A Heart for Robbie (2 page)

compared to the calm, detached voices of the medical teams. The free fall, the lack of control, prickled sweat on the back of his neck. He hated it with a passion bordering on pain.

Not a single soul turned to look at Julian.

Only the doctor responsible for Erin’s surgery remained next to her

bed while he worked diligently to close the incision. The man seemed

oblivious to the flurry of activity around him, concentrating solely on his patient. The bright lights of the operating room kept everything around

them in sharp, detached focus.

Leaning down, Julian gave Erin a quick kiss on the forehead and

looked into her face. They had been best friends for fifteen years, since 4

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their junior year of college. She read him so easily—his confusion, his

fear, his need to know—and she nodded before squeezing his fingers with

almost no strength. Julian laid her hand carefully on her chest and then hurried over to the group of medical professionals surrounding the tiny

baby boy on a shiny metallic table. The nurse in front of him moved

slightly to her right and revealed the unmoving baby.

Startled by the first clear view of his son, Julian noticed the baby’s

skin had a slightly mottled blue tint as he lay listless beneath the bright lights. He couldn’t know that, just a few feet away, his father’s heart broke at the sight of the bag over his face being clutched rhythmically, breathing for him.

Squeeze…. Breathe…. Squeeze…. Breathe….

Tears welled in Julian’s eyes, and the image of his son blurred. It

took him a moment to swallow the burning lump in his throat before he

could speak.

“What’s wrong? Why isn’t he breathing? What’s happening?” he

asked a petite woman standing next to him, touching her shoulder to get

her attention. A small cap made of the same material as the gowns they all wore partially covered her short brown hair. Julian did not miss the way her eyes filled with sympathy as she glanced at him. She stopped cleaning the white, viscous goop from his son’s legs and feet so she could take

Julian’s arm and lead him back to Erin’s side.

“Mr. Holmes, I need for you to stay right here if you want to remain

in the room. The doctors are working on your son, and it’s very important that you let them do their jobs. I promise once your son is stable, a doctor will talk to you.” She retreated, the booties on her feet whispering as she went back to her place with the medical team.

Julian took several deep breaths, clenching his fists at his sides as he tried to stay calm. The doctors’ first priority should be his son, not him.

His own impotence only heightened his fear and spiraling anger. He

wanted to know what was happening and if his son would be okay. If he

only knew the source of the problem, he could deal with it.

God, he couldn’t have written anything so frightening, not even amid

his normal demons and monsters.

He stroked Erin’s hair, more for his comfort than hers, and watched

the doctors and nurses as they rushed to care for his baby. He couldn’t take his eyes away from the corner where his boy lay on that cold plastic A Heart for Robbie

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and metal cart. Nurses had haphazardly thrown open the utilitarian white cabinets that surrounded the area as they pulled supplies from them. The counter beneath them remained empty.

“Find your center. Don’t let it control you,” a voice whispered in his

ear.

He recognized Liam’s slow, easy New York accent and closed his

eyes. Liam always knew when he was hurt or scared. He helped Julian,

even if he wasn’t real, even if he only existed between Julian’s novel

pages.

“This is all you ever wanted, Julian. He’s your future. Stay calm

until you know what’s wrong. Don’t panic.”

Julian nodded his head at no one.

“Let’s get him to the NICU,” a tall man with square-rimmed glasses

called to the group. Several of them immediately backed away, leaving

only two: one man at the head of the cart, ready to push, and one woman

who pumped the bag that kept air in his baby’s lungs. Julian held his

breath as two of the nurses walked quickly to the operating room doors

and held them open while a doctor wheeled his son out of the room. The

man with the glasses followed, as did the two women who had been

holding the door.

Julian stood watching, shocked at how horribly wrong everything

had gone. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. He’d taken the birthing classes and the parenting classes. They had taught him how to prepare

bottles, change diapers, give baths, and even perform some basic first aid.

Nothing had prepared him for the terrible, suffocating fear as he

watched his son struggle to breathe.

He couldn’t hold back the tears any longer and felt one slide down

his face, wetting the surgical mask he still wore. Erin’s hand slid into his, squeezing feebly, and he looked down at her. Even though the baby wasn’t biologically hers, she had carried him inside her, protecting him for nine months. Her heart must be breaking just as Julian’s was.

God, Julian had spent years watching Erin with her four kids. Her

relationship with her husband, Paul, made envy tear at his insides. He

wanted that. He wanted it so badly. The fantasy of a house, a husband, and children fused with his subconscious, making it hard to dream about

anything else. He had the house, but he’d all but given up on the idea of the husband. Instead, Julian focused on having a child. He took all the

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baby classes, jumped through all the hoops, researched everything about

childrearing, and babysat Erin’s kids for hours upon hours to practice. But now it had all spiraled out of control.

Julian glanced up to see Liam watching from the other side of the

room, his head tilted, beckoning. Clay stood with him, silently holding up a hand. Liam’s black jeans and artfully ripped Sinner’s Gin T-shirt

contrasted sharply with the bright, sterile room. Their unexpected presence startled Julian. Normally they came to him for plotting sessions or when he drank alone in front of the fire. But there they were. Clay’s long dark hair poked out from under a wool knit hat, and the hood of Liam’s

sweatshirt was pulled up over his head, hiding his features within its

depths. Julian could relate; he too wanted to hide from the world.

The double doors through which his son had been taken did not

reopen. The nurse who remained in the room informed Julian she was

going to take Erin to recovery. He used that as an excuse to escape, letting Erin know he would send Paul to stay with her. The room had closed in

around him, a vacuum left by the disappearance of his son. Things weren’t supposed to happen this way, and he couldn’t figure out where they had

gone wrong. Erin had four happy, healthy kids at home, so it couldn’t have been her. The fertility clinic had vetted the egg donor. Maybe he should have searched for his birth parents’ medical histories before he relied on the genetic testing and used his own sperm for the insemination. Questions chased each other in Julian’s head until it spun with the effort of trying to find answers. Liam and Clay usually didn’t stick around if he was with

other people, but they turned to follow when he exited the operating room.

Julian took perverse pleasure in the snap of the mask when he ripped

it from his face. His forearm slammed into the operating room door, and

he ditched the surgical active wear in a garbage can just up the hall. Then he went to find the neonatal intensive care unit. Somebody would tell him what was happening with his son. The dim hallway made him squint after

the bright lights of the operating room. His whole world had dimmed.

He turned right down the first hallway back toward the waiting room

and then ducked left to the nurses’ station, trying to stay calm. A huge desk ran the length of the open hallway, and behind it sat several stations with impressive monitors showing vital signs for every patient on the floor.

A segmented whiteboard dominating the rear wall showed nine room

numbers and names, apparently nursing assignments. He saw Erin’s name,

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but they had not listed his son, so he turned his attention to the nurse behind the desk.

“Can I help you, sir?” asked an older woman in cartoon-style scrubs.

Julian studied her for a second and decided that she probably had

children, maybe even grandchildren. Gray streaked her light brown hair,

pulled back off her face in a loose bun. The laugh lines around her eyes and mouth gave her the appearance of a kind, matronly lady.

“My son was just taken to the neonatal intensive care unit. Could

you remind me where that is?” Julian asked over the bustle of the nurses working the station. A woman in pink scrubs walked past him and behind

the desk, drawing his attention briefly. None of the nurses that had assisted in his son’s birth were there. It killed him that they couldn’t be bothered to tell him what was happening.

“The NICU is on the west side of the floor,” the nurse told him

gently. “Just walk down this hall and past the waiting room. You’ll start to see signs for it. Make sure to check in with the nurses’ station there,

because they won’t let you in until you do.”

Grateful that he’d finally gotten a straightforward answer out of

somebody, Julian walked swiftly toward the waiting area. His father saw

him first and stood, followed quickly by his mother and Erin’s husband,

Paul. Liam and Clay stood off to the side, out of the way. To Julian’s

surprise, they didn’t disappear in the crowd.

“So, is it a…. How are they?” Paul interrupted himself. He stood

directly behind Julian’s mother, Linda, looking over her head into his best friend’s eyes. They had been close for well over ten years, and Julian

knew Paul could see the terror in his exhausted, blurred gaze. They all

looked tired and expectant. He doubted any of them had slept during the

night as they waited for delivery. He’d seen it enough to know dawn

looked a lot different from the nighttime side.

“It’s a boy, but something’s wrong. They’ve taken him down to the

NICU.” He told them what little he knew, trying to keep the answer as

brief as possible so he could get back to his son. He felt claustrophobic in the small room, trapped by the peach and turquoise patterned walls, the seventeen uncomfortable coordinated vinyl chairs, and the television

mounted on the far wall, which was blaring out the closing theme to one

of the morning’s news shows. Everything was too loud, too close, and the leftover stress and adrenaline from the operating room strangled Julian.

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“Erin is on her way to recovery. I told her I would send you down.

She needs you. I’m too… too….” Julian’s voice faltered, and his mother

broke from her shock to hug him.

“Honey, it will be okay. You were born with a bit of jaundice, and

they were all worried. Come on. Let’s go find my grandbaby,” she said,

and while he guessed she tried to make her voice light, she failed. Instead, she just held him, as she always had, giving him strength and courage. Her hands shook, betraying her fear, but her child came first.

Just like his child came before him. He’d just learned his first brutal

lesson about being a parent.

Julian’s mother pulled away, continuing to hold his hand as they

watched Paul hurry toward surgical recovery. His father, Bobby, picked

up his mother’s purse and followed them toward the NICU.

The signs clearly marked the way, ten of them, which helped to keep

Julian’s fear from spiraling into panic. So long as he had a plan, a clear list of tasks to follow, he could keep from losing his mind. A left turn and then another right brought them to the double doors through which they needed to enter. His father had found another waiting room just before the doors and insisted Julian and his mother go on alone. They had a better chance if they didn’t come in with a crowd. Julian silently thanked God for his

levelheaded father as he opened the door and stepped back to let his

mother enter first. She took his hand again and led him to a large and

sophisticated nurses’ station, which appeared, at first glance, to have

enough equipment to launch a shuttle into space.

“May I help you?” a middle-aged woman asked from behind the

desk. She wore hospital scrubs, no cartoons, but their bright primary

colors reminded him forcefully that this space contained nothing but sick children.

“My name is Julian Holmes, and my son was just brought here. They

haven’t told me anything about his condition. Please, please can you tell me what’s happening? I don’t want to get in their way or hinder anything.

I just… I can’t…. Please, he’s my son,” Julian pleaded, stuttering as he prayed that, working with sick infants, the woman had some sense of

compassion.

“Okay, Julian, wait right here, and I’ll see if I can get you some kind

of status,” she told him with a kind smile.

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He liked that she called him Julian. It made him feel like a person

rather than just another face in her ward. It gave him hope.

Julian waited with his mother, looking around the nurses’ station and

then up the long hall where the nurse had disappeared. He saw a wall

made up almost entirely of six large windows, and it reminded him of the nursery where his mother and father should be fawning over their first

grandchild. He figured his son probably lay in that room, but he didn’t

dare try to enter. The nurse had specifically told him to stay there, and he wanted information. He needed to stop the fear from choking him.