Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 90951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Someone’s too-sweet perfume stings my eyes as we lurch to the second floor, where two gray-haired women with balloons take their sweet time chatting and laughing their way out the doors.
Once they’re through, more people pile on. A woman with a crying baby. Two teenagers arguing about whether they should get their mother the tuna salad sandwich she requested from the cafeteria or force her to eat a grilled cheese because “tuna is stank ass.”
The space compresses again, and the air grows thick. Impatience claws at my throat, but I swallow it down.
When the doors finally open on the third floor, I dart out into a hallway that looks like every other hospital hallway I’ve ever seen in my life—white walls, fluorescent lights, confusing signs. Maternity wing to the left, but also maternity wing straight ahead. Which is it, and why the conflicting signals? As if women in labor need a puzzle to solve on their way to having their bodies turned inside out.
Trusting my gut, I head left, moving swiftly down the long corridor. As I progress, so do the numbers—301, 303, right up to 315—but no even numbers. No 314. I backtrack, trying the straight arrow route, but there, the numbers go down into the 200’s instead of up.
A nurse in pink scrubs gives me a suspicious look as I pass her station for the third time. “Can I help you?”
“I’m looking for Room 314,” I say. “Beatrice Nix. The woman at the front told me to come to the third floor?”
Her furrowed brow smooths as she points behind me. “In the observation wing. Through those doors, take a right, follow the yellow line on the floor. Ignore the pink and white lines.”
Yellow line. Got it.
I follow the painted stripe like a lifeline, pulse speeding faster as I pass 308, 310, 312.
Then, finally…
I stop outside the open door of 314, close to the wall so I’m out of sight of whoever’s inside, my palms sweating and mouth dry.
Nix is in Canada, but if Charlotte is here already, I’ll have to play it cool.
She doesn’t know about Beatrice and me. She knows that we’re friends, so it wouldn’t be strange for me to be here, but she doesn’t know about the baby, let alone that I’m the father. For the first time since my skull hit the ice, my head starts to ache again. My pulse thuds in my ears, and my hands shake as I drag fingers through my hair.
What if Bea doesn’t want me here?
What if she tells me to leave?
What if I’m too late to make things easier or better for her? Too late for anything but goodbye?
“Then you’ll handle it,” I whisper.
I will. Because that’s what you do in life. You handle whatever comes as best you can, learning from your mistakes and being grateful for the moments when you get it right.
But fuck, I really hope I get it right this time.
For Bea’s sake. For the baby’s.
Drawing a breath, I knock softly on the doorframe.
A beat later, Beatrice calls, “Come in.”
I step around the corner, heart in my throat as the room comes into focus. It’s small, dim, the blinds drawn against the sun, filtering the light to a soft amber. Beatrice sits propped against pillows in a narrow hospital bed with her hair in two long, fuzzy braids. Her left foot is bandaged and elevated on a foam wedge of some kind.
Her gaze meets mine.
Her lips part.
My heart shoves higher in my throat.
And then, her shoulders sag with relief as her eyes fill. “Blue. You’re here. How are you here?”
I don’t answer with words. I can’t.
My throat is too full, and my chest is overflowing.
I cross the room in three steps and fold her into my arms. I cradle her close as she buries her face in my shirt, wraps her arms around my ribs, and gives me a squeeze that sends gratitude surging through my chest.
She trembles. I do, too.
We stay that way for a long time before my throat loosens enough to ask, “You’re okay? You’re both okay? Clover, too?”
She nods. “Yes. Bean and I are fine. Clover is in surgery, but the nurses promised that she’s going to be all right. They’re going to update me as soon as she’s in recovery.”
I hug her tighter, eyes sliding closed for a beat. “I’m so glad. So glad.”
“Me, too,” she whispers.
“Can I stay? Wait with you? Help you?”
“Yes, of course.” She pulls in a breath, her muscles tensing beneath my hands as she exhales. “But, I… I just…” She breaks off with a sneeze, then another, and another.
I pull back, wincing. “Sorry. I was sanding. Before I saw the wreck on the news. I ran out the door without changing my shirt. I probably just gave you a nose full of sawdust.”
Her lips twitch. “That’s okay. You don’t have to apologize. I’m so glad you came, I just…”