Mystic Summer (25 page)

“How long's he here for?” Jane asks, dumping more wine in to her glass. The Newport trip has clearly worn off.

“He has to drive back tonight,” I say. “They're filming tomorrow.”

My mother actually sighs. “Such a fascinating line of work.”

“I don't care what he does for work,” Jane scoffs. “The man helps out.” She nods toward the living room, where Evan is clearing the men's beer bottles. We watch in silence as he brings them into the kitchen and rinses each one before setting them in the recycling bin.

“Shall I set the food out?' he asks.

“Thanks, that would be great,” Jane says sweetly, before abruptly excusing herself to go to the living room. “Dinnertime!” she barks.

There is a rumble as everyone heads for the table. “What's for dinner?” Randall asks, suspiciously.

“Pizza,” Evan tells him, bringing the boxes to the table.

Owen brightens. “Cameron took us for pizza!”

I wince, glancing around to see who else has heard. Evan doesn't seem to have noticed. But my mother does. I ignore her flat gaze, and start passing out plates. “We've got cheese and pepperoni.”

“Cameron likes pepperoni,” Owen continues. “That's what we had at the pizza place.”

“Owen, why don't you come sit by me?” I say.

Jane plops down on the other side of me. “So. Slices with my kids and Cameron. When exactly was this?”

I can tell Jane is haggard-tired and mad at the world today. And she especially does not like it when her children's schedule, menu, or social interactions are in any way altered without her knowledge. But surely she is not about to start in with me. “You were on your way home from your lovely weekend getaway,” I whisper. “The one I gave up my first weekend of summer to babysit your offspring for?”

Jane nods toward Evan, who is laughing at something Toby said, and lowers her voice. “You've got a guy like this, and you're hanging around with Cameron?”

I ignore this. “We were at the playground and the kids were starving.”

This does not dissuade her. “But I left you a homemade casserole.
Organic
quinoa casserole.”

“The kids had fun, Jane. It was just a playdate.” I pass her the salad.

“You mean a
date.
”

“Yes, Jane. Because four kids under the age of five makes for a really hot date.”

Jane shrugs, stabbing at her salad. “I don't get it, Maggie.”

“It was just pizza. It was impromptu.”

Jane shoves a slice of cucumber in her mouth and grins wickedly. “Impromptu? Or impassioned?”

I glare at her.

Toby slides into a chair beside Owen and grabs a plate. “So, what've we got?”

Jane smiles at him. “Impassioned pizza.”

Toby frowns at his plate.

“We forgot drinks,” I say loudly, desperate to switch the subject before my mother joins us. “Who wants water?”

Owen turns to his mother. “They didn't have water at the pizza place. Maggie let us get Coke.”

Jane turns an apoplectic shade. “You gave my kids
soda
?”

Toby smirks, probably because he's relieved not to be on the receiving end of this lecture for once.

“Do you have any idea how many dyes and sweeteners are in a bottle of soda? They cause cancer.”

“Relax, Jane. They had water, too.”

Owen shakes his head. “We drank the Coke.”

“So,” Evan says, having passed out plates to everyone else. “What can I get you, Maggie?”

I fix him with a grateful smile. “Cheese, please.”

“You want a Coke with that?” Jane snips.

My mother is heading our way with a stack of napkins. My father is wandering around looking for a free seat.

There is a moment of silence as everyone digs in, before my father sets his piece down with an expression nothing short of wistful. “This is great. Where is this pie from?” He grabs a box and reads it aloud. “
Mystic Pizza
. I haven't been there in ages. Have any of you?”

Jane shoots a look at me.

My mother finally sits down. “I think I'll have a slice of pepperoni.”

“Cameron's favorite,” Owen says.

I
needed to talk to Cam. About that moment—that kiss—whatever it was those few days ago on the bridge. But there were far more pressing matters.

Thursday morning I arrive as I said I would at Yale-New Haven Children's Hospital. The woman at the cardiac catheterization lab reception counter asks me for identification. “Are you family?”

“Cameron Wilder, the father of your patient Emory Wilder, is expecting me,” I tell her. Which is not entirely true. In fact, he may be hoping that I don't show up at all.

The nurse glances at her computer screen. “Are you Lauren Peale?”

My cheeks flush at the mention of her name. I glance down the hall, feeling suddenly out of place.

“No,” I say. “I'm Maggie Griffin.”

“Family?”

Lauren Peale is family. Lauren Peale, the mother, who may at this very moment be coming up in the next elevator. But I'm already here, and no matter what Cam may think of me right now, I want him to know my word is good.

“Yes,” I lie. “I'm family.”

Inside the room, Cam is sitting on a hospital bed, bouncing Emory gently on his lap. They don't notice me standing awkwardly in the doorway.

“Good morning.”

Cam looks up. “You came.”

But he's not the only one in the room. “What a surprise.” Mrs. Wilder is sitting in the corner armchair, and she looks at me quizzically. But I'm so relieved that she's not Lauren that I return her look with a smile.

“Just wanted to drop by and wish you all well. I brought you lunch,” I stammer, holding up a bag from Mystic Market. “And a little something for Emory.” His eyes travel to the pink gift bag in my other hand.

Cam stands, shifting Emory to his hip. She turns to look at me and breaks into a grin. It's all the permission I need to step into the room and tickle her foot. “Hi there, baby girl.” She's surprisingly rosy-cheeked and alert. “So, everything went well this morning, then?”

Cam grimaces. “Actually, we're still waiting for our turn in the catheterization lab. There was a change in the schedule.”

“It's been a long morning,” Mrs. Wilder says, still studying me. “Would you like a seat?” She gestures to a chair beside her own.

“Oh, no, thank you. I'm fine.” I hand Cam the gift bag. When he reaches in and pulls out the little stuffed elephant I brought, Emory locks her eyes on it.

Mrs. Wilder stands. “I think I'll get a drink of water.”

Cam waits until his mother is well down the hallway. “Thanks for all this, it's really nice of you.” Then, “I didn't think you were coming after all.”

“Is it okay that I did? I don't want to impose, but we'd talked about it the other night—”

Cam finishes the sentence. “Before your boyfriend came.” His tone is void of any sentiment.

A wave of guilt hits me dead center. “Yeah. Before that.”

Emory breaks the thick silence that follows with a squeal. She reaches one arm out toward me and instinctively I reach back.

“She wants your necklace,” Cam says, glancing at the silver heart pendant my grandmother gave me. I touch it, realizing only now the significance of my having worn it here.

“Can I hold her?”

Cam gently passes her to me. When I show her the pendant, Emory seizes it, a silver heart in her tiny fist. I glance at Cam.

For the first time since I arrived, he smiles. “Careful. She's got a thing for shiny objects.”

“You've got good taste,” I tell her, and without thinking I press my nose to her head and inhale her baby scent. A wave of worry rises inside me as I do. “I can't believe you've been waiting all morning. How are you feeling?”

He sits on the bed. “We're hanging in there.”

There is the sound of nearing footsteps in the hall. We all turn. I'm filled with relief as an older couple carrying flowers walks by.

“Cam, I'm sorry, but I had to tell the nurse that I was family.”

He shrugs. “That's okay.”

“She asked me if I was Lauren.” I watch him carefully, but there is no indication of surprise or offense at my having asked.

“Yes,” he says. “I put her name on the register.”

When he doesn't offer any more, I do. Fully aware that this is not my business. “So she's coming, then?”

Cam shakes his head sadly. “I don't think so. She finally sent a message that she was working in the Seward Peninsula. She thanked me for the update on Emory, but . . .” He doesn't finish the thought.

At that moment, a young male orderly breezes through the door. “Hello, sunshine! It's almost your turn.” He comes up to me and tickles Emory's tummy. Emory emits a small noise of distress and turns in her father's direction.

“Just a few things to go over, first.” I hand Emory back and stand to the side, watching as they take her vitals and do a brief checkup. Cam answers each question calmly. No formula since last night. Water until 4:00 a.m. Wet diaper fifteen minutes ago. “So are they ready for her now?” Cam asks.

“Just about.”

Mrs. Wilder returns and hovers by the bed. They undress Emory together, and put on what looks to be a tiny hospital gown, but still it swallows her up. She starts to cry. The nurse applies a numbing cream to Emory's upper leg, where I assume the catheter will be placed. Soon after, the cardiologist who will perform the catheterization arrives with an attendee. He introduces himself as Dr. Weil.

“It's okay, Emmy,” Cam murmurs. He sways her back and forth, as Dr. Weil goes over the procedure. Emory will be taken to the cardiac catheterization lab and the anesthesiologist will sedate her under general anesthesia. At that point, the catheter will be inserted through a small incision in her groin and advanced into her heart with the help of ultrasound. Additionally, a transesophageal echocardiogram
will be done with a probe placed down Emory's esophagus, to take pictures from inside Emory's heart. Measurements will be taken of the heart valves and blood vessels, and the doctors will determine the actual size of the defect. If all goes well, Emory will remain under anesthesia and the device to close the hole between her ventricles will be delivered through a long sheath. Once it is properly placed using X-ray and ultrasound, the catheter will be removed and Emory will be brought to the recovery room. The entire procedure is expected to take two to three hours.

Instinctively, my eyes travel to Cam's. He is reverent; a man about to hand over his only child. But he seems at peace with all that Dr. Weil has just explained.

Suddenly I feel too large and out of place in the room. When Cam shakes the cardiologist's hand, tears spring to my eyes.

“I'll be right outside,” I say, though no one is listening.

Out in the hallway I press myself against the cool concrete wall. Moments later Dr. Weil leaves the room. His gait is purposeful as he moves down the hallway toward the bank of elevators. He can't be any older than Toby—I imagine him waking up this morning and drinking coffee at his kitchen counter, still in his pajamas—yet here, now, this otherwise ordinary man is in charge of Cam's little girl's heart.

Moments later, Emory is wheeled out of the room, just a little bundle in the center of the bed. Cam walks alongside, holding onto her the whole way. Emory looks uncertain. I wonder what she makes of all the bright lights and strange faces.

I want to follow them. I want to say something to Cam. But they're already halfway down the hall and I realize I don't know what my place is here.

At the elevators, Mrs. Wilder stops and hugs her son. She remains behind as Cam steps inside with the nurse and orderly. The elevator doors close. I watch as she puts a hand to her forehead. It's a moment before she turns and sees me still standing there.

“What do you do in Boston?”

The cafeteria lighting is only half a shade less bright than the glare of the hospital halls, and I feel utterly exposed sitting across from Mrs. Wilder at the narrow café table.

“I'm a teacher at a private school just outside the city. But I was just let go, so . . .”

She glances at the clock, and I can't blame her. She probably wants to call her husband. She's probably worrying about her grandchild.

I stand up. “I should go. Would you please let Cam know that I'm thinking of them?”

Mrs. Wilder looks offended. “Sit down, Maggie.”

I sit. “I don't want to intrude. And I should probably get back to Mystic. My friend Erika is getting married and—”

“I could use the company. Tell me about your students.”

“Okay.” As I detail my job at Darby, I can't help but feel Cam's mother scrutinize me across the café table in a similar style to that of Ainsley Perry across my desk. Perhaps more kindly, but it's an interview, nonetheless.