“Don’t foreign adoptions usually take months or even years?” Charlie asked.
Waverly nodded. “Often, but we’ve hired the best adoption attorneys in the US, Serbia, and Bulgaria to sort out all the legal details. And Andrew just spoke with Senator Rigbsy—they golf together—and he assures us he’ll do everything in his power to move things along as well. We think this is a special case and will go more quickly.”
Charlie and Johan stayed only a few minutes. They wanted to reach Budapest before rush-hour traffic snarled the city streets.
“You’ll call the instant you think you’re in labor?” Waverly asked yet again, turning to Charlie as she led them to the grand front door. “I’ll be on the first flight to Budapest as soon as I get the call.”
“As soon as I know I’m in labor, I’ll call you,” Charlie assured her. Because of her delicate condition, the Serbian doctor had advised against her traveling by plane, so the original plan to have the baby in the US had been abandoned. She would have the baby in Budapest, and Waverly would fly over as soon as possible, then return to the States with the baby after he had been issued an American passport and the legal paperwork surrounding his official adoption by Waverly and Andrew was completed.
It was not how any of them had imagined the situation, but given all the variables, it seemed like the most straightforward option. Waverly needed to return to the US to ride the wave of publicity for as long as it lasted to help secure Simply Perfect’s future. That, coupled with the unknown length of time Nadia’s adoption process would take, meant that she was not free to wait on the birth of the baby in Budapest. Better to come after he had arrived and then take him back with her after his paperwork was in order.
Waverly laid her hand on Johan’s arm. “Take care of her, will you?” she said earnestly. “I feel so much better knowing she has someone trustworthy to turn to.”
“I’ll do whatever I can,” Johan assured her.
“Good.” Waverly squeezed his arm. “You’ll be in good hands with Dr. Kruger,” she told Charlie, shooting her sister a sly, satisfied look.
Charlie ignored the comment and its thinly veiled prompting. Waverly had made it abundantly clear that she thought Charlie and Johan would make an excellent couple. Charlie agreed, but she wouldn’t give her sister the satisfaction of admitting it. Not yet. She wanted to see what happened between them after her return to Budapest, and there were so many uncertainties now after her resignation from Care Network. All she knew was that she did not want to see Johan Kruger walking out her door. Beyond that, she had no idea what could happen.
“Be careful,” Waverly said, clasping her sister in an unexpectedly fervent hug.
“I will.” Charlie returned the embrace, feeling a dart of sorrow. She would miss Waverly. She was suddenly reluctant to leave her sister. It felt as though they had just found each other again.
Waverly pulled back and searched Charlie’s face. “Thank you,” she said finally. “For everything. You’re the bravest person I know. You and St. George have more in common than you think. You are my hero, my Red Cross Knight.”
Charlie dropped her eyes, embarrassed. “You didn’t do so badly yourself,” she said. “If I had to be kidnapped by Albanian nationalists, I couldn’t have chosen a better partner.”
Waverly laughed and Charlie joined her, the humor tinged with fondness and relief. Waverly caught Charlie’s eye, holding her for a moment. “Call me and tell me how you are,” she requested.
“I’ll send an update every day,” Charlie promised.
“And don’t wait too long,” Waverly said as a low aside. She made a slight gesture toward Johan. “I know a good thing when I see it. I hope you have the good sense to see it too.”
Charlie gave her a cryptic smile but said nothing. She followed Johan out the grand front door to the minivan, turning to Budapest and whatever lay ahead.
A few weeks later Waverly was in her kitchen in Connecticut working on a new recipe idea, a variation of the Hungarian cold fruit soup with pears and mascarpone cheese, when Sophie brought in the mail.
“A letter for you from Budapest,” her assistant said, laying the plain white envelope on the granite countertop. Waverly wiped the pear juice from her hands and picked up the envelope, noting Charlie’s bold, angular handwriting and the row of ornate stamps marching across the top.
She opened the envelope with a paring knife and slid out a card. It featured a massive bouquet of bright pink roses and a lengthy sentiment entirely in Hungarian. Inside Charlie had written,
It’s garish. And I think it might be a get-well card.
But Happy Mother’s Day.
You’re the best mother I know. Here’s to the future.
Love,
Charlie and little pal
Touched, Waverly reread the card with a laugh that turned into a stifled sob. Here’s to the future, Charlie wrote. That phrase struck Waverly. For so long she had been trying to recapture the past sweet days of their childhood, trying to recreate and preserve what had been lost, the life and home she had longed for with a broken heart for all these years. But there was no more need. Her home was full with Andrew and Nadia. Simply Perfect had been renewed for another two seasons. She would not trade the reality of the present now for any other life, any other way.
She propped the card up on the counter so she could see it as she cooked, then turned back to the pear soup. Under her breath she was humming a little tune. For the first time in as long as she could remember, she felt perfectly content.
CHAPTER 32
Early July
Budapest
At 11:03 p.m. on a night in early July, Charlie awoke from a restless sleep, coming to consciousness fully in an instant as a gush of warm fluid soaked her pajama bottoms. She switched on the light and struggled to sit up, already reaching for the phone.
Waverly was in the middle of a happy hour with business colleagues in New York City but picked up immediately. “Is it time?” she asked breathlessly.
Charlie winced at another contraction, this one stronger than before. “Yeah, I think so.”
“I’ll get the earliest flight out in the morning,” Waverly promised. She sounded so excited, almost panicky. “Call me as soon as you have news.”
“Okay, I will.” Charlie drew a sharp breath as another contraction hit.
She hung up and dialed the after-hours hotline of the private clinic where she would be having the baby. The young Hungarian woman who answered took her name and information and promised to immediately call the staff into work. They would be waiting for her when she arrived. Then Charlie made one final call. Johan answered on the third ring, his voice rough with sleep. When he heard who it was, he rallied immediately. She could hear him rummaging for his clothes as she told him it was time.
“Have you called a taxi?” he asked. “Or do you want me to come for you?”
She had only intended to tell him she was in labor, but at his offer she felt an instant rush of relief at the thought of his presence. “Could you come get me?”
“On my way.”
Hurriedly she pulled on her birthing clothes—comfortable lounge pants and a dark tank top. She tucked the thin silver chain with the medal of St. George under her top. She had not taken it off since Waverly had given it to her. She paused for a moment, rubbing the worn medal, breathing a prayer for courage and protection. She needed it now more than ever.
Grabbing her hospital bag and the coconut water and fruit she’d kept stocked in the fridge for the past week, she stood by the front door, ready and waiting. She felt strangely calm. Her warmly lit apartment, the darkness outside the window, the stillness of the square outside, felt almost surreal. She was intensely aware of what was going on in her body but strangely detached from her surroundings. She was moving through the motions as though in a dream or underwater. Every four minutes she would stop for a strong contraction, wincing and blowing out air as her clinic’s birthing instructor had taught her in the few
sessions they’d had together to prepare for the birth.
Five contractions later her door buzzer rang. Johan was there, standing outside, his hair sticking up at the back, an anxious look on his face. She handed him the hospital bag and for a moment he clasped her hand, searching her face. He was taking her pulse. She could feel his fingers pressing on the inside of her wrist. The contractions were becoming more intense and closer together.
“How can I help?” he asked.
“Stay with me.” She had not intended to ask him, had not even known that she wanted him to until this very moment, but she needed his calm presence, his steady, strong hand, and the reassurance that all would be well in the midst of such a new and unknown process.
“Of course.” He looked a little surprised and relieved.
In the dimly lit and luxurious birthing suite of the private clinic, outfitted with a gigantic birthing tub, soothing dark wood accents, and a panoramic view of the Danube and Castle Hill, Charlie, Johan, and the midwife settled in for the duration.
The labor progressed slowly. Several times through the long hours the midwife rubbed Charlie’s stomach and hands with essential oils, the pungent scents of geranium, clary sage, and jasmine rising in the warm, dark air. Charlie cupped her hands around her nose and breathed in the oils, visualizing strands of light flowing through her nose down into her abdomen and out, expanding to fill the room. Dawn broke over the city, the Danube like a sheet of mother-of-pearl, the sky behind the castle blushing peach and rose.
Charlie was calm and focused and a little afraid. It was not so much a sensation of pain as it was of intense pressure, a primordial force moving outward and downward through her body. She was in its grasp and had no control, just carried along with it in its inexorable progress. She clasped Johan’s hand through the most intense contractions, unaware of the pressure she exerted until she saw the red gouged crescents from her fingernails on the backs of his hands.
Time became elastic. Charlie had no idea how long they had been in that space. It felt like minutes or forever. There was no sense of hurry, no outside world, only the slow bloom of her body in an age-old act of bringing forth.
When the contractions grew so intense that Charlie begged for relief, the midwife turned on the shower as hot as it would go, urging her under the spray. Charlie didn’t let go of Johan’s hand, and without a moment’s hesitation he walked into the shower too, pausing only to shuck off his shirt and socks and shoes. Charlie stood under the stream of hot water as it pounded her lower back and rested her head against Johan’s bare shoulder, the medal of St. George dangling between them. The water soothed her muscles, dulling the intense edge of the contractions and allowing her to rest. She dozed for a few moments, standing up, her face against his shoulder, and he held her, the steam from the water billowing around them and beading on their hair and eyelashes. She did not feel awkward with Johan seeing her here at her most vulnerable. She trusted him and needed him, and that was enough.
When Charlie finally pushed the baby into the world, Johan sat by her shoulder and held her hand, his strength giving her courage when she needed it most. There was a flurry of activity around the hospital bed where she lay—doctor, midwife, and neonatologist all crowded around, and a moment later she heard a loud and indignant wail. Euphoric, sweaty, and out of her head with fatigue and exhaustion, Charlie lay back, panting, and grinned. Johan gripped her hand hard. He was grinning too.
“It’s a boy,” he said, peering at the baby as the doctor held him up. “And he’s a fine little fellow.”
The doctor laid the baby on Charlie’s chest. He was just beginning to turn pink, still slippery and angry. He screwed up his face and wailed. Charlie put her hands around his little skinny body and looked into his face. Oh, it’s you, she thought, surprised. He had been there all along, bobbing in the warm, placid darkness of her womb. Somehow she knew him already. “Hi, pal,” she whispered. She was aware of doctors and the midwife, of Johan beside her, but she only had eyes for her son.
“Mine,” she whispered, and the word scared her. He could not be hers. He was promised to another, and yet there was no denying the feeling coursing through her. When she looked at his face, she knew with a certainty that went to her core: he was hers. For a moment, just for a moment, she ignored the fact that in a few weeks he would be flying away from her to his new life with his intended parents. For a moment she simply went with her gut. She was his mother. He was her son. It was simple and elemental and undeniable. And impossible. But she did not think of that. She simply looked at him, his tiny old-man face and fringe of hair so pale it looked white, at his wrinkly fingers and skinny chicken legs. She had never known such a big love.
The neonatologist examined him, taking him for a few minutes to clean him and weigh and measure him.
“He’s a handsome little chap,” Johan said admiringly as they took the baby away. “You should be proud.”
Charlie nodded. She couldn’t take her eyes from her baby. Even across the room her eyes followed his every move as the doctor examined him. “I didn’t know it would be like this,” she said slowly. It felt like a confession, although she wasn’t sure what exactly she was confessing.
“Like what?” Johan asked.
“Like falling in love.”
Johan looked at her intently. His eyes were pink with fatigue and he was sporting a dusting of stubble like cinnamon sugar along his jaw. She had a sudden urge to rub her face against it like a cat. That’s just the hormones talking, she told herself, trying to corral her emotions. She was exhausted and elated and suddenly ridiculously attracted to the man who had just seen her give birth. She almost laughed at the absurdity of the last sensation. She’d probably put her relationship with Johan firmly and forever in the friend category by making him sit with her through labor and delivery. It was something that many husbands were not able to do. And yet she had asked it of this man, a friend but not a partner, not even a lover. In retrospect it was extraordinary of him.
“Thank you,” she said. “For staying with me.”
He met her eyes, his own gaze intent. “It’s an honor.” He opened his mouth as though he were going to say something more, but then the doctor interrupted, handing her the baby. He was now clad in a tiny pair of white pajamas and a white cotton cap that tied under his chin. His eyes were closed, and he looked thoroughly disgruntled. He stopped crying, though, as soon as Charlie touched him. She snuggled him close and marveled at how warm and impossibly small he was.
Now that the major event was over, she felt peaceful and serene. And tired. She yawned, and a nurse appeared at her side in an instant, motioning for the baby. Charlie didn’t want to give him up, but she was so drowsy. Another nurse helped her across the hall into the spacious recovery room with a queen-size bed and velvet pillows and an ornately frilled bassinet positioned beside the bed. She was asleep before her head touched the crisp cotton sheets.
“Oh, he’s gorgeous,” Waverly cooed, bending over the bassinet. The baby looked up at her solemnly. It had been twenty-four hours since his birth. A storm on the East Coast had delayed Waverly’s flight, and she had just arrived in Budapest and come straight to the hospital from the airport.
“May I?” she asked Charlie, gesturing to the baby.
Charlie was sitting in a chair by the bank of tall windows looking out on the Danube and the Széchenyi Chain Bridge. She winced and gingerly shifted position, feeling sore all over and strangely out of sorts. “Of course.”
A nurse entered with a breakfast tray and set it before her. It was loaded with fruit, pastries, yogurt, orange juice, and cornflakes. While Charlie started on her breakfast Waverly lifted the baby, cradling him a little awkwardly. “I’ve been taking parenting classes from a private instructor,” she confessed to Charlie, “so I’ll know what to do with him.”
Charlie dropped her gaze to her cereal. She forced herself to take another bite of cornflakes, but they tasted like cardboard.
“Oh, you’
re such a handsome little fellow,” Waverly cooed. “And so calm. I believe he understands everything I’m saying.” She held him a little away from her and peered into his face. “I think he’s got Mother’s eyes, but it’s definitely your nose and chin. Whatever the combination, he’s just perfect. Nadia is going to love you. Yes, your big sister is so excited to meet you.”
Nadia’s adoption paperwork had been processed in record time, and she was adjusting well to her new life in Connecticut with the help of a sweet Bulgarian nanny and a private English tutor.
Charlie kept chewing, trying to swallow the hard knot lodged in her throat. It had been stuck there since the birth, since she had first held her son. It was not getting smaller.
Waverly glanced at Charlie, cradling the baby against her chest. She looked perfect despite the long flight and travel delays. She was wearing a new color of lipstick, Charlie noticed briefly, a brighter pink hue that suited her better than her usual Dior shade. “How are you feeling?” Waverly asked. “Tell me about the birth. I want to know everything.”
“I’m fine,” Charlie said briefly. She did not want to share the details with Waverly. They were hers and hers alone. “It was long and intense, but good,” she said at last.
Waverly looked disappointed at the scant information. “Was Johan with you the whole time?” she asked.
Charlie nodded. She smeared butter on another bite of croissant. “I couldn’t have done it without him,” she said honestly. “He was what I needed.”
“Have you seen him since the birth?” Waverly asked. “I’d love to thank him in person.”
“He’s probably still trying to recover,” Charlie said, dodging the question. It galled her somehow to think of Waverly thanking him for helping with the baby’s birth, as though Charlie were just the birth vehicle. Which was precisely how she had explained it to Waverly way back in the beginning when she’d thought up this crazy scheme. Now she was feeling something quite different. And she didn’t know what to do about it. Trying to distract herself, she stared at a huge bouquet of white roses on the dresser, a congratulations and thank-you from Duncan and Kate, who were now dating thanks to Charlie’s meddling.
Becoming the Talbot Sisters Page 31
