CHAPTER 34
Luke finished counting the letters again. Fifty-six, fifty-seven, fifty-eight . . . yes, fifty-eight letters filled with Natalie, her words, her stories, her beliefs. He put them all in chronological order, one behind the other, in an oversize shoebox. He’d been counting them compulsively all morning, finding it was a better way to pass time in a hospital waiting room than reading a magazine. This must be what it was like for fathers back in the days before men were allowed in the delivery room. The waiting was unbearable.
When Neal popped his head into the sparsely decorated room, full of the most uncomfortable chairs known to man, Luke slipped the bright-orange lid back on the box. It was time.
“You don’t have long, maybe ten, fifteen minutes before they’ll come for her, but it should be enough for the basics.” Neal took several turns down seemingly identical hallways. It’d be easy to get lost in Detroit General, far bigger and more intimidating than quaint Botsford. Neal wore scrubs today, Luke wasn’t sure why, but didn’t care to ask. They looked more comfortable than Luke’s khakis and button-up collared shirt. Maybe he’d ask for his own pair.
Two more turns, and after passing what Luke swore was the same nurses’ station twice, Neal stopped abruptly and then turned to face him. “Thank you for doing this. I know I can’t be your favorite person right now, but . . . I have a lot of respect for you. I hope one day we can be friends.”
Neal put out a hand, and Luke stared at it for a moment. He’d spent months searching for this man, making up all kinds of stories about who he was and why he was so important to Natalie. The truth was not even close to anything Luke could’ve ever imagined. And the man had raised and cared for his biological child, a child with special medical needs, a child he could’ve tossed into the same system Luke had floundered through.
Carefully balancing the box under his arm, Luke gave Neal’s hand a firm shake. He might not be at the point of liking the man yet, but he certainly could respect him back.
“This is her room. I’ll wait out here until they come.” Neal pointed to a large metal door, oversize so wheelchairs and gurneys could fit through easily. “Unless you want me to come?”
“No,” Luke blurted, faster than would be considered polite. “I think I’ll be fine.”
“Good luck,” Neal said as he held open the door.
Luke hugged the box of letters against his chest. The room was smaller than the one in Farmington Hills. Today Jessie’s eyes were open, though turning her head to see who walked in seemed to exhaust her. He hadn’t seen her since the revelatory letter from Natalie, but even in her puffy, weak state, there was something that stirred in his chest, the same feeling he had the first time he saw Will, May, and Clayton, the feeling that confirmed this was his child. Luke sat down on an empty chair arranged near Jessie’s head.
“Mr. Richardson. I mean . . . Luke . . . hi.” Jessie welcomed him weakly, her fingers lifting ever so slightly.
“Hey there, Jessie. How you doing?” Luke flinched, taking in the tubes going into her arms, machines droning beside her. “Stupid question. Sorry.”
Jessie looked like she was trying to laugh but could only manage a pained smile. “I’ve definitely felt better.”
“I’m sure you have.” He put the box on the floor under his chair, wondering if he’d even find the courage to tell her anything.
“Well, the kids miss you. Um, May says she wants to give you a pedicure after your surgery, when you’re allowed visitors and all.”
“I can’t wait.” Jessie’s bottom lip, dry and cracked, quivered.
“So, did your dad tell you why I’m here today?”
“Not really.” She shook her head ever so slightly.
“Well, it has something to do with your surgery, and he thought you should know before . . .” Oh, this was just too hard. Neal had convinced Luke to speak with her about Natalie because there was more than a small chance that she could die under the knife. He decided to try another approach. “So, uh, your donor. Did your dad tell you where they found her?”
Another nearly unperceivable no.
“She’s related to your birth mother, Jessie. She’s actually your maternal grandmother.”
“My, my birth mom?” Jessie struggled like she was trying to sit up, her breathing becoming more ragged. “You found her?”
The hope in Jessie’s eyes stabbed at the place inside Luke that was still raw from missing Natalie. How was he supposed to tell this sick girl that her birth mother had been claimed by cancer, just like Maria Townsend?
“She found you, Jessie. Last year, at Eastern. You got to know her very well. She loved you so much.” The glowing lights of Jessie’s monitors blurred as Luke’s eyes filled with tears. As sick as she was, it was clear Jessie immediately understood. Her own eyes glistened too, and her chin quivered.
“Natalie . . . Natalie . . . was my mom?” She asked the question, but Luke could tell she already knew the answer.
“Yeah, honey, she was.” Her shoulders shook and Luke rubbed them, worried that if she got too upset, the alarms on one of her machines would go off.
“Natalie was my mom.” She said it again, a statement this time. Then her face crumpled. “Why didn’t she tell me? I . . . I have so many questions. We could’ve had some time together. We could’ve . . .” She trailed off.
Luke sniffed. “I know. I know you do, and I’ll answer as many as I can. Your dad knows a lot more than I do.”
“Wait, he knew? All this time, he knew?” Luke hadn’t considered what would happen if Jessie didn’t like the revelation.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know. I just found out myself. I . . .”
“What about my birth dad, is he dead too? Did he wait till everyone was dead to tell me?”
“Jessie, your birth dad isn’t dead. And your dad did what he thought was best for you. Please, don’t be upset. I just wanted to see you before you went into surgery. I wanted you to know . . .” This was harder than revealing Natalie’s maternity. “I’m your birth dad.”
“What?” Her face crumpled. “You and Natalie? You must’ve been . . . so young.” She paused to take a breath before continuing. “Wait, so May is my sister? I have a sister?”
“Yes. A sister and two brothers who adore you, who are worried sick about you. And your grandma Terry, she’s your donor.”
“Oh my God, I . . . it’s so much to take in.” She blinked away the tears since her arms were too weak to wipe them off. Luke grabbed a handful of tissues out of the box on the nightstand and wiped her face. “This is a good thing, right?”
“Yeah, I know I think it’s a good thing.”
“I just wish I knew before Natalie died. I wish I could’ve hugged her just once knowing she was my mom.”
“I know. I agree.” Luke refolded the tissues and soaked up the last few rogue tears. Jessie’s eyes were drooping shut, reminding him of Clayton on the brink of a nap, wanting sleep but resisting it too. Maybe the letters would have to wait. “You just go in there and be strong. When you get out and your brand-new, slightly used kidney starts working then we can fill in all the blanks, okay?”
“Okay,” Jessie whispered, leaning her forehead against his hand. “Mr. Richardson?”
Luke chuckled. “Jessie, now you really have to call me Luke.”
A smile flitted over her chapped lips. “Luke,” she said, starting again. He could almost hear her mother’s voice in the layers of her whisper. “If I don’t come back . . . do you think she’s waiting for me? In heaven, I mean.”
“I don’t really know. I’m not sure . . .” Luke stumbled through his reply. He should lie, like he did to Natalie. He should give his child the comfort she was seeking.
There was a knock at the door and a flood of people came through without waiting for permission. Neal was the last one through the door. Time was up.
Luke opened his mouth, unsure what to say to the daughter he may never speak to again. He didn’t believe—not in heaven, maybe not even in God. But then again when he thought of Natalie and of her letters he wondered how she could be gone forever. Natalie had found their daughter once. Maybe she could do it again.
He leaned over the bedrail, his cheek grazing Jessie’s damp hair. “If there is any way to find you—she will. I know it.” Luke stood up, blinking away the tears in his eyes before Neal could see them.
“It’s time.” He stood beside Luke and they both watched as a crew of hospital staff unplugged wires, lowered her bed, and pulled up bedrails. “Did you say what you needed to?”
“I think so.” Luke smoothed down a piece of Jessie’s hair with the same gentle pressure he used on the other kids when they were babies and then stood back so the team could get in position. “I didn’t tell her about the letters.” He looked over at Jessie, who was struggling to stay awake even with all of the activity in the room. She’d make it through. He knew it. She had to. “I’ll give them to her tomorrow.”
Luke stood back and let the nurses, doctors, and Neal exit before he grabbed the shoebox and tucked it under his arm. After a few wrong turns and dead ends, Luke finally navigated his way out of the maze of patients’ rooms into the waiting room.
His seat was still open, and Luke reclaimed it and placed the box on his lap. Sitting in the barren, chair-lined room gave him a sense of déjà vu. It felt like he’d been in a waiting room since Natalie’s death—waiting for a letter, waiting for instructions, waiting to feel something other than sorrow, waiting for May to smile without guilt, for Will to feel like he belonged in their family, Clayton to sleep without a phone in his hands, for Annie to find peace.
Luke settled down lower in his seat and closed his eyes. There wouldn’t be news for a few hours. For now, he’d rest. After today there would be no more waiting. Tomorrow they would start living again.