Forever Family (Forever #5)

by Deanna Roy

  I smacked him lightly on the arm. “It was such a terrible inconvenience,” I said with a laugh.

  He pulled back, his eyes mischievous and merry. “I’m a bad influence on your pristine soul.”

  “I’ll drag you back from hell,” I said.

  Darion looked down. “I guess we can’t stay like this indefinitely.”

  I followed his gaze to where my skirt was draped over us. One of my shoes had fallen off. “We could always insist we were doing an obstetrical workshop.”

  This made him laugh hard, his voice cutting through the quiet of the lounge. “Worth a shot.”

  He pulled back. His hair was disheveled, his shirt wrinkled, and his pants creased. He looked perfect.

  I hopped off the counter and retrieved my shoe as he buckled up.

  “So, how did you know where I was?” I asked.

  “When Corabelle said you weren’t at the shower and not responding to texts, I had a good idea.” He tried patting his short hair back into place, but just made it worse. I giggled and ran my fingers through it.

  “How is Albert?” he asked.

  “He didn’t wake for me today. I just sketched.” I tugged on my spriggy ponytails. One had been knocked askew, and bits were falling out. We were both a mess. I worked on it as I watched Darion, waiting for him to ask why I hadn’t gone to Jenny’s party. He was supposed to have met me after the shift, and I hadn’t even told him I wasn’t there.

  But he didn’t mention it. He picked up his white coat. “I just have the pediatric rounds to go. Lots of them are in your art therapy. You want to come along?”

  He wasn’t going to ask. I didn’t have to say anything. My throat closed up. He got it. He knew me. He really, really knew me.

  “Sure,” I managed to get out, my voice thick with emotion. I picked up my bag. “I want to see how Henry is doing.”

  “He’s feeling pretty low from his chemo, but he’s a cheerful little guy,” Darion said.

  We headed for the door. “Can we see him first?” I asked.

  “No reason why not,” he said as he held it open.

  The walk through the halls was different from when I’d arrived, dark and heavy from visiting Albert and guilty for skipping Jenny’s shower. This time I noticed the new bulletin boards and nodded at passing staff. I was better. This day was passing without a breakdown. Darion had known just what to do.

  And what not to try to say.

  We were already in the farthest wing of the hospital, almost to Henry’s room, when I remembered something.

  We’d left the panties on the counter of the lounge.

  Chapter 10: Jenny

  Some freaking Thanksgiving.

  Everyone out in the living room was drinking and partying. I was stuck in the back bedroom of a rock star’s mansion, clumsily trying to get Phoenix to latch on to my overfull boob.

  I’d waited too long. I knew it. We’d left the sanctity of my mother’s place hours ago and come to a party hosted by a musician on Chance’s new record label. Chance was anxious and animated, ready to schmooze.

  And I was trying to feed an infant.

  I despaired at the milk dribbling onto my glittery skirt. I knew I should have worn something more practical — but this was a party! At least I’d managed to leave Phoenix for three hours yesterday to get my hair fixed.

  But neither my fabulous new cotton-candy-pink dye job nor my clever outfit mattered at all since I was stuck in a back room.

  Phoenix screwed up her eyes in frustration and wailed. At three weeks old, she’d definitely found her lungs. I searched around for a door to a bathroom, but the only one led me to a closet. I needed a towel to get some of this milk out so my boob was softer for her to latch on to.

  Stupid me for waiting so long. I knew I was about to explode. But Phoenix had been asleep, and I hadn’t wanted to wake her.

  I didn’t want to go back out into the hall, where several people were hanging out or hooking up, sprawled on the floors and draped over chairs. I’d had to step over them on my way here.

  My shirt was useless for this task, some synthetic stretchy sparkly rayon that wouldn’t absorb anything. It scratched me mercilessly anyway. There had to be something here to soak up extra milk.

  I wished we were at Dylan Wolf’s, where I at least knew people and could ask for help. This was some other guy, some hotshot newcomer who already had a duet with Selena Gomez in the works.

  I searched through the closet, but it was empty except for some boxes and a couple sealed suit bags. I looked back at the bed.

  I didn’t want to do it. But I would have to.

  I jerked back the covers and grabbed a pillow. The pillowcase was Egyptian cotton, high thread count. I fumbled to pull it off while holding the howling baby. I had to set her on the bed to get it done. Finally, it came free.

  “Sorry, rock-star dude,” I whispered as I pressed it against my boob and squeezed. I could see why Phoenix was having trouble. It was hard as a rock.

  I worked it for a couple minutes, placating the baby with a milk-covered finger. The pillow was thoroughly wet before I felt like I’d gotten enough out to try latching her on again.

  Thankfully, this time, she went right on. I sank onto the bed in relief. I glanced over at the soaked pillowcase. I wasn’t sure what to do with it. No telling what bodily fluids got spilled in back bedrooms at parties like this. I’d just leave it on the corner and let his cleaning people manage it. I had no choice. I wasn’t exactly going to tug on his sleeve in the middle of a party and explain that he had breast milk all over his guest-room pillowcase.

  Now that my panic was waning, the sounds of the party filtered through the walls. I could hear exactly what I was missing.

  Someone had hooked up an electric guitar and was banging out chords. Then a piano filled in a melody. After a minute, somebody sang something and a bunch of people joined in.

  Uggh, I was missing it all!

  I closed my eyes, trying to find peace with Phoenix and the wonder of motherhood. But I kept picturing the fabulous celebrity-filled Tweets and status updates going on out there. And Chance! He was so oblivious to the whole thing. He probably wasn’t taking a single selfie with all the rock gods.

  I’d been working with a movie studio the last eight months, running the social media for four of their stars. I knew what it took to stay in the public eye and how to build fan energy for a release. This was a killer opportunity. Tons of the target market was sitting around bored after a day with family, tapping on their phones, and we could be providing them links and pictures to peruse.

  Uggh. Come on, baby!

  Phoenix was contentedly slurping away. I felt frantic and stuck, wondering if I dared venture out with a baby attached to my boob. I mean, the whole open-breastfeeding movement was a thing. Maybe I could catch a quick shot with some musician PLUS go viral with the earth-mama angle.

  My brain whirred. Yes, this would work. I just had to figure out how to arrange this clunky shirt. It was tight and hard to maneuver, hiked up over my boobs right now, revealing the damp cotton maternity bra. I knew I should have made time to go to that trendy shop with the sexy nursing wear!

  I headed over to a dresser with a tall mirror. I tugged on the shirt, trying to cover my bra on one side. I despaired over the fleshy bits of my still-deflating stomach that lapped over my skirt. Why did it have to be so tight now? It was shoving skin in all the wrong places.

  My eyes pricked with tears. I lifted the skirt higher, trying to avoid exposing too much belly.

  That was better. Only the bottom edge of the bra showed. I could hold the baby just the right way to hide that plus any belly bulges. I turned right and left, examining myself in the mirror. Yes, this would do. I wouldn’t go viral for all the wrong reasons. That was always my biggest fear. It was one thing to be a big celebrity and get caught in a bad shot or compromising image.

  It was another thing entirely to be an average Joe who ended up becoming the next Ermahgerd.
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  Phoenix was still sucking contentedly. I unzipped my tiny purse and awkwardly tugged out my phone with one hand. I’d have it unlocked and ready for pictures. I’d take some of Chance, of course. Then some selfies.

  My heart sped up just thinking about it. This was what I lived for. The baby didn’t have to slow me down. I could do this. I could do it better. I mean, who doesn’t want an image that also supports a good cause?

  I lifted one of Phoenix’s cute slippered feet and kissed the toes. “We’ll do this together, baby girl,” I said. “Take on the world.”

  When she was back to her perfect position, I opened the bedroom door. The halls were empty now, the raucous singing drawing everyone back into the main living area. I could picture the scene. Rock stars, beautiful people, talent and fame, all having a blast on a holiday weekend.

  This was going to be so great!

  The end of the hall was a little clogged with people watching, those too shy to push forward. I was not nervous in the least to make my way to the center of the fun.

  I found a pocket of space and looked around. Two Grammy Award–winning singers were standing on chairs, singing their guts out. Oh my God! This was perfect! But where was Chance?

  I pushed forward again and spotted him sitting on the edge of a shiny black grand piano, more well-known musicians on either side of him. So perfect!

  I lifted my cell phone to take a shot. Got it!

  I glanced down at the image. Loved it! I didn’t want to upload it without thinking carefully about what to say for the best keywords and hashtags. I’d wait for a quiet moment.

  Now for my selfie.

  I almost fainted when I realized who was next to me. And on the other side. This party had brought out the most amazing pop-star divas. Best selfie op ever.

  My hand had started sweating, and my shoulder was throbbing with the effort of holding Phoenix in position. If I could just get the right angle!

  I punched the button to switch to the forward camera on my phone. My pink hair filled the frame. I held my arm out as far as it would go, trying to get the baby, myself, and some of the famous people in the shot.

  A man jostled me from behind, but I kept my composure, trying to hit the shutter button.

  That’s when I heard the terrible wail.

  I looked down. Phoenix had unlatched, milk all over her face. It dribbled down my exposed boob. I tried to situate her without dropping the phone, but when I moved her again to try to get her back in place, she let out a heart-rending scream.

  And that’s right when the song ended.

  Chapter 11: Tina

  Well, this was this boring.

  The hospital holiday party had pretty much nothing going for it other than Darion in a suit. Which was, I would admit, a nice perk.

  The actual holidays were long over. This event was always held in January. The increase in hospital workload in late December and at the New Year, plus attempts at vacations and time off, all meant the hospital staff had zero energy to put together something fun.

  Not that this was exactly fun.

  Darion and I sat at a table with some of the other oncologists. The hospital cafeteria had been repurposed for the party. Despite the lights and decorations, it still looked like a cafeteria, in the way a gymnasium is rarely truly transformed for prom.

  Three times, one of the wives had redirected the conversation away from clinical trials and new treatment protocols. These guys seriously had no idea how to kick back. Darion was just as bad as the others, but I was used to it. I was equally obsessive about art.

  I idly fingered the centerpiece, a hand-painted accordion fan nestled in a spray of evergreens and silver balls. This one had been done by a little girl named Eliana. She had used her fingerprints to make a snowman family, white on a red fan.

  All the fans had been made in my classes. A small card at the base of each centerpiece told a little bit about the kid. First name. Age. A bit of diagnosis. I wanted to go to each card and write more. Not just Eliana, age 9, Acute Myeloid Leukemia.

  But Eliana, with the most infectious laugh, who loves to draw ponies and use too much glitter, and wants nothing more than to go back to third grade and sit next to Jeremiah, who, according to her, is a tote dreamboat.

  Darion reached for my hand and kissed my knuckles. I smiled over at him. He was ever amazing while I brooded over life, art, and of course, Albert. My artist friend hadn’t been able to talk in over a week now. It was only a matter of time. I couldn’t seem to find the strength to face it yet. I pretended he would be fine again, another drug would lift him back into spirits and the ability to work.

  Denial was comfortable.

  Darion kissed my hand again and this time raised his eyebrows. I sat up straight. Of course. This was a signal that he wanted to get out of here. I turned to the back of my chair for the shawl I had worn over my dress.

  But his plan to flee was thwarted by the hospital director walking up to the podium and looking over the tables with an eagle eye, as if daring anyone to leave. Darion sighed and settled back in his chair.

  I leaned in. “Missed your op,” I said.

  He shrugged. “Boring motivational talks are part of the gig.”

  I glanced around the room. I recognized almost everyone after working here over a year. I didn’t have any close friends, but I was on chatty terms with everyone. The nurses and orderlies who brought patients to my therapy room were the ones I knew the best, although precious few of them were invited to this party. It seemed to be all doctors and administrators. A few RNs. Probably charge nurses. I guessed I was the only riffraff who had made it in, and then only because I was engaged to Darion. I hated hospital hierarchy.

  The director prattled on about patient outcomes and positive hospital culture, which sounded to me like the bad result of a Pap smear. I had to pinch my lips together to avoid laughing. But it felt good to lighten up a little. Just a little.

  My phone buzzed from the tiny purse hanging on the back of my chair. I calculated the risk of looking. The room wasn’t dim, so the light wouldn’t show. I glanced at other tables. At least two people at each one were staring at their crotches. No doubt their phones were hiding under the table.

  Fine. I could be a crotch-gazer too.

  I tugged the phone out and held it under the table in my lap.

  Another baby picture from Jenny. I instantly clicked the screen off. That was for later.

  It had been two months since the baby arrived, and I was doing better. Somewhat. I’d actually held the little bugger on Christmas Eve. She was cute, of course, and dressed like only Jenny would do. Sparkle and color and matching shoes and headbands and blankets.

  Darion draped his arm around the back of my chair. I could feel his tension, how much he wanted to leave. We all got stuck in places that made us uncomfortable, I guessed. Life marched on.

  People around us clapped, and I snapped to attention. Finally, an end! A projector popped on and the lights came down as a presentation started.

  “That’s our cue,” Darion said. “Not a minute more.”

  I had no desire to argue with that. I scooped up my purse and phone and shawl and followed Darion to the closest door.

  When we were outside the room, I burst out laughing. “You’re terrible,” I said. “Skipping out on your company party just when you were learning how to create positive cultures.”

  Darion broke out in a broad grin. “I needed to get you home. I want to see that little black dress on the floor.”

  My phone buzzed again. God, Jenny and her baby pictures. Maybe it was time for me to ask her to stop. I couldn’t exactly block her. Although maybe I could create a setting to automatically strip the images.

  Uggh, I was doing it again. Avoiding the unavoidable.

  Darion dragged me closer to him. “What’s getting you?” he asked.

  “Nothing. Just Jenny and her baby pictures.”

  “Give me that,” he said, holding out his hand.

 
I passed him the phone. “What are you going to say?”

  He clicked it on. “Just that your doctor has put you on a strict image diet of two baby pictures per day and surely she doesn’t want to—”

  He halted, staring down at the phone.

  My heart seized up. “What is it?”

  He lowered the phone and dragged me close. I knew it was bad then, real bad. He never acted like this.

  “Darion, tell me,” I said.

  “It’s Albert,” he said, and at the name, my knees buckled. “He’s coding.”

  I jerked away from Darion and took off for the elevators at a run. Darion’s footsteps pounded behind me.

  I punched the button, but when the doors didn’t open immediately, I shot away for the stairs.

  My ballet slippers tried to fall off as I hurtled up the steps two and three at a time. I pushed off the railing with every footfall, propelling myself faster.

  I burst through the door and sprinted down the hall, Darion on my heels. I saw two familiar nurses outside Albert’s door. When I got there, Marianna held up her hand. “You can’t go in, Tina. Not right now.”

  Like hell I couldn’t. I tried to push through, but Darion grabbed my arm. “Let them do their job,” he said.

  Inside, the code team surrounded Albert. I couldn’t see him. Layla stood in the corner, her hands clasped by her chest.

  A firm voice said, “Clear,” and the unmistakable sound of paddles releasing a shock made my heart fall. I knew it would happen. But I couldn’t bear it.

  I turned to Darion. “How do I find out if he had an advance directive to stop this?” I couldn’t imagine Albert wanting to go on, since a suicide attempt was what got him here. I wanted to kick myself for not checking on this before now.

  Marianna wrapped an arm around my waist. “He had one. It was very specific,” she said. “You or Layla are allowed to make the call. Layla made it.”

  I turned back to Layla, watching intently, her eyes red and wet. “I need to talk to her,” I said.