Do You Take This Child? Page 5
During the last nine months, while death and destruction had left calling cards before and after his arrivals, at times existing side by side with him, Slade had realized that there were things he still hadn’t done, things he wanted to do. Small, yet infinitely precious things. He didn’t want to die before he did them.
He wanted to hold his baby in his arms, to make love to his wife. To wake up each morning with the same woman beside him.
Finding Sheila pregnant like this almost made it seem as if someone had been listening in on his thoughts and then had arranged his life for him accordingly.
Looking back, he realized that all that death, waste and devastation he had borne witness to had made him long to hang up his mantle as a disgruntled observer and live a little of his own life. To rejoice in the mundane things for a change.
To stop and smell the baby powder.
And now that it had actually happened, albeit completely without his knowledge and with no aforethought, Slade still didn’t want to relinquish what he felt was a God-given mandate to go on with his life.
It wouldn’t have been right. And he was a great believer in right.
The few spaces reserved for Admitting and Discharge were all filled. Muttering under his breath, Slade drove toward the general guest parking lot. He glanced at Sheila as he guided the car slowly around a wide curve.
“You owe it to the baby to give it a name.” She opened her mouth with a rebuttal, but he was faster. “A proper name.”
“Proper?” she echoed. Just what was he insinuating? “Have you bothered to look at the date on the newspapers carrying your articles? It’s the nineties, Slade. People don’t think that way anymore.”
People hadn’t changed all that much over the decades. They were still people. And old prejudices died hard. He didn’t want any stigmas attached to his child.
“Don’t they?” he prodded. “Don’t you?” he added quietly.
They had done a lot of talking the night they met. Some of it, he knew, had been due to the wine, but some of it had been from the heart. For both of them. He felt he’d gotten to know her pretty well. This would matter to her, in time, even if she pretended that it didn’t.
They’d both talked about not being tied down, about not becoming involved in relationships. It had all been very philosophical and entertaining at the time.
And empty, he now realized.
Something in her soul had spoken to his that night. And he had wanted to answer.
Slade had a gut feeling that this was why he had eluded sniper fire in Bosnia and survived the bombing in Beirut. To come home and be a father to this child he hadn’t known was waiting for him. There was no other possible explanation for why he had been so uncommonly lucky.
Stubbornly, Sheila refused to give him an answer.
He continued as if he hadn’t been expecting one. “It might look better to your patients if their doctor was married, now that she has a baby.”
Now he was pontificating. The irritation she felt cut through the wall of pain that was closing in again. “All I owe to my patients is my expertise.” She thought of Mallory. Of Nicole and Erin before her. “And maybe a shoulder to cry on once in a while.”
One eye on her, he cruised down one aisle and up another, looking for a space. He was afraid to just let her out while he parked the car. Was everyone in Newport Beach at the hospital today?
“And what do you owe the baby?”
That was easy. “Love.” She spat the word out, her breath wrenched from her again.
It looked as if there was a space in the next row. Slade hoped no one would beat him to it before he managed to reach it. “How about responsibility?”
She would have laughed if she had the strength. This from a man who swore he wanted nothing more than to be footloose. “By marrying you?”
She was in labor, he told himself. There was no reason to take offense at her tone. “What’s wrong with me?”
“Nothing.” And as a lover, he was perfect. But a marriage needed more than just a supremely qualified lover. Besides, at this point, she wasn’t certain that she could measure up as a wife, or as a homemaker, either. Her mother hadn’t. Why should she be any different? “But I really don’t know what’s right with you, either.”
By nature, he always sought the easy way. “We’ll explore each other after the ceremony.”
The simple statement stunned her. “Garrett, there isn’t going to be a ceremony.”
The impossible had never confounded him. He always saw it as a challenge. “I can pull strings.”
He was serious. And probably certifiable. “I’m not interested in any strings, unless they happen to be around your neck.” She stared at Slade as he pulled into a narrow spot that just barely accommodated the car. “Slade, I don’t believe in marriage.”
Sure she did. She was just afraid. He couldn’t say he blamed her. There was always that element of risk, but that was what made it intriguing.
“I do. Right after ‘truth, justice and the American way,’ and right before the Dodgers winning the pennant again.” He unbuckled his seat belt and turned toward her. “C’mon, Doc. Where’s your sense of adventure?”
Sheila clutched her stomach. The activity inside there was intensifying. “Busy at the moment. Slade, table the conversation and get me into the hospital. I’m not sure how much longer I have.”
Slade hurried around the other side and opened the door for her. Before she could think to protest, he picked her up into his arms. Even pregnant, she didn’t feel that heavy, he thought.
The significance that he was holding both his future wife and his child hit him, and he smiled as he began to walk toward the hospital entrance.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“We can make better time this way,” he assured her.
The irony of the situation struck him. He’d always been good at negotiating and getting himself out of tight spots. This time, he wanted into one. “I don’t want my son–”
Another time, she would have thought of this as hopelessly romantic. Right now, it was just hopeless.
“Or daughter, she added.
He took the correction in stride. “Or daughter, to carry the stigma I did.”
He sounded so serious. “Stigma?”
He nodded, his eyes trained on the hospital electronic doors. “The word bastard is just as loaded with pain now as it was years ago, Sheila.” His eyes shifted to her face. Did she understand what he was trying to say? “I don’t want my kid hearing it. Having it ring in his ears long after the words have faded in the air. Knowing he was different. Knowing his father didn’t care enough to stick by his mother and at least try to form a union.”
He had her, he thought, he could see it. There was empathy in her eyes.
“It might all be well and good intellectually for you, but that doesn’t make a hell of a whole lot of sense to a kid who wants a father around just to chase away the shadows.”
Slade stopped momentarily as a car began to back out of its space. The driver leaned out and waved him on. Nodding, he continued walking. And persuading.
“I want to be there to chase away his shadows, Sheila. I want to be there for him. And for you.” He smiled into her eyes. “We were good together.”
“We had one night.” Despite her valiant try, he was wearing her down. She could feel her resolve weakening quickly.
She still smelled good, he thought. Just the way she had that night. Just the way she did in his dreams.
“Yes, and look what we accomplished.” He nodded at her stomach. “Think of what we could do with more time.”
People were looking at them and smiling as he walked into the hospital with Sheila in his arms. A volunteer behind the information desk picked up her telephone and began tapping out an extension immediately.
“Go straight to Admitting,” she told Slade, quickly waving them on. “They’ll have a wheelchair waiting for you.”
“Slade—”
Beckoning to her.
“Marry me, Sheila,” he whispered into her ear. “Let’s give this a try. If it doesn’t work, we can always get divorced. But give this kid a fair head start. Let him have a mom and dad. A matched set.”
This was insane, she thought. Completely insane. “Like salt-and-pepper shakers.”
He grinned. He had her, he thought. “I’ll be the salt, you be the pepper.”
She would have thought he would have assigned the roles the other way around. “Why?”
His grin grew larger, warmer. “Because I liked the fire in your eyes that night.”
His charm was reeling her in, just as it had that night. Momentarily devoid of pain, she felt almost tempted. “This is crazy.”
He shrugged with a laugh. “Hey, the world’s a little crazy. This is the sanest thing I’ve done in the last nine months.”
Sheila ran her tongue along her upper lip. “If I say yes—”
Impulsively, he brought his lips down to hers, tracing the path of her tongue. Damn, but she had an impact on him. He didn’t want to give her up.
Her head spinning, Sheila struggled to regain her breath. He had managed to affect her more deeply than the labor pains did.
“If I say yes,” she repeated, her voice shaky, “I want you to know it’s just temporary. Just to give the baby a name. As you said.”
He followed the arrows that pointed out the way to Admitting. “All right, agreed. But even a TV set comes with a one-year warranty.”
Maybe it was the labor pains she was having, but she didn’t follow him. “Your point?”
“Give the marriage a year. If things don’t work out for us by then, we’ll get a divorce.”
Divorce. It was a cold, hard, sobering word. What was she doing, even entertaining this harebrained idea? Was she crazy? She had to be.
Common sense reared its head above the pain. “I don’t know—”
His eyes held hers for a moment as he turned the corner. “Think of the baby.”
He had to be kidding. “I don’t think I can think of anything else right now.”
He could feel Sheila begin to stiffen in his arms. She was having another contraction, he thought. Feeling helpless, Slade looked toward the admitting desk. The woman was already hurrying toward them. Behind her, an orderly was pushing a wheelchair.
He kissed her forehead. “Hang on, Sheila.”
She would get through this, she told herself. Everyone else had. “I’ve no intentions of giving birth in the lobby.”
She’d misunderstood him. “I mean, until I can get Father Cullum.”
“Dr. Pollack, hi, I’m Rosa.” The beaming young woman greeted her warmly, clasping her hand. “Everything’s all ready for you. Dr. Kelly’s on his way.”
She didn’t want Kelly on his way, she wanted him here. Most of all, she wanted this over with.
The orderly was easing the wheelchair under Sheila. He looked at Slade. “Father Cullum’s on the third floor. But Dr. Pollack’s not going to die, she’s just having a baby.”
Slade laughed. “Not for last rites,” he told the man. He looked at Sheila. “For the first ones.”
They were both crazy. Sinking into the chair, Sheila waved Slade away. “Go ahead, find him. I’m not promising anything.”
Slade was gone before the orderly had a chance to take her down the hall.
Chapter Four
“Father Cullum?”
Slade rapped once quickly on the door before looking into the room. The nurse in the hall on three had told him that the priest was either in room 324 or 236. Slade found him on the first try. So far, his luck was holding.
The slight, silver-haired man in black slacks and a long-sleeved black shirt looked up and then smiled. His blue eyes crinkled in recognition.
“Slade, how are you?”
“That all depends on you.” Slade looked at the young man in the bed. The latter seemed to be in fairly good condition. “Mind if I steal him?” Not waiting for an answer, Slade hooked an arm around the priest and ushered him into the hall.
Father Jon Cullum had met Slade Garrett over a year ago. It had been in connection with a story about the troubles in Northern Ireland and reactions of people who had grown up there but had moved away. Slade had come for a religious and personal viewpoint from Father Cullum. Over the course of the interview the two had grown friendly. He’d earned the priest’s admiration and respect.
“Is there something wrong, Slade?” Rather than just take him out in the hall, Slade was leading him toward the bank of elevators.
“I’ll explain on the way.” Reaching the elevator banks, Slade pressed the up button.
Father Cullum looked at him, bewildered. “On the way to what?”
Slade heard the bell ring in the distance. Impatient, he pressed the button again. “The fifth floor. And my wedding.” He glanced at the man at his right. “Hopefully.”
The elevator arrived, and Slade quickly pulled the priest into the car in his wake.
Father Cullum felt as if he was getting pulled into something more than just the elevator. “You’re getting married?”
Slade pressed the button for the fifth floor. “If you do the honors.”
“Would you run that by me slowly?”
“I fathered a child, Father.” Slade grinned at the odd way the words fell together. “I didn’t know it until half an hour ago. I want to do the right thing and marry the woman. She’s here,” he explained, “in this hospital.” He blew out a breath, knowing how off-the-wall this had to sound. Yet he knew it was right to do this. It was instinct, not emotion, that led him. “About to deliver at any minute.” His eyes searched the priest’s light blue ones. Slade saw compassion there and understanding. “Will you do it, Father? Will you marry us?”
There normally were conferences to attend and banns to post before any of this could take place. Father Cullum knew his superiors would have said no immediately. But he liked to think of himself as being a little more progressive. He’d seen a great deal of what life could throw at a man, both here and in his native Ireland. A lot of it wasn’t pretty, or easy. It had taught him that every rule had to be bent at least once.
Still, he knew it was his job to counsel and to be the voice of reason.
The doors opened on five and they walked out. Father Cullum stopped immediately before the visitors’ lounge, turning toward Slade.”
“Have you stopped to think, lad?” He wasn’t going to insult Slade by expounding on the importance of marriages and the solemnity of the contract he was entering into. Father Cullum figured a man like Slade knew. But he still had to ask. “Do you know what you’re getting yourself into?”
Slade knew, or thought he did. Hoped he did. He nodded. “Sometimes, Father, you just have to go with your gut.”
A twinkle of a smile played on the priest’s lips. “Yes, but it’s the rest of you that’s getting married, as well.” He began to review the legal requirements. “I need papers, blood tests. A license.”
Details. And in his experience, details could always be managed. “I can get all those.” Slade glanced over the man’s head toward where he assumed the delivery room was. “But not in time.” It might even be too late as it was.
Father Cullum arched a snowy white brow. “You might have thought of that sooner—”
Slade dragged a hand impatiently through his hair. He had to convince the man. “There was nothing to think about. I didn’t know.”
“She didn’t tell you?”
Slade shook his head. “Not a word. She’s strong-willed and independent.”
The priest laughed softly to himself. He thought of his sister Deirdre. Her temper had been as fiery as the color of her hair.
“I know what you mean. I had a sister like that. Drove us all crazy, God rest
her soul. Not a day’s gone by that I don’t miss her since she’s gone on to her reward.”
Slade breathed a sigh of relief. The man understood. “Then you know exactly what I’m talking about. She’s proud, Father, but I’m proud, too. Proud of the child we’re going to have. A child I want born with my name as well as my genes.” He laid a hand on the small man’s arm, enforcing his request. “I could get the blood tests and the paperwork, Father. But it would be too late. The baby’s being born now.” He began shepherding the priest toward the nurse’s station. “He needs my name now.”
Slade could see by the man’s expression that he had almost convinced the priest.
“Well,” Father Cullum said slowly, “’tis highly irregular....”
Slade moved in for the kill. “We could, of course, technically marry ourselves, but I’d rather have you officiating.” So would Father Cullum, Slade was willing to bet.
Father Cullum could just hear the monsignor now, admonishing him. But he could also hear the soft cry of the infant in question. A brand-new soul with needs. He raised his brow. “The paperwork—?”
Gotcha. “I’ll handle it all retroactively,” Slade promised. “There’re people I can call.” Everything could be handled. What he needed right now was someone who could perform the ceremony.
Father Cullum smiled. The cherubic expression made him almost look like a prototype for St. Nick, if he’d been about fifty pounds heavier.
“I’ve no doubt of that. I’m sure you know a great many people you could call.” He sighed, surrendering. “Well, I suppose we could call this an emergency.”
Slade leaped at the brass ring and snared it. “It is”
Father Cullum studied his face for a moment, making his own evaluations. “And the young woman, she’s consenting?”
Slade thought that in the grand scheme of things, he could be forgiven if he twisted the words around in his favor. “She told me to go find you.”
Father Cullum clapped a hand on Slade’s shoulder. His voice was kindly, not judgmental, when he spoke. “’Twas different in my time. Young people married, then they had the baby, not the other way around.”