Joy Express Page 5

  The nurses rolled my children into a separate nursery area that had a large viewing window. If it weren’t for Kevin Brown, all our loved ones would be waiting on the other side of the glass to coo over our newborns. Likely, they were on their way. Such beautiful babies. Paul appeared bigger than Helen, but they both did seem all right.

  Gratitude filled my heart. And worry. And anger. I hadn’t felt a tornado like this since the time leading up to my heart attack when I’d grieved for my parents and was afraid to get married despite being crazy in love with Bailey. Here we go again.

  That low-life, deadbeat father of Bailey’s had caused her more hurt, more pain. He put her in dire danger and most likely caused the fear and stress that sent her into early labor. I couldn’t wait to read him the riot act. Hopefully he’d been arrested by now.

  Dr. Bost met me in the hall as I walked back toward the OR.

  “I believe she’ll be fine, Scott. I can’t speak for the trauma she experienced, and what that may cause, but I think physically she’ll be all right. We’ll know more when she is awake. It shouldn’t be much longer now. You can go to her in recovery.”

  I shook his hand, speechless. Good news. I couldn’t accept any less.

  “Well, go on then,” he said with a small laugh.

  The beeping in the recovery room sobered me and brought me back down to earth a bit. This was a hospital. She was here because she’d just given birth, and because she was traumatized by a lunatic. I’d reserve my joy until I heard her speak, until I looked into her eyes.

  Her mother stood next to her bed, holding her hand. Her recovery nurse hovered nearby. I took Bailey’s other hand in mine. I prayed until her eyes began to flutter. I leaned down close to her. I wanted my face to be the first thing she saw.

  She opened her eyes fully and her gaze met mine.

  “Are you all right, sweetheart?”

  “I...I think so.” She looked down at her stomach, and tried to rise up. “Did I lose them?” Her panic-stricken face hurt me.

  “No, Darling, they’ve been delivered. You’ve had a Cesarean. They are both fine.” I kissed her forehead and eased her head onto the pillow. Her automatic blood pressure cuff activated as her head rested.

  “I’ll be right over here if you need anything.” Bailey’s mom walked over to the nurses’ station.

  I kissed Bailey’s forehead again.

  “You say they are both all right? Because I thought we would die.” She began to cry.

  I’ll kill him. “No, you’re fine, the babies are fine.” I leaned over and tried to give her a reassuring hug. She winced in pain.

  The nurse came over. “We’ll be administering a local for your discomfort in a moment, Mrs. West. Please keep me informed of the level of pain.”

  Bailey didn’t seem to hear the woman.

  I made sure not to lean on her too hard, but I couldn’t stay away from her.

  “When will I get to see them?” she asked.

  “As soon as you’re out of recovery. About an hour.”

  More tears.

  “I’ll go and take some cell phone pics and come right back.” It was a brilliant idea.

  Her face lit up. “Would you? Please do that, yes.”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  Toppy texted to let me know they’d closed everything and were all on their way to the hospital. Bailey would love that news. I sprinted around to the nursery and slipped inside.

  One of the nurses handed me a mask. They’d swaddled the twins, complete with cap, but Helen’s cap was shaped like a bow.

  I snapped a few pictures and then headed back to Bailey. I showed her the pictures.

  She cried.

  Then she looked at me. “He’s dead.”

  11

  Two nurses, looking like twins in Santa decorated scrubs, finally brought my babies to see me. Scott came in behind them.

  “I want to hold them both,” I said as I reached out.

  Scott took out his cell phone, ready to take pictures.

  They handed me the babies. Paul’s little cap covered his head, and Helen’s was pulled down almost over her eyes. I turned my head from one to the other, then sat up and laid Paul in my lap so I could unwrap Helen.

  Scott snapped away and then sat beside me.

  All fingers and toes were present on my daughter. Baby skin redefined the meaning of ‘soft’ for me that day. I’d held other newborns before, but I didn’t recall anything feeling so velvety. I performed the same examination on my son. “They’re all right,” I said.

  “I told you they were, praise God. They’re perfect,” Scott said. He took Helen and kissed her little forehead. “Let’s take off these caps,” Scott said. His eyes lit up with excitement.

  I silently thanked God that my children were OK. I was grateful they didn’t seem to suffer any trauma. I couldn’t say as much for myself. The sound of that gunshot played over in every unguarded moment.

  “Bailey, Detective Carter needs to ask you some questions.” Scott spoke softly. He knew I didn’t want this.

  “Can’t we just enjoy the babies for a while? I don’t want to think about that right now.”

  “Good idea. I’ll leave you to love on our kids. I’ll tell the officer to wait half an hour. I’m sorry, sweetie, it has to be done.” Scott put Helen in my arms and then kissed my cheek. “I’ll be right back. Don’t worry. Telling the details one last time will help you get past this.” Scott left the room.

  Could we ever really get past this? I’d watched rage pass across Scott’s face as I’d recounted my ordeal to him. Well, just the facts. I couldn’t bring myself to give details.

  Tracy’s recurring statement about Scott and I came to memory. “Stuff always happens to y’all.” I pushed those thoughts aside and focused on the babies. So beautiful, so perfect. I wanted to nurse them.

  I’d read a lot about twins, including the challenge of nursing two at once. So much for the birthing classes. We’d skipped the Cesarean class.

  One of the nurses, medium height and sporting a short, light brown hair bob, busied herself around my room. The other nurse, whose hair was slightly darker, wrapped a blood pressure cuff around my arm.

  “Can I try to feed them?” I asked her. Her badge said “Tiana White.”

  “Sure, but they’re asleep. Let’s see if we can rouse them.” Nurse White placed Paul on my right arm, and the other nurse placed Helen on my left.

  “I’m Tiana White, by the way, and this is Kristi Lipton. We’ll be in and out all day, so let us know if you need anything.”

  I smiled acknowledgment, but these two couldn’t give me what I needed. Would the sound of that gunshot ever go away?

  Scott returned, and we spent a beautiful few minutes trying to get them to latch on and suckle. Helen wouldn’t wake up long enough to try, but Paul nursed enthusiastically. It was so sweet that I let the tears fall. Scott stroked my arm and wiped away the tears.

  Someone knocked on the door, and Nurse Lipton walked over and stuck her head out. She closed the door and turned to us. “I’m sorry, but that detective is still waiting in the hall.”

  May as well get it over with. A deep sigh escaped my lips. I would tell this story again, and then I would do my best to forget it. “Let him in,” I said.

  Nurse Lipton opened the door.

  Carter walked in. “I’m sorry, Mrs. West. I’ll be as brief as possible, but it has to be done.”

  “I understand, and please call me Bailey.” I reached for Scott’s hand.

  Carter took a notebook from his pocket and opened it. “Let’s start at the beginning. Yesterday morning about 9:00 AM. What were you doing?”

  “I was sitting on my front porch, about to go in and get ready for the Barkley House Dedication.” I looked at Scott. I hadn’t thought about the Dedication. “What happened about the ceremony?”

  “Canceled. I’ll tell you more about that later.” He squeezed my hand.

  I shook my head and took a big bre
ath. “Anyway, I was getting ready for Scott to come for me, and an old car drove up. Black sedan. I didn’t recognize him at first, but I soon realized it was my father. He pulled me, I mean I could hardly walk as it was,” I said pointing to my stomach, “but I stumbled after him, nearly falling, and he shoved me into the car. I was terrified. I’d been having Braxton Hicks contractions that morning, but I’d thought the ones I’d begun to feel were the real thing.

  “He didn’t say anything much, just pointed a gun at me. He said he wanted to talk to me. He pushed me into the car and forced my head down on the seat and pointed a gun to my stomach. It was awkward and painful. I lay on the seat in the car, watching the trees go by, trying to identify which way he’d turn. He stopped at an abandoned gas station where he switched vehicles. I threw my necklace out, hoping to leave a clue.”

  “I found it. That’s how the police knew what area to look in. I wish they’d found you sooner.” Scott crossed his arms.

  Detective Carter nodded. “I’m sorry. There are lots of roads out there. But we wouldn’t have gotten there as fast if we weren’t already in the area, following your clue.”

  “Thanks to Javier Calderon,” Scott said.

  “He pulled up to the cabin, and when he got out, I tried to escape. I was severely hindered by my huge stomach, but he stopped it anyway. He was so angry. But then once inside, he offered me food. That’s when he told me what he really wanted. He told me some lie about a daughter needing money for some health problem. I should have just promised him anything, but my emotions were crazy. When I finally did tell him I’d give him the money, he sort of spazzed out, got crazy. He went into the bathroom, and then I heard the gunshot. He’s dead, isn’t he?”

  “Yes, Bailey, he is. I’m afraid the part about his daughter is true. He has a ten-year-old girl named Brenna. She has cancer, leukemia, I think. But it’s more than that. He’d been embezzling money from the bank where he works. He was in real trouble.”

  I closed my eyes. The embezzling I could grasp, but a daughter? There really is a Brenna. She’d grown up in a two-parent home. But with his anger issues, what kind of life had it been for her? Why was she so worthy of his love, and his oldest daughter so unworthy?

  “By the hand of God, I was able to get out of the house and get to his car. I leaned on the horn. I’d heard piano playing coming from somewhere and I prayed whoever it was could hear me. A gray haired woman found me and tried to help me. She called 911, didn’t she?” I couldn’t remember her face. She’d called out for Kevin Brown. Made sense if they were neighbors acquainted with each other.

  “Yes, Lana Brown. Kevin Brown’s mother. She has a cabin just a little farther up the road.”

  Of course he had a mother. My mom had never mentioned her. I wasn’t sure I liked the way my family was expanding.

  “I know that’s a lot to process. Thank you for your willingness to go over this again. I’m so sorry for what happened to you. It looks as if your children will be fine.” He reached out his hand for a shake. He shook Scott’s hand as well.

  “Yes, thanks be to God. Everything will be all right,” Scott said.

  I turned my head to the window, spacing out a little, my senses overloaded. Would everything be all right?

  “Bailey?” Scott’s alarmed voice shook me back to the present.

  “Is she really dying? Brenna, I mean. He said she was dying.”

  Carter tapped his pen against his notebook. “I’m afraid so. He told the truth about that. There isn’t anything else they can do for her, but she’s a candidate for an experimental treatment. Of course it’s outrageously expensive. It was wrong for him to embezzle from his bank, but sadly, understandable.”

  “Oh, that money is in the trunk of the car at the gas station,” Scott said.

  “Yeah, we found it. I’ve got to go and make my final report. Normally kidnappings don’t end well. I’m glad this one did.”

  If one could call the suicide of the kidnapper, my father, a good ending. Or the shocking revelation about having a seriously ill sister. Or not getting to be awake when my babies were born…my mind went to an unhappy place.

  “You might want to get counseling, Mrs. West,” Detective Carter added, as if reading my thoughts. “I meant it came out well because you were recovered and will be all right. I know emotionally you will have things to deal with.”

  “Thank you.” Counseling meant talking about it again. No way. I turned to the window again. The overcast sky spread more gloom over my spirit. December. Christmas. My babies’ first Christmas would happen in a couple of weeks. I didn’t even know what day it was. I’d have to have someone tell me my own children’s birth date.

  Scott walked the detective to the door. Their voices were muted and unintelligible.

  A little sparrow lighted on the window sill.

  His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me.

  I hadn’t thought of that old hymn in ages. He watches me. A tiny spark of anger took kindling and flamed up. He watched me get kidnapped, watched me be terrified, watched me pray my heart out, watched my father kill himself. Where were You?

  I didn’t like the place my thoughts took me. I didn’t like the anger and disconnect I felt from my heavenly Father. I was alive, and my children were healthy and beautiful. I was back in a safe place with my husband.

  Scott came to me after Carter left.

  “You OK? You seem a little spaced out. But of course you’d be exhausted. Why don’t you try to sleep?”

  “I have a sister. She’s dying.”

  12

  The quiet in my hospital room didn’t help. I sat on the edge of the bed. Come on, Scott, let’s go home. The C-section incision stung, so I’d asked Scott to bring a loose skirt. We needed to fill a pain prescription. Then we could go home on Exit 477.

  I couldn’t wait to get the babies to the inn and into the nursery we’d so lovingly created. Scott’s smart idea to set up in the Sweetheart room would save me the stairs. We’d matched the cribs’ bedding to the pink hearts already on the wallpaper. Baby Paul needn’t worry, because I’d found the cutest fabric with blue hearts on it, as well. Hearts everywhere.

  I filled my lungs with air and tried to block out the horror. How did one have a heart swelling with motherly love and joy, and a broken heart? I felt better when the babies were with me. Nurse White insisted the babies be kept in the nursery when they weren’t feeding so that I could rest.

  But rest time equaled thinking time.

  The gunshot went off in my head if things got too quiet. That memory fought with the knowledge that I had a dying twelve year-old sister. I wanted neither to have prominence in my heart.

  I wondered if she knew about me and if the news would hurt her. Possibly she had more life and death matters to consider than a sister she never knew about.

  A tentative knock sounded at the door.

  “Come in.”

  A gray-haired lady with sad brown eyes tiptoed in. She hesitated just inside the door. The gray-haired lady, the one who’d saved me, peered at me. The grandmother I never knew.

  She looked nothing like my Gran. Gran was tall and stately, wore her gray hair like a crown. Well spoken, or some might say outspoken, but confident in her bearing. This woman standing before me seemed like a skittering mouse that might run at the slightest provocation.

  “Mrs. West, may I come in?” The low rasp of a long-time smoker grated into the room.

  “Of course. I’m glad to have the opportunity to thank you. You saved our lives.” I motioned for her to sit in the chair next to me. Strong, sweet perfume mixed with cigarette smoke tempted me to crinkle up my nose. I couldn’t tell her to call me by my first name.

  She nodded and took a seat. “I’d been playing piano and singing. If I hadn’t stopped to make a cup of tea, I might not have heard the horn honking. God is good.”

  “Yes, he is.” An awkward silence followed. Time enough for me to wonder why she’d never contacted me. She didn’t s
eem of the same ilk as my father. Did I even want to know? It dawned on me that her son was dead. This was too difficult.

  She looked down at her feet and shuffled the tips of her shoes back and forth. “Did he say anything? I mean before,” she began, but looked up at me instead.

  My mouth opened, but nothing would come out. I didn’t want to have this conversation. I pulled my purse into my lap and hugged it. I wished someone would come in.

  “I’m sorry, I can imagine it’s the last thing you’d like to think about right now. It’s just that he was my son.” She covered her face with both hands and wept.

  When her sobbing subsided, I ventured to speak. She was his mother, but would this help?

  “He said something about being sorry, and to tell Brenna he’s sorry. That’s really all he said. He wanted money to help his daughter. I don’t really have any, but I promised to get it for him. I don’t think he believed me, and then he became incoherent. He just walked into the bathroom and…” I stopped, because I couldn’t say it. The gunshot rang through my head with a vibration that caused me to close my eyes.

  Her crying began again, and this time the floodgates released. She sobbed openly, and kind of loud. I was surprised no one came in. Normally I’d seek to comfort someone in that condition, but I sat stunned and mute, trying to make sense of it all.

  She attempted broken sentences in the midst of her tears. “He was the sweetest little boy, but he was no match for his father. Mrs. West, my husband, beat him senseless, time after time.”

  That revelation got my attention. I don’t know how, I never did. That sentence my father spoke in his final, insane discourse broke my heart. He didn’t know how to love. If he’d been beaten, no wonder he was such a hard man. It didn’t excuse him, but my mind began working in a different direction. Why hadn’t she done anything about it?