311 Pelican Court
Page 36
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
“You don’t now?”
“You’re forgetting something, Grace. My wife cheated on me for years. I know all the signs—the cheerful greeting, the denial, the outrage. I lived with it and tried to ignore it. I won’t again.”
Grace crossed her arms. This was getting tiresome. “You’re being ridiculous,” she said irritably.
“Am I?” he asked.
“Of course you are.”
“He’s married, isn’t he?”
“What are you talking about?”
Cliff stared hard at her. “You’re protecting him.”
“I can’t believe you’d say such a thing!”
Cliff started for the door.
“Can we leave now?” she asked, relieved this inquisition was over.
His hand was on the doorknob. “I think it would be best if we didn’t see each other again.”
Grace stared at him. “You don’t mean that.” Her heart sank and she realized how deeply her lies had offended Cliff. As he walked out the door, Grace stood where she was, too paralyzed by shock to react.
She recovered quickly and hurried after him. “Cliff,” she shouted. “Please, let’s talk about this.”
Either he didn’t hear her or he chose not to listen. Without looking back, he climbed into his vehicle and started the engine, then drove down the street and out of her life.
Twenty
Katie’s weak, mewling cry woke Maryellen abruptly. It was only quarter after one; she’d been asleep for barely an hour. Her eyes flew open and she got shakily out of bed. Gently lifting Katie from her crib, Maryellen held the infant over her shoulder and was instantly alarmed. Katie had been sick and fussy for two days and two tortured, sleepless nights. Now, if anything, she seemed worse.
Maryellen had stayed home from work with her the day before. The pediatrician had put Katie on antibiotics, but she was still miserable. Although she’d taken her nighttime feeding, she’d promptly vomited up the milk. Now she was burning with fever, restless and irritable.
Her eyes gritty from lack of sleep, Maryellen walked the floor, but couldn’t seem to comfort Katie. With effort she managed to get the six-month-old to swallow some liquid Tylenol; even that didn’t seem to lower her temperature.
By 2:00 a.m. Maryellen was exhausted and frantic. She’d already talked to the consulting nurse on the twenty-four-hour hot line, but she needed more than reassurance. She needed help. It was just too hard to do this alone. She hated to call Jon at this ungodly hour, but she simply couldn’t cope by herself.
The phone rang five long rings, and disheartened, she was ready to replace the receiver. Clearly Jon wasn’t home, which meant he was spending the night elsewhere. The thought so depressed her that she found tears springing to her eyes.
“Don’t,” she whispered to herself. “Forget about him.” She refused to speculate about where he was—or with whom. That would only add to her misery.
Just as she was lowering the receiver, a groggy Jon answered the phone.
“This better be good,” he grumbled.
“Jon? It’s Maryellen. I’m so sorry…but I didn’t know where else to turn.”
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s Katie. She’s got quite a high fever, and is terribly congested. I took her to the pediatrician’s this morning. She has bronchitis and an ear infection.”
“Is she on medication?”
“Yes, but I don’t like the sound of her breathing. I already talked to the nurse on the hot line, but I’m still worried. And I’m so tired.” Her voice trembled with emotion. With only an hour’s sleep, she was at the point of exhaustion and felt incapable of making the simplest decision.
“How high is the fever?”
“A hundred and three, but the nurse said that’s not uncommon in infants. It’s her breathing that’s got me worried. She coughs so much that she starts to throw up and she can’t sleep and…and consequently neither can I.” Maryellen fought back her tears. Two nights without rest, and she was an emotional wreck. “I just don’t know how much longer I can do this….”
“I’m on my way.”
“But what about work?”
“Maryellen, Katie’s my daughter as well as yours.”
“Do you think I should take her into the emergency room?” That was all she really wanted him to tell her.
“Let’s decide that together.”
He sounded so calm and reasonable. Sniffling, Maryellen agreed, relieved not to be shouldering the entire responsibility for Katie’s care.
Thirty minutes later, Jon rang her doorbell. He took one look at Maryellen and frowned. “You should’ve called me sooner.”
Knowing she must look a sight, she handed Katie to him and self-consciously ran her fingers through her hair. It’d been a month since she’d seen Jon, other than in passing. He seemed to be avoiding her, and after the New Year’s Day dinner, she’d stayed clear of him, too. Seeing him now, while she felt and looked so dreadful, worsened her dismay. But with Katie this sick, Maryellen had no choice.
“She’s already on antibiotics,” she explained again as Jon lovingly attempted to comfort the baby. “The doctor said it might be a day or two before she starts feeling better, but she’s still got a fever and she can’t sleep.”
Jon gently brushed his lips over Katie’s brow. “I think her fever’s down a bit.”
“Thank God.”
Maryellen gauged the baby’s temperature by touch, using the back of her hand. He was right; Katie’s forehead felt less feverish after the Tylenol.
“What do you think? Should we take her to the emergency room?” Maryellen asked. She hated the thought of dragging Katie out in the cold and exposing her to God only knew what else, especially if it wasn’t necessary. But she didn’t feel confident enough to decide that on her own.
“Let’s give it an hour and see,” Jon suggested.
Maryellen nodded. If Katie’s fever had broken, maybe she’d be able to sleep.
“I’ll stay with you,” Jon said.
Maryellen hadn’t wanted to ask, but was so grateful she couldn’t speak, afraid she’d burst into tears, and merely nodded.
They shuffled Katie between them while he removed his coat, then sat down in the rocking chair with his daughter.
“She breathes more easily when someone holds her,” Maryellen said, swaying with exhaustion.
“Go to bed,” Jon told her. “There’s no reason for us both to be up.”
“But…” Maryellen didn’t know why she was arguing. “You’ll come and get me in an hour?”
Jon glanced up. “Did anyone ever tell you that you’re too stubborn for your own good?”
She stared at him.
“Go,” he said, pointing toward her bedroom.
Maryellen was too exhausted—and too grateful—to do anything other than nod obediently and trudge off. Being a single mother was so much more difficult than she’d thought possible. She could never have imagined what it was like to walk the floors with a sick baby, to make important decisions—decisions that affected her child’s life and health—by herself. She didn’t know what she would’ve done tonight without Jon.
Maryellen collapsed onto her bed, weak with a tiredness that attacked her very bones. Her head was spinning, and she was convinced she wouldn’t be able to sleep.
She closed her eyes—and the next time she looked at the digital readout on her clock-radio, three hours had passed. Tossing aside the covers, she hurried into the living room and discovered Katie sound asleep in Jon’s arms.
He opened his eyes when she walked in.
“She’s asleep,” Maryellen whispered, hardly able to believe it. His arms must be aching from holding Katie so long. She reached for the infant, and as soon as she held her, Maryellen realized Katie was in a deep sleep.
“She seems to be over the worst of it,” Jon said, following Maryellen into the baby’s room.
“I hope so.” Ever so gently, she placed her in the crib. When Katie turned onto her side, Maryellen pressed one hand to her daughter’s back. Heat no longer radiated from the small body. “The fever’s broken,” she whispered, covering her with a light blanket.
“What time is it?” Jon asked outside Katie’s room.
“Five-thirty,” she told him. “Stay,” she urged. He looked as tired as she’d felt a few hours earlier.
Jon rubbed his face with both hands and yawned. “I’ll take the sofa.”
“That thing is short and lumpy. You’ll be miserable.”
His eyes held hers.
“We can share my bed,” she said in an offhand manner, as though his spending the night was a normal occurrence. She might have sounded calm and casual, but her heart was pounding.
Jon continued to gaze at her, apparently not sure he’d heard her correctly.
“I’ll stay on my side of the bed and you stay on yours,” she added matter-of-factly. She wasn’t asking him to make love to her, if that was what he thought. Without waiting for an answer, she moved silently into the darkened room.
Jon still hesitated.
“Those three hours are the most sleep I’ve had in two nights,” she said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “You make your own decision, but I’m going back to sleep.” She lay down and kept her back to him. Eyes closed, she pulled the covers around her shoulders.
A minute later, the mattress on the other side of the bed shifted under his weight. “I’ll sleep on top of the covers,” he whispered. “So you won’t worry about me touching you.”
As if she’d mind! Maryellen didn’t respond, pretending she was already asleep. It wasn’t long before she heard the steady rhythm of his breathing and knew he’d drifted off.
Sometime later, when Maryellen woke, her bedroom was filled with light. Jon blocked her view of the clock-radio so she couldn’t see the time. She lifted her head from the pillow in order to look past him. The clock told her it was almost eight. At her movement, Jon’s eyes slowly opened.
“Sorry,” she whispered, and laid her head back on the pillow. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“I slept,” he said incredulously.
“So did Katie.” They stared at each other; neither seemed capable of moving. They’d only spent one night together, the night she’d conceived Katie, and that seemed a lifetime ago now. Maryellen had made so many mistakes in this relationship. But he’d proved to be a wonderful father to Katie and an invaluable help to Maryellen.
They’d kissed several times, and with those kisses she’d tried to tell him how much she’d learned to appreciate him—and, yes, love him—but in each instance, she’d come away hurt and disappointed. She so badly wanted to kiss him now….
“Jon.” Her voice was the slightest whisper.
“Shh.” He moved his head closer to hers and she slowly edged toward him.