Beginnings

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  Beth started to suggest they turn on the television but remembered in time the inappropriateness of the idea. She sat back in the two-person settee she’d occupied earlier with her grandmother and picked up the magazine from the small table tucked in the corner.

  Just as she placed the magazine in her lap, Henry spun and faced her. “I’m tired of sitting. Do you want to take a walk?”

  Beth set the magazine aside, rising. “What if the doctor comes looking for us?”

  Henry chewed the inside of his lower lip for a moment. “We can stop by the nurses’ station and tell someone we’re out in the garden area. I could use some fresh air.” He pinched his nose, his dark eyes twinkling.

  Beth couldn’t help it. She laughed. “I couldn’t agree more.”

  Her purse strap looped over her shoulder, she walked with Henry to the nurses’ station, and he informed the woman on duty where they could be located. Then, his wide palm resting gently between her shoulder blades, he guided her to the elevator and, once on the first floor, to glass doors that led into a grassy area surrounded by towering buildings.

  A concrete bench invited one to relax, but Henry passed it, instead ushering Beth along the sidewalk. Although dusk had fallen, the area was well lit with light from the buildings’ windows, as well as lampposts standing sentinel all along the sidewalk. Beth inhaled deeply, enjoying the tangy scent of freshly cut grass. The antiseptic taste that had lingered on the back of her tongue all day washed away, and she sighed, lifting her face to the brief expanse of pinkish sky glimpsed overhead between the towers.

  “I’m glad you came.” Henry’s deep, quiet voice fit the peacefulness of the surroundings.

  “Me, too.” Beth looked at her feet, matching her stride to his. “The babies ... wow. They’re amazing. So small but so perfect.” She looked into Henry’s face. “Dori even has little stubby eyelashes already. I think she’s going to be a beauty.”

  Henry’s lips curved into a lopsided, questioning grin. “Dori?”

  Heat filled Beth’s face, but she didn’t look away. “Yes. Dorothea ... well, it’s pretty, but it’s too much name right now. So I’ve been thinking of her as Dori.”

  “I see.”

  They reached the turn in the sidewalk, and Beth slowed her steps so Henry could make the outside curve without leaving her side. She searched his face for any sign of disapproval. “Do you mind?”

  “Of course not. I kind of like it.” He clasped his hands behind his back and pursed his lips as if in deep thought. “What about Theodore? Did you shorten his name, too?”

  “Mmm-hmm. Teddy.”

  “Teddy?”

  Beth laughed at his doubtful expression. “Yes, Teddy. Someone small and cuddly and warm.”

  Henry tipped his head to the side. “I suppose that’s okay. For now. But it’s not something I’d want attached to him at, say, sixteen.”

  “I agree. But Theodore ... it’s pretty stuffy for an infant.”

  Henry chuckled. “Point taken.”

  They walked on in silence until they’d made a full circle. Henry paused, looking toward the double doors that led back inside.

  Beth, sensing his thoughts, said, “I’m not ready to go back in. Want to make another loop?”

  Henry’s smile expressed his answer, and once more they set out. Beth glanced over her shoulder at the doors and blew out a noisy breath. “I keep wishing somebody would chase us down and tell us something.”

  “I know.” Henry raised his hand to grip her shoulder for a moment. “But your mother is in good hands. We have to trust.” He lowered his hand and sent her a worried look. “But you probably need to get back. You have that window to finish.”

  Several faces paraded through Beth’s mind: Sean’s, Andrew’s, Catherine’s and Livvy’s, her grandfather’s, the workers’, people who depended on her to follow through on her plans. Plans that depended on the signing of the contract with McCauley. Without intending to, she grimaced. She came to a stop.

  “Henry, I’m torn. I want to be here with you and Mom and the babies, but I’m worried about what will happen if I don’t get the McCauley window done. I don’t want to let anyone down.”

  “If you need to go, your mother will understand. She knows how much the studio means to you,” Henry said, his voice warm and assuring.

  Beth knew Mom would understand. Mom had always put Beth first. And Beth had always allowed Mom to take second place, never considering her mother might have needs and wants that weren’t addressed. But over the past year and half, Beth had tried to change her selfish mind-set. Right now, however, she didn’t know which was less selfish: allowing the contract to slip away, which meant hurting a number of people she’d come to care about, or honoring the deadline, which meant leaving Henry to handle this heartache without her support.

  She opened her mouth, prepared to ask Henry what he would do if it were his decision. A siren blasted, making conversation impossible. Even before the siren faded into the distance, a man and woman charged from one of the other buildings and immediately broke into a fierce argument about who would get Milt’s matching sofa and loveseat.

  Henry swallowed and glanced down at Beth, his brows raised in silent query. She gave a brisk nod, and the two of them crossed the center of the courtyard, right across the grass, and ducked back into Building Three.

  Beth decided she’d go back to the little waiting room that had been assigned to the family and talk to Henry there, where they’d have more privacy. They rode the elevator to the third floor without speaking. The silver doors slid open, and Henry gestured her through. As they turned toward the waiting room, a nurse hurried up to them.

  “Mr. Braun, Dr. Mulligan needs to see you.”

  Henry stopped, and his hand reached outward, as if in need of support. Beth clasped it. He squeezed her fingers as he asked in a surprisingly calm tone, “Whom does it concern: my wife or my children?”

  The nurse spun around, beckoning them to follow with a glance over her shoulder. “Your wife.”

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Andrew heard the back door open, and he set aside the book he’d been reading and rose. His parents’ voices pulled him to the kitchen, where he found them beside the door engaged in quiet conversation.

  “How is Aunt Marie?” He interrupted them to ask the question, but he’d been waiting for hours for word. Courtesy didn’t seem as important as being informed.

  His father turned to him, slipping off his hat. “Has your uncle called?”

  Andrew shook his head. “No one’s called. What’s going on?”

  Briefly, his father recounted the details of Marie’s surgery to deliver the babies, the possible consequences of the syndrome that created the need for early delivery, and what they knew of the babies’ conditions.

  Andrew drew in a slow breath. “Will they be okay?”

  “We don’t know yet.” His mother bore dark circles beneath her eyes. “But Henry said he would call with any news. So we’ll have to wait.”

  Andrew followed his parents as they moved toward their bedroom. “What about Beth? Did she come back, too?”

  “She was still at the hospital when we left.” His father paused at the bedroom door, while his mother went on in and sat on the bed, her shoulders slumped. “I think she plans to stay there with Henry.”

  “For how long?” Andrew’s heart caught. If it were only for tonight—if she planned to be back midday tomorrow, or even the morning after that—then if they worked together, maybe they could still finish the window.

  Dad shrugged, his face twisting in a displeased scowl. “I don’t know, Andrew. She didn’t say.”

  Andrew wanted to ask other questions, but his father’s foul mood stifled them. “Get some rest,” he said, “and I’ll listen for the telephone.”

  “Thank you,” his mother called.

  Dad closed the door.

  Andrew moved slowly back to the front room, sat down with his elbows on his knees, and stared unseeingly at t
he patch of carpet between his feet. Surely she would come back. They were so close to being finished. Surely she wouldn’t let the opportunity go when only a few dozen shapes of glass stood between a successful launch of a fully operating studio, or continuing to do craft fairs until another opportunity came along. If it ever came along.

  “Andrew?”

  He jumped and sat up.

  Dad stood in the opening of the hallway. “Your mother is worried about Beth’s cat. It hasn’t been attended to all day.”

  Rising, Andrew said, “She keeps a key under the mat on the back porch, just like her great-aunt always did. I could go over and check on it.”

  Dad released a grunt of frustration. “Please do. Your mother won’t rest until she knows the poor animal is all right.”

  Andrew was already moving toward the back door. “Tell Mom not to worry. I’ll take care of Winky.” As he passed his father, he added, “Get some sleep. You look like you need it.”

  Dad nodded, rubbing his hand over his whiskery cheek. “Yes. Thanks, son.”

  Andrew headed out the back door. Less than ten minutes later, he let himself into the utility porch of Beth’s bungalow. Winky wrapped himself around his ankles before he could get the back door closed. The cat’s yowls pierced Andrew’s eardrums.

  “Hey, hey,” he chided, slapping the light switch and scooping up the cat in one smooth motion, “stop yelling. I’m here now.”

  Winky continued to emit strangled mewls between loud purrs as he bumped his head on the underside of Andrew’s chin and worked his paws against Andrew’s shirt front.

  “You sure know how to make a guy feel welcome.” Andrew held the cat for several minutes, stroking his fur. Finally, the little critter struggled to get down.

  Winky headed for the kitchen, his tail straight in the air, yelping out a series of meows Andrew interpreted as a command to follow. He found the cat weaving back and forth between the stove and his empty pet dish, which had been turned onto its side.

  “Sure, I’ll feed you,” he said, picking up the dish. “But where does Beth keep your food?” He spent a few frustrating minutes opening every cupboard door in the kitchen, all without success. Winky’s meows became more insistent, and Andrew muttered soothing words while he considered where else cat food might be kept.

  Suddenly he slapped his forehead. “Oh, the basement!”

  Winky trotted along as he headed back through the utility porch to the basement door. Just inside the door, on the second step, waited a half-full bag of dry cat food. Andrew grabbed it and had to high step his way back to the kitchen to avoid Winky, who darted in and out between his feet in eagerness.

  Andrew filled the dish on the counter, thinking it would keep Winky out of his way, but to his surprise the cat leaped up beside the bowl and stuck his head under the flow of small brown squares, sending a flurry of cat food across the countertop and floor.

  “Winky!” He pushed the cat to the floor, but before he could even take a breath, Winky was back on the counter, in his way again. Finally, out of desperation, he closed the cat in the bathroom while he finished filling the food dish and cleaned up the mess on the floor. Winky’s indignant yowls spurred him to work quickly. Once released, the cat pattered right to the bowl and buried his face in Kitty Krunchies.

  While Winky ate, Andrew wandered to the front room, scanning for any messes the cat might have made while Beth was away. Other than a rug all askew by the front door and a tennis shoe dragged beneath the dining room table, it appeared the cat had behaved pretty well. As he turned to head back to the kitchen, his gaze fell on Beth’s cell phone, which lay on the desk in the corner of the dining room.

  A little red light next to the stubby antenna flashed on and off. Curious, he moved to the desk and touched the slim silver phone with one finger. What did the flashing light mean—that the phone was going dead or that someone was calling? Uncertain what to do, he simply stared, watching the repeated blinks until he realized he was becoming mesmerized.

  Shifting his gaze, he encountered the desk telephone. A small red button beneath the word “ringer” glowed as brightly as the flashing light on the cell phone. He touched the button and the color changed to green. He raised his eyebrows, realizing he must have turned it on. He reached to punch it back to off when, ri–i–ing! He jumped, jerking his hand away from the offending noise.

  Ri–i–ing!

  Should he answer it? It might be Henry. But no, Beth was with Henry. He had no need to call her.

  Ri–i–ing!

  Maybe it was Dad, calling to find out what was keeping him. He’d better hurry on home.

  Ri–i–ing!

  He came to a halt. Dad would probably worry more if Andrew didn’t answer, since he’d said this was where he would be.

  Ri–i–ing!

  No, he should just ignore it and go home. Andrew took two steps toward the kitchen, but then he whirled back and snatched the receiver from the cradle. “Hello?”

  A dial tone greeted him. He’d waited too long. With a muffled groan, he slammed the receiver back in place. A glance in the kitchen showed Winky still hunkered over his food dish. Obviously the cat would need attention again in the morning, but for now Andrew had better go home.

  While the cat was occupied, he slipped out the back door.

  ***

  Sean whirled his chair away from the desk and rose, heading for the hallway. If he remained in his office, he’d only continue trying to call Beth. And she obviously wasn’t able—or willing—to answer.

  He stopped in the kitchen to remove a bottle of carbonated water from the refrigerator, then passed into the small family room that had been added on to the back of the house. Settling into his recliner, he propped up the footrest and pointed the remote at the large-screen television that filled the middle of the entertainment center on the opposite wall. A detective show of some kind exploded onto the screen. He sipped his fizzy water and watched.

  Having come in midway through the program, much of the storyline didn’t make sense, but it filled the time. He remained in the recliner until the water bottle was empty, the backyard was fully dark, and the ten o’clock news came on. Only then did he shut off the TV, slam down the footrest, and head for his bedroom.

  As he passed his office, he felt the urge to go in and try Beth’s number one more time. But unwilling to face another series of unanswered rings, he pushed himself past the door.

  He lay beneath the solid blue sheet on his bed and stared at the shadowed ceiling, trying not to envision unpleasant scenarios that would keep Beth from having access to her telephone. Closing his eyes, he prayed for God to shut down the images that only created needless worry. He prayed for Beth to be safe, wherever she was. And he asked, pleaded, that he would be able to reach her tomorrow.

  ***

  Beth, her legs feeling like rubber, made it to the corner to the chair she’d occupied earlier, and collapsed. She covered her face with her hands, determined to keep dammed the tears that pressed behind her lids. All through the doctor’s explanation, the visit to her mother’s room, and the long walk down the hallway, she had maintained a calm facade. But now in the privacy of the waiting room, her resolve faded. With a broken sob, the tears broke loose in a torrent that doubled her forward and convulsed her shoulders in uncontrolled heaves.

  In moments, strong arms surrounded her, pulling her firmly against a solid shoulder. Henry. For a moment, she clung, welcoming the consoling embrace, but then she realized how selfish she was being. She shouldn’t expect him to offer comfort when he was so in need of it himself. She pushed against his chest even as she continued to sob, and his arms loosened, allowing her to pull free.

  Crunching into the corner of the vinyl-covered settee, she tried, unsuccessfully, to bring her weeping under control.

  “Beth, Beth, shh now...” The low-toned voice filtered through Beth’s sobs. “Come here. Let’s pray together. You’ll feel better.”

  “I ... I can’t!” Beth h
eard the recalcitrant note in her own voice, but she couldn’t seem to stop it. How could she possibly find a way to convey the depth of her concern and worry? Her prayers would be senseless groaning.

  “Beth, please, you’re breaking my heart.”

  The words sounded strangled, and Beth shifted to meet Henry’s gaze. His eyes, shimmering with empathetic tears, brought another rush of tears to her own. With a little cry, she forgot her resolve not to be selfish and threw herself into his arms. Her face buried against his chest, she choked out, “I’m just s–so scared, Henry. Mom’s ... Mom’s all I’ve got. W–what if...”

  His chin pressed against her head, the day’s growth of whiskers catching her hair. “Your mother will be fine. The doctor didn’t say we would lose her, did he?”

  Snuffling, she admitted, “No, but ... but he said she was w–weak from the babies’ delivery, and that a second surgery could b–be risky.” Beth pictured her mother on the hospital bed, her face nearly as white as the pillowcase beneath her head. The tousled curls scattered across the pillow took Beth by surprise. How long had it been since she’d seen Mom’s hair free of her cap? Mom had looked young, fragile, defenseless.

  “Risky, yes.” His sigh stirred the fine strands of hair that had slipped loose of her ponytail. “But I trust she’ll come through the surgery. She’s a strong woman, and she’s in good hands—the best hands, the nurse said, in all of Kansas. We must trust, Beth.”

  “It–it’s so hard.” She whispered the words against Henry’s front, wishing they weren’t true.

  His soft chuckle vibrated against her ear. “Ah, Beth, if trust were easy, it wouldn’t be worth having.” Gently, he pushed her away and handed her a handkerchief from his shirt pocket. While she dried her eyes, he added, “And something else. Don’t ever think your mother is all you have.”

  He paused for a moment, pulling his upper lip between his teeth and looking steadily into her eyes. She sensed he was gathering courage, and she held her breath, wondering what he might say.