Witha nod and the assurance that she'd stop back in before she left for the day,Dr. Gellar left, and I was once again alone with my parents.
Thetension in the air was heavy and thick, filled with the weight of my conditionand what had happened. Then, coalescing with the fear and worry, were thequestions that weren’t being asked. How long would I have to be here in thisroom? How long would the baby have to be there? Was he going to survive? Was I?
Itried to push the unknowns from my mind, and finally asked the one question Icould get an answer to, “Was Brendan here last night?”
Momlooked across the bed at Dad, then shook her head and said, “No, he nevercame.”
Themagnitude of what that meant and how it felt instantly brought tears to myeyes.
“Henever came?” I croaked through a clot of emotion. “Was he, was he called?”
Momnodded stiffly. “Goose called him, and so did I.”
“Didhe answer?”
“Notfor Goose—”
“Oh,”I said, sniffling and nodding. “He probably didn't knowwho'snumber it was.”
“Right,”Mom replied slowly. “But hedidanswer when I called.”
“Well,what did he say?”
Momgave me a smile that was so forced I couldn't even come close to believing it.“You know, maybe we shouldn't be talking about this right now. You should getsome—”
“Comeon,” I groaned, laying one of my bandaged hands against my forehead with aheavy sigh. “I need to know what he said and I’m not going to stop thinkingabout it. So, please, just tell me.”
Witha sigh from my mother and a gentle nod of my father's head, Mom finallyreplied, “Brendan said that he was wrapped up in some work stuff and couldn’tget out of it. So, he said he would come by later when he had some time tospare.”
Mythroat tightened around the persistent lump of sadness, hurt, and betrayal.“Oh. Well, that'sjust great. I’m glad he can justdecidewhen to spare a few minutes to deal with this.”
“Kenny,”Dad said, laying a hand on my thigh. “This is a lot for anybody to deal with.Don't—”
“Sure,sure,” I answered, nodding profusely. “I mean, of course, this is a lot for himto cope with. I get it. It's not every day you find out your girlfriend almostdied from having your baby three months early. He needs time to process andcope before he can eventhinkto ask if I’m okay,” I mutteredsardonically.
“Well,hopefully he'll be by later,” Mom said, offering an encouraging smile.
“Iwon't hold my breath,” I muttered, while still hoping she was right andwondering when itwasI’d eventually get sick ofhoping.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“We needto get you up and moving,” Michelle, one of my nurses, said.
Theanesthesia was taking its dear, sweet time wearing off and so many hours aftermy surgery, I was itchy and ready to crawl out of my skin. The incision justabove my groin was sore, still noticeable even through the heavy-dutypainkillers, and made it difficult for me to cough, let alone move.
Therewas no way I was going anywhere yet, but Michelle was insistent.
“Comeon, just try. Don’t you want to see your baby?”
Mybaby. My little baby boy.
Thebaby I had failed. The baby I feared—what he looked like, what he sounded like,what he would think of me, if he could think at all.
Howthe hell could I facehim, whenI could barely facemyself? And what if, after all was said and done, hewas destined to not be my baby at all? What if he died?
Thebarrage of questions and uncertainties formed a boulder in my throat, and Inearly choked, as I finally told her, “When I feel better. I’m, I’m still alittle dizzy.”
“Okay,”Michelle replied reluctantly, clearly a little disappointed but didn’t want tolet it show. “I’ll check in on you in a bit. Try to rest.”
