Bundle of Joy (28 page)

Charlie was terse with his friends. Uncommunicative. She saw the way Bill's brow furrowed when he looked at his short-order cook and the worried look on Scotty's face spoke volumes.

She'd spent the past six months as an almost-wife. Now she was an almost-mother. Her breasts were heavy with milk, but she had no child to hold close and nurse. All her life, it seemed, she had been struggling to be something that the fates had decreed she shouldn't be. In grammar school she'd wanted to be like the other girls. In college, she'd pretended to be from the leisure set. Self-confident. Flirtatious. Without a care in the world.

All lies. The ex-husband she'd made up from whole cloth simply to sound glamorous. The finishing schools. The trips to Europe and the exotic friends she'd invented just so she could fit into her chosen world. Same as she'd invented a family who loved her and cared about her future and supported her hopes and dreams. She thought of the classes, the planning, the Lamaze breathing--ultimately none of it had mattered a damn.
You should have known better,
she thought with a bitter laugh. Of all people, she should have known family happiness wasn't in the cards for her. She'd pictured herself and Charlie timing her contractions, the
I Love Lucy
-esque race to the hospital complete with a comical race to the delivery room. And, oh how she'd wanted Charlie to rub her back and encourage her and be there to hear their baby's first cry. They'd shared so much these past few months--good moods and bad moods, their hopes and their fears--and now that they could truly be a comfort to each other as their baby girl struggled for life, they were once again strangers.

Finally she felt strong enough to tackle creating a strong and wonderful family for herself and her daughter. A
real
family, not the product of her imagination but the product of love and hard work and commitment.

A family with Charlie right there at the center of it.

"Damn," she whispered into her pillow. "Damn, damn, damn."

"Caroline?"

She looked up to see Dr. Burkheit shadowed in the doorway. A lump rose into her throat and she couldn't find her voice.

"The worst is over," said the doctor as he crossed the room to her bed. "Your little girl is going to be just fine."

"Really?"

He took her hand. "Really. She's one hell of a fighter."

Her little girl had fought for her life and won the battle. Now it was up to Caroline to fight for her marriage.

#

As for Charlie, he was living in a state of suspended animation. He ate and slept like a normal human being, but he was operating on instinct, not intellect. He was numb inside. Cold as the dead branches on the trees outside his window. He knew he should say or do something to ease Caroline's pain but beyond spending his days at the hospital, he had nothing else to offer her. An overwhelming sense of guilt overrode everything, even his fear.

He was glad he hadn't taken a good look at the baby. Glad he couldn't place a tiny face to the dreams and hopes he'd had for the future. Glad that he hadn't shared those dreams and hopes with Caroline, only to see them turn to ashes before their eyes.

He swore softly and threw one of his running shoes the length of the work room in the basement of his house in Rocky Hill.

"So now what?" he asked the empty room a week after the baby's birth. How did you go about dismantling a marriage that had never had a chance to begin with? Did he wait for Caroline to broach the subject or did he bite the bullet and get it out in the open now before it got any harder to do? The christening, they'd originally said. After the christening, the deal was off. Now it was anybody's guess if the baby would even live.

He felt as if someone was cracking his ribcage open like a shell, exposing his vulnerable, beating heart to the world.

The best night of his life had been the one he'd spent with Caroline in that ridiculous makeshift fur vault in the back of her dress shop. Nothing in his privileged childhood or adventurous youth came close to the wonder he'd found in her arms. To think that out of that one impetuous--and, yes, irresponsible--encounter had come seven wonderful months. He'd give anything if he could turn back the clock to those days between Christmas and New Year's when he'd believed they just might have a chance.

But that chance was gone. All they had in common was that tiny bundle of humanity who struggled for life back at the hospital and if that small life flickered out--

The shrill blare of the phone upstairs jerked him back to reality. He took the rickety basement steps two at a time and grabbed the receiver on the fifth ring.

"Charlie?" It was Bill O'Rourke.

"Yeah, Bill."
You're a jerk, Donohue,
he thought. How could it have been Caroline when she didn't even know where he lived? "What's up?"

"I have a message for you from Caroline."

An iron fist grabbed him by the lungs. "The baby--?"

Bill hesitated. "I don't know. She just asked me to track you down and tell you to get to the hospital
pronto
."

"How did she sound?"

"Just go to the hospital," said Bill.

#

The wonder was he hadn't killed himself on the drive to the hospital. Regret ate at his gut like a cancer. Why hadn't he looked at their baby? Why hadn't he touched her cheek? Why had he let her brief time on earth slip by without acknowledgment?

He grabbed a spot in the parking garage then zoomed through the lobby full-speed.

"Slow down," said a security guard. "You're running like the demons of hell are at your heels."

Charlie said nothing. The demons of hell had nothing on the pain of what might have been.

Caroline, dressed in slippers and a silky robe, met him at the elevator on the maternity floor. "Come with me," she said, taking his hand.

His fear downshifted into uncertainty. "Where are we going?"

"To the nursery."

He stopped in his tracks. "What's wrong? Don't try to soften it for me."

"Shut up and keep moving, Donohue." She walked slowly, thanks to the C-section, but with determination and in moments they were standing in front of the glass window.

"That," she said, pointing to a tiny baby in the first isolette, "is your daughter." The pride and love in her voice were unmistakable. "You haven't looked at her before, have you, Donohue?"

He shook his head.
She's alive. You still have a chance.

"You're going to look at your daughter," she ordered. "Right now. I'm going to make sure you do. She deserves better than this, Donohue, and I'm not going to let you shortchange her another minute."

You don't know what you're asking,
he thought. He wasn't brave or strong or any of the things a father should be. All he knew about fathering you could fit on the head of a pin. His own dad had skipped town the first possible moment. His stepfathers had been more interested in golf than going to Little League. The sum total of his parenting knowledge came from library books,
Father Knows Best
and
The Cosby Show
, with a touch of Hallmark Cards, for good measure.

He took a deep breath then looked through the glass. At first his vision was all cloudy, as if he was peering through a scrim. He swallowed then blinked his eyes, taking in rapid-fire impressions. A shock of jet black hair like his. A tiny,
perfect mouth like Caroline's. Froggy legs moving against the mattress to a rhythm all her own. "She's so small." His voice caught on the last word. "I could hold her in the palm of my hand." An exaggeration, perhaps, but he had never felt bigger--or more helpless--in his life.

"And perfect," said Caroline. "You forgot to say perfect."

"And perfect." He smiled for the first time in days." Her eyes are blue like yours."

"All babies have blue eyes at first," she said.

"Is she...will she--?" He couldn't form the words. The fear inside him was so great that it rendered him speechless.

"She'll be fine," said Caroline, tears glittering in her blue eyes. "The worst is over."

He heard the words as she told him about the wonders of modern medicine, about the strength of their baby girl. One day it would all make sense to him, but for now he could only nod and struggle to keep his heart on its sleeve where it belonged.

And that's when it hit him. A violent wave of emotion rushed over his body, washing away everything else but the intense, primal joy of knowing he had helped give life to the baby girl who looked up at him through the glass. That delicate little face, that beautiful little girl, would be part of his heart and soul all the days of his life.

"Oh God," he said, lowering his head to hide his tears. "She's going to be alright."

The sight of her big strong husband crying with joy over their baby girl was Caroline's undoing. Her own tears flowed freely and somehow she found herself in Charlie's arms, the two of them hugging and laughing--all of the wonderful sharing and celebrating she'd imagined would be part of the birth of their baby.

"A name," she managed, wiping away happy tears. "I think it's time we called her something besides 'the baby' and 'our daughter.'"
And it's time to talk about the future, Charlie, a future we can share together....

He couldn't think. He was pure emotion.

"She has the map of Ireland on her face," Caroline continued, nervous and hopeful both. "I was thinking that Erin is a beautiful name for a little girl."

Erin Bradley Donohue.
The best of both of them was there, in that beautiful baby girl, for all the world to see.

There'd be time enough later to understand the hows and whys and the miracles of medicine and good genes. Glib old Charlie, everybody's pal, stood there without a thing to say.

This was it. The moment that could change the rest of their lives. Those hopes and dreams he'd entertained these last seven months flooded over him and washed away his fears. Now was the time to declare himself, put his cards on the table, ask her if what they'd had together on a temporary basis could be the foundation for something lasting, something wonderful, something--

"Son!" came a smoky voice from the doorway. "Isn't it time you introduced me to your bride?"

Endings and Beginnings

"It's bad enough I discover you're married via a hastily-written Christmas card," the woman said, gliding into the room, all Givenchy and Gucci, "but to hide my first grandchild from me is unconscionable."

Caroline, mouth hanging open, frankly stared at this vision of sophistication.
Tall, slender, and somewhere in her sixties, this woman possessed the kind of
soignee
elegance that you found only in Europe. She looked from Charlie in his sweatshirt and faded jeans to the stylish woman standing before her. "Your mother?!"

"You must be Caroline." The woman extended a perfectly manicured hand. "I'm not surprised he hasn't told you about me."

"You have me at a disadvantage, Mrs. Donohue," she said, shaking her mother-in-law's hand. She was shocked that Charlie's mother even knew she existed.

"The name is Jean. I won't even bother you with my last two married names." Charlie's mother launched into a spirited synopsis of her last two European husbands that left Caroline staring at her, dumbfounded.

This had to be a joke. The Charlie Donohue she'd married was a short order cook. A regular guy who lived in some ramshackle cape cod in Rocky Hill. He drank beer and watched football on TV and thought cheeseburgers were manna from the gods. There was no way on earth he could have sprung from the womb of this magnificent older woman. Why, Jean Donohue Whatever was everything Caroline had ever wanted to be: gracious, witty, and to the manner born.

Jean was cooing over Erin, regaling Charlie with stories about himself as a baby. Caroline drew back and watched mother and son and grand-daughter. She'd come this close to making an utter fool of herself. She had been so elated, so filled with hope and joy, when Dr. Burkheit told her that Erin was out of the woods, that she was ready to run to Charlie and tell him what is in her heart.

What had been in her heart for a long, long time.

Well, thank God she hadn't done anything so foolish. In a way she was glad Jean had shown up when she did. At least now Caroline had been spared the embarrassment of revealing her secret heart to Charlie and then having it broken in two.

Oil and water.

Chalk and cheese.

Why had she ever believed they had a chance?

#

Jean only lingered a little while. "I'm off to Miami," she said to Charlie in her inimitable fashion. "Your Uncle Franklin is having a soiree and you know how terribly affronted he can be if one is lately."

Charlie didn't have the slightest idea what his mother was talking about. He wasn't even entirely sure he
had
an Uncle Franklin. "Thanks for coming by."