One Winter's Night. Susan Meier
mother’s calls. Because everything about his family reminded him of Blake.
“Everybody’s family is dysfunctional to a degree.”
“Not like this. My parents don’t know how to love. Even though it hurts to have no one, sometimes a person is better off being alone than living around people who only use them.”
Or sometimes a person is better off being alone than being with people who only revive their sorrow.
“Maybe.”
“Okay, here’s the best example. My parents would love to see me with you. They’d use that like a stepladder. They’d treat me like royalty to get to you. And then they’d use you for introductions or insider information or whatever they thought they could get. But when you and I stopped seeing each other, they’d put me back on a shelf again. Like something they pulled out when they needed it.” She shook her head. “As a kid, when they’d put me back on the shelf, I’d jump through hoops to get their attention, their affection. I’d do well in school or volunteer to work for a very visible charity. Sometimes they’d pat me on the head, but most of the time they’d ignore me. Even in their home, at their dinner table, I was alone. Lonely. I don’t want to go back to that.”
He wouldn’t either. No matter how much he stayed away, he knew the second he came home, his family would smother him with love.
Familiar sadness for her filled him, but he stopped it from totally taking over. She’d figured all this out on her own, clearly come to terms with it. She was a strong woman. A unique, wonderful person. No one needed to pity her. He might wish he could help her, but he would never, ever feel sorry for her.
The band took a break, and Ricky and Eloise walked back to the table. Tucker and Olivia leaned in together, as if they were telling secrets. But Olivia’s face was pinched and Tucker’s brow had furrowed.
Ricky tensed.
Eloise walked over and stooped beside Olivia’s chair. “Wanna tell me what’s going on here?”
Close enough to hear and not wanting to look overly interested in case it was a lover’s quarrel, Ricky took his seat.
Tucker said, “We think Olivia might be in labor.”
Eloise gasped. “And she flew? You let her get on an airplane this close to her due date?”
“She’s not due for another month. Her doctor said it was fine.”
Olivia panted out a breath. “Seriously. I’m not due for a month. This might not be labor. Everybody said it was fine for me to fly.”
Eloise sighed. “It might have been fine for you to fly, but you’re not fine now.” She reached across the table, grabbed her small handbag, retrieved her phone and dialed 911. “This is Eloise Vaughn. I’m at the Ritz with a woman who is in labor.”
Olivia said, “Really Eloise, that’s not necessary.... Oh my God!”
Tucker stiffened. “What?”
Olivia caught Eloise’s hand. “Tell them to hurry.”
When Eloise finished the call, Olivia squeezed her fingers. “If it’s possible, I want to get down to the lobby.”
Eloise gaped at her. “The lobby?”
“I don’t want to make a scene. Get me downstairs, hide me somewhere. I don’t want anybody to see if my water breaks or hear me if I scream.”
There wasn’t a woman in the world who wouldn’t understand that and Eloise couldn’t refuse. “Can you walk?”
Olivia nodded.
She motioned for Ricky to come over to them. “Tucker’s going to help Olivia to the door. You and I are going to walk behind them just in case.”
Ricky nodded, but memory after memory of Blake’s birth tumbled through him. He hadn’t been in love with Blake’s mother. Basically, they’d been nightclub friends who’d slept together, and she ended up pregnant. He hadn’t gone to birthing classes, didn’t really want to be in the delivery room—and he hadn’t been—but he’d gone to the hospital when Blake was born. The same hospital where his son had ultimately died. And that was probably the same hospital Tucker would direct Olivia to, if only because, like Ricky, he was on their board of directors.
Eloise caught his arm and pulled him in step behind Tucker and Olivia. “Get with the program, slick.”
He shook himself out of his reverie. If this were anybody but Tucker and Olivia, the torrent of memories assaulting him right now would have frozen him solid.
But when Olivia’s steps faltered, he was right behind her, ready to catch her.
* * *
Ricky’s limo pulled onto the emergency entrance ramp behind the ambulance with Olivia and Tucker inside. Eloise leaped out the second the car stopped.
She was at the door of the ambulance as they pulled the gurney off and Tucker jumped down.
The pair, Olivia’s best friend and her husband, hustled with Olivia into the emergency room.
Ricky held back. Everything inside him told him to leave. Too many bad memories were associated with this hospital. Yet he couldn’t seem to get his mouth to form the words to tell Norman to go. His best friend’s baby was coming early. Olivia’s life could be in jeopardy.
And Eloise was upset. She might have taken control, but he’d felt her vibrating with fear through the entire drive over. He could not leave her.
He slid out of the limo, leaned inside his still open back door and sent Norman home. Blake had taken nineteen hours to make his appearance. Tucker and Olivia’s child could take as long or longer.
He ambled into the emergency room, gave his name at the desk and flashed his ID as a member of the board. “I want to be apprised of Olivia Engle’s condition every step of the way.”
The receptionist shook her head. “I’m sorry, sir. But our privacy policy prevents that unless you’re family.” She gave him a hopeful look, clearly not wanting to get into a battle of wills with a hospital director.
Tucking his key card into his jacket pocket, he put her out of her misery. “Check with Mr. Engle. He’ll tell you it’s okay.”
She walked away, and, a few minutes later, she returned and told him that Olivia had been taken upstairs to the maternity ward.
Haunted, afraid to go back to the part of the hospital that had the good memories, memories of Blake being born, of holding his son for the first time, of wrapping the tiny, squiggly bundle in a blanket before securing him in his car seat, Ricky took his time walking to the elevator and then down the long cool corridor to the waiting room of the maternity ward.
An hour went by. He sat. He paced. He sat some more, elbows on his knees, hands dropped between his legs. Eventually, he stood, untied his tie, undid the first two buttons of his shirt and walked to the intensive care unit in the children’s ward, where he stood by the window and stared at the empty cribs.
If he closed his eyes, he could see his son bandaged and bruised, an IV locked into his hand, his little chest barely rising and falling as a ventilator did his breathing for him.
Tears filled his eyes, reviving his shame. Then he realized Tucker’s baby might be too small, too weak, and the newest member of the happy Engle family might spend his or her first days or weeks or even a year in the same crib as Blake.
His shame morphed into fear. Real fear that Tucker and Olivia might face the devastation of losing a child. He could feel every bit of sorrow that would overwhelm them and cursed. That shouldn’t happen to anyone. But Olivia and Tucker? They were special. They didn’t deserve this.
The rustle of skirts interrupted the quiet, and he turned to see Eloise walking down the hall.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”