The Secret Heir. Gina Wilkins
“They’re running a few more tests now,” he concluded. “We’ll be notified as soon as we can see him.”
One hand at her throat, Donna shook her head in disbelief. “Thank goodness Beverly is a former nurse’s aide who recognized the signs that something was wrong! If it hadn’t been for her, we might not have had any warning until it was too late.”
Laurel moved abruptly toward the door. “Excuse me. I need to…freshen up. Find me if they come for us,” she added to Jackson on her way out.
Knowing she wouldn’t want him to, he didn’t try to follow her.
Closed into the dubious privacy of a ladies’ room stall, Laurel finally let herself cry. She couldn’t handle this, she thought. Anything else but this.
Maybe if she had been a better mother. More attentive. A perfect stay-at-home mom, like Donna Reiss had been. Then Laurel, rather than Tyler’s nanny, would have been the one who had made note of the light-blue tinge around the boy’s lips after he’d been running, or the slightly ragged edge to his breathing at times.
Despite all the times she had played with him, tickled him, run with him, Laurel had never seen the warning signs. It had taken a nurse’s-aide-turned-nanny to realize that something was very wrong.
Laurel felt like such a failure as a mother—something she had feared since the day she had been told, to her shock, that she was pregnant. Still barely used to the idea of being a wife, she had almost panicked at the prospect of parenthood. What did she know about being a mother when she had never really had one herself?
For three years she had done the best she could at motherhood. She had read all the books, devoted herself to the role with an intensity that had overshadowed almost everything else in her life. Two years ago, after coming to the conclusion that she was hovering on the edge of clinical depression and would be a better mother if she felt a bit more personally fulfilled, she had returned to her job as a social worker. But even then she had tried to keep her hours reasonable, she reminded herself defensively. Certainly more reasonable than Jackson, who was rarely home.
Laurel had interviewed dozens of potential nannies, selecting the woman she had considered the best, even though Jackson had grumbled about the cost. It had taken the lion’s share of Laurel’s salary just to pay for child care, but despite Jackson’s suspicions, she didn’t really work for the money. She just needed to feel as if she was doing something worthwhile. Something that made her feel valuable and competent.
She should have been content with being a full-time wife and mother, she thought now. But, unlike her job, which inspired confidence in her abilities, those other roles left her feeling clueless. As Jackson’s oh-so-perfect mother had just pointed out, it had taken a nanny even to realize that Tyler was seriously ill.
Was everyone judging her for not being the one to notice? Or was she the only one who found that so hard to forgive?
Knowing she had to emerge from the restroom eventually, she splashed cold water on her face, composing her expression as much as possible. The door opened before she touched the handle, and two older women walked in, both nodding greetings to Laurel as they passed.
She found her husband and his parents in the waiting room. Donna and Jackson sat on a vinyl-covered bench, Donna’s head resting on her son’s shoulder. Carl roamed restlessly from a stand of magazines to a saltwater aquarium, which held his attention for only a short while.
Laurel had never gotten to know her father-in-law very well. Almost ten years older than his wife, sixty-one-year-old Carl Reiss was a good-natured but quiet mechanic. His skin was weathered, his sandy-turned-gray hair thinning, and his brown eyes had a perpetual squint, as though from hours of peering into the sun.
Though very much like his father in mannerisms, Jackson was physically more like his mother. Both Jackson and Donna were blond—though Donna’s color was artificially maintained now—and they had the same dark-blue eyes. Laurel had been told that Donna had once been drop-dead gorgeous, and even at fifty-two, she was still slim and striking. Jackson had definitely inherited his good looks from his mother.
Tyler was a blond, blue-eyed, miniature replica of his own father. But from whom had he received his tiny defective heart? Laurel couldn’t help wondering with a catch in her throat.
Jackson stood when he saw Laurel approach. “You okay?”
She didn’t bother lying to him again. “No word yet about when we can go to Tyler?”
“No. Not yet.”
She turned toward the desk. “This is ridiculous. I want to see my baby.”
Jackson moved after her, and for a moment she thought he was going to try to stop her. Instead, he took her arm and walked with her to the reception desk. “We’d like to see our son,” he said to the efficient-looking woman sitting there.
“I’m sure you’ll be called as soon as they’re ready for you, Mr. Reiss.”
“We’re going in now,” he said, moving toward the doors. “You can either call an escort, or we’ll go find Tyler ourselves.”
“Um, just a moment.” The woman hastily picked up the receiver of the telephone on her desk. Moments later a stern-faced nurse appeared to escort them back.
Jackson Reiss had always had a way of getting what he wanted, Laurel thought with a touch of wistfulness.
Unfortunately, this seemed like the first time in almost four years that she and he had wanted the same thing.
Two
T yler burst into tears the moment he saw his parents, and held out his little arms to Laurel. She scooped him up, snuggling her face into his neck. “See?” she said, her voice bright and bracing. “I told you Mommy and Daddy would be close by.”
“Wanna go home.”
“I know, baby.” She shifted him more snugly onto her hip. His legs, bare beneath the thin, child-sized hospital gown, wrapped around her with a grip that let her know he wouldn’t release her again without a struggle. “We have to stay here now, but Mommy’s going to be right here with you, okay?”
“Wanna go home,” Tyler repeated, his lip quivering as he looked to his father for reinforcement.
Jackson reached out to ruffle Tyler’s fine, white-blond hair. “We’ll take you home as soon as the doctor says it’s okay, buddy.”
A chocolate-skinned nurse with a riot of black curls around her appealing face hovered nearby. She nodded toward a deeply cushioned chair on one side of the private hospital room. “That chair converts into a single bed. One of you is welcome to spend the night here with Tyler.”
A wooden rocker sat on the other side of the standard hospital bed on which Tyler had been sitting when Laurel and Jackson entered. Picking up the stuffed penguin Tyler had dropped on the bed, Laurel sat in the rocker with Tyler nestled in her lap. Leaving Jackson to talk with the nurse, she concentrated on cheering up her son.
“You and I are going to spend the night here, Tyler. Mommy will sleep right here beside your bed.”
Tyler sniffed. “Angus, too?”
“Of course Angus, too.” She patted the stuffed penguin’s somewhat grubby head. “And look, we have a TV and a stack of cartoon movies. There are some of your favorites here. We’ll watch one together, okay?”
Tyler nodded tentatively. Her promise that she would stay with him had reassured him somewhat, even if he was still clearly bewildered by what was going on.
Barely three, he was still too young to understand that even though he felt fine, there was something wrong with him that required medical intervention. To him, it must seem that one moment he had been playing with his toys and the next he’d been in the hospital being poked and prodded by strangers.
That was pretty much the way it felt to Laurel, too.
On