Not Through Loving You by Patricia Preston (4)

“Good morning.” Aaron placed Baby John against his bare chest. “I’ve got great news. Your chest X-ray looked better.” Aaron sat in the rocker beside the incubator and covered the baby with his blanket. “It showed no pneumonia in your right lung and marked improvement in your left lung. You’ve almost got it beat. Daddy’s proud of you.”

Surround by the privacy curtain of the NICU pod, Aaron spoke to the baby in a low voice. “I’m getting rid of your crazy aunt today. You’re gonna be a major shock to her.” Aaron grinned. “The idea hit me last night while I was having dinner with her. I figure a dose of reality will send her running all the way back to Nashville and her superstar boyfriend.”

Usually, Aaron prepared the parents of sick newborns before he took them to see their babies. Most people found the NICU disturbing. You had tiny babies clinging to life, and the sudden monitor alarms were unnerving. He always reassured parents that their initial reaction of fear and even terror was normal, considering the circumstances, and that it would soon pass.

He smiled as he rocked John. He had no plans to prepare Lia Montgomery. He was going to lead the lamb to the slaughter.

“Maybe that’s the outlaw in me.” Out of all the dinner dates he’d had in his life—although last night had not been a dinner date—it was the first time he’d ever shared dinner with a woman who called herself a fangirl of a dead outlaw. “If there’s one thing I learned last night, it’s that I don’t have anything in common with your Aunt Lia.”

Even if he had, it wouldn’t have mattered. Lia Montgomery belonged to someone else.

Just like Molly. He had learned a lot from having his heart mashed. That’s why he had answered “nobody” when Lia had asked him who fascinated him. He wasn’t going to let anyone fascinate him or infatuate him to the point he put on blinders the way he had with Molly.

He had no explanations for his actions when it came to Molly, other than it was the first and only time he had ever fallen in love, and when he fell, he fell hard, fast, and entirely. He had met Molly while he was completing his neonatal fellowship in Houston. She was a pediatric nurse at Texas Children’s Hospital and just recently divorced. The ink hadn’t been dry on her divorce papers when he met her and insisted that she was his future.

She had resisted his advances at first. She’d tried to tell him she wasn’t ready for a serious relationship. He hadn’t listened. He persisted. She was the love of his life, and he intended to have her.

He convinced her to give him a chance, to go out with him, to move in with him, and to marry him. It had been something of a whirlwind—eight months from the day they met until the day he put a ring on her finger.

He was in love. He was happy. He was successful. He’d been given a six-figure recruitment bonus to join the staff at Lafayette Falls Medical Center and a full partnership in a growing pediatric practice. He had bought an amazing house without noticing that Molly wasn’t that enthusiastic. His life was practically perfect, and finding out they had a baby on the way was the best news ever.

Then came the day when it ended. The truth he’d ignored for so long shredded his heart as he read Molly’s good-bye note. Her trips home to Texas to see her family had been trips to see her ex-husband, the man she loved and would always love. It was his child she carried.

She had apologized for not being stronger and not listening to her gut when it came to getting married again. In the note, she said she had tried to be happy and had tried to love him, but that was not to be. She had been miserable married to the wrong man. All she wanted was to leave and not look back. She was kind enough to say she hoped he found a woman who would love him. Then she added, “That woman is not me, Aaron.”

It’s not Lia Montgomery either. That thought was instantaneous. Molly had been attractive. She was pleasant, practical, and even a little shy. He’d always felt comfortable with Molly. She reminded him of a daisy. On the other hand, Lia was like a rare orchid. Nothing ordinary or simple about her, and she had him on edge.

She had a way about her that kept his pulse erratic. It was hard to single out or define. There had been a light about her last night. A sexy illumination in her smile and in her eyes when she looked across the table at him. She could easily make a guy feel like he was the only man in the universe. Like she could wake him up inside and make him feel alive again.

“Not happening,” he said aloud as he brushed off the thought. He patted John’s back. “You’re all that matters. Daddy loves you.”

His watch buzzed. “Okay, buddy, I’ve got to go make rounds.” He returned John to the incubator and covered the plastic top of the appliance with the blue blanket splashed with rainbows. “I’ll be back soon with your aunt. Unfortunately.” He slipped on his blue scrub top and white lab coat.

In the hallway, he checked his phone. He had a text message from his father, Frank.

That morning when Aaron had walked through the den—populated by blow-up dolls, empty beer cans, and pizza boxes—and found out that Frank and Ralph were about to go fishing, he had lost it. He went on a rant about how they had to stop living like animals. Although they’d acted like two little boys who didn’t know why they were in trouble, Frank and Ralph had promised they’d clean up around the house.

Aaron sent his father a text. Go fishing.

Then he read a message from Jessica March, a businesswoman from Denver who had clients in Nashville. I’ll be in town a couple of days. Staying at the Renaissance Hotel. I’d love to see you.

He had met Jessica at a medical conference last year, and every few months when she was in Nashville, she’d contact him. Their relationship was nothing more than a sexual liaison, which worked for both of them. Simple and uncomplicated. She had said she was single, but he never heard from her except when she was in town, so he assumed she might have someone in her life, but he didn’t ask.

See. Simple and uncomplicated. What more could a man want?

When the elevator door opened, he was greeted by his long-time buddy, cardiologist Brett Harris, whose nickname was Hot Rod. Aaron had been the best man at Brett’s wedding this past winter. It had been a small, elegant wedding at the Castle House, where his wife’s grandmother resided along with the meanest cat ever.

“Traded in my Audi coupe for a Range Rover Sport a couple of days ago,” Aaron told Brett as he pressed the button for the fourth floor. “I figured I was going to need something with more room and easier access to the baby’s car seat.”

“A Range Rover’s a great choice,” Brett said. “I ran into Kayla, and she said you’re having a baby shower.” He chuckled.

Aaron groaned. “Helen and the nurses came up with that brilliant idea, and Kayla got wind of it.”

“You know, there’s always the ‘I’ve got an emergency’ excuse.”

“Amen.” The doors of the elevator slid open on the fourth floor. “Catch you later,” Aaron told Brett as he slipped a pediatric stethoscope out of his lab coat pocket along with a sock monkey that was known to work miracles.

* * *

Because it was early Sunday morning, Lia had her choice of parking spaces at Lafayette Falls Medical Center. She parked the Jag close to the front entrance and walked into the main lobby. At the reception desk, she asked directions to the elevator.

“Take the hall to your right. Follow the blue line on the floor. It runs past the elevators. You can’t miss them,” the receptionist said. “I love your outfit.”

“Thank you.” Lia wore the last of the clean clothes she had brought with her. A peasant-styled turquoise tunic, anchored by a wide leather belt trimmed in silver and turquoise, black leggings, and heeled turquoise sandals.

“If you need any other help, there are reception desks on all the medical floors.”

By the time Lia had reached the third-floor waiting room, she had concluded the medical center was a respectable hospital. She passed a housekeeping crew who were wiping down the walls and buffing the tile floors, and the elevator smelled of citrus.

In the small waiting room, the standard-issue chairs were covered in a soft blue-and-green striped fabric. Magazines were stacked neatly on end tables, and open blinds let in the sunlight. A man was helping himself to a cup of fresh coffee at a pier table. After he had filled two small foam cups, he left the waiting room, and Lia was alone.

She took out her phone. She had a message from her father, Julian, who was in Berlin. He wanted to know if everything was all right with her.

Everything is great, Dad. That’s what he expected from her. I’m working on some new songs.

Lia winced. We’re okay with that. Sometimes a break is a good thing.

With a sigh, she stuck her phone in the shoulder strap bag she carried and looked out the window. She supposed this was an average-size hospital for a city of fifty thousand, but it was small compared to the huge medical complexes she and Dallas had visited when he made celebrity appearances for good causes. From Johns Hopkins to Cedars-Sinai, she had seen hospitals that were on the cutting edge of research and medical treatments.

“Hello.”

She turned to see Aaron standing in the doorway. She blinked in surprise as she saw him for the first time in blue scrubs and a white lab coat, which transformed him into a doctor. The clothes definitely made him.

She held his gaze for a moment and wondered what it would be like to be someone who could save a baby’s life. What would it be like to feel that adopting an unwanted baby was something meant to be? She admired more than just his looks, and a part of her wanted to get to know him. Another part knew that was pointless.

“Morning.” She crossed the room to where he stood in the doorway. He had not taken the time to shave, and the stubble looked sexy on him. She wondered if he were like the TV doctors who had sex in the linen closets and that sort of thing. The thought brought a smile to her face, and he narrowed his blue eyes as if her smile bothered him.

“This way.” He didn’t bother with small talk.

She trotted alongside him down a hallway with pastel yellow walls and colorful nursery rhyme paintings. “How is the baby today?”

“Stable.”

“Good.” What an amazing conversation they were having.

He stopped beside a locked door marked STAFF ONLY. He entered a code on the electronic keypad and pushed the door open. Lia followed him into a corridor where the glass wall on the right revealed the work area of the newborn nursery. She glimpsed a nurse weighing a protesting red-faced newborn while another nurse swaddled a baby.

“How cute,” Lia commented. “The babies are so tiny.”

“Those are above-average-size newborns,” Aaron informed her.

“They look tiny to me.” After all, she had no experience in the baby department.

He pushed his way through a pair of swinging doors into a small room with sinks and posters about hand washing and sterile technique. “We have to scrub up.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means wash your hands,” he replied. “And put this on over your clothes.” He handed her a package that contained a disposable paper gown. “I don’t want you to contaminate anything.”

She glared at him for a second. “I’ll try not to.” While he washed his hands in one sink, she used the other one and followed the chart on the wall. Then she put the thin, sterile paper gown on over her clothes. Aaron led the way out of the room and past a nurses station where an older nurse did a double take.

Aaron started to talk as they reached an area he called the special-care nursery where medical equipment beeped, clicked, or continuously made swooshing sounds. “This is where we keep the preemies and babies with medical problems, depending on their size and the severity of their condition. It’s a special-care nursery with NICU pods. This is a level two-and-a-half nursery because we overlap with level three NICU nurseries on some care levels. Babies that are less than three pounds are flown to Memphis or Nashville as well as babies requiring more intensive care than we provide here.”

For the first time, uncertainty started to build inside Lia as she considered the seriousness of this nursery. It wasn’t like the images on TV where cute babies were lined up in front of a window. They walked past two babies in small, open beds. Blindfolded, they lay under a bright blue light. Her heart filled with sympathy and distress.

“Do they ever die? The babies?” she asked.

“Yes,” Aaron answered without elaboration. “We have four NICU pods. John is the only baby in one at this time.” He directed her attention to the back wall where three large spaces had both freestanding equipment and devices attached to the walls. Each had a curtain that could be pulled for privacy. “Sunday is usually a quiet day. Labs and X-rays are kept to a minimum.”

She followed him to the first pod. A red rocking chair was the only friendly thing she saw as Aaron continued his professional assessment of her sister’s baby. “John is in an incubator. An incubator is a lifesaver when it comes to preemies like John, who need help to survive. The incubator helps him maintain his body temperature.

“A heat sensor connects John to the incubator, so when his body temp starts to drop, the incubator’s heater comes on and warms him up. It has a fan that keeps the warm air circulating around him and a built-in humidifier.

“The interior provides a sterile environment, which is important when it comes to preventing infections. There are access ports so he can receive care without being removed from the incubator, and it helps shield him from outside noise, enabling him to sleep better.”

Aaron took a blanket from the top of a large, plastic box that Lia thought resembled a coffin. She stepped closer to get a look inside the incubator. Her heart practically stilled as she looked at the baby who was bare except for a disposable diaper.

She had never once imagined Candace’s baby as so tiny and frail. Patches with wires trailing from them decorated his bare torso. A tube was inserted in his nose and taped to his cheek. Bandages and a splint covered the lower half of his left arm, securing an IV line, and his head rested inside a small clear hood.

Her mind railed at her sister. Candace, how could you do this? How could you let this happen? Was there not a single drop of decency in you?

Aaron continued to talk while she felt helpless as she realized her sister’s legacy was such a terrible tragedy. “He was born in respiratory distress. He’s been on a ventilator and CPAP. For the past couple of days, he’s been breathing on his own. The oxygen hood helps him so he doesn’t have to work so hard to breathe. That’ll help him gain weight. Breathing uses up calories.”

Lia felt her own lungs struggling to expand.

“Today he weighed in at three pounds and fourteen ounces. I’m hoping by the end of the week he’ll reach the four-pound mark. Right now, he is both tube fed and bottle fed. I hope to discontinue the tube feedings soon.”

Aaron slipped on a pair of purple latex gloves and stuck his hand through the incubator’s access port and indicated the different leads coming from the electrodes stuck on the baby’s body. “These are connected to the cardiorespiratory monitor on the wall. It tracks his breathing and heart rate. If either is abnormal, an alarm will alert us.

“This is a blood pressure monitor wrapped around his left leg, and this is the pulse oximeter,” Aaron pointed out the blue wrap around John’s right foot with a faint red light glowing inside the wrap. “It uses a light sensor to detect how much oxygen is in his blood.”

Aaron placed his index finger against the palm of John’s right hand, and the baby gripped his finger. “I put a central line in his left arm. That’s different from a standard IV in that I threaded the line up through the arm and into a larger vein near the heart. Medicine and extra nutrients are delivered via the central line.”

Lia peered through the clear walls of the incubator where the baby lay on his back. Beneath the oxygen hood, his head was turned toward Aaron. He had a dusting of dark hair covering his scalp, but she couldn’t really tell anything about his face. He lay still, as if in a deep sleep or maybe dying. She glanced at the monitors that were humming and clicking. Steady green lines ran across the screen of the cardiopulmonary monitor in zigzag fashion, indicating the baby had a heartbeat.

“John still has episodes of apnea and bradycardia.” Aaron removed his hand from the incubator and discarded the gloves. “That means his heartbeat slows down, and he quits breathing sometimes. Premature babies can forget to breathe. If there’s any risk of apnea after he’s discharged, he’ll need a home apnea monitor. An alarm will sound if he stops breathing, and if he doesn’t respond to patting stimuli, he’ll have to be resuscitated. I have parents with high-risk babies like John take a course in infant CPR before the baby goes home.”

“CPR on a tiny baby like that?” She couldn’t even imagine it.

“Yeah.” Aaron shrugged as if it were nothing. “His white blood count is low and has been since he was born. He’s had a transfusion, which helped. Anemia coupled with his immature immune system makes him vulnerable to infections, and I’m keeping a careful watch on that.

“Sepsis could be fatal. He already has pneumonia as well as hypoglycemia and hypothyroidism. Plus he has some problems with reflux,” Aaron continued in a matter-of-fact tone of voice while Lia’s anxiety mounted. “It’s too early yet for his hearing and his vision screening. He reacts to verbal stimuli, so I think his hearing is intact. I don’t know about his vision. Retinopathy of prematurity is a concern. We don’t know exactly what causes ROP in some preemies and not in others. It can range from stage one, which is mild, to stage five, blindness.”

Lia gasped. “Are you saying there’s a chance he’ll be blind?”

Before Aaron could reply, a male nurse appeared. “Dr. Kendall.” The nurse motioned for him as he spoke in a worried voice. “I need you to come take a look at a baby for me.”

“Wait here,” he told Lia, and he left the nursery with the nurse.

Disconcerted, Lia stood beside the incubator and considered what Aaron had said about the baby. Heart problems, breathing problems, and problems she didn’t remotely understand. Plus possible blindness? The strength drained out of her body. She needed to sit down.

She turned to the rocker. Aaron had tossed the blanket that had been covering the incubator across the seat of the rocking chair. As she lifted the blanket from the seat, she saw the suns and rainbows printed on the plush blanket.

“No. Don’t go there,” she told herself as the first thing that popped into her mind was Gilda’s prophecy about the rainbows. “Don’t even go there.” She folded the blanket and laid it on a steel cart that stood on the other side of the rocker.

Before she had a chance to sit in the rocker, a low, bellowing noise startled her. The sound came from across the room where the two babies lay beneath the blue lights. She had thought an alarm would have been more like a siren than a foghorn. There was no rush of medical personnel in response to sound.

She stepped out of the NICU pod. Was she the only person who heard that? She glanced around and saw a man in scrubs at a nurses station on the other side of a glass panel. Was the glass soundproof? She caught a glimpse of closed-circuit flat screens. Then the alarm stopped abruptly. The man came out of the room and walked casually over to the babies beneath the lights.

“Are you a doctor?” Lia asked, upset that he seemed so unconcerned when obviously something was wrong.

“No,” he answered. “I’m a nurse and a monitor tech. She’s got a loose lead wire,” he said as he checked the leads on the baby’s body and reset the monitor before he returned to his post at the nurses’ station.

Lia collapsed in the rocker, relaxing for a just a second before she saw that Candace’s baby had his eyes open. Scooting near the incubator, she got her first close-up view of the baby’s face beneath the clear plastic oxygen hood.

She studied the structure of his face, the shape of his lips and brows. “You look like Mom,” she whispered in surprise.

He gazed at her with the deep blue eyes common to newborns, and she wondered if he could see her. “Hi.” She placed her palm on the side of the incubator. “It’s your Aunt Lia. You are such a cutie.”

His eyes remained open as he pursed his lips and squirmed slightly.

“I’m sorry about everything. About your mother,” she said. “I’m sorry you’ve had such a rough time of it.” She had never imagined that he would have so many serious medical problems. “I know this is a hard way to begin life, but you’re gonna make it.”

He puckered his lips again and let out a whimper. His face crinkled into a frown as he tried to cry, and Lia hopped out of the rocker.

“Are you okay?” She looked at the monitors like she actually knew what they meant. The baby thrashed his limbs and began to whine louder. “You’re not okay.”

Desperate, she called, “I need some help here.” Where was the staff? Where was Aaron? This was the most inept hospital she’d ever seen. It was a miracle the baby had survived, and it seemed to her a baby with so many medical problems should be in a children’s hospital anyway.

An older, heavy-set nurse appeared. She reminded Lia of a drill sergeant in Mickey Mouse scrubs. She carried a small baby bottle that contained an ounce of formula and had a red nipple attached.

Annoyed, Lia said, “The baby needs to be examined. He just started crying for no reason. Something is wrong with him.”

“He’s hungry.” The nurse looked at Lia the way you look at someone who isn’t very bright. “Baby John knows it’s time to eat.”

Lia bristled as Nurse Know-It-All marched over to the incubator. She slid her hands through the incubator’s access ports, moved the oxygen hood, and sat the baby upright, supporting his head and shoulders with one hand. She stuck the red nipple in his mouth.

“That’s how you’re going feed him?” Lia asked in horror. Just sit him up and shove a nipple in his mouth? No cuddling or rocking?

The nurse looked up as the baby sucked on the fast-flow nipple. “Who are you?”

“I’m his aunt,” she answered, and she saw the surprise on the nurse’s face, followed by a scowl that pissed Lia off.

“I’m Baby John’s primary care nurse, Helen Craig, and yes, this is how he is fed.” She turned her attention back to the baby. Once he had gulped down the ounce of formula, the nurse put aside the bottle, tilted the baby forward into the palm of her right hand, and rapped on his back until he spit up a little bit of the formula. She quickly wiped his mouth, lay him down, and put the oxygen hood over his head. Then she went to check on the babies under the lights where she changed their diapers in a few seconds and moved on.

“Unbelievable,” Lia murmured as her temper rose at the indignity of it all. “That was so uncaring and unfeeling. I don’t like this place at all.” She had always been given to quick decisions, and once she made up her mind, it was made up.

It was made up now. “I’m going to get you out of here before they let you die,” she told the baby. “Aunt Lia’s gonna take care of everything. Including getting you a real name.”

She glared at the name card on the incubator that read “Baby John Doe.” That was a name for nobody. When she heard the murmur of voices, she looked up and saw that Aaron had returned. He and the delightful nurse, Helen, stood at the entrance of the nursery, talking.

“Dr. Frankenstein and Nurse Ratched. What a pair,” she fumed as the two of them parted company and Aaron headed toward the NICU pod.

“If you’re ready to go, I’ll see you out,” Aaron said as if it were all said and done now.

Wasn’t he going to be surprised? She didn’t say anything until they stepped into the main hallway. The door labeled STAFF ONLY closed soundlessly behind them. “Could I have a word with you in the waiting room?”

He shot her a curious glance. “All right.”

“It won’t take long,” she assured him as they turned the corner where a short hallway was flanked by elevators and the small waiting room. She was happy to see the waiting room was empty as it probably was most of the time.

He followed her into the room and stood with his hands in the pockets of his white coat. A sock monkey peered out of one of the pockets. “Yes?” His professional demeanor was completely intact. Yet his gaze lingered on her mouth for a moment too long.

Inwardly, Lia sighed. Sexual attraction could occur at the worst times ever, or so it seemed. She hated to put an end to it, but sometimes you had to make sacrifices for a tiny baby on death’s doorstep. “I want the baby transferred to Le Bonheur Children’s Hospital.”

Aaron blinked as if he’d been hit by an unexpected punch. “What?”

“He’s too sick to be in this hospital,” she insisted. “And that nursery is a terrible place.”

“Lia, you were in the nursery less than ten minutes,” he pointed out as anger flashed in his blue eyes. “I’m the medical director of that nursery, and I can assure you that it exceeds both state and federal regulations. Plus the staff is well trained and experienced.”

“I’m not sold on that.” She held her ground. “There was no one around when one of those machines started making a weird sound, and it was a minute or so before the nurse came to see about it.”

Aaron let out a groan. “That was a malfunction alarm. The monitors have sensors that know when a lead has detached,” he explained. “And we have cameras in the nursery. Not only surveillance cameras, but also cameras on the babies that live feed into the computer screens at the nurses station. There is always someone at the nurses station, if not making rounds. The babies are watched over every minute.”

“I certainly don’t think you have an outstanding staff. Especially that army sergeant nurse. She even looks mean.”

“Helen has a master’s degree in pediatric nursing. She’s an excellent nurse, and that’s why she’s John’s primary care nurse. I trust her completely.”

Undaunted, Lia looked him straight in the eye. “You may trust her, but how do you know the baby trusts her? Maybe he doesn’t like the way she handles him as if he’s an old rag doll.”

Aaron scrubbed his hand down his jaw and shook his head. “This is how it is,” he began. “If John needed to be transferred to Le Bonheur or any other hospital, I would do it in a minute to save his life. But he doesn’t need to be transferred. We can provide all the care he requires at this hospital, and I’ve made sure he’s gotten the best of care. He’s doing great.”

“Doing great?” She frowned. Where had that come from? “What about all the stuff you said was wrong with him? Like he can’t remember to breathe and his heart is too slow and he can’t fight off infections. He’s got pneumonia and hypoglycemia. I don’t even know what that is.”

“Low blood sugar.”

“Oh, okay. That. And the blindness thing, too.” She folded her arms. “I want a second opinion.”

“You’re joking, right?”

“No,” she retorted. “I’ve always heard getting a second opinion is wise, and I think we need to bring in another doctor.”

“We?” His voice rose. “There is no ‘we’ to this. It’s just me, and John doesn’t need a second opinion.”

“First you say he has everything under the sun wrong with him, and then you say he’s doing great.” She spread her hands in the air. “If you were the patient, wouldn’t you want a second opinion?”

“He doesn’t need a second opinion, and that’s that,” Aaron shot back in a furious voice.

“Excuse me.”

Lia turned to see a tall doctor, wearing a wrinkle-free white lab coat, standing in the waiting room doorway. He reeked of age and wisdom and experience, like a real doctor should.

He gave Aaron a look of concern. “Dr. Kendall?”

“Good morning, Dr. Sheldon.” Aaron spoke in a quiet, respectful tone.

Lia read the black embroidery above the breast pocket of Dr. Sheldon’s lab coat. Chief of Staff. This was the boss doctor.

“Is there a problem?” Dr. Sheldon asked in a quiet, authoritative voice.

Before Aaron could respond, Lia spoke up. “Yes, Dr. Sheldon, there is.”