The Nurse's Newborn Gift. Wendy S. Marcus
“Stop putting it off.” Krissy reached inside to pull out a piece of paper that had Jarrod’s parents’ home telephone number on it. God willing it hadn’t changed. With a deep, fortifying breath, she picked up her cell phone and dialed the number.
First ring.
She twirled the post earring in her left ear, an annoying nervous habit Jarrod would have been sure to point out.
Second ring.
Suddenly parched, she reached for the glass beside her bed and took a sip of water.
Third ring.
She started to plan her message. Hello Mr. and Mrs. Sadler. It’s—
“Hello?”
Krissy recognized Patti’s voice immediately, so familiar it brought on a rush of emotion. She swallowed. Wasn’t ready—
“Hello?” Patti said again.
Stop being an idiot. “Hi, Mrs. Sadler,” Krissy said. “It’s me—”
“Krissy! Oh, my word. How are you, honey? It’s been...so long.” Patti may have started out happy to hear from Krissy, but the sadness tinged with disappointment and hurt in her ‘It’s been...so long’ was unmistakable.
“I know,” Krissy said. “I’m sorry. I...” How did one adequately apologize for failing to keep in touch with a woman who’d been like a mother to her throughout high school? For failing to be there for a woman who had been there for Krissy when her own mother couldn’t be? For failing to offer her love and support to a sweet and caring woman who’d been dealing with the worst tragedy a mother could face, the death of a child?
“I...” Krissy tried again. But how could she adequately explain that she’d tried to stay in touch, and she had, for a good year after Jarrod’s death. But hearing the complete desolation in Patti’s voice during each phone call had been too difficult? That it made Krissy feel things she didn’t want to feel when she’d been trying so hard to move past the pain? That knowing she held the key to Patti and Bart’s happiness, in the form of a grandbaby fathered by their beloved son, but not feeling ready to give up her freedom to have that baby at such a young age, made her feel guilty and selfish and just plain terrible?
“I’m sorry,” she said again. It would have to do until she could explain further.
“I’m sorry, too,” Patti said. “I’ve missed you. Now tell me everything. What have you been up to?”
Easy as that, sweet Patti moved past what a terrible friend Krissy had been.
An hour later they were all caught up—getting caught up on the happenings of Patti and Bart had taken less than five minutes, because not much new had happened in their lives. They were in the same apartment, working in the same jobs, still mourning the loss of their son. They were going through the motions of life but not really living. It would have broken Jarrod’s heart to know. It made Krissy feel even more awful for waiting so long to give them a grandchild to dote on.
But in six weeks, all that would change. She wanted to tell Patti, wanted to hear the joy in her voice and give her something to finally be happy about, but not yet. Not until Patti could hold a happy, healthy baby in her arms. Mr. and Mrs. Sadler had been through too much, couldn’t handle any more sadness if anything were to go wrong with the birth, or God forbid, if the baby wasn’t born healthy.
Krissy forced out the question she’d called to ask. “I’m wondering if you know how I can reach Spencer Penn?”
“Of course. Spencer is such a dear. He stops by for Sunday dinner every couple of months.”
Shoot. Leave it to Spencer to screw up her plans. “I thought he was living out in California. Wasn’t that why he hadn’t attended Jarrod’s funeral?”
“Oh, no. He was only out there for a week or two, taking his sister to look at colleges. I told him not to cancel his plans that Jarrod would understand. Now hold on a minute. Let me get his number from my address book.”
Take all the time you need. Can’t find it? No worries. Krissy was in no rush. She’d already put this off longer than she probably should have.
“Here it is.” Patti read off the number. “If you don’t mind me asking, why do you need it?”
Because your son has a sick sense of humor and I’m trying to do the right thing and abide by his wishes for Spencer to be our baby’s godfather, even though the thought made her a bit nauseous.
“I was under the impression,” Patti went on, “that the two of you weren’t friends anymore.”
No. They weren’t. Not since that night... “I need to talk to him about something important,” was all Krissy said, hoping Patti would leave it at that.
Thank goodness she did. “Don’t be a stranger,” Patti said. “If you have some time, we’d love to see you.”
Soon, if things went as planned, they’d be seeing quite a lot of her. “I’d like that. I’ll be in touch.” After your grandson is born.
* * *
A week later, on a Friday evening after work, Krissy sat in her parked car, watching the clock, not wanting to show up too early. She’d kept the heat on, because an April evening in New York was not near as warm as an April evening in Hawaii. Or maybe it was nerves giving her a chill.
It’d taken days of back and forth messages to set up a meeting with Spencer, the pain in the butt. He kept suggesting various bars in White Plains, all relatively close to where she worked, saying a neutral location with lots of witnesses was safest for both of them. Seemed the years hadn’t managed to mature him any.
Regardless of the fact she wasn’t drinking any alcohol these days, the topic they needed to discuss would be better dealt with in private. So Krissy had insisted on meeting him at his apartment—which, as it turned out, was also relatively close to where she worked.
Learning that had been a bit unsettling.
The christening, the confirmation, and maybe a few milestone birthday parties was all the time she’d planned to have to tolerate Spencer. The bare minimum required for her son to get to know his godfather. Heaven forbid Spencer wanted to play a bigger role in her child’s life.
No. Tonight she’d set some ground rules.
Krissy eyed the clock then the distance between her parking spot and the front door of Spencer’s fancy high rise. Six minutes should do it, only because she wasn’t walking all that fast these days.
At seven o’clock, on the dot, Krissy knocked on Spencer’s door.
A few seconds later, it opened and ho-lee cow. The years had been good to the now very handsome Spencer Penn. He must have grown a foot since high school. His lean, teenage soccer player physique? Gone, replaced by muscles, defined, sexy, desirable muscles that were prominent beneath the short-sleeved black polo shirt and tight fitting khaki pants he wore. His thick, wavy, always mussed—in a lead singer of a boy band kind of way—dark hair? Gone, replaced by a shortish, surprisingly appealing, buzz cut. His smooth, boyish face? Gone, replaced by sculpted cheekbones, sexy scruff, and full, kissable lips...that were smiling as part of a ‘You like what you see?’ expression.
Shoot. Krissy focused in on his light brown eyes, smart eyes that, like Jarrod’s, could always seem to tell what she was thinking.
Spencer looked her up and down his gaze settling on her midsection, “Still have a sweet tooth I see.”
Any attraction she may have been feeling vanished. Poof! Gone. “Can you manage to not be obnoxious, for at least the next five minutes?” If she’d cared one bit what Spencer thought of her, she’d have changed out of her work scrubs and freshened her makeup or run some gel through her short hair. But she didn’t care. Krissy handed him Jarrod’s letter. “This is why I’m here. And I have no intention of standing out in the hallway