Beginnings (29 page)

Grandpa answered. “Someone should stay here in case the surgeon comes to tell us about our Marie. You go ahead. Bring us a sandwich.” He looked at his wife. “A sandwich, Mother?”

Grandma gave a halfhearted shrug.

Grandpa touched Beth’s hand. “See if they have ham. Your grandmother likes ham.”

Beth nodded and looked at the others. “Anyone else?”

Al, Maura, and Deborah got up and joined Henry in the doorway. The others said they would eat when they went home, which they planned to do as soon as they received word on Marie’s condition. Henry turned toward the hallway with Al at his side, and Maura and Deborah fell in step with Beth as they followed the two men.

There was a slump to Henry’s shoulders that told of his fatigue, yet not once had he complained. Beth’s respect for her stepfather raised another notch as she thought of his steadfast positive attitude and calm assurances to everyone else over the course of the long day. Without conscious thought, she skipped forward two steps and slipped her arm around Henry’s waist.

Surprise registered on his face, but he quickly replaced it with a warm smile and a tired wink. He draped his arm over her shoulders, and they made their way down the elevator to the first floor, then through long hallways, their feet in step with one another as if they’d done this dozens of times.

The cafeteria smells greeted them before they turned the final corner. Although the food odors were much more pleasant than the antiseptic odor that had filled Beth’s nostrils since she had arrived, her stomach still churned. Henry’s hand slipped away as he gestured for her to enter the cafeteria first.

Deborah, Maura, and Al followed Beth, with Henry at the rear, and they loaded a tray with sandwiches, fruit, plastic-wrapped cookies, and small cartons of milk and juice. When they reached the register, Henry withdrew his wallet, but Al stepped forward.

“No, Henry. I’ll take care of this.”

Henry hesitated, his fingers already grasping a few bills. But when Deborah touched his arm and shook her head, he said, “Thank you, Al,” and slipped the wallet back in his pocket.

The cashier put everything in two brown paper bags, and the little group made its way back to the waiting room, this time with Henry and Beth in front and Al walking with the other two women. The moment they stepped back into the room, Henry asked, “Has anyone come about Marie?”

“Not yet, Henry,” Deborah’s husband, Troy, answered.

Henry released a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “When will they come?”

Beth wrapped both hands around his upper arm and gave a comforting squeeze. “Surely it won’t be much longer. Sit down, eat something. You’ll feel better.”

He gave her a dubious look.

She forced a light chuckle. “Okay, then, it’ll make the time pass more quickly.”

His smile thanked her, and he sat down and took the sandwich and cookie offered by Deborah.

The group ate in silence, each pair of eyes flitting to the clock on the wall periodically. At seven thirty, people began leaving. One by one, they gave Henry and Beth hugs, whispered words of encouragement, and promised to continue to pray for Marie and the babies. Eventually only Henry, Beth, Al and Maura, and Beth’s grandparents remained.

Al turned to Grandpa, who sat slumped forward so far his chin nearly touched his chest. “JD, how about Maura and I take you and Erma home?”

Grandpa sat up, his jaw jutting forward. “I don’t want to go until I’ve seen Marie.”

“I can tell you’re tired.” Al spoke softly yet evenly, more matter-of-fact than persuasive. “It’s been a long day”—he yawned—“for all of us. I’m ready to go.”

“I’m not.”

Al sent Henry a look that communicated he needed assistance.

Henry leaned forward and put his hand over Grandpa’s knee. “JD, there’s no sense in waiting here. It could be hours. Go ahead and go home. Sleep in your own bed. As soon as I hear something, I’ll call.”

Grandpa shot Henry a sharp look. “I don’t have a telephone.”

“But I do,” Al inserted, “and I’ll drive out and share the news with you as soon as Henry calls me. Come on.” He stood up, looking expectantly at Grandpa. “Let’s go on home and get some rest. We can all come back tomorrow.”

Grandpa and Grandma exchanged a long, silent look, during which Beth was certain they expressed their thoughts clearly to the other without the need for words. Observing them, Beth felt the prick of tears behind her eyelids.

Grandma sighed and gave a tired nod. “We’ll go. Thank you.”

Both of her grandparents took the time to embrace Beth, Grandpa planting a kiss on the top of her head and Grandma kissing both of her cheeks before talking quietly with Henry and hugging him, too. When they left with Al and Maura leading the way, Beth and Henry were alone.

The first time she’d ever been completely alone with her stepfather. Although she would have expected the situation to be uncomfortable, it wasn’t. Despite the location, despite the worry that must still be pressing on him as much as it pressed on her, she discovered she was glad she was there. Glad that she could offer a bit of support to Henry during this time of mixed emotions.

She watched as he paced the periphery of the room, his hands in his pockets and his head low as if measuring his steps. He stopped in the center of the room and looked at the wall clock. Sighed. Paced the room in the opposite direction.

Beth started to suggest they turn on the television but remembered in time the inappropriateness of the idea. She sat back in the two-person settee she’d occupied earlier with her grandmother and picked up the magazine from the small table tucked in the corner.

Just as she placed the magazine in her lap, Henry spun and faced her. “I’m tired of sitting. Do you want to take a walk?”

Beth set the magazine aside, rising. “What if the doctor comes looking for us?”

Henry chewed the inside of his lower lip for a moment. “We can stop by the nurses’ station and tell someone we’re out in the garden area. I could use some fresh air.” He pinched his nose, his dark eyes twinkling.

Beth couldn’t help it. She laughed. “I couldn’t agree more.”

Her purse strap looped over her shoulder, she walked with Henry to the nurses’ station, and he informed the woman on duty where they could be located. Then, his wide palm resting gently between her shoulder blades, he guided her to the elevator and, once on the first floor, to glass doors that led into a grassy area surrounded by towering buildings.

A concrete bench invited one to relax, but Henry passed it, instead ushering Beth along the sidewalk. Although dusk had fallen, the area was well lit with light from the buildings’ windows, as well as lampposts standing sentinel all along the sidewalk. Beth inhaled deeply, enjoying the tangy scent of freshly cut grass. The antiseptic taste that had lingered on the back of her tongue all day washed away, and she sighed, lifting her face to the brief expanse of pinkish sky glimpsed overhead between the towers.

“I’m glad you came.” Henry’s deep, quiet voice fit the peacefulness of the surroundings.

“Me, too.” Beth looked at her feet, matching her stride to his. “The babies ... wow. They’re amazing. So small but so perfect.” She looked into Henry’s face. “Dori even has little stubby eyelashes already. I think she’s going to be a beauty.”

Henry’s lips curved into a lopsided, questioning grin. “Dori?”

Heat filled Beth’s face, but she didn’t look away. “Yes. Dorothea ... well, it’s pretty, but it’s too much name right now. So I’ve been thinking of her as Dori.”

“I see.”

They reached the turn in the sidewalk, and Beth slowed her steps so Henry could make the outside curve without leaving her side. She searched his face for any sign of disapproval. “Do you mind?”

“Of course not. I kind of like it.” He clasped his hands behind his back and pursed his lips as if in deep thought. “What about Theodore? Did you shorten his name, too?”

“Mmm-hmm. Teddy.”

“Teddy?”

Beth laughed at his doubtful expression. “Yes, Teddy. Someone small and cuddly and warm.”

Henry tipped his head to the side. “I suppose that’s okay. For now. But it’s not something I’d want attached to him at, say, sixteen.”

“I agree. But Theodore ... it’s pretty stuffy for an infant.”

Henry chuckled. “Point taken.”

They walked on in silence until they’d made a full circle. Henry paused, looking toward the double doors that led back inside.

Beth, sensing his thoughts, said, “I’m not ready to go back in. Want to make another loop?”

Henry’s smile expressed his answer, and once more they set out. Beth glanced over her shoulder at the doors and blew out a noisy breath. “I keep wishing somebody would chase us down and tell us something.”

“I know.” Henry raised his hand to grip her shoulder for a moment. “But your mother is in good hands. We have to trust.” He lowered his hand and sent her a worried look. “But you probably need to get back. You have that window to finish.”

Several faces paraded through Beth’s mind: Sean’s, Andrew’s, Catherine’s and Livvy’s, her grandfather’s, the workers’, people who depended on her to follow through on her plans. Plans that depended on the signing of the contract with McCauley. Without intending to, she grimaced. She came to a stop.

“Henry, I’m torn. I want to be here with you and Mom and the babies, but I’m worried about what will happen if I don’t get the McCauley window done. I don’t want to let anyone down.”

“If you need to go, your mother will understand. She knows how much the studio means to you,” Henry said, his voice warm and assuring.

Beth knew Mom would understand. Mom had always put Beth first. And Beth had always allowed Mom to take second place, never considering her mother might have needs and wants that weren’t addressed. But over the past year and half, Beth had tried to change her selfish mind-set. Right now, however, she didn’t know which was less selfish: allowing the contract to slip away, which meant hurting a number of people she’d come to care about, or honoring the deadline, which meant leaving Henry to handle this heartache without her support.

She opened her mouth, prepared to ask Henry what he would do if it were his decision. A siren blasted, making conversation impossible. Even before the siren faded into the distance, a man and woman charged from one of the other buildings and immediately broke into a fierce argument about who would get Milt’s matching sofa and loveseat.

Henry swallowed and glanced down at Beth, his brows raised in silent query. She gave a brisk nod, and the two of them crossed the center of the courtyard, right across the grass, and ducked back into Building Three.

Beth decided she’d go back to the little waiting room that had been assigned to the family and talk to Henry there, where they’d have more privacy. They rode the elevator to the third floor without speaking. The silver doors slid open, and Henry gestured her through. As they turned toward the waiting room, a nurse hurried up to them.

“Mr. Braun, Dr. Mulligan needs to see you.”

Henry stopped, and his hand reached outward, as if in need of support. Beth clasped it. He squeezed her fingers as he asked in a surprisingly calm tone, “Whom does it concern: my wife or my children?”

The nurse spun around, beckoning them to follow with a glance over her shoulder. “Your wife.”

TWENTY-SEVEN

Andrew heard the back door open, and he set aside the book he’d been reading and rose. His parents’ voices pulled him to the kitchen, where he found them beside the door engaged in quiet conversation.

“How is Aunt Marie?” He interrupted them to ask the question, but he’d been waiting for hours for word. Courtesy didn’t seem as important as being informed.

His father turned to him, slipping off his hat. “Has your uncle called?”

Andrew shook his head. “No one’s called. What’s going on?”

Briefly, his father recounted the details of Marie’s surgery to deliver the babies, the possible consequences of the syndrome that created the need for early delivery, and what they knew of the babies’ conditions.

Andrew drew in a slow breath. “Will they be okay?”

“We don’t know yet.” His mother bore dark circles beneath her eyes. “But Henry said he would call with any news. So we’ll have to wait.”

Andrew followed his parents as they moved toward their bedroom. “What about Beth? Did she come back, too?”

“She was still at the hospital when we left.” His father paused at the bedroom door, while his mother went on in and sat on the bed, her shoulders slumped. “I think she plans to stay there with Henry.”

“For how long?” Andrew’s heart caught. If it were only for tonight—if she planned to be back midday tomorrow, or even the morning after that—then if they worked together, maybe they could still finish the window.

Dad shrugged, his face twisting in a displeased scowl. “I don’t know, Andrew. She didn’t say.”

Andrew wanted to ask other questions, but his father’s foul mood stifled them. “Get some rest,” he said, “and I’ll listen for the telephone.”

“Thank you,” his mother called.

Dad closed the door.

Andrew moved slowly back to the front room, sat down with his elbows on his knees, and stared unseeingly at the patch of carpet between his feet. Surely she would come back. They were so close to being finished. Surely she wouldn’t let the opportunity go when only a few dozen shapes of glass stood between a successful launch of a fully operating studio, or continuing to do craft fairs until another opportunity came along.
If
it ever came along.