A Heart for Robbie (4 page)

A Heart for Robbie

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Call us soon. They’re going to keep Erin for a couple of days.

The car beeped when he pressed the Unlock button on the fob. The

sound, so normal, so much a part of his everyday life, stopped him. This wasn’t his everyday life. It couldn’t be further from normal, and he

suddenly wished he’d taken his parents up on the offer to drive. He

climbed into the driver’s seat, unsurprised to see Liam sitting beside him in the passenger seat. Then he made the mistake of glancing into the

mirror. A choked sob escaped him, and his hands shook too hard to put the key in the ignition as the empty car seat sat innocently in the backseat, unaware that its tiny little passenger fought for his life.

Julian’s plan changed as he sat looking at the black padded seat, part

of the travel system his parents had given him at the shower. He wasn’t

going to stop at home or anywhere else. Nothing mattered but getting to

his son. After Robbie landed and Julian could see him, maybe he’d find a Target to pick up some cheap clothes or a hotel to rest in. After. Right then, Robbie came first.

From that day forward, Robbie would always come first.

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Chapter 2

“DID YOU see we have a new priority admission?” Dr. Dane asked as he

poked his head into Simon Phelps’s office.

Judging by the tension in his frame, the new admission was not only

in serious condition but seemed to be a high-priority patient. Dane had that glint in his eye that indicated something big teetered on the horizon.

“The baby boy from Community? Yes, his father’s insurance

information just came through, and I processed him a little while ago.

Why?” Simon set aside the folder he’d been working on. He’d just received a request for medical necessity on a patient appeal for a laparoscopic

gastric bypass. Simon had been working with the patient, jumping through hoops, getting all of the documentation they needed to force the insurance company to reverse their decision. The guy weighed nearly four hundred

pounds, which meant the surgery could possibly be lifesaving. These were the kinds of cases Simon liked, the ones where he actually helped rather than just pushing paper through little slots.

“Yes, baby Holmes.”

“Everything looked to be in order. Why?”

“The father, Julian Holmes, is not only a celebrity author but also a

gay single father. I called Dr. Chauncer over at Community, and he said

the baby is the result of a surrogate. After that fiasco with the gay bashing last year, the hospital could use some good press in the LGBT

community.” Dane shook his head, as if he’d rather forget the whole nasty business.

Of course Simon hadn’t forgotten. Two guys came into the ER, one

a gay victim, the other a gay basher. The basher made the mistake of

taking down a couple right in front of Chicago’s biggest leather bar.

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Unfortunately, the gay man’s injuries were too extensive, and he died

within the hour. But, adhering to the oath every doctor takes, the ER staff worked on the basher and eventually saved his life. Not the best outcome in terms of karma, but the only outcome possible. Needless to say, the

reaction from the community was swift and brutal.

“What’s wrong with the little boy?”

“Heart condition. He should be out of the cath lab by now.” Dane

looked at his watch, blue eyes filled with anticipation under their blond brows. “You headed out?”

“Yeah.”

“Got youth league tonight?”

“Nope. I planned on spending a quiet evening at home. It’s been a

long week,” Simon lied. He and Dane weren’t friends. They were friendly, but the people at work didn’t get into Simon’s private life. He couldn’t take that chance. Just like the boy who had died in the ER, Simon spent

his life trying to survive in a world where a man needed to be white,

middle class, and straight in order to get ahead. Simon had two out of

three going for him.

“Well, see you Monday. I’ll call if we need to do anything with the

Holmes case over the weekend. It depends on the extent of the infant’s

condition.”

“Good night,” Simon said, watching Karl Dane leave his office. No,

he wouldn’t be going home and having a quiet evening relaxing. It was his one night off from the hospital and from the youth center where he

volunteered. He wanted to blow off some steam and play hard. With any

luck, the other guy would be hard too.

Simon packed his black nylon backpack but left it next to the desk.

His back popped in a few of the wrong places, and he winced. Thirty-four years old, and already his body had started to fall apart. He’d even found a couple of gray strands in his normally dark brown hair.

Simon pulled his jacket on as he checked his office for stray papers.

Nothing left out on the desk and nothing on any of the filing cabinets. He had to be very careful about patient privacy, so even though his office

door locked, he made sure to keep the papers in locked drawers and his

computer secure. Not once had he ever taken patient information home to

work on or put anything on a portable drive. He couldn’t if he wanted to because the IT staff locked down the computer ports like Fort Knox.

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The door locked behind him, and Simon made his way through the

busy corridors and out into the hospital lobby. He hadn’t wanted to be

burdened with his backpack, so he’d left it sitting in his office. The night he had planned meant he wanted to travel light. He loved the Indian place located within walking distance of the hospital, and he started the night there. He wanted a bit of dinner to keep the alcohol from turning him into a complete mess, but not something so heavy that he wouldn’t feel like

picking up a guy for the night.

Simon’s phone rang, buzzing furiously in his pocket as the hostess

escorted him to the last table before an earthy brick wall. He took up half of a depressing table for two along one of the warm golden walls where an urn sat on a ledge below an ancient painting. Glancing at the urn, he hoped the owner didn’t still reside in it and thanked the hostess. As she left, he read the phone display with a sigh.

“Hi, Mom,” he said, sliding into the booth side of the table, forced to

watch the other diners scoffing at his sad solo dining experience.

“Simon, why didn’t you return my call from last night? I was

starting to worry.” His mother harped her standard greeting.

He could hear more than just worry in her voice. It sounded like the

start of impatience, something he’d been on the wrong end of more times

than he could count over the course of his life.

“I was working, Mom. What’s up?”

“Oh, yes, well, do you remember Beverly Darcy, my friend from

church?”

“Vaguely.” Simon balanced the phone between his shoulder and his

head while he glanced over the menu. He dined there frequently and didn’t have to spend a long time deciding, but it gave him something to do while his mother rambled.

“Well, Beverly has a daughter, Nancy. We think it would be good to

introduce you. She has two beautiful little girls….” His mother trailed off wistfully. She’d been trying her level best to marry him off since before he’d graduated college.

While he worked on his master’s, she’d called weekly, most of the

time offering to set him up. He had no idea how many people went to

this church of hers, but apparently they were all around his age, and they were all single. If they weren’t dead set against it, he’d wonder if they were into cloning.

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It would certainly make choir recruiting easier.

“Mom, I’ll have to see what’s going on. I have a tournament

tomorrow night for the center and then a pretty heavy week next week.”

“Oh, the center. Why do you spend all of your time there when you

could have children of your own?”

“Why do you volunteer for different activities at your church?”

Simon countered, even though he knew his mother would never admit she

didn’t volunteer out of charity so much as out of a determination to be

seen. Simon may not be perfect, but at least he wanted to help people.

“So, you’ll check your schedule and let me know?” She pressed on

as if she hadn’t heard him.

That particular trick was a hallmark of their relationship. Simon

didn’t think his mother ever actually heard him.

The server, who said her name was Linda, either didn’t notice or

didn’t care that he was on the phone. Which, given the social ineptitude of being on the phone while ordering, he understood.

“I’m really sorry. Can I get a Masala tea?” Simon whispered as he

held the phone at an angle away from his mouth.

“Are you eating out again?”

“Yeah, I just got out of work.”

“You need a wife to take care of you,” his mother reasoned, because,

of course, marriage would solve all his problems. She really couldn’t

know how right that idea was.

“Okay, Mom, but for now, I need to go.” He flipped the page of the

menu and scanned through the chicken offerings, wishing his phone would

just lose service.

“Call me tomorrow and let me know when you can make it out here

for dinner with us,” she said, and Simon knew she meant more than just

the family. His mother would force this young woman on him until they

were both too embarrassed to schedule a second date. That happened a lot with his mother and her friends.

“Fine, Mom.”

He disconnected the call before she could talk him into anything

else. The menu offerings seemed less appetizing with guilt bubbling in his stomach. God, he wanted to put a stop to his mother’s feeble attempts to set him up. He’d promised himself for years to confront her. She wanted

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grandchildren and insisted on getting her own way. His sister, Rachel,

moved to California to get away, and their mother had been depressed and anxious without Rachel’s kids to keep her happy.

Her narcissism prevented her from understanding that he would

never be happy with a wife.

The waitress brought his tea, and he ordered, half distracted by the

conversation and the resulting conflict in his head. It wasn’t as if his mother would know he was about to go to a gay bar with the sole purpose

of getting laid, but he’d almost lost the mood. Hiding some of the most

fundamental parts of yourself every minute of every day became

exhausting year after year.

He skipped the onion bhaji since he wanted at least a shot at sex later

and stuck with the chicken tikka, since he knew from experience it

wouldn’t upset his stomach. Nothing killed the mood faster than stomach

issues. The delicate flavor of the chicken balanced with the starchy

comfort of rice would help improve his mood.

Night hadn’t really fallen when he left the restaurant, happy to be

away from Linda and her disapproving glances. Clubs didn’t get

exciting until later, so he jumped in a cab and headed over to a

bookstore on Broadway, the only LGBT bookstore left in the city after

the eBook revolution. He pulled opened the heavy door against the

strong March wind and went inside. Books had always been his friends,

for as long as he could remember. Simon used to climb one of the trees

in their backyard next to the garage rather than playing football with

his brothers. He’d sit up on its rough shingles and read about fantastic journeys to faraway lands. As he got older, he’d hop on his bike and

head for the library when everyone else paired off for hot and heavy

make-out sessions wedged between the end of school and their parents’

arrival from work. He spent years in books, and now he cherished his

Kindle. Each month, he filled it to capacity, even though the

bookshelves in his apartment bowed under the weight of his favorite

paperbacks.

Of course, his parents never really understood his obsession. His

father would bring him home dime-store novels when he came across ones

he thought his son might like, but his mother spent half her life telling him to put the book down and go play. By play, she meant roughhouse, or dig

in the dirt, or all those other things little boys are supposed to do. Things he never much cared about.

A Heart for Robbie

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The bookstore didn’t seem to be doing a very hardy business, since it

was a chilly Friday evening on the cusp of spring. So he wandered around the shelves, taking in some of the newer titles and reading the backs of books that interested him. He found a few things to put on his “to be read”