager to see her, to hear her speak, to watch her apprehension warm into curiosity and, before long, genuine happiness. He always wished he had known Aurora as a baby. At birth, at the moment she’d drawn her first breath. If he had, would their bond be stronger? Would he understand her better?
Marisol had no photographs of her newborn, but he imagined Aurora as a fairy child, with skin of pale perfection, jet-black hair, her mouth a red bow. At that point, the godmothers were supposed to step in and give her all the gifts she needed to make it through life. Instead, Aurora had been thrust into a life of poverty and corruption so bad it made Will cringe even now, when he thought about it.
He wondered what Sarah’s babies looked like. Did they have her light hair and eyes? Or did they look like her ex? What did her ex look like, anyway? Will tried never to think about the guy, but now, confronted with the reality of his DNA, he caught himself wondering.
The salesgirl put the camera in a big glossy bag with some tissue paper, and he all but sprinted across the hospital parking lot in his haste.
Throughout Sarah’s pregnancy, the unlikely friendship had deepened between them, along with an even less likely but undeniable attraction. They kept their distance, though. She had so much on her plate, ending her marriage while becoming the mother of two. And Will had his own concerns, not the least of which was Aurora. All the child-rearing books seemed to agree that seeing a single parent live a rich emotional life was considered a good thing for a young girl. Unfortunately, those books had never seen Aurora’s smoldering resentment, nor had they been charged with safeguarding her fragile heart from further pain.
Still, he couldn’t keep himself from caring about Sarah Moon. When he heard she had gone to the city to have the babies, he’d been restless with worry and torn by indecision. His position with Sarah was unclear, and he hated that. Hated that he couldn’t just drop everything and go be with her. Hated that he had to wait until his sister called to report that everyone was fine.
He was done with all that, starting now. His heart was on fire for her, and like the movement of a fire, in a V-shaped spread of flame, it followed the path of least resistance.
He knocked softly at the door to her private room in the birthing center. A woman in pink scrubs let him in. The badge dangling from her shirt identified her as a member of La Leche League. “Sarah, are you up to having a visitor?” she asked.
“Absolutely,” said a quiet voice from the bed, and the woman stepped aside and left. He stood uncertainly just inside the door, taking in the dimly lit, sleekly furnished room and then shifting his gaze to her. Bars of light through the slats of the Venetian blinds fell over her. The air smelled of flowers, disinfectant and...something indefinable. It was a rich, fecund aroma, a birth smell, perhaps. He wasn’t sure how he knew such a thing existed.
Standing there, with his gift bag and the gleam of unfamiliar objects in the room, he wasn’t prepared for how happy he was to see her, or for the curious reality of the two brand-new strangers lying swaddled in clear bassinets on wheels. A rolling table was cluttered with various drink holders and a cafeteria tray with a plate that looked as though it had been licked clean. The counter and windowsill were crammed with flowers and balloons, and a stack of books lay on the bedside table.
At the center of all the bright chaos was Sarah, raised to a sitting position in the hospital bed, serene and glowing like the sun through the mist. Will knew he looked like an idiot, grinning at her, but he couldn’t help himself.
“Hey, Sarah,” he said. “Congratulations.”
“Hey, yourself. Come check out the twins.”
“They look great.” Too late, he realized he was staring at her chest. He cleared his throat, feeling too many things at once—tentative, intimidated, out of his element and inappropriately turned-on. “And you look great, too,” he added.
“I do?” She touched her hair.
“I was just thinking, Madonna-like.” Surely she’d be reassured by that, he thought.
“Liar. You were thinking about my boobs.”
He didn’t answer. Caught in the act. They were like the elephant in the room—so enormous, you couldn’t not see them. Don’t look down again, he told himself. Don’t look down.
“I admit, they surprised the heck out of me, too,” she said.
He made himself turn away and moved toward the bassinets. “So we meet at last,” he said, studying the two swaddled forms. They weren’t beautiful. They didn’t look like the babies on the Gerber jar. They were dark red in the face, their fists no bigger than a man’s thumb. Though closed, their eyes were puffy, their lips bowed and swollen. They looked exactly alike—indistinguishable. The sight of them lit him on fire. He hadn’t been expecting this flood of emotion—a singular mixture of tenderness, relief and protectiveness.
“You’re awfully quiet,” Sarah said.
“I don’t know what to say.” He felt a peculiar tightness in his chest. “Two boys. Two little boys. Damn, Sarah.”
“I can’t get over it,” she agreed. “While I was pregnant, I didn’t want to know the sex. They did so many tests, I wanted at least one thing to be a surprise.”
“Were you surprised?”
“Everything about them surprises me.” Her voice shook, and her face shone with all the love in the world.
One of the babies grimaced and made a soft whimpering sound. The feeling in Will’s chest intensified. This is not happening, he thought. It can’t be happening. And yet it was. He felt himself going crazy—for Sarah and these tiny babies.
“What are their names?” he asked, his gaze still riveted on the babies.
“I still haven’t decided,” she said, “and please don’t nag me.”
“I wasn’t planning on it.”
“My brother is out of patience with me. He calls them Thing One and Thing Two, like in the Dr. Seuss book. If I’m not careful, those names will stick.”
“No rush. They don’t look like it matters too much yet.” He held out the glossy gift bag. “This is for you. It’s from Aurora and me, both.”
She beamed up at him as she took out the shiny camera box. Watching her, he suddenly felt stupid. Maybe he’d bought the wrong thing. Maybe he should have—
“Will. It’s perfect. It’s exactly what I’ll need in my arsenal for doting mothers.” She smiled up at him. “Thank you so much.”
“Sure,” he said.
“I’d give you a great big hug,” she said, “but...”
But it would be too much of a turn-on, he thought.
She made a helpless gesture with her
hand. “I’m kind of stuck here for another day or two. They want me to take it easy, and they want to make sure the babies know how to eat.”
“Good advice.” On impulse, he slipped his hand under her chin and then touched his mouth to hers. He intended only a quick brush of the lips, but it ignited into something else entirely.
She felt it, too; he could tell by the surprised intake of her breath and the sudden desperation with which her fist clutched at his sleeve.
Will supposed he could have been more calculating about the time and place of their first kiss, but he’d never been so good at timing. She was as soft and sweet as a toasted marshmallow. He didn’t want to stop kissing her, but forced himself to step back. He had a hard-on that could drive nails. He hoped like hell she wouldn’t notice.
Her lips were moist and full now, and he wanted nothing more than to kiss her again.
“So,” she said, her cheeks turning red, “is this your way of saying you’re welcome?”
“It’s my way of saying I’m falling for you, Sarah. I have been for a long time.”
The color dropped from her face. Not exactly the reaction he was looking for. Damn. But what had he expected, that she’d be up for giving birth to twins and falling in love the same week?
Her gaze darted like a trapped animal’s. “You’ve got a lot of damn nerve, Will Bonner,” she said.
“Yeah, it’s not the best moment in the world, I get that. But I’ve given this a lot of thought, and I needed to tell you.”
“Why?” Her voice broke with pain. “We were fine before.”
He understood that she was on the rebound, her divorce still a fresh wound, her babies only days old, and that she couldn’t possibly be ready for a relationship. Yet his heart told him Sarah was worth the risk.
“We weren’t ‘fine,’” he said. “We were friends.”
“Exactly. Will, you turned out to be my best friend. But when you start saying these things...everything changes.”
“I’m not going to hurt you, Sarah.” But he could tell from the expression on her face that she didn’t believe him.
Her eyes filled. “You already are.”
“Come on,” he said, “that’s not—”
“Sounds to me like this visit is over,” said a voice from the doorway.
Will turned and saw a guy standing there. He was wearing creased slacks, expensive-looking loafers and a dress shirt but no tie. The sleeves were rolled back, and he held a finger hooked into a sport jacket, slung over one shoulder. In his other hand he held a Tiffany-blue box. Will instantly knew who this was, but he turned to Sarah, just for confirmation.
All the color that had drained from her face a few moments ago now returned, and her eyes lit up with blinding brightness.
“Jack,” she said.
* * *
Sarah held the crumpled wrapping paper from Will’s gift against her chest as he left the room. He didn’t hurry, but simply said, “I’ll call you.” Then he walked past Jack with purposeful strides and disappeared out into the corridor.
She was still reeling from the things Will had said, but now she had to shift her focus to Jack. Dear God, Jack was here. A fierce protective instinct rose up in her. She didn’t want to share her babies with this man, even though on paper, she had committed to limited visitation. “Jack,” she said again, “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“I know.” He stood aside, and in walked his mother, Helen Daly. “We caught a flight as soon as we heard.”
“Hello, Helen,” Sarah said. She touched her hair, feeling suddenly self-conscious. It struck her that she always felt this way around Jack and his family—unkempt, out of fashion. Even though, at the moment, she had the mother of all excuses, she found herself wishing she’d put on lipstick or something.
“Sarah, we’re so happy for you,” Helen said. “How are you feeling?”
Completely freaked out, thought Sarah. She realized she didn’t need to answer, though.
Helen locked eyes on the clear bassinets. “Jack, come see.” She spoke in a reverential whisper. “Oh, my stars,” she said. “Look at them. Just look at them.”
The babies were still sound asleep, neatly and expertly wrapped by the nurses. Sarah hoped they’d stay that way, because her newly bounteous breasts tended to go off like geysers when the babies cried.
Jack approached the bassinets, craning his neck and leaning over to see. Sarah tried to read the expression on his face, but she couldn’t. How strange, that she couldn’t read him anymore. She hadn’t been expecting that. He was as handsome as ever, she observed, in his high-fashion, well-maintained way. And he looked good. Healthy, thank heavens.
His reaction to the babies was so different from Will’s. Whereas Jack was proprietary and proud, Will had turned visibly emotional. She could still picture him, his face suffused with tenderness, his stance unconsciously protective.
“What are their names?” Jack asked.
“I haven’t decided.”
He frowned. “You didn’t think about this all those months you were pregnant?”
“I wanted to see them first.” Sarah warned herself not to get defensive.
“They’re wonderful,” Helen said. “I’m sure you’ll find the perfect names for them.” Unexpectedly, it was Helen’s presence that moved Sarah the most. She would be a world-class grandma, Sarah knew. There was something in her face, in the deep lines around her mouth as she smiled, that made Sarah think of her own mother. It was unbearably sad that her mom was missing out on this. And here was Helen Daly, desperate to be a grandmother. Sarah knew she couldn’t deny her. It was all so new, though. They were all like actors whose roles hadn’t been written yet. They were waiting to figure out what to say.
“We brought you this.” Jack handed her the box from Tiffany. It contained a pair of sterling-silver picture frames. “The date of birth is engraved on each one, but I guess you’ll have to fill in the names later.”
“Jack, thank you,” Sarah said. “I’ll do that.”
Their gazes held for a few moments, and Sarah felt a strange shift of disorientation. Despite her urgency to finalize the divorce, things were proceeding at a leaden pace. She knew the door was still open—maybe just a crack—to a reconciliation. She imagined remaking her life with him and their sons. It could be done. It could work. In some ways it could work rather well. Financially for sure—but then she considered the other costs and knew the idea was insane.
She could give him something, though. She had two perfect babies. Jack had nothing but a monthly payment. “Their middle names will be Daly,” she said. “I hope that’s all right.”
He offered a sharp, bitter laugh. “It’s far from all right,” he said, “but why let that stop you? Ever since you took off, you’ve done exactly as you pleased.”
Sarah sent Helen a look: Are you hearing this? But Jack’s mother seemed totally preoccupied by the babies. She had picked one of them up and carried him to a chair by the window and then gazed down at the tiny, sleeping face with total absorption. Sarah was on her own.
She looked from Helen to Jack, then felt a light-headed rush of relief. The anger was gone. She didn’t know when she’d let go of it, or how it had happened, but she no longer carried that hard ball of fury around inside her chest the way she had since the day she’d walked in on him and Mimi. In its place was a sadness, though, and it tinged her voice when she said, “Jack, there was a time when all I ever wanted was to have your children, and it went without saying that they would carry your name. You changed all that—on the day of their conception, in fact.”
“That’s a low blow, Sarah.”
She still didn’t feel angry, though the sadness deepened. “Yeah, I know how that feels.”
Thirty-Five
For the past week and a half, Aurora had wa
tched visitors come and go, to and from Sarah’s house. The old aunt and grandmother were regulars, arriving in the morning and staying practically all day. Judy deWitt from the art store and Mrs. Chopin brought covered dishes and could be seen taking out bags of crumpled gift wrap and drooping bouquets of flowers whose stems had grown rank and mushy in their vases. Gloria and Ruby, Glynnis’s mom, paid a visit, and Aurora just bet that still drove Glynnis crazy. It was bad enough when your single mom dated. When she dated another woman, well, that was completely unacceptable. And when they went out in public together? As Granny Shannon would put it, Katie, bar the door.
Aunt Birdie had already gone to see the babies, giving Sarah a pair of cream-colored cotton receiving blankets. Aurora didn’t really understand why they were called receiving blankets. As far as she knew, they would be used for wrapping up the kids.
Birdie said Sarah had asked about Aurora and indicated that she would welcome a visit. Aurora wanted to see her, bad, and she even had a special gift for the babies—a drawing of the Point Reyes lighthouse she had made to hang in their room. The babies wouldn’t give a hoot about that, but Sarah would. Plus, Aurora had used two months’ worth of babysitting money to get it professionally framed. The lighthouse was her favorite place in the world. She hadn’t been to a lot of places, but she was pretty sure it was one of the most beautiful. She’d gone flying with Aunt Lonnie, had seen the Golden Gate Bridge and San Luis Obispo, Bryce Canyon and Yosemite. None of them matched the dramatic, edge-of-the-world splendor of Point Reyes.
