Chapter 28: Gavin
It takes a good half hour for the nurses to get us set up on our row in the NICU. Ethan isn’t holding his temperature, which is expected for his gestational age, but he only needs a heat lamp, a heart monitor disc, and a tiny tube of oxygen going in one side of his nose.
Otherwise, everything seems to be okay.
Corabelle sits in a rocker, unwilling to take her eyes off the baby. Then she suddenly jumps up and says, “Oh!”
“What is it?” I ask.
She takes a step away, looking at the glass windows to the hall.
“Your mom?” I ask. “Is she out there trying to get in?” Mrs. Rotheford hasn’t seen the baby up close yet. Corabelle’s dad is out waiting with her until we’re settled.
She turns to me. “No, I forgot with everything. I guess they’re lost. Or with my parents.”
“Who?” I ask. “Jenny? Tina? I thought they were coming tomorrow.”
Her eyes lift to mine. She looks a little guilty.
“My parents did something you’re not going to like,” she says. She sits back in the rocking chair.
My gut tenses. “What is that?” But I have a pretty good guess.
“Your parents are here. I saw June before I came.”
Now I’m the one popping out of the chair. But the windows are empty. Of course they are. It’s after midnight.
“Where are they?”
“I bet they are waiting at the normal nursery, not the NICU,” she says.
Damn. I did not need this. Although I guess it had to happen eventually.
“So you’re saying Dad is here too?”
“Yes,” she says.
Great.
“You okay here?” I ask. Ethan is sleeping. The nurse said it would be a while before they tried to give him his first feeding.
“I’m fine. Tell Mom to come.” Corabelle looks up at me with worry. “Will you be okay?”
I shrug. “It’s my family. Anything that can go wrong, will.”
My boots strike the floor with each step as I leave the ward. The other mothers look up as I pass. I should be more quiet.
But I am not looking forward to this. Only anger will get me through.
When I approach the desk, I consider telling the woman stationed there not to let my parents in. But my mom will want to come.
I just have to deal with this.
Once I’m in the hall, I examine the signs to figure out where the regular nursery is. We didn’t pass it on our way. It must be farther on.
My anger rises with each footfall. How dare my father just show up here. He wasn’t invited to my wedding. He isn’t invited to anything.
But then there’s my mom. Damn it. I do want her here. She’s been through enough already. There’s no reason to cast her out.
Except.
She didn’t protect me.
She was my mother, and she let my father do all those things.
Corabelle would not do that. If I turned into an asshole and started cuffing my boy, she’d rise up. She’d kick me out. I’d be done.
Mom had not.
An intersection of halls forces me to stop and determine which way to go. I look around. A sign on the wall says “Nursery” with an arrow.
They’ll be there. I can bet on it. They don’t know premature babies have a different room. It’s not something they’ve experienced.
Because of me. I didn’t let them experience it last time.
They never saw Finn until he was in his coffin.
I start walking until I spot the regular nursery.
The hall is long and a window runs along it just like at the NICU.
Despite the hour, more than one family is standing there. Babies are born around the clock.
I pass the first group, Indian women in saris holding up cell phones to snap pictures of a curly haired baby being held up to the glass.
And then there they are.
My parents.
Dad is leaning against a pillar between the panes, his face close to the window, as if he can will his grandson to show up.
Mom stands a little behind, her skirt almost to her ankles, hair up high, arms folded across her belly. She holds a tissue and looks like she’s been crying.
Why didn’t she stop my father all those years?
My feet stop without my telling them to. I’m rooted to the floor.
Mom turns and sees me. She lifts the tissue to her face. She doesn’t alert my father, but watches me like I’m something to be afraid of.
Maybe I look tough. My feet are wide, arms crossed on my chest. I feel like a wall no one can get through to see my son. And I’ll be that if I have to.
One cuff on the head to my little boy, and my father is done for. I’ll smash him into the pavement.
No, he won’t ever get that close. Starting today.
Mom stands a little straighter. She walks toward me. Dad notices and looks where she’s going. He sees me and pushes from the wall.
Here we go.
“Gavin!” my mom cries. “How is the baby?”
I wait for them both to approach. Mom doesn’t come in close, sensing I’m not up for a hug.
“He’s fine,” I say, my voice clipped.
My dad tries to be jovial and pound me on the shoulder, but I turn sharply to avoid him. His hand misses and falls to slap his own thigh.
“What’s stuck in your craw?” he asks.
“What are you doing here?”
He takes a step back. “Now, that’s no way to greet your father. After all I’ve been through.” He looks at the ceiling, shaking his head. “I practically keeled over a few months ago and you aren’t even happy to see me.”
“No, I’m not,” I say.
“Gavin,” Mom says. “We brought some things for the baby. Should we bring them up from the car?”
“No,” I say. The anger runs deep, set in my bones. I couldn’t shake it if I tried.
“Is the baby okay?” she asks. “Is that why you’re so upset?”
I don’t plan to say this, but it just comes out. “He hit me, Mom.” I point at my father. “He kicked me. Cuffed me. Tossed me around. He demoralized me and made me feel worthless. And you let him.”
She presses her hand to her throat. “What are you talking about?”
“You knew,” I say, but then I falter. Did she?
Scenes fly through my head. The garage. The backyard. By the car. In the driveway. She wasn’t around.
But then a few more come forward. At dinner, while she put food on our plates. In the living room, parts of broken vacuum cleaner spread out on the carpet.
She saw. She knew.
“What are you talking about?” my father says. “The boy needed guidance. He was a klutz and a screwup and dumb as a damn post. I had to mold his pathetic ass.”
The women in their saris turn to look and scoot farther down the window.
“Do not cuss in here,” I say. “I’ll get you thrown out.”
Dad shakes his head. “This is the same shit you were pulling when I was in the hospital.” He shifts his stance, lifting his arm like he’s about to make a point.
But I knock his hand aside. “You are never going to get near my son. I will not have you abusing him and acting like it’s for his own good.”
I’m about to turn and walk away. I’ll get them banned from the NICU. Hell, maybe I’ll call child protective services and get custody of June. Actually, she’ll probably stay here without all that. Let them try and take her back. Just let them try. She’ll be great help for Corabelle. I’ll enroll her in school here.
My mind whirs, so I don’t feel the pull on my arm until it nearly stops me.
It’s my mother.
“Can I see him?” she asks. “I never saw Finn.”
I glare at her. “Tell me why either one of you should see my son.”
My father hollers down the hall. “Leave him, Alaina. Let’s go the hell home. He’s not worth it.”
Mom closes her eyes for a second. She’s struggling.
“Alaina! Now!” he yells.
She looks at me. “You are right. I knew. I was weak. I didn’t know what to do. He was my husband.”
My jaw sets. “He still is. So go be his wife.” I start to turn.
She grabs my arm.
“No,” she says. “I’ll leave him. I’ll leave him and live in California rather than spend another day without you.”
Shock blasts through me, hot and unexpected. I turn to her. My dad is still standing by the nursery, hands on his hips, glowering.
“What?” I ask.
“I have the spare car keys. I’ll get my bag and June’s. I can get a hotel for a few nights. I have a little money.” Her voice shakes. “I’ve had enough.”
For a moment, I don’t move.
“I will never choose him over you again,” she says. “I won’t.”
I relent.
My arms go around her and she clutches at me.
“I’ve had enough,” she says again.
“Come on,” I say. “Let’s get away from him.”
“Alaina!” my father booms. “Where do you think you’re going?”
I put my arm around her and we keep walking. I expect he’ll follow, so as soon as we turn the corner, we duck through a door marked “family break room” and close it tight.
It’s empty, just a couple tables and a counter with a microwave and coffee maker.
“Where is Maybelle?” Mom asks. “She has June.”
“I’m not sure. I’m supposed to find her so she can see the baby.”
“Is he okay? You haven’t said.”
“He’s fine,” I tell her. “He’s early, so he has to be under a heat lamp, but otherwise, he’s good. He’s in the NICU with Corabelle.”
“Can I see him?”
“We have to get away from Dad,” I say. I don’t know what to do about him.
I look around the room. It’s actually positioned between two halls, so there is a door out the other side. A shortcut.
“We can probably go this way,” I say.
The other corridor is quiet as I peek out. We’ve taken a deep cut around the path I took to get to them. The NICU is just one hall down. I duck back inside the room.
“I’ll get you in the NICU,” I say. I don’t know if she’s really going to leave my dad, but if she is, that’s a step in the right direction. But first I have to know something.
I turn to her. “Did Dad hurt you?”
She takes in a breath. She didn’t expect this question.
“Not like you,” she says. “He never hit me. But there are things he has said that possibly hurt even more.”
I gather her against me again. “Okay. We’ll figure this out.”
We stand there for the space of several more heartbeats, then I cautiously open the door again. Hallway still clear.
I’m going to take my mother to see her grandson.
Everything else can wait.