by Lane Hart
“Where’s Triple H?” Whitney asks.
“Bedroom. And stop calling her that,” I warn her sternly as I follow her down the hallway.
“Why? Hippos are cute,” she says right as we step into the bedroom.
“I need help,” Abby looks up and tells us, a stricken look on her face that makes my chest tighten with panic. “I can’t put my socks or shoes on.”
I blow out a breath in relief while Whitney laughs at her sister’s predicament.
“It’s not funny,” Abby says with a serious scowl.
“It sort of is,” Whitney tells her while motioning for her to lie down. She grabs a sock and slips it over Abby’s raised foot, before doing the same with the other. The next problem comes as Abby screeches when Whitney tries to cram her swollen feet into tennis shoes.
“Ow, ow, ow. Stop it, you bitch!” Abby yells, making Whitney and I both laugh.
“How about flip flops? You got some of those, right?” I suggest.
“It’s November! I can’t wear flip flops in November!” Abby argues, but then five minutes later she submits and leaves the house in a pair. That’s when I finally call in my accomplice and give her the all clear.
…
Abby
I can barely keep my eyes open, and it feels like work to hold my head upright in the passenger seat of Whitney’s car.
“You sure you don’t want like a brownie or ice cream?” my sister asks.
“No,” I answer. “I just want to go home and go back to bed.”
I’m cranky, and the pregnancy hormones aren’t helping. I should be overjoyed to be this far along, so close to the end. But I’m too exhausted. I don’t know how much longer I can do this. Tears slip down my cheeks, and I quickly swipe them away.
“Aw, what’s wrong, sis?” Whitney asks, slowing down the car to a snail’s pace.
“Just tired,” I reply as Senn’s house, our house, comes into view. When I see him hugging a blonde woman on the front stoop, I shoot straight up in the seat I was slumping in. “What the fuck?” I exclaim.
“Uh-oh,” Whitney mutters as her car rolls to a stop and I jump out.
“Who…what…why?” I stammer as I haul my fat ass up the sidewalk, out of breath from only four steps. A sharp pain stabs me in the lower back, so powerful that I have to reach for the side of Senn’s truck to hold myself up.
“Shit! Abby, are you okay?” Senn asks when he approaches and reaches for me.
“Don’t touch me!” I snap, shoving him away. So this is why he wanted me to get out of the house. So he could have this…this woman come over. We haven’t had sex in three weeks, apparently too long for him to wait.
“Abby…”
“No! You…you were cheating on me! I’m about to explode...with your baby, and you cheated on me!” I shout through the sobs.
“What? No, no, no!” he says in a rush. “I would never…I swear. She’s a decorator, who’s working on the baby’s room. A surprise for you. Ask Whitney! She knew what I was doing!”
Hearing that explanation, I look over my shoulder at my sister, who nods in confirmation. Shit, well now I feel like a bitch.
“Abby…” Senn starts, and then his arms circle around me. “Calm down, mama bear. Please, I didn’t mean to upset you. You came back early, before Stacy could leave.”
“Stacy?” I ask against his now damp shirt.
“She’s the interior decorator. Come on in and I’ll show you,” he says when he pulls away and takes my hand. “How are you feeling? Too stressful getting out of the house?”
“I’m fine,” I lie, trying not to wince when I feel another sharp pain as we step into the house. This is it. I’m in labor. She’s coming whether I think it’s too early or not. The doctor has been giving me steroid shots to help her little lungs develop, so I hope she’s had enough time.
Senn leads me down the hall and to the last bedroom on the left, the one that he emptied out for her. He pushes the door open and motions for me to look inside.
“Oh wow,” I say with a smile as I take in the room that’s full of yellows, so bright and happy, with sunflowers and butterflies. There’s a big white tree with gray koala bears painted on the wall. The ivory crib sits in between a matching dresser and changing table. There’s also a big, plush, yellow rocker in the middle of the room and a tiny elephant rocking chair next to it. I can picture Senn sitting in it now, holding our daughter while feeding her a bottle in the middle of the night.
“Is it okay?” Senn asks from behind me.
“It’s perfect,” I tell him, turning around to wrap my arms around this neck. “She’s gonna love it. And I think we should go ahead and name her.”
“Really?” he asks, flashing me a grin when I pull away.
I nod, afraid more tears will fall if I speak. I want to know what name he’ll give her…in case…if I don’t…
“Eden?” he asks.
“Eden,” I repeat, trying it out. “Like the garden?”
“Yeah,” he answers. “Because she’s the sin that gave us our own little piece of paradise.”
“I like Eden,” I tell him, grabbing my stomach when another pain shoots through my back and tightens my belly. “And I’m pretty sure I’m in labor.”
“What? You’re having contractions? Like right now?” Senn asks, looking whiter than a sheet.
I nod, and a second later, he’s scooping me up and carrying me outside. “Let’s go,” he yells to Whitney. “Hospital, now. You’re driving.”
“Oh shit,” she says, running in her heels to the driver seat.
As soon as Senn sits me down in the backseat, I feel warmth between my legs. “Ah, Whit, I’m sorry but I think my water just broke on your leather.”
“Yes!” she exclaims as we pull away from the house. “Now maybe Daddy will buy me that new convertible.”
“Ah, Abby. That’s not water,” Senn says, looking even more freaked out. It’s hard to see over my bump to my lap.
“What do you mean?” I ask him. And when I glance up, his face wavers and the car feels like it’s spinning in circles.
“You’re bleeding. A lot. Drive faster, Whitney!” is the last thing I remember hearing Senn say before everything goes dark.
Chapter Twenty-One
Senn
“How’s she doing?” I jump to my feet and ask Abby’s doctor as soon as I see her walk through the waiting room door. When her eyes lower and she shakes her head, my heart stops beating.
“She lost a lot of blood during the C-section. Too much because her blood platelet count is extremely low. She went into hypovolemic shock and her organs started shutting down. They’re giving her blood, platelet and plasma transfusions, but…she slipped into a coma, and her condition is critical. The oncologist isn’t sure if she can even tolerate chemo at this point, but he wants to try as soon as most of the blood has been replaced. I’m so sorry.”
“Fuck,” Luke mutters from beside me, and I hear Whitney’s sniffles. I’m too paralyzed to speak or to even curse.
“The baby is doing very well. Her Apgar score is eight, which is perfectly normal. You can see her if you want. She’s in the regular nursery, not neo-natal,” the doctor says.
“What about Abby?” I ask. “Can we see her?”
“Once she’s settled and in a room, I’m sure her doctor will let you know.”
I nod and head for the hospital exit since I’m not sure how to cope with anything without using my fists. Ending up in prison tonight won’t do a damn bit of good. The first bench I come to outside, I flop down in it, holding my head that feels like it’s spinning. Abby’s in a fucking coma. What if she never wakes up again? I’d give anything to hear one of her ridiculous insults right about now or see her smile while she holds our daughter. Fuck. Did she even get to see her? God, it’s so unfair. Abby loves the baby so damn much that she would die for her, and she may not even get to see her.
That’s when I fucking lose it. I curse whatever higher power is respo
nsible for this shit. I cry for the baby who will never really understand her mother’s sacrifice. I beg for Abby to beat this shit. In fact, I try to barter with our maker, anything to save her. That’s around the time Claire finds me.
“I’m not gonna ask if you’re okay, because I know you’re not. And I’m not gonna say I’m sorry, since that’s so worthless. But can I just sit with you?” she asks.
I nod and wipe my face on my sleeve. Claire rubs a hand over my back and rests her head on my shoulder. If anyone knows how shitty this whole life and death deal is, it would be her. She’s lost a mother and a sister within just a few years. In fact, just sitting silently with her next to me, I start to feel a tiny bit less destructive, until she says, “Your daughter is beautiful.”
I nod, figuring as much if she takes after Abby.
“She has a ton of dark, curly hair that sticks straight up.”
Fuck.
“Her little lungs are strong. She was screaming her tiny head off the entire time I was in the nursery.”
“Why are you telling me this shit, Claire?” I ask.
“You should go see her.”
Shaking my head, I tell her, “Not until I see Abby.”
I’m worried that seeing the baby will only make me angry, mostly at myself, reminding me that if I hadn’t knocked Abby up, she could’ve gotten all the cancer treatment she needed. The guilt is like an enormous weight bearing down on my shoulders, and I can’t escape it. It’s threatening to crush me, because I don’t know how much more I can take. I’m killing her, the first woman I’ve ever loved, before she even gets a chance to be a mother.
“Regardless of what happens with Abby, your daughter is here and healthy. Let me just take you to see her. Don’t you at least want to see the angel you two made? The one who is giving Linc so much hell that it’s actually funny?”
“Already taking after her mama.” I cough out a laugh. “Is she really doing a number on Linc?”
“Oh yeah,” she says with a smile. “He might be changing his mind on the whole having a family idea of his.” After a few moments of internal debate, she asks, “Don’t you think Abby would want you taking care of her until she can do it herself? You’re her father. Linc and I are just her guardians in case…”
“Fine,” I cave. I do want to see her, and the mention of them raising my daughter is enough to get me moving. They only get rights to her if Abby doesn’t make it and if I sign away mine, and that will never fucking happen.
Taking a deep breath, I get to my feet and walk back into the hospital with Claire on my heels. I let her hit the buttons on the elevator since I’m not sure which floor to go to.
On the second floor, she takes a left out of the elevator, following the obvious signs that say, “Nursery.”
As we approach a wall of windows, I see rows of those baby bed things lined up in an explosion of pink and blue. Looking at each of the baby faces I try to find the one that’s mine…but they all look alike. Great, I can’t even recognize my own child. Maybe I’m not cut out to be a father after all.
“This way,” Claire says before leading me down a hallway. The wails of a pissed off baby can be heard before we step into one of the rooms. My feet stop short when I see Linc bouncing around the small space with a screeching blanket on his shoulder. He looks at us with sweat dripping down his forehead.
“I don’t know what else to do. She doesn’t want to eat. She just keeps yelling at me,” he says, offering the baby to Claire, who immediately thrusts the bundle at me.
“No, no, no!” I say, taking a step back and holding up my arms. “I might break her.”
The room falls silent.
“Holy shit,” Linc mutters. “She stopped—”
And cue the screaming again.
“Senn, take her,” Claire says.
“I can’t,” I reply. “What if I drop her?”
“Sit,” Claire orders, nodding to the white rocking chair in the corner.
My ass barely hits the seat before she’s putting the baby in my arms, positioning them where they’re supposed to go to hold the bundle. She’s so light, and with my elbow resting on the chair arm, I’m not as worried about her falling to the floor. “Got her?” she asks.
“Yeah, I think so,” I say, and Claire removes her hands and steps back. By this point the yeller has turned it down a notch and only sounds slightly displeased. Her scrunched up, blood red face starts to relax, and then dark blue, tear-filled eyes are staring up at me. When her bottom lip pokes out, and her breath hitches like she’s about to explode again, it’s just too much. “Don’t do it, baby girl. All that screaming can’t be good for you.”
She blinks up at me a few times like she’s trying to clear the tears from her eyes. Or maybe it’s too bright in here.
“Turn the light off,” I tell Claire, who adjusts the dial on the wall until the room darkens.
“Is that better?” I ask the baby in my arms. In response, she tries to jab her fist into her mouth. “Hungry?”
A bottle appears in front of my face, so I put it to her lips. It takes a few tries, but she finally figures it out and starts sucking the bottle down. Within seconds, her eyes drift closed.
“You’re like the baby whisperer,” Linc says softly.
“No, he’s not,” Claire replies. “He’s just her daddy.”
She’s mine. She’s really mine. God, she’s beautiful, and there’s no anger in me like I thought there would be after seeing her. Only infatuation and unconditional love, so much so that it hurts as a million worries start swirling in my mind. I’ve got to do everything I can to take care of her, to protect her.
Reaching down, I swipe my fingertips over her still clenched fist and spin the bracelet around on her wrist. The one that reads, “Baby Girl Duncan; Mother: Abby Merchant; Father: Senn Duncan.”
A nurse comes in sometime later and puts a matching bracelet on me after I show her my ID. I’m so torn because I want to see Abby, but at the same time, I don’t wanna put my daughter down. Eden. The name fits her perfectly. She’s my calming heaven in the center of the hellish devastation whirling all around us.
Eventually I find the willpower to lay her back down in her crib that has a card with Baby Girl Duncan on it and go ask the nurse’s desk if Abby’s in a room yet.
When they tell me she’s in ICU, my heart plummets to the basement. That’s a bad sign, but she can get better. I’m sure she will, in a matter of days probably once she has all the transfusions and treatments. A nurse gives me directions, so I head upstairs to find her.
Seeing her is even harder than I imagined. Unmoving. Unconscious, like she was when I brought her in. I hold one of her hands that’s hooked up to cords and sit next to her in the room that’s silent except for the beep of machines and the nurses moving around.
Luke and Abby’s parents come by, but only stay a few minutes, until they break down and have to leave. Whitney sits on the other side of the bed, holding silent vigil with me. We’re both still there late that night when the oncologist finally stops by.
“Hi, I’m Dr. Robertson,” he says in greeting and offers a handshake that I stand up and take. I try to judge his expression, but his frown looks anything but optimistic.
“So, how is she?” I ask, unable to wait any longer.
“We’re doing all we can, even starting the chemo,” he says followed by a sigh. “But, I would suggest that you say your goodbyes before you leave the room tonight.”
My legs give out as I slump back down into my chair, unable to get any oxygen in my lungs.
“No!” Whitney sobs. “She made it this far…please…”
“I assure you that we’ll do everything possible, I’m just warning you that it may not work. She’s extremely weak after placing an enormous amount of stress on her body for too long without treatment. The damage may not be reversible at this point, even if we had a bone marrow match, which we don’t. I’m very sorry,” the doctor says softly before leaving the room. I
want to yell at him or punch him, but this is not his fault. Abby wanted our daughter to be healthy, even if it meant hurting herself.
Whitney comes around the bed and into my arms as we try to console each other, but both of us are a mess.
“She’s gonna be okay, right?” she asks, sniffling against my shoulder.
“You know how stubborn she is,” I tell her, and Whitney gives a bark of laughter.
“I can’t imagine life without her…” she says before her body shakes with sobs again.
“Me either.”
I can’t imagine leaving this room and never seeing Abby again. Never hearing her voice again or having a chance to hold her.
Suddenly a thought hits me. Something I have to do before it’s too late.
“Will you stay with her?” I ask, and Whitney nods. “I’ll be right back, hopefully.”
I feel like a zombie trying to make my way back to the nursery. It’s like I’m frozen inside. Lost in complete darkness without Abby. As soon as I see our daughter, though, and I actually recognize her right away out of the row of babies, a little warmth flares in my chest again.
“Can I take her to see her mother in ICU?” I ask the nurse, uncaring about the wetness on my face.
“S-sure,” she says. “You can take her anywhere in the hospital, but not outside until her band is removed.”
I nod in understanding before lifting her from the crib. Eden’s awake when I pick her up, but she falls asleep on the walk back to Abby’s room.
“OhmyGod! She’s beautiful,” Whitney squeals when I return.
“She is, just like her mama,” I tell her.
“And her favorite aunt,” she says with a smile. “Can I hold her?”
“Sure,” I say, placing the baby in her waiting arms. Whitney coos at Eden through her tears, and I know that, like mine, they’re probably a combination of happy and sad ones.
“Here,” Whitney says a few minutes later when she hands the baby girl back to me. “I’ll let you three have a few minutes together. I’m gonna go down to the chapel and tell God that if he lets her get better, I’ll never ask for a single thing again.”
