by Joan Kilby
“That’s not true,” Sienna shot back.
“Wasn’t it?” Erica asked, unwavering.
Sienna forced herself to try to see the past objectively.
Had Anthony tried to talk about their relationship? She thought of all her late nights on duty, of how she’d insisted on Oliver accompanying them everywhere, of the many times she’d fallen into bed too exhausted for anything but sleep. She had to admit she’d avoided spending time alone with Anthony. Had she been so used to papering over the cracks in her marriage that she hadn’t seen how deep they’d become?
“Sienna?” Erica said.
Sienna gazed at the woman straddling the razor’s edge between life and death. She could play the aggrieved first wife or she could be honest with herself and Erica.
“I didn’t love him,” Sienna admitted. “Not even at first. I liked him a lot. But I didn’t love him. I got pregnant in med school. We married because in my family daughters didn’t become single mothers.” It was so simple, yet so huge. How was it possible she’d never admitted it to herself before? How had Anthony lived with that? “My whole marriage was a lie.”
“I envied you so much,” Erica said slowly. “A brilliant husband, a stellar career, a son. If that wasn’t enough there was the fabulous apartment, trips to Europe, fine restaurants. You had the perfect life, the perfect marriage.”
Perfect. There was that word again.
“I worked so many hours I didn’t have time to enjoy anything.” Sienna gazed at her palms wondering irrelevantly which was the life line and which the heart line.
“You went from success to success, while I was a childless screwup with a broken marriage and a crappy job.”
“Now I have the broken marriage, a job my mother doesn’t respect and my son hates me.” Sienna gave Erica a humorless smile. “Funny, huh?”
Erica reached out. With all the tubes running into her hand she could touch Sienna’s only with the tips of her fingers. “You’re still you. And you’re pretty exceptional, warts and all.”
“But I’m not perfect.” That sounded childish. But she felt like a child, petulant and spoiled. Also constrained and pressured. Sienna burst into tears.
“No one’s perfect,” Erica said quietly.
“I tried to be. What an idiot I was.” She took a tissue from the box on Erica’s bedside table and blew her nose. “Please don’t tell me that you only had an affair with Anthony because you were envious of me. It would be so unfair to him if you don’t love him, either.”
“I love him,” Erica said. “I didn’t want him out of envy or to take something away from you.”
“Good.” Sienna balled up the tissue, dabbed her eyes and took a deep breath. “So, how are you feeling?”
“I’m so afraid,” Erica whispered.
“You’re going to be fine,” Sienna said, automatically using her doctor’s voice, confident and reassuring. “Your baby is receiving the best possible care—” Seeing Erica’s eyes glaze over, she broke off. Erica had plenty of doctors; right now she needed a friend.
“It sucks, you being sick while Tamara is in neonatal intensive care,” she said softly.
“I just want to go home with my baby.”
“You will, in a few weeks.” Sienna reached out and massaged warmth into Erica’s cold fingers. “Anthony was great when Olly was born. He’ll take good care of you and Tamara.”
“Thank you.” Erica clung to Sienna’s hand. “Glyneth said you’ve settled in to Summerside. Nice friends, a new man?”
“Oh, well.” Sienna wiped away her tears with the back of her hand. “I screwed up there, too.”
“How do you mean?”
“It seems I pressure people with high expectations. I pushed him away. And this time…” She let out a deep sigh. “I really love the guy.”
“Then you should let him know.”
Sienna shook her head. “Too late.”
“If he loves you, he’ll forgive you.”
“It’s not just that. He doesn’t let me in, not completely.” Sienna wasn’t sure how to explain, or if she even understood it herself. “He’s got some emotional block about his wife’s death. I’ve tried to talk to him.”
“Maybe you should listen instead.” Yawning, Erica closed her eyes. Her face was pale and drawn.
“I’m going to go,” Sienna said. “You need to rest up for when you see your daughter later.” She hesitated, then leaned through the wires and drips to touch Erica on the cheek. “Take care.”
Erica’s eyes fluttered open. “It’s okay for Olly to stay with us. I hope I didn’t hurt his feelings. I’ve been pretty anxious about the baby and everything.”
“He’s going through some teen stuff. He’s okay,” Sienna said. “But I’m not sure I want to let him go. I’ll talk to Anthony.”
She found him and Oliver at the neonatal intensive care unit, standing over a humidicrib. Her steps slowed. This was another milestone—Anthony’s baby with another woman. Her friend Erica’s baby, she reminded herself. Anthony and Oliver stepped aside as she approached.
She gazed into the Plexiglas crib. The infant was no bigger than Anthony’s hand and wore only a tiny diaper and knit cap. Eye patches protected her vision from the fluorescent bilirubin lights. As Anthony had said, she was breathing on her own. But she had an umbilical catheter and a nasogastric tube inserted for feeding. An IV needle dangled from her limp arm for administering medicine.
Life was so fragile. Yet so tenacious. Tamara’s pulse, visible through translucent skin, beat away despite all the odds.
Her gaze shifted to her baby, Oliver. He was already moving out of her home. It was what she’d dreaded, yet she’d been the one to initiate it. How could she have been so wrong?
Sienna glanced at Anthony. “She looks like you.”
Anthony’s sudden smile lit his narrow face. “You think so?”
“I’m not sure that’s a compliment, Dad,” Oliver said. “She looks like a skinned rabbit.”
“You should have seen yourself when you were born,” Anthony replied. “When we get back home I’ll show you some photos I’ve been saving for your twenty-first birthday party.”
Oliver groaned, but he didn’t look entirely displeased.
Amused, Sienna assessed father and son. “Do you get to hold her?” she asked Anthony.
“In the evening we have kangaroo care. Skin to skin,” Anthony explained to Olly. “She’s placed on my chest or Erica’s to promote healing and bonding.”
Oliver stared at the baby as if just now realizing how small she was. “Tamara is going to make it, isn’t she?”
“She’s a fighter,” Anthony said, gazing at his daughter. “She’ll make it.”
“Olly, will you wait for me outside?” Sienna said. “I want to talk to your father.” She waited until he’d left to say, “I’ve changed my mind. I want to take Oliver back to Summerside.”
Anthony frowned. “Why?”
“For one thing, Erica and the baby will need all your attention in the next few months. Also, I should have given Olly the benefit of the doubt over the exam. I don’t want him to think I’m getting rid of him. God knows, I’d miss him like crazy if he wasn’t around.”
“I miss him, too. I was looking forward to having him.” Anthony thought a moment. “Erica’s going to be in the hospital for a while yet. Why doesn’t Olly stay with me over his two-week term break, then go back to you when school starts again?”
Sienna smiled. “That sounds like a plan.”
“Are you okay?” Anthony asked, placing a hand on her shoulder. “You seem stressed.”
“I’ve had a tough week,” she admitted.
“You’re too hard on yourself.” Anthony’s arm went around her in a quick hug. “You need to take care.”
“Thanks.” Sienna hugged him back, and to her surprise it felt natural. “Congratulations on your little girl. Make sure you take lots of time for her and Erica.”
“Don’t worry, I will.
”
Oliver was studying a vending machine in the waiting room when Sienna found him. She handed him some money from her wallet.
“Gee, thanks,” he said, his eyes widening at the pair of twenties. “I only wanted a chocolate bar.”
“It’s spending money while you’re at your father and Erica’s place.” Oliver started his automatic complaint, but Sienna cut him off. “You’re only staying for the term break.”
“Cool!” Oliver’s face lit. “Thanks, Mum.”
“I would have taken you straight home, but your dad really wants to spend time with you. You’ll be coming back to Summerside to finish school.” She gave him a stern look. “And by ‘finish’ I mean grade twelve. I’m sorry I doubted you,” she went on quickly before he could speak. “I should have known you wouldn’t lie.”
Oliver’s gaze dropped. His shoulders seemed to grow out of his ears.
“What is it?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
“Oliver.”
“Oh, all right,” he mumbled. “I…I did cheat.”
Sienna couldn’t believe what she’d just heard. “I beg your pardon?”
“I’m sorry, okay?” he said with a return to defiance. “You were expecting me to ace the exam. I stared at those questions and I didn’t know the answers. Robert was scribbling away like mad. I didn’t know what else to do.”
“So you’re saying it’s my fault?”
“You pressured me.”
Sienna’s mouth pressed tightly together and she spun away. It was true…up to a point. Turning back, she said, “You need to accept responsibility for your actions. As soon as you get back to Summerside, you’re grounded again. And you’ll have to tell your teacher and the principal.”
“They won’t let me sit the test again if I do that,” Oliver said. “I won’t be able to take advanced math.”
“That’s a price we’ll both have to pay,” Sienna said quietly.
Oliver hung his head. “I’m sorry I lied.”
“Oh, Olly.” Tears in her eyes, Sienna put her arms around him and hugged him tightly. “I’m sorry, too. We both should have done better.”
“I’ll finish grade twelve,” Oliver said, his voice muffled in her hair. “But I don’t want to be a doctor.”
Sienna drew back and wiped her eyes. “How about a veterinarian?”
Oliver sighed with exaggerated patience. “No, Mum.”
“Okay, okay. There’s lots of time to decide.”
WHERE IS STEVE? Jack glanced at his watch. His father had sounded eager to come back to the Shed and he’d promised he’d be there bright and early.
The radio was playing in the background, Ralph was operating an electric drill and Brett, one of the new guys, was using the belt sander on a plank of ironbark timber. Ryan, another newbie, stirred a big tin of weatherproof stain.
Noise was good. It blocked out the annoying voice in Jack’s head that tried to tell him Sienna was right—success was trying your best.
Bullshit. Success was enjoying what you do. If he wanted to spend his time playing golf and kayaking and could finance his lifestyle through investments on the proceeds of his previous life, then who was she to complain? He’d restarted the Men’s Shed. What more did she want?
“Hey, Jack,” a familiar voice called from the door.
“Paul! Good to see you, mate.” He gave Paul’s suit and tie the once-over. “I’m guessing you didn’t come by for your old job as a bicycle grease monkey.”
“No, I’ve got a position as a planner with parks and recreation.”
“Sienna mentioned you had a government job. I knew you wouldn’t be out of work for long.” Jack threw down his screwdriver. “Want a coffee? Jean brought over a chocolate cake.”
“Sorry, can’t stay.” Paul greeted Ralph and nodded to Brett and Ryan. “I’ve got a job for the Shed, if you’re interested. The council is replacing picnic benches in all the parks in the shire. We need twenty-eight new benches. Think you can handle it?”
“You bet!” Jack said, surprised and pleased. “Thanks, mate. Right now we’re building picnic tables on spec but that can be put on hold. When do you want the benches?”
Paul gave him an information sheet on the specs of the project. “It was supposed to go out to tender, so some local contractors won’t be happy about losing out on the job. But the committee unanimously agreed that the Men’s Shed deserved a one-off boost to help get it going. Can you get the costings to me by next Tuesday, when the committee meets again?”
“Sure thing. We’ll need more men, but that shouldn’t be a problem. I’m getting a lot of calls from guys interested in joining.”
Paul glanced around the shed. “Bob didn’t come back?”
“He and his wife opened a stall in Red Hill Market for their kites. They’re doing okay.”
“How’s Sienna?”
“I, uh, haven’t seen her for a while.”
“Excuse me, Jack?” Ryan said. “There’s a man here asking for you.”
Jack turned and saw Steve outlined in the doorway, Smedley at his feet. “Dad! You finally made it. Hey, guys, this is my father, Steve.”
Jack’s grin faded quickly. Steve was gripping the door frame, his heavy belly sagging. His sparse gray hair stood up in wispy tufts and perspiration beaded on his forehead.
“Dad?” Jack strode across to place a hand on his shoulder and peer into the older man’s face. “You all right, mate? You don’t look well.”
“I’m fine.” Steve’s watery hazel eyes blinked behind his steel-framed glasses. He lifted a shaky hand to wave away Jack’s concern. “I’m just a little dizzy. I’ll be all right if I sit down for a minute.”
Brett and Ryan stopped work and watched uncertainly.
“Can I do anything?” Paul asked, worried.
“No, but thanks,” Jack said. “I’ll get back to you on the costings.”
“Okay.” Paul gripped Steve’s shoulder. “Take it easy, okay?” Then he left the workshop.
Jack guided his father over to a chair at the kitchen table. His father had shaved badly this morning, leaving behind patches of gray stubble. “Are you sick? Should I call Sienna?”
“No, no. I’m not sick,” he insisted, laboring for breath. “Just, I walked here. And I haven’t eaten yet today. That’s why I’m light-headed.” Steve rubbed his gnarled knuckles across his pants. His gaze drifted past Jack and settled on the chocolate cake.
“Would you like a piece?” Jack asked. “If you haven’t had breakfast your blood sugar’s probably low.”
“It sure looks good,” Steve said, swallowing. “A small piece couldn’t hurt.”
“I’ll get you some coffee to go with it.” Jack cut a big wedge of cake and slapped it onto a plate. “There, tuck in to that.”
Steve picked up the fork and sliced down through the moist chocolate layers. He scooped up a bite, chewed and swallowed, then followed it quickly with a second bite.
“Is something wrong with your car?” Jack asked. “I can drive you.”
“Exercise is supposed to be good for me. I was walking into the village.”
“On an empty stomach?” Jack pulled up a chair at the table, trying to figure out what was going on. “Sienna told me a while ago you were having blood tests. What was that about?”
Steve ignored the question and shoveled cake into his mouth. Smedley, nose down, searched the floor for fallen crumbs.
Jack began to drum his fingers on the Formica. Steve’s behavior wasn’t normal. He didn’t look well. His breathing was shallow and rapid and a pulse throbbed visibly in his throat.
Steve held out his empty plate. “More.”
“Are you sure that’s smart?” Jack asked. “I’ll cook you a proper breakfast—porridge, eggs, toast, whatever you like.”
Steve blinked and squinted, rubbing at his eyes. “This’ll do.” He reached for the cake plate and pulled it across the table toward him. And kept pulling…
“Dad!” Ja
ck jumped up.
The plate slid right off the table and crashed to the concrete floor. “Sorry. I thought…” He rubbed at his eyes again. “Peepers…bit blurry.”
The other men started forward, but Jack held up a hand. Inside his head, alarm bells were clanging. Steve was sweating profusely now and his skin was a sickly shade of white. “I’m calling Sienna.”
“She’ll be mad at me.”
“Join the club,” Jack said, then added, “Why should she be mad at you?”
“Those blood tests. Tell her I’m on my way.”
“Blood tests for…?”
“Di’betes.”
Hell. Jack went cold all over. “What have you been eating since Mum’s been away?”
“Cookies, mostly. Lotta ice cream.”
Without fuss Jack got up and took Steve’s arm, exerting a firm upward pressure. Shards of crockery crunched underfoot as he guided his father, protesting, to the door. “Stow the complaints, mate. I’m taking you straight to the hospital.”
“What about Smedley?” Steve said. He stumbled over the doorstep. “I can’t leave Smedley alone.”
“Don’t worry about your dog,” Jack said, his fear rising. “I’ll look after him.”
BEV POKED HER HEAD INSIDE Sienna’s office door. “The hospital just rang. Steve Thatcher is in E.R. He’s in a diabetic coma.”
Sienna stood up so suddenly that her Swiss ball
bounced once and rolled away. “What’s my schedule like this morning? Can we juggle anyone?”
“You’ve got Mrs. Bannister at 10:40, but she just called to say she’ll be delayed half an hour. Timmy Robinson’s here. Natalie could squeeze him in. But you’ll have to get back for Mrs. Rothwell. The results of her biopsy are in and I’m sure she’ll want to hear the news from you.”
Sienna snatched her purse out of a drawer. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Fifteen minutes later she pulled into the hospital parking lot, grabbed her M.D. tag and ran into the E.R. “Dr. Sienna Maxwell,” she informed the blond nurse in reception. “Steve Thatcher is my patient. Where can I find him?”
“Through those doors, down the corridor and second room on your left.”
