Chapter Five
By eight-thirty that night, Elle had managed to turn the kitchen over early to Gina and Becca and was making her way through the front of the house, greeting some of her regulars and stopping to chat with tables of new customers. It was their usual Saturday night level of busy—steady, decent table turnover, a small crowd of people milling around waiting, but since they’d had to fire up the kitchen early, they’d gotten that much ahead on prep so she felt, if not good about leaving it behind, not too worried about it.
The nausea that had made her miserable for the initial eight or so weeks of her first pregnancy hadn’t hit yet. But she knew that the dizzy spells she kept experiencing, plus the fact that she’d just as soon curl up in one of the re-purposed booths and sleep for two days as talk to anyone right now, were clear signals of her knocked-up state. She took a deep breath as she made her way through the kitchen and out of the back door, avoiding the space Ross had commandeered for his own brewing projects. The sight of that over-priced, over-engineered pilot system would only serve to aggravate her and now that she understood why her moods had swung so wildly in the last few weeks, she didn’t want to tempt their delicate balance. Not now—when she was determined to spend a pleasant hour or so with her family, get Liesl into bed and have a long-neglected discussion with the man she loved.
The early summer evening was pleasantly warm yet breezy. She climbed onto her bicycle, staring ahead at the graffiti-riddled fence that they’d decided not to tear down. Being the miracle worker that she was, Olivia had even figured out a way to make that a publicity opportunity for them, having graffiti ‘artists’ update it, using food and beer as a theme. Elle shook her head, still not sure how she’d gotten so lucky. Between Ross, their friends in Grand Rapids, the woman who’d consulted her on management hires and Olivia herself, Komfort was indeed going great guns. And if that tool Bill Anderson’s blowhard words were to be believed, this was only the beginning.
She pedaled her way into the busy Saturday night traffic. While waiting at a red light, she put a hand on her stomach and smiled to herself. This was good. This was what they needed. She’d have to step back once this next Hoffman made his appearance—and for some reason, she was struck by the premonition that it would be a boy—and that would solve their non-communication issues.
While she rode the few blocks home, her mind began to flip through the staff, promoting some, hiring others. She felt sure that Gina was ready to be head chef, but she wasn’t sure that Becca could commit to the sous position. She was taking care of her grandchildren while her daughter spent time drying out in court-ordered rehab and would struggle to find affordable care.
As she got closer to the building where she and Ross had purchased a small loft with a view of the top of another building on one side and Comerica Park on the other, her sense of contentment increased. She’d fix this. She and Ross would sit down without touching and simply discuss the last five weeks’ worth of nonsense and put it behind them. She’d forgive him his lapse in judgement for that silly ultimatum. He’d forgive her for being too lopsided in her attentions. They’d be fine.
The elevator up to their floor seemed to creak along slower than usual but the second it opened onto the hallway, she could tell something was wrong. Her hands shook when she unlocked the door and when she pushed it open into an empty, dark space, panic gripped her chest and throat.
“Ross?” she called out, flipping on lights and noting the messy condition of their usually tidy space. “Liesl? Where is everyone?” She kept her voice light, using their familiar German. But she could tell they weren’t here.
She sat carefully on the couch as if she might shatter. Her gaze flew from the upside-down plate on the floor, to a half-empty glass of beer on the side table, to an empty green plastic basket, the type used to hold the strawberries she’d just bought at Eastern Market two days ago. Her dogs milled around, whining and nudging her hands.
Her head felt as if it were stuffed with cotton, like she had a bad cold. The sound of her own heartbeat in her ears confused her at first, while she attempted to process what her eyes were seeing. There was no sign of a struggle. The door had been locked when she’d opened it. But the fact that the television was still on, its screen in sleep mode, which meant they’d been watching something on Netflix or, more likely, the streaming Disney channel, on top of the chaos around her could only mean one thing. Ross Hoffman was the tidiest damn person she knew. He would never leave the place like this unless in an extreme emergency.
“Hello? Are you back?” A voice came from the open doorway. “Is Liesl all right?”
She rose as slowly as she’d sat, feeling every creak in her knees, hips and back. She still held on to the green basket that had, just that morning, been sitting on the kitchen island counter, full of fat, juicy strawberries. “It’s me, Elle,” she tried to say but her voice wouldn’t cooperate. She cleared her throat. “Mrs. Henderson…I just got home. Where…what…I’m…”
The older woman, a retired schoolteacher who lived down the hall with her husband in the unit with a better view of the city, walked toward her, the expression on her face one of worry and concern. Elle tried hard not to flip out, to freak out, to panic and scream and run from the room. She gripped the small plastic container and took a deep breath. “What happened here?”
“Give me your keys,” the woman demanded, her voice calm. “I’ll drive us.”
Elle’s head began to pound and the room did an alarming three-sixty spin. She swayed and felt herself falling. But her neighbor gripped her arm. “Hold it together, Elle. Liesl had an allergic reaction, a bad one, probably to the strawberries. We got her into an ambulance and Ross rode with her over to Detroit Receiving.”
“Oh,” Elle said, staring down at the green basket, her entire body numb with anxiety. “Allergic? She’s not…I mean…she’s never had a reaction to anything.”
Mrs. Henderson snapped her fingers, which got Elle’s attention. “Let’s go. I’m sure Ross and Liesl want you there.”
She followed the woman’s slight form down the hall, into the elevator, across the underground parking garage.
The woman put her car in gear and pulled out into traffic. “Children sometimes develop them around her age. Ross came to get me to help after he called nine-one-one. Luckily, I have EpiPens for my own bee sting allergy and I’ve used plenty of them in my days teaching. It helped, for a minute or two. She was…” The woman glanced over at her. Elle’s breath seemed to hang in her lungs, useless, as if she were having a sympathy reaction to her child’s. “She’ll be fine. They revived her but wanted to take her for evaluation.”
“Re-re-revived her?” Darkness closed in on Elle’s vision as she contemplated this fact. Ross…dear Lord, the poor man must be a wreck, seeing that, thinking it was his fault. But why in the name of God had he not contacted her? She would have left sooner, immediately. She could have met them at the hospital.
She eased her phone from her pocket and noted that it was as dead as the proverbial doornail. He’d tried to call her, she was certain. But she’d been unreachable. She slumped against the door, staring out at the line of red brake lights strung out in front of them. Her vision blurred again but this time it was from the tears that she let spill down her face.
“Oh…oh…oh,” she keened, rocking back and forth in her seat while they waited in the endless traffic jam between her home and her baby girl.
* * * *
By the time they arrived and parked and made it through the maze of floors and departments to Liesl’s room in the pediatric wing, Elle’s entire body was jangling with stress, her mind awash with worry. All she wanted to see was her girl, to hold her and make sure she was all right. She skidded to a stop at the door indicated by the room number she’d been given by a nurse. Mrs. Henderson took a seat to wait while Elle stood and stared into the room, frozen in place by the harsh reality of what she saw.
Ross was in the bed, holding the sleeping girl who had an IV in one hand, oxygen tubes in her nose and all manner of beeping, noisy machines around her. Elle put a trembling hand to her lips, suddenly afraid to approach them. Liesl’s face was drawn. Her eye sockets seemed sunken. Her hair was a mess, no doubt full of tangles, half-covering Ross’s face.
His eyes were open, staring at the ceiling as he stroked the small arm resting on his chest. Tears filled Elle’s eyes again. She’d been at that fucking restaurant while her baby, her child, was…dying.
I’d let my stupid phone go dead? What kind of a mother am I?
A voice she’d not heard in her head for over three years filled it now, sending her stumbling back into the hall, hands over her ears. ‘You’re a useless slut. Nothing but a whore. No one wants you but me so you’d better get used to it. You didn’t deserve your own child, so I took him away.’
“Stop!” She leaned against the wall outside her daughter’s hospital room, reliving the voice of her tormenter, her captor, the man who’d abused her for years, pretending he was her ‘Dom’ and she his ‘sub’.
Ross had driven this man’s voice from her world. But now she’d failed him and their daughter. “Stop, please…” She slid to the floor, dizzy, exhausted, hungry and miserable. She heard someone crying, then realized it was her, as a couple of nurses helped her to her feet, got her some water and spoke to Mrs. Henderson.
“Elisa.” She sensed Ross’s voice deep in her soul when the sound hit her eardrums.
She lifted her face from the empty water bottle and met his gaze. His was flat, non-committal, but also non-judgmental. She rose and followed him into the hospital room. When Liesl spotted her, she started sobbing, calling and reaching out her arms for her. But instead of running to her as any normal, good mother would, Elle felt as if her feet were stuck in concrete. Ross gave her a light prod, but she turned to him, her face hot, her throat aching.
“I don’t deserve her.”
He frowned, took her hand and pulled her to him. His hug felt somewhat perfunctory, but it eased her. “Go to her, Elisa. You are her mother. No one is blaming you.”
She stared at him, recalling her initial concern for his mental well-being, knowing how his mind worked and that he’d probably blame himself.
“It’s not yours—”
He held up a hand, let go of her, turned her to face the bed and gave her a not terribly gentle shove. “Mama,” Liesl croaked, as if her throat was raw. “Mama. Mama!”
Something in her released its hold and she lurched forward, gathering Liesl up, holding her close, kissing her face over and over and muttering to her in German. By the time the girl had calmed, her hands clasped around Elle’s neck as she drifted back to sleep, Elle looked up to see that Ross had left the room. Her heart seemed to stutter in her chest. He was furious with her, with good reason. But he wasn’t blaming her—at least, not yet.
Liesl shifted and mumbled something. Her long-lashed eyes fluttered open. She unlatched her fingers from behind Elle’s neck and put cold palms on her mother’s cheeks. “Papa…”
“He’s just outside, my darling. Rest now.” But Liesl didn’t move, just pinned Elle with her version of the Hoffman-Nagel blend of blue eyes—somewhere between cornflower and sapphire.
“No, Muti…no.” Her voice was firm now. “No more mad at Vati!”
Elle sighed, looked up and met Ross’s gaze. She smiled. He didn’t, but opened his mouth to speak when a set of doctors appeared at his shoulder. Elle sat up straighter, keeping Liesl close.
“Mr. Hoffman? Mrs. Hoffman?”
Ross winced, which sent a shaft of pain straight to her heart. What was wrong with her? She could make this amazing man happy with a simple agreement on a date for a wedding. But the restaurant…it had been his idea. His angry words demanding that she actually choose—that she decide which she wanted more, their family or her restaurant, burned into her brain. She buried her face in Liesl’s tangle of blonde curls as she got hold of herself.
“I am Liesl’s father. That is her mother. When can we take her home?” Ross’s voice was low, doing its usual dance along her nerve endings as it had done since the very first time she’d heard it. But his words were short, sharp and final, stating the facts of the child’s parentage and nothing more. Elle knew what he meant by them, too. Tears burned her eyes as she lifted her face and listened.
The doctor cleared his throat, poked at his tablet a few times, then glanced at Ross. “Liesl’s severe allergic reaction to strawberries means she must stay overnight for observation.” He paused, touched the screen some more, then looked at Elle. “Once we do release her, she’ll need to make an appointment with a specialist who will conduct a phalanx of allergy tests.” His gaze flickered to the girl, then back to Elle’s. “It won’t be pleasant but they’re required in order to determine what else has to be eliminated from your daughter’s diet. I’m guessing eggs and possibly orange juice. Maybe more.”
Liesl began to whine at the thought of staying overnight. Elle shifted her onto the bed and stood, trying to understand why in the world her healthy little girl would now be hampered the rest of her life by a slew of food allergies. She’d breastfed until Liesl had been nearly two and once she’d started solid foods they’d given her some of everything, with zero reactions.
But the doctors were backing out of the room, on to their next crisis, no longer concerned with Elle’s worries, since Liesl had been made stable and was resting comfortably. Once they were alone in the room, she and Ross stared at each other a full twenty seconds without speaking. Elle wanted to tell him about her pregnancy but suddenly she wasn’t so sure it was a good idea. She’d nearly killed her own child with a basket of damn fruit. What made her think she should have another one and subject him to her inept bullshit?
“Ross,” she said, barely above a whisper.
At the sound of her voice, he seemed to crumple in on himself, to collapse in a way that she’d never seen him do. She ran to him and held on as he dropped to the floor, gasping for breath and grabbing on to her for dear life. Desperate and terrified, she kissed his hair, his forehead, his cheeks, which were suspiciously wet.
“Shh…My darling,” she said over and over, soothing and hanging onto him. “It’s all right. She’s all right. You saved her.”
Ross—her strong Teutonic Viking, her rock, her anchor, the man who had saved her from herself in so many ways she’d stopped counting them—sobbed as if his heart was breaking, like a little boy. No, more like a man confronted by the fact that he’d had to deal with his beloved daughter’s near-death alone, unable to reach her thanks to her inability to remember to charge her damn phone. He yanked himself away from her when Liesl called for him, swiping at his eyes and putting a huge smile on his face to reassure the girl, leaving Elle on the floor, her arms achingly empty, watching the two of them cuddle up on the bed without her.