Dr Velascos' Unexpected Baby

by Dianne Drake

  “Because you needed following, Arabella, and, to be honest, I don’t know why. But I can see it in you, even if you refuse to see it in yourself.”

  “Don’t take rights with me, Gabriel. And don’t make assumptions. You’ll only end up disappointed.”

  “I don’t take rights. And I never make assumptions.” He grinned. “Well, almost never. I suppose the machete was an assumption, wasn’t it?”

  “An assumption that you would get your way. Like you assumed when I said I didn’t want you coming along with me that I really did? Was that how it was?”

  “What I assumed was that you were coming to a place I very much wanted to visit.” He shrugged. “I was right. You were.”

  “Well, I was here, and now I’m not. Don’t follow me this time, Gabriel. I mean it!” Without another word, Bella turned and headed down a narrow path leading away from the stream, away from where she’d come. She wasn’t even sure why she was doing that since she really did enjoy Gabriel’s company, and she tried not thinking about it until she was far enough away from him she was convinced he really wasn’t going to follow her this time. Then she sat down under a giant cecropia tree, its small, umbrella-shaped leaves giving her the shelter she needed, and pulled her knees up to her chest. On a dispirited sigh she dropped her head to her knees, shut her eyes and hoped, desperately, that the images floating around in her head stayed dark and distant.

  This wasn’t working. Coming to Peru wasn’t helping her get past anything. If possible, she was more confused, more heartbroken than she had been before. The worst part was that she felt so…removed, not just from the good people here who truly wanted to befriend her but from herself. She was only going through the motions, and avoiding the emotions as she was doing so.

  Then there was Gabriel. She was so drawn to him…attracted to him, amazed by him. Her natural inclination might have been to be a little clingy because a broad shoulder right about now, especially Gabriel’s broad shoulder, would have been wonderful. That’s why she was going out of her way to avoid him. She was off…so far off she wasn’t sure she would ever be right again.

  “I haven’t been avoiding her,” Gabriel argued, even though he knew his mother was correct. He had been avoiding Ana Maria. Ladies from the village flitted in and out all day, fawning over the baby, and there was always his mother, so why get himself so involved right now? Especially since he was about to have a lifetime of it ahead of him. Except, admittedly, there were moments when he found himself missing her, or thinking about her. He wasn’t on the verge of fatherly thoughts or anything like that—planning her future, worrying about her first date with a young man he definitely wouldn’t trust, dreading the day when she wanted to learn how to drive. No, those kinds of thoughts were pushed to the back of his mind, yet when he bent over Ana Maria’s crib and looked down at all the innocence lying there looking up at him, trusting him, he couldn’t help but wonder what kind of life they were going to have together. There were so many things he didn’t know, things she would trust him to know. “I just went to see how Arabella was doing, then I took a walk down to the stream.” Would Ana Maria want to go to the mountain stream with him, the way he’d always wanted to do with his father? Or would she prefer to go shopping in one of the fine Chicago establishments?

  “Well, I’m going to go sit with Rocio Allavena this afternoon. She’s not feeling well these days—arthritis problems—and I promised to help her stitch a quilt for her great-granddaughter. So you’ll have to stay with Ana Maria.”

  “I have a patient to see.” It was a lame excuse, but the only one he could come up with at a moment’s notice. “I promised Father Carlos.”

  “I’m sure Ana Maria will do well with the fresh air when you take her with you.” Gloria Elena stepped away from the crib, heading toward the bedroom door. “Look, Juan Gabriel, I know this isn’t easy for you. But it wasn’t easy for me, raising two children alone, after your father died. I had no money, there are no jobs here…you were old enough to see how difficult it was. But we managed. We always managed because we had each other. And, believe me, there were many, many nights when I cried myself to sleep, worrying about what would happen the next day…did I have enough food to feed you, could I afford new shoes for you, or school books? Ana Maria is lucky to have advantages you never had, and once you realize that just having each other is truly the only thing that matters, you’ll be fine. It always worked for me, in those long hours at night when I worried so much. I had my two children, and that’s what I thought about when I didn’t think I could make it. You were my strength, Juan Gabriel. You and Lynda. Ana Maria will be your strength. You’ll see.”

  Gabriel crossed the room and pulled his mother into his arms. “It’s not easy,” he whispered to her. “I want to be a good father to her, but I don’t know how.”

  “No one ever said it would be easy. But you’ll be surprised what you can do when you have such a good reason for doing it.”

  Moments later, Gabriel stared out the front door at his mother, who was on her way to the cemetery beside the church. She went every day. He hadn’t been there yet, despite the fact that he knew he would have to go there soon, amongst so many other things he had to do. He wasn’t ready, though. Not for this, because going to the cemetery meant facing an unavoidable truth, and being slapped in the face with the knowledge that he was no longer in control of his life the way he’d wanted to be wasn’t on the top of his list of things to do.

  OK, he was avoiding it. He admitted that. Maybe it was an ugly side of him coming out that he just wasn’t prepared to tamp down yet. Wasn’t that his right? He’d been thrust into a situation he hadn’t chosen after all! And, yes, he was angry. Not at anything or anyone. But he was angry that Lynda had died, and angry that Hector had abandoned his daughter and angry that…that he wasn’t taking this change in his life better.

  Maybe what made him angriest was the way he was acting. Damn it, anyway! This was a side of him he didn’t like, one he hadn’t expected. But life was made up of unexpected events. No one got to choose everything they wanted. And it wasn’t even like he didn’t want Ana Maria, because the truth was he did. The idea of being a father to her was growing on him. Scaring him to death, too. Most people had nine months to prepare for parenthood and he’d had about a minute. On top of that, he didn’t have the good sense God gave a goose when it came to taking care of a baby. Sure, it was easy for Arabella. She was a natural. And that went without saying for his mother. But he was…inept. Inadequate. Ana Marie deserved better than what he had to offer her.

  So he avoided offering. It was a bad solution and one he’d have to get over. Single men raised babies every day, didn’t they? “And I’m not going to say it’s woman’s work, because it’s not,” he scolded himself aloud. “It’s parents’ work, whichever parent that might be.” In this case, he was the parent. The only parent. And one beautiful little girl was depending on him no matter how huge his doubts about being everything she needed now, and for the rest of his life. Those doubts didn’t matter a hang to her as long as she got her diaper changed when she needed it and her belly full when it was time. So maybe that’s the way he needed to approach this whole parenting thing. One step at a time. Grow into fatherhood little by little, rather than taking the whole job on himself at one time.

  He and Ana Maria learning together. He actually liked that idea—the two of them in this with each other. Somehow, that made it seem simpler. Better.

  In the bedroom, Ana Maria started crying and he knew without even thinking that was the cry telling him she was hungry. Amazing how he was already distinguishing between her different cries. “Coming,” he called, rushing to the kitchen to grab a bottle of formula. So many things were amazing, actually. Including his growing feelings for her. Amazing and frightening. Just like his growing feelings for Arabella. Only Arabella’s needs wouldn’t be tended to in the simple ways Ana Maria’s were. “So tell me, little one,” he said to the baby as he picked her up and ca
rried her to the rocking chair, “what do you think I should do about Arabella? Since the two of us are in this together now, I’d appreciate your opinion. Should I leave her alone as she asks, or continue trying a little friendship on her, which is what I think she really wants? I mean, you like her, don’t you? And I know I like her. But I’m not exactly thinking straight these days, so, since you’re part of this whole situation now, what do you think I should do?”

  Common sense screamed to leave her alone. In his real life, where all things looked totally different, he probably would have. But here, as he watched Ana Maria suck hungrily on the bottle, the only thing that truly mattered to her at the moment, it hit him that this was now his real life. Ready or not, it had started. And part of it was the growing feelings he had for Arabella. “Or maybe the more appropriate question is, what should I do about myself?”

  In answer, Ana Maria burped, and spit up on his shirt. Yes, this was definitely his real life now. As real as it got.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  LUNCH TURNED INTO AN amazing affair, so much more than an occasion to eat a simple meal, because nothing about it was simple. And the Alcantara family turned out to be a fantastic Amerindian family—an indigenous mix of several native tribes and nationalities. Beautiful people, with their bronzed skin, black hair and wide, generous smiles. But what was more beautiful to Bella than just about anything else was the way they related to each other as a family. While Cielo Alcantara, her noontime hostess, assured Bella that the meal was not a special occasion, that nobody had put themselves out for her, she couldn’t help but think that they were throwing a small, early-afternoon party in her honor, with the nearly two dozen family members there, crammed into the tiny living quarters, all offering her their wonderful hospitality.

  In the group, she counted at least fifteen children, and half again as many adults of all ages, ranging from a white-haired couple, who seemed to be grandparents to most of the children and who spoke no English, to men and women who seemed closer to the age of Cielo, and her husband, Fernando. They spoke English in various forms and seemed proud of the accomplishment.

  And the food…dear lord, how they fed her. Heaped bowls full of arroz con pollo, sancochado, papa rellena—chicken and rice, hearty beef stew made from yucca and sweet potatoes, stuffed yellow potatoes. Not to mention the plates piled high with fresh fruits, warm tortillas and the platters that attracted her most, the ones filled with sweets…alfajores, a lemon pastry, turrones, a fudgy nougat, and her new favorite, lúcuma ice cream.

  Bella’s first thought when she saw this feast was to be polite about it by taking a small taste of several dishes, but nearly an hour into the dining extravaganza she realized that she’d stuffed herself with well more than a bite of everything. In fact, she’d felt so good, so relaxed that she’d eaten so much she wasn’t sure if she could even stand up, let alone waddle her way out the door and back to her room at the church. Afternoon nap, she decided. That was the only thing on her mind as one of the children led her to the only upholstered chair in the Alcantaras’ home and indicated for her to sit down. Which she did, gladly, promising herself ten minutes and no more. Then she’d go home.

  But the children piled around her feet once she was settled in and started playing games, all of them begging her to join them. Two of the girls had a little red ball and silver jacks…such an old-fashioned, simple little thing she hadn’t thought of in years, and they were enjoying it with all the same glee that her pediatric patients back home showed when they played the video games she’d bought for the waiting room. Different toys, same glee, children were children and she was beginning to miss them, miss their laughter and optimism, miss their pure innocence. In her confused life her connection to the children was the only thing that saved her. That redeemed her.

  “Ricardo usually plays with us, too, when he’s feeling better,” the little girl called Keylla said in Spanish. Keylla, who was probably about seven, had such a serious look on her face when she mentioned Ricardo’s name that Bella felt compelled to ask her a question about the boy.

  Every instinct in her body went on sudden alert, and she’d learned a long time ago to listen to her instincts. “¿Está Ricardo hoy enfermo?” Is Ricardo sick today?

  The girl nodded, then rattled off in Spanish faster than Bella could understand, “He’s like he gets sometimes after he’s gone outside to play.”

  Bella looked to Cielo for clarification. As it turned out, of all the various adults present, she was Ricardo’s mother. “Sometimes he runs too hard when he plays, then he gets tired and his breathing is difficult. We try not to let him play with the other children in the village too much, but he crawls out the bedroom window and we don’t know it, there are so many people living here.” She gestured to a veritable stairstep of children standing on the other side of the room, backed by the rest of the adults.

  A clutter of people, and all of them living here. Bella could see how easy it would be to overlook a child. Or more than that, how a child could figure out a good way to sneak out when he wanted.

  “Ricardo is my oldest, and I depend on him to know better about the way he’s supposed to play. But he’s still a little boy who wants to do what the other boys are doing, and sometimes I’m so busy looking after the younger ones I just don’t notice what he’s doing the way I should.”

  One thing Bella had learned as a pediatrician was never, ever to underestimate the abilities of a child—especially a child with a goal. Children were the truest testament to the old saying about where there was a will, there was a way. It seemed Ricardo had both the will and he’d certainly found the way. “Tell me what he does when he’s sick.”

  “His chest gets tight. And it’s like his breathing is fighting against him.”

  “How long has he been like that?” Bella asked, making a mental diagnosis even before she’d seen the boy.

  “Two, maybe three years. When it started it didn’t happen so much, but now he gets sick more than he used to and it’s so hard on him because he wants to be normal like the other boys in the village, and he can’t. And they tease him.”

  “Has he been seen by a doctor? Is he on any medicine?” Before she finished asking the question, she could tell from the expression on Cielo’s face that Ricardo, like most of the children here, had never been checked by a physician. It wasn’t because the parents didn’t care. They did. In fact, the families here were extraordinary. Loving, caring, protective…But there were so many extenuating circumstances that prevented then from doing the ordinary things, like taking their children for routine medical care—money, proximity to medical help, transportation. All the things Rosie had talked about. She’d told Bella that one trip to the doctor for a twenty-minute check-up could take an entire day and cost a week’s worth of wages in gasoline and other expenses. That lack of convenience had been one of the driving forces behind her passion to practice medicine here.

  “When we heard there was going to be a mission clinic built nearby, I thought I would take him to see one of those doctors. But after the plane crashed…” Cielo stopped abruptly. “Bella! I’m sorry! I’d forgotten they were your friends.”

  Just like that, it all came flooding back to her. It was never far away, even when it was cloaked in innocent statements like Cielo Alcantara’s. “Do you mind if I take a look at Ricardo?” she asked, rather than dwelling on things she didn’t want to think about.

  “I had hoped that Juan Gabriel might look at Ricardo while he was here, but after Lynda died…” She paused for a moment, drawing in a deep breath. “I couldn’t ask him right now. It wouldn’t have been right with everything he and Gloria Elena are going through. But here you are, sent to our home like you were supposed to be here.” Tears of joy streamed down her cheeks and she brushed them away. “Thank you, Bella,” she said, sniffling. “Thank you. This means so much to me.”

  “After that amazing lunch you fixed for me, it’s the least I could do.” Besides, working was better than rememberin
g, and it seemed that remembering, or trying not to remember, was all she’d done lately. Bella gave the woman a squeeze on the arm. “Now, could I ask one of the children to go to the church and have Father Carlos bring my medical bag here? It’s under the bed, next to my suitcase.”

  “Teresa, you heard her,” Cielo said to the oldest of the children huddled around. “Corra rápidamente!” Run fast.

  Teresa was already out the door by the time Bella headed down the hall to the bedroom. It was a narrow corridor, not much wider than her shoulders were broad, and dark, without a single light. The rooms she passed were all small, not tiny, but not overly spacious either, and there were several of these rooms, spaced one after the other on her left side. At least six of them so far. Bedrooms for all the families living together in this house, she supposed.

  “He’s back here,” Cielo said, as Bella turned the hall corner and counted her seventh, then eighth bedroom. “In the last room at the end. It’s where the older boys sleep.”

  The room was like all the rest, basic and filled only with beds and dressers for clothing, and little else. In it there were four sets of bunk beds all lined up against each other, literally spanning one entire side of the room, leaving barely enough space for a row of four wooden dressers backed up against the opposite wall.

  Ricardo was huddled down in the lower bunk of the bed farthest from the door, so Bella climbed on her hands and knees all the way across the other three beds to get to him, only to discover there a child in the severest grips of an asthma attack. Just as she’d expected. “Is this the way he always has one of these attacks?” she called to his mother, who stood by the door, wringing her hands.