The Color of Joy (19 page)

Moving at a brisk pace while scanning left and right for women with infants, I spoke into the phone. “Pick up, Miller. Pick up.”

At last he answered my call. “Miller here.”

“It’s Riley,” I said. “I’m at the airport but I’m worried she’s getting on a plane and might have already gone through security. I can’t get past security to check without buying a ticket, which will take some time. Are you on your way?”

“We’re just pulling in,” he said. “We’ll take care of this, Riley, and she may not be getting on a plane. I suspect she’s there to meet an arrival.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. “How do you know that?”

“Because I just met her husband. He’s in the military service and came home from Afghanistan tonight for her surgery. He got off a flight from Atlanta an hour ago. And get this…she never told him about her miscarriage.”

“Thanks.” I ended the call and ran toward the baggage carousels.

Maybe I was running too fast. Maybe I was distracted. Or maybe my shoelace was untied. I have no explanation for what happened and why it happened when it did. All I know is that I stumbled and fell, as if someone had tripped me. My chin hit the floor, my teeth clacked together and a searing pain reverberated from my jaw to the very top of my skull.

Rolling to my side, I struggled to get my bearings in a world that was spinning around and around. Suddenly I found myself staring up at three faces—all strangers—crowded around me.

“Geez, are you okay?” some guy with dreadlocks asked.

Feeling dazed, I rolled to my stomach, rose up on all fours in a clumsy attempt to get to my feet. There was a metallic taste of blood in my mouth. I spit onto the floor.

“I don’t think you should get up,” the guy said, concerned.

“I’m all right.” I rose to my feet and staggered sideways.

“You’re bleeding,” a young girl said, pointing at my lip.

I touched it with a finger.

“Go get him some tissues,” her mother suggested. “There’s a washroom right there.”

Feeling slightly dizzy, I watched the girl grasp the door lever and jiggle it. She turned around with a blank expression. “It’s locked.”

“There must be someone in there,” her mother replied as she dug into her purse. “I might have some Kleenex…”

Then, like some kind of beacon in the night, I heard a baby squeak. All my senses came alive and the dizziness vanished. The whole world went quiet and still. I felt as if I could hear a pin drop on the other side of the airport.

I stood motionless and listened.

There.

Again
…

A small pithy cry, barely audible in the noise of the terminal.

I ran to the bathroom door and rattled the lever handle. When I couldn’t open it, I began to knock urgently. “Hello? Is anyone in there? Can you open up please? It’s an emergency.”

No response. I waited a few seconds and heard another squeak. I pressed my ear to the door. “Is there a baby in there?”

Still no answer. My breathing accelerated and I felt an uncontrollable trembling in all my bones and muscles.

“
Open the door!
” I shouted as I began to pound violently with the edge of my fist, squeezed tight as a vise.

Scarcely conscious of the young girl backing away from me in wide-eyed fear, I rammed my shoulder up against the door, again and again, fighting to force it open. Then I heard it more clearly. The sound of a baby, now crying with all the power in her tiny little lungs.

I recognized that cry. It was my daughter’s. It was the same cry I’d heard when she came back from the brink of death in the OR.

Taking a step back, I attempted to kick the door open with my boot.
Bang, bang, bang!

“Buddy relax,” the guy with dreadlocks said, approaching me from behind. “There’s someone in there. I’m sure they’ll be out soon.”

“Get security!” I shouted at everyone, full of rage. “I need this door open!
Now!
”

With terror-filled eyes, the guy took off to find someone to help.

I continued to ram the side of my body up against the door until I was grabbed by the arms, pulled away and forced to the floor with my hands behind my back. I felt the familiar, soul-crushing sensation of handcuffs clicking around my wrists. “
No!
” I shouted.

Lying on my stomach, with my cheek on the cold hard tiles, I watched the scene unfold around me as if it were happening in slow motion.

Cops were everywhere. Running. Shouting. Telling people to move back. Someone unlocked the door with a key. It swung open. I saw a woman’s legs on the floor. They weren’t moving.

“It’s Jenn Nichols,” someone said as two cops rushed into the room and knelt down to attend to her.

I heard my baby crying.

My stomach muscles clenched tight and I gritted my teeth in desperation, fighting to move but there were two firm knees pressing into my spine.

Then Holmes, the female detective, emerged from behind the bathroom door holding my baby in her arms.

Someone freed my hands from the cuffs and set me loose. It was Miller. I scrambled to my feet and for the first time, reached out to hold my child.

Looking down at my daughter’s face, I was overcome with relief and a joy so profound, the whole world turned into a kaleidoscope of color before my eyes. I sank to my knees and laughed and cried as I bent my head to kiss her soft, warm head.

Thank you, God. Thank you for saving the life of my child and for bringing her home to us.

As soon as I was able to collect myself, I looked up and saw Holly running down the escalators, pushing past curious bystanders. She reached the ground floor and sprinted toward me, but a police officer held out his arm to stop her.

“It’s okay,” I explained. “She’s my sister.”

He let her pass and she dropped to her knees in front of me. “I can’t believe it. You found her.” She leaned close to look at her. “Is she all right?”

“I think so,” I replied. “Holmes said she was on the floor in the bathroom, wrapped in a blanket.”

“And you’re sure it’s your baby?”

“We’re sure. She’s still wearing the identity bracelet from the hospital and the numbers match the one I’m wearing.” I showed her the band on my wrist.

Besides that, there was no doubt in my mind that this was my daughter. I felt some sort of extraordinary paternal instinct.

“Your lip…” Holly said, pointing at it. “You’re going to need stitches.” She looked around. “I wonder if someone has a first aid kit.”

I awkwardly reached into my pocket for my phone. “I need to call Lois.”

Letting go of the notion of treating my lip, Holly held out her arms. “I can hold her for you.”

I shook my head. “No, I don’t want to let go of her just yet.” Still on my knees, sitting on my heels, I used my sleeve to wipe the blood from my chin and managed to dial Lois’s number.

“Hello?” she answered.

“Hey babe, we found her,” I said without any preliminaries. “She’s all right. I have her here in my arms. She’s fine.”

“Oh, my God!” Lois immediately burst into tears. “
You found her?
You really have her?”

“Yes, and she’s beautiful. I can’t wait for you to see her.”

“She’s okay?”

“She’s probably hungry, but she seems fine, yes. I’m bringing her back to the hospital to make sure.”

Lois said nothing for a moment though I could hear her weeping, so I waited.

“Where was she?” Lois asked when she stopped crying. “Where did you find her?”

“We’re at the airport,” I replied. “And Miller was right. It was the woman with the brain tumor who had her.”

“The one who went missing from the hospital this morning?” Lois asked. “Did they arrest her?”

A team of paramedics came running by with a stretcher. They hurried to where Jenn Nichols was lying, immobile, on the floor inside the washroom.

“Not yet,” I replied. “She’s not conscious.” My gut churned with dread. “I’m not even sure if she’s alive. The paramedics just came.”

“Why is she unconscious? Was there a standoff or something?”

“No. We have no idea what happened. All we know is that she was locked in a private bathroom when I found them. I’m guessing she might have collapsed in there. She’s supposed to have brain surgery the day after tomorrow.”

“You’re kidding me,” Lois replied with genuine concern. “But why would she kidnap a baby when she’s about to have brain surgery?”

I looked down at my daughter and felt another rush of joy. How immensely blessed I was, to be holding her in my arms.

“I don’t know what the woman’s story is, but Miller suspects she came to the airport to meet her husband who was coming home from Afghanistan tonight. He’s a soldier.”

I watched the paramedics lift Jenn Nichols onto the stretcher.

Lois grew quiet. “Wait a minute… You said
you
found them?”

“Yes. I sort of got a tip about where they were.”

“From whom?” Lois asked.

Finding my balance, I rose to my feet. “It’s a long story. I promise I’ll tell you everything, but first I want to bring our baby to you.”

The paramedics pushed the stretcher toward the ambulance which was parked outside. “Is she alive?” I asked as they passed by.

“Yes,” one of them told me but she offered no more than that.

I followed for a few frantic strides to get a look at the woman’s face beneath the oxygen mask—the woman who had taken my child mere hours after she was born.

Maybe it was not my finest hour, but I felt no sympathy. My heart began to race with rancor. Part of me wanted to rip the mask off her face and throw it aside, shake this woman senseless.
How could you?

Josh arrived and laid his hand on my shoulder, pulling me from the violence of my imaginings.

“Thank God, she’s okay,” Josh said. “You did good.”

I don’t know what happened in the seconds after that. My mind was still spinning.

In due course, we spoke to Miller about returning to the hospital with the baby. Holmes inspected the blood on my face and insisted that she carry my child to Miller’s unmarked police vehicle, in case I passed out or something. I gave my keys to Josh, and Holmes sent an officer with him and Holly to fetch the safety seat in the back of my car.

Holmes and Miller then escorted all of us to the hospital.

Along the way, as I sat in the back seat of Miller’s car with my baby girl, I felt distracted the entire time—and full of vengeful rage whenever I looked out the window.

Miller called the hospital on our behalf to let them know our baby had been found. I was instructed to take her straight to pediatrics to be checked over and to confirm her identity. Other than being hungry, she was perfectly fine—and she
was
ours.

As soon as I walked through the door of Lois’s room, she sat up in bed and covered her face with her hands. Carol was there as well. She stood from her chair.

“I’m so happy!” Lois cried, holding out her arms.

I gave our baby to my wife and stood by her side as she wept tears of joy. Vaguely I was aware of my mother-in-law leaving us alone in the room.

“I was so afraid I’d never even know what she looked like,” Lois cried. “Never hold her in my arms. Never hear the sound of her little voice…” Her watery eyes lifted to meet mine and she pointed at me. “What happened to your lip?”

“I was in a hurry to find her,” I replied. “I fell at the airport, but it’s fine. I’ll get it looked at.”

She regarded me with tenderness and concern, and her eyes filled with tears again. “You’re my hero,” she said. “I was such a mess today.”

Overcome with love for my wife and newborn daughter—and feeling a deep sense of relief that she was safely returned to us—I reached for Lois’s hand and pressed it to my cheek.

“I was a mess, too,” I said as I drew back, recalling my dangerous moment of weakness in the bar with that shot of Jack Daniels.

Lois turned her attention to our child who was rooting toward her breast. “She’s hungry.” I helped Lois untie the back of her hospital gown. Gently, she pulled our baby close to her heart. “That’s it,” Lois whispered, maneuvering our baby around to find a comfortable position. It took a moment or two, but soon she was drinking her fill.

Lois looked up at me and smiled. “Proud-mama moment here. She’s doing it like a pro.”

I smiled in return and pulled up a chair to sit beside her.

“Wow,” Lois said, “she’s
really
hungry.”

As I sat in the quiet hospital room watching my wife and daughter become acquainted with each other in the most intimate way, I had to choke back the urge to cry. I was completely overwhelmed by the miracle of life and astounded by how lucky we were to have our child back with us—when it could have so easily gone another way.

I couldn’t bear to think about all the “what ifs.”

“Riley,” Lois said, gazing across at me intently. “We haven’t given her a name yet. I can’t believe we went so long without deciding.”