Family Be Mine

by Tracy Kelleher

  That was the great thing about dogs, she realized. The world could be falling apart, but they were always eager to join in. She rested her hand on the railing and was about to begin what seemed like a very long climb when she stopped. “Hunt?” she called out.

  He had wandered over to the couch and picked up a section of the newspaper. He looked up in response to her voice.

  “I thought you should know. I decided to let Zach into the baby’s life even though he has no legal rights. I called him and told him this afternoon. I’m still not sure it’s the right thing, but I’m willing to do it—for the baby. So, you won.”

  He dropped the paper on the coffee table. “It was never a question of winning.”

  “Okay, whatever. I just—just—wanted to say that you were right, but that still doesn’t mean I don’t resent the way you handled the situation.”

  “You would have talked to Zach any other way?”

  She worked her lower lip. “Probably not, but I still don’t appreciate being manipulated.” She put a foot on the first riser, but halted. “I called my mother. She agrees with you, if it makes you feel any better.”

  “The real question is, do you?”

  “I’M SO GLAD TO SEE YOU all here again tonight,” the Lamaze instructor said in a cheery, energetic voice.

  “Sarah, I see you brought a new partner.”

  Sarah hugged her pillow. “This is Hunt. He’s helping me out while Katarina is away this week.” She pulled him down next to her on the carpeted floor.

  “Hunt. Nice to see you. I’m Eliza, and we’re delighted you’ve come.”

  Hunt looked around stealthily. Some of the couples he recognized from the water aerobics class. He wasn’t sure since they had their clothes on. He leaned toward Sarah. “Was I supposed to bring a pillow, too?” She had been less than communicative the whole way over, mumbling only a few clipped responses.

  “Only the moms-to-be bring pillows like the ones they plan to bring to the hospital,” she said, and shushed him as Eliza launched into her spiel.

  “Tonight, we’ll practice our breathing techniques and relaxation exercises some more, but first I thought I’d play this short DVD. It shows actual pictures of women and their partners during labor and giving birth. It includes both vaginal and Caesarean births and discusses possible complications—not that we want that or anticipate any problems, but so that we can be prepared in case they may occur. Before I start it, though, I thought I’d do show-and-tell.”

  She reached into a totebag on the chair behind the desk. “Not many doctors perform deliveries with forceps anymore, but let me show you what they look like.” She held up what looked like giant salad tongs.

  Hunt rested his head in his hand.

  “Squeamish?” Sarah asked under her breath.

  He shook his head. The headache was getting worse despite the Tylenol. It was a constant piercing pain in the back of his head.

  “I assume all of you have been doing your Kegel exercises to develop your pelvic floor muscles to help prevent tears and possible episiotomies.” Eliza mimicked the contractions with her fingers. “But in case you and your physician decide an episiotomy is necessary, I thought I’d show you what the knife looks like.”

  Hunt rubbed his ear and moaned softly.

  Sarah laughed under her breath. “My hero. Wait till you see the Caesarean!”

  “Katarina owes me.”

  THE NEXT MORNING Hunt dragged himself out of bed only after Fred sat on him and began licking his hands. He’d had a fitful night’s sleep at best, getting up repeatedly to take more Tylenol but to no effect. The ache in his head, if anything, was worse than ever.

  “Okay, buddy,” he said, swinging his legs to the side. A surge of pain almost caused him to black out. He blinked and breathed in slowly. Maybe with some coffee, he’d feel more human.

  He glanced at the clock and swore. Nine o’clock. Sarah must be having fits because she was sure to be late to the office, even if he drove her. He stood up, wobbly on his feet. It was going to be interesting driving if this headache didn’t let up. Fred danced around his feet, and he tried to concentrate on not tripping over the silly mutt.

  Barefoot, wearing sweatpants and an old Grantham University T-shirt, he padded down the stairs, ready to fend off her wrath. Only to find silence.

  And a tin of chocolate chip cookies. Another of lemon squares. And an apple pie covered in plastic wrap.

  A note was propped up against the pie.

  Hunt—I decided to walk to work on my own. I just need a little more space to myself. Eat as much as you want. I certainly don’t need the calories. S.P.S. I’ve already fed and walked Fred. Don’t let the little monster try to trick you into more food.

  Hunt surveyed the baked goods. She must have been up half the night. The lemon bars would normally be the most tempting, but the thought of moving his jaw…

  Fred barked.

  Hunt felt his cheek. It was warm. No, more than warm. Hot. He moved his hand around. His jaw was tender to the touch. So was his ear. It was swollen and felt like it was on fire. He moved his fingers downward. The lymph node below his ear was enlarged.

  Fred barked more loudly.

  Hunt ignored it and headed for the powder room down the hall. The dog followed, nipping at the baggy material of Hunt’s sweatpants.

  “Quit it, Fred,” Hunt yelled. He never yelled. But then he’d never felt like this before. He pushed open the bathroom door and went to the mirrored medicine cabinet over the sink. He leaned in close. The whole left side of his face was swollen to the size of a melon. His ear was grotesquely stretched out of shape and an angry red.

  His first thought was cancer. That it had come back.

  He gripped the edge of the sink. The pain was becoming blinding.

  “Breathe out, slowly,” he told himself out loud. “See, Lamaze class can come in handy after all,” he said, but the joke fell flat. He continued to think out loud. “More than likely, it’s…ah…some kind of reaction to a bug bite or something like that.” He exhaled. “There’s no reason to think it’s cancer when I was perfectly clean at my last checkup only a few weeks ago.”

  He turned, still holding the sink, and found Fred lying down, his face between his paws, looking at him with a worried expression. “It’s okay, Fred buddy. I’m going to take care of the situation. Don’t worry.” He pressed his hand at the back of his head where the pain was centered.

  My phone. Where the hell is my phone? He closed his eyes and concentrated. That’s right, he had left it on the coffee table last night after coming in from class.

  He staggered into the living room, grabbed the phone and flopped on the couch. Fred jumped up next to him, and for once, Hunt didn’t shoo him off. Instead, he let the dog curl up next to him and rubbed his warm fur as he worked his phone to find his contact list. He dialed the obvious choice.

  After only one ring, Ben answered. “What’s up, bro?”

  “I was wondering if you could do me a favor?” Hunt closed his eyes and rocked methodically back and forth.

  “What kind of favor? We’re at this B and B in Lenox, Massachusetts, and unless you want some of these fancy curtains they sell in the gift shop, I’m not much good to you.”

  “That’s right. I forgot. You’re making the grand college tour.” Hunt tried to concentrate. “Listen, you wouldn’t happen to have Katarina’s grandmother’s phone number, would you?”

  “Interested in getting some free homemade cakes, are you?”

  Ben thought of the mounds of carbohydrates and butter sitting on the counter. “No, dessert is not something I lack at the moment. Just a small favor from someone nearby.”

  “Okay, wait a minute. I’ll just ask Katarina. She’s on her phone.”

  Hunt waited.

  “Hunt, you still there?” Ben asked. “Here’s Lena’s home number, but Katarina says she might already be out playing tennis. Did you want her cell, too?”

  “Just give me the home num
ber. I wouldn’t want to interrupt her game. Meanwhile, enjoy the potpourri for me.” Hunt hung up quickly and dialed Lena’s number.

  The answering machine picked up after six rings, and Hunt heard Lena’s lyrical Eastern European accent on the recorded message.

  Hunt waited for the beep. “Mrs. Zemanova, Lena—” Hunt wet his lips, trying to decide how best to put this without raising any alarms. He certainly didn’t want the world descending on him, worrying about something that was probably no big deal.

  “Lena, it’s Hunt Phox,” he continued. “I have to be somewhere unexpectedly this morning, and I was wondering if you could do me a favor—come walk my dog, Fred, at noon? His leash is in the foyer, on the side table by the door, and there’s a bag of treats in the drawer. He’ll come if you just hold one out to him. The code for the front door is as follows.” He rattled off the numbers.

  “If for some reason you can’t make it, don’t worry. I’ll try Rufus next. He already knows Fred. If I’m held up any later than this morning, though, I may give you another call about feeding him. Thanks.”

  Hunt hung up and scrolled through his contact list for Rufus.

  Rufus picked up right away, and Hunt explained his predicament.

  “No problem, Hunt. I was about to leave for my physio appointment with Sarah, as a matter of fact. I’m running late as it is, but this way I can just use you as an excuse.”

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to hold you up any further. Forget about coming over. I’ll just give someone else a call. And no need to mention anything to her. She’s got enough on her plate as it is. Thanks.” Hunt rang off and let his hand fall to his lap. So much for asking Rufus to drive him to the emergency room. He was running out of ideas.

  That left his mother, but if past experience were any guide, she didn’t deal well with hospitals when it came to actual sickness. He unconsciously patted and stroked the dog.

  And then it came to him. Hunt lifted his arm and scanned the contact list again, searching for the latest entry. When he reached it, he pressed the name and heard a response.

  Hunt swallowed. “Zach. I need a favor.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  “SO HOW’S THE TRIP? ARE YOU ready to abandon your consulting business and New Jersey for the Berkshires and making goat cheese and knitting socks, or whatever people do up in New England?” Sarah asked Katarina.

  Sarah adjusted the phone at her ear and leaned back in her office chair, glancing at her watch. It was a little after nine o’clock, and Rufus was running late. She’d make sure to give him grief.

  Earlier, she’d walked to work by herself. She hadn’t bothered to knock on Hunt’s bedroom door when she went down to the kitchen. Just as well, since she didn’t feel like justifying her behavior. She knew he would tell her it was foolish. But Sarah had needed to get out on her own, clear her mind, recharge her soul.

  She wanted to hate Hunt for forcing her to confront her demons, but in the light of a new day, and in the solitude of a brisk walk on a fall morning, she couldn’t. Because it turned out that her demons really weren’t so demonic.

  What she had needed to face was her own expectations, her own insecurities, and her own sense of self-worth. In the end, she had gone running to Mommy. No, that wasn’t true. She had called for sympathy and for unqualified love. But she had also called for reassurance from one individual to another that even though life was sometimes messy, it would get better.

  At least until the next bout of messiness.

  So where did Hunt fit into all this? Was he the problem or was he the answer?

  “Remind me never to book a B and B again,” Katarina went on, oblivious to the big thoughts bumping around in Sarah’s brain. “Ben’s just too big. Whichever way he turns there’s some knickknack waiting for him to run into, and I can’t tell you how many times he’s hit his head on the crossbeams.”

  Sarah heard a ringing in the background and what sounded like Ben answering another phone.

  “And all the froufrou—it’s definitely upping his level of surliness,” Katarina continued. “Wait a minute. Ben’s trying to get my attention.”

  Sarah fiddled with her cup of herbal tea and wished she had packed some of the chocolate cookies she’d baked during the night.

  “Sorry about that.” Katarina was back. “That’s Hunt calling Ben on his cell. He asked for Babicka’s phone number. Do you have any idea why he’d want it?”

  “Not really. We’ve had a little excitement, Hunt and I, but nothing to bother her with.”

  “The baby? Are you all right?”

  “Fine. We’re all fine.” Sarah waved her hand. “It’s slightly complicated. I’ll tell you about it when you get back. In the meantime, enjoy yourself. Don’t think about any of us.”

  “I’ll try not to, though it’s hard with everyone calling all the time.”

  “I don’t call all the time!” Sarah protested.

  “No, I don’t mean you. I guess I was speaking of my grandmother. Listen, you’ve got to hear the latest bombshell. She called me last night wanting to know what I thought about Wanda moving in with her.”

  “Wanda? Move in with your grandmother? I know they’re good friends, but…”

  “She tells me it would be her personal version of an assisted-living facility. The two of them would pool their money and help each other out. That way, even on fixed incomes, they’d both have more flexibility. Naturally, I said Ben and I would be glad to help out if it was just a question of money, but she rejected that immediately. To make a long story short, I promised to get together with the two of them when I get back and run the numbers.”

  Sarah heard some loud swearing in the background.

  “Oops! I got to go,” Katarina said quickly. “Ben just managed to get a shirt button caught on a curtain tieback.”

  JULIE STRODE THROUGH the Emergency Room. She turned her head from side to side, acknowledging the nurses at the station, the huddle of medical students trailing the E.R. docs, and the patients filling the rooms and hallway gurneys. Business was certainly brisk, especially for a Tuesday.

  She was the obstetrician on call from noon to midnight, and since there were no immediate emergencies, her first stop was the cafeteria followed by sleep. She’d been up the night before with a protracted delivery, and after seeing several patients early in the morning, she was ready for some shut-eye.

  With a purposeful, long gait, she traversed the E.R. and was close to the double doors that led to the rest of the hospital when a well-worn Docksider boat shoe caught her attention—plus the fact that it was attached to a long, male leg in loose sweatpants. The man’s face was hidden behind a pillow so she couldn’t tell who it was. But the pillow was definitely familiar. It was one Julie had needlepointed and given to Sarah.

  “Hunt? Hunt Phox?” She stopped next to the gurney he was lying on in the hallway. When the E.R. was overflowing, they put patients wherever there was space.

  She placed a hand gently on his knee. “Hunt? Is that you?”

  Hunt slowly removed the pillow, and Julie immediately saw the extreme redness and swelling. She also recognized the obvious pain. She leaned closer. “What’s going on?” she asked in a well-schooled, calm voice.

  Hunt swallowed. “It seems I’ve got an infection. I thought I had a reaction to a bug bite on my face, but they found a scratch on my ear, probably one of the dogs in the obedience class got me by accident. Anyway, it looks like it’s gotten infected—cellu—cellu—something.” He closed the eye on the side of his head that was grossly distorted.

  “Cellulitis,” Julie clarified. “You told them about the Hodgkin’s and that your immune system is suppressed after chemo, right?”

  “Yeah, first thing. That seemed to get their attention.” Hunt shifted to face her. “I’m supposed to be getting some morphine for the pain, and I think they’re going to start an antibiotic drip. A nurse already put in a line.” He raised his arm to show her. “One of the doctor’s mentioned something abou
t a CATscan of my head and neck—just to be on the safe side.”

  “Who’s seen you? The E.R. doctor?”

  “Yeah, a resident. An ear, nose and throat person is supposed to be coming to look me over, too.” Hunt winced with pain.

  “Did you call your oncologist?” she asked.

  “I will when I find out what’s going on. Besides, he’s in New York,” he said. Hunt brought the pillow up next to his head again and pressed it against his ear. “Until they get me the morphine, this helps. Let me tell you. I’ve become a big fan of your needlepoint.”

  “How long have you been waiting?”

  “I got here about nine-thirty.”

  She glanced up at the wall clock. It was almost eleven forty-five. “What the hell!”

  Hunt waved his hand. “It seems there was a car wreck involving a van of nuns and a semi. That’s not a bad joke, but the actual truth. Apparently, I’m way down on the list.”

  “Not on my list.” Julie marched off to the nurses’ desk.

  Less than a minute later a young nurse came over and injected the morphine and hooked up an IV bottle.

  Julie thanked her. She turned to Hunt. “How you feeling now? Any more pain?”

  “Pain? What pain? Wow! This stuff is great! A sudden rush to the extremities, then total La La Land.”

  Julie patted him on the arm. “We aim to please. When did the symptoms start, anyway?”

  He gave her a brief rundown of the headaches, the swelling and redness, and the excruciating pain.

  She nodded. “Listen, I’ve got some other things to do, but I promise to check in on you later. Who’s your doctor in New York, anyway? I don’t think I ever got the name.”

  He fumbled for his cell phone in the side pocket of his sweats. “His name’s Marvin Zimmerli. Unfortunately, I can’t wear my glasses with all this swelling, so maybe you can find it in the Contact list.”

  “Sure, no problem.” She deftly scrolled through his phone, and entered it into her own. She handed it back. “Get some sleep, lover boy, while you can before they start poking and prodding you some more. Let me tell you—the med students are going to lo-o-ove your case.”