17
The night is black, the moon suffocated by thick, dark clouds. I pull out of my driveway onto the stormy streets, my blood pumping in my ears. I can’t remember the last time Oregon has seen weather like this. The trees are so dense on my secluded road that they block much of the rain coming down, but when I come to a halt at the first stop sign, water pooled at the corner of the intersection sprays up over the windshield, and I can’t see anything. I curse, set my wipers at a higher speed and make a left turn.
I can’t do this again, a voice in the back of my mind tells me. I can’t do this by myself. Then I realize, as the lightning strikes and I begin to count, that I don’t have to. I blindly fish around for my phone on the passenger seat, then I tap the number that’s still at the top of my speed dial.
“Hey,” Cooper says when he answers. His voice is soft but not like he’s been sleeping. It’s also surprised and hopeful.
“I need your help,” I say without preamble.
“What’s wrong?” He goes into doctor mode in an instant.
“Your sister is in labor.”
“In labor? Now?”
“I’m in the car. I can’t talk. Can you meet me at her house? And call Stephen and an ambulance, too?” After a pause: “I really need you.”
“I’m on my way.”
The drive to Megan’s house on a good day is ten minutes, but with the excess water on the roads after a long, dry summer, two-lane streets are narrowed down to one. I drive carefully. At least the roads are mostly clear of other drivers. We Oregonians may be used to the constant cloud cover and drizzle, but storms sequester us like birds in a hurricane, same as any other part of the world.
The closer I get to Megan’s, the more frequently I have to dip into the pool of water on the right side of the street to allow oncoming traffic to pass. The rain shows no signs of stopping.
When I finally turn into Megan’s driveway, all the lights in the house appear to be off. I slam the car into Park, almost forget to yank the keys from the ignition and then run up the front porch steps, sloshing through the puddles in my jeans. I hardly notice how wet my hair is or how muddy my tennis shoes are.
“Megan?” I call as I burst into the house. It’s so dark, I can’t see my hand in front of my face.
“In here,” she moans. I don’t even try to find a light switch, I just reach my hands out in front of me and follow the sound of her frail voice to her bedroom. Coming from the end of the hallway is the faint flicker of candlelight, and I find Megan kneeling beside her bed, hunched over it with her fingers digging into the comforter. Her hair is pulled back into a ponytail, but stray strands are stuck to her temples with sweat, her face red.
“I’m here,” I say. “I’m here. Have you heard from Stephen?”
She gives me a strained nod. “He’s trying to get out of the hospital, but I guess it’s crazy there.”
“I bet it is,” I mumble. I take a deep breath and look around to find an anchor in an unfamiliar situation. Here, there’s no pre-delivery ritual, no Enrique at my side. A clap of thunder makes me jump. I reach for the light switch, but after a few flicks, it’s clear the power is out. “How close are the contractions?” I ask.
“I don’t know exactly. Every few minutes, I think. It feels like they’re right on top of each other. I think something’s wrong, Dylan.”
“No, there isn’t. Nothing’s wrong,” I reassure her, though they’re false words. Any of a dozen things could have caused Megan to go into labor early, some of those things life-threatening to her and her baby. “You’re probably just progressing quickly.”
She releases a guttural moan, and her face contorts with the pain of another contraction. I bend down next to her, and, careful not to disturb her too much, I place two fingers on the inside of her wrist to find her pulse. Blessedly, it’s within a normal range.
“It’s too soon,” Megan says, once the contraction passes. “Why is this happening?”
Cooper appears outside the bedroom door and relief washes over me. His reaction is the opposite when he sees Megan on the floor in tears. I rush over to him before he can start asking questions and speak quietly so Megan won’t hear me.
“If we don’t get her to the hospital soon,” I say, “she’s going to have this baby right here on the floor.”
Cooper runs his fingers through his hair to steady himself. “I called the ambulance, but I don’t know how long it’s going to take them to get here with the weather. The woman I spoke to said there have been a lot of accidents in the city.”
The light coming from the candle on the dresser makes the lines of worry carved into his forehead more apparent. I fight to keep a certain little blue face from haunting my thoughts.
I open and close my fists as I debate my options. There aren’t any. It would be too dangerous to drive Megan to the hospital myself in her condition. I would have even less to work with if she delivered her baby in the back of a moving vehicle.
“All we can do is hope the ambulance arrives in time and make her as comfortable as possible,” I tell Cooper, and he nods in agreement.
I go back into the room and lean down to run a reassuring hand over Megan’s back. “I’m going to check you, okay?”
She moans into another contraction, shaking her head.
“I know, sweetie, but I have to. I’ll do it quickly. Cooper, I think I have some gloves in my bag in the trunk.”
“I’ll get them,” he says and disappears.
“Is there anything I can do for you?” I ask Megan while we wait. “What would make the pain easier to cope with?”
“Stephen,” she cries.
“I know. He’s going to get here as soon as he possibly can. Can we get your pants off for a minute?”
She nods, and I help her to her feet. Cooper returns and looks away when he sees me pulling her sweatpants off. He holds the bag out, and I grab it.
“Just get into any position that’s comfortable,” I tell her as I open the bag and find a single pair of gloves. During med school, I was taught how to deliver with the help of machines and sometimes with the slice of a scalpel, and throughout my career, I have come to rely on these things. Tonight, when it matters most, I have little more than a pair of gloves. I pull one on.
Megan gets back onto her knees so I duck down and maneuver my way underneath her. Immediately, I feel her bag of waters bulging out but not broken. In fact, I can feel it a little too easily.
“Shit,” I say, and immediately regret it.
“What?” she asks. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I say softly. “Everything is fine...except you’re eight centimeters.”
“Does that mean what I think it means?” She knows exactly what it means. She’s probably read every book about birthing a baby ever written by now. Since her water hasn’t broken yet, we may be able to prolong her labor until the ambulance gets here. Even if we don’t make it to the hospital, they would have more tools than what I carry around in my bag. If her water breaks, though, this baby will be making its debut within the hour, ready or not.
I sigh and push my hair behind my ear. While Megan is still turned away from me, I take a moment to gather myself. I remind myself that when I accepted Megan as a patient, I vowed I would get her through this, whatever it took. I plan to keep that promise. I refuse to buckle under the pressure, so I’ll have to learn to improvise quickly.
Megan looks over her shoulder at me, fear written all over her face. With my gloveless hand, I take hers.
“Feel like taking a relaxing bath?” I ask her. I’ve never overseen a home birth, let alone a water birth, but the nurse-midwives at the hospital have performed them for more than a decade. Since I have nothing else to offer Megan by way of pain relief, it’s the best I can do.
Her smile looks more like a grimace when she says, “Relaxing, huh?”
“Candlelit, even.”
I remove my glove and help her off the floor. With one hand, I carry our single source of light, and with the other, I get her into the master bathroom, complete with a deep, round tub. I start the water running and help her in. Her oversize flowy white shirt floats around her, making her look like either a ghost or an angel. I can’t decide.
“Are you okay in here for a minute?” I ask.
She curls down over her belly and goes red in the face as she moans through another contraction. I hold her hand. When she lets up again, she nods me away.
I find Cooper pacing in the living room. Rain pounds angrily at the roof, and with the glow of a streak of lightning, I catch a glimpse of Cooper with his hand wrapped around the back of his neck. I hope his stress is only because of Megan’s predicament and not because he’s upset with me. The last time he saw me was when I left his office with Reese.
“Have you heard from Stephen?”
“Yeah. A couple of minutes ago. He’s on his way.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness. She needs him right now. And it certainly can’t hurt to have another doctor in the house. What about your parents?”
“I didn’t want to worry them. I’ll call when we have news.”
I nod. “That’s probably for the best.”
Megan moans again and Cooper flinches. “Is she okay?” he asks.
“Her heart rate is normal, her water hasn’t broken yet and labor seems to be progressing as smoothly as can be hoped for.”
I pretend that this is a term birth, and Cooper seems grateful for it.
“Good.”
“Dylan,” Megan screams from the other room. Cooper and I rush toward the bathroom where Megan is hunched over the side of the tub, panting.
“What’s wrong?” I ask. I kick off my shoes, ready to get in if I have to.
“Don’t...know. Rushing...between...my legs.”
“Her water,” I mumble to Cooper, and with a quick check, it’s confirmed. Also, that she’s at nine centimeters. No more backup plans. The baby is coming.
“Listen,” I say, squatting in front of Megan so we’re face-to-face. “I know this isn’t what we planned, but I promise you, everything is going to be fine. People have home births all the time. I know you can do this.”
“But the baby,” she says. “What if its lungs aren’t developed? What if it can’t breathe?”
She must have read in one of her books that the lungs are the last organs to develop. It’s my fear, too.
“The ambulance will have oxygen,” I assure her. “And you know what, sweetie? You have one of the best pediatricians in the city here.”
Megan nods. “Best in the country,” she says.
“Best in the world.” I laugh, and she smiles weakly.
When another contraction grips her, I find a scrub brush and offer her the handle to squeeze. I direct Cooper to grab a rag and wet it with fresh water to place on her forehead. I shush her and push her hair away from her face, struggling to keep my expression relaxed. My palms sweat.
Once the contraction passes, I excuse myself to grab my bag.
“She’s having the baby here,” I say to Cooper as he follows me out. Even I can hear the quiver in my voice. I pace the bedroom.
“What can I do to help?” he asks.
“I don’t know. I don’t know, Cooper.” I rub my hand over my forehead to bring my training to the surface. “I don’t have anything. I don’t have a heart rate monitor. I don’t have a contraction monitor. Heaven forbid she needs a C-section. I have one glove,” I shout hysterically.
Cooper stops me with a hand on each shoulder. He puts his face close to mine. That helps. Breathing in his scent helps.
“Dylan, you can do this. You’ve done this hundreds of times.”
“But you don’t know what’s happened—” I start to say.
“Yes, I do. Stephen told me.” Of course Stephen told him. “But that had nothing to do with your ability. People have been giving birth without all that equipment for thousands of years with a lot less training. Let’s get creative.”
I nod, exhale, run through the list in my head. “I’ll just have to keep my hands as clean as possible. Can you find some scissors and sterilize them the best you can to cut the umbilical cord? And...a rubber band to tie it off?”
If he smiles, he hides it quickly. “See. You’ve got this.”
“What if I screw this up? She’ll never forgive me. You’ll never forgive me.”
I’ll never forgive myself.
“Dylan, you are not going to screw this up.”
“If that baby needs a NICU—”
“Dylan,” he says more sternly. “I’m here.” I can hear in his voice that he doesn’t only mean as a pediatrician.
“Okay,” I say. I grab my bag off the dresser and walk to the bathroom, but turn back. “Coop,” I say.
He stops, already to the hallway. I want to thank him for his support, for making me feel like I can do this. He’s always made me feel like I could do anything I set my mind to, even when I was just a young, heartbroken med student trying to find my place in the world.
“I...”
His lips twitch into a smile. There’s not enough time to express what he’s done for me over the years, but he understands. He nods and falls into the darkness.
“How are you feeling?” I ask Megan in the bathroom. Her elbows are hooked over the side of the tub, her eyes are closed. The contractions are so close together that she keeps up a steady stream of controlled moans, like she’s fallen into a meditative state.
“I have to...start pushing.”
“Let me check you again,” I say. But before I can reach between her legs, another contraction hits, and I can tell from her cry that this one is different. This one is pushing the baby down with or without her help.
“I have to push,” she says through gritted teeth. “I have to push.”
“Okay,” I say, channeling my own peace because procedure will do me no good here in this bathroom. It’s me and her. “I trust you. Trust your body. I’m right here.”
“Where’s Stephen?” she asks.
“I’m sorry, Megan. Right now it’s about you and your baby. Let’s focus on that.”
Her face crumples and tears leak from her eyes, but after a moment, she pulls herself together and breathes deeply.
“It’s coming,” she says in a whisper. She takes control of her breathing, and I know she’s found that place. She’s ready.
“Need an extra hand?” Cooper says, slipping into the room.
He sets out supplies on the bathroom sink. Megan nods and holds her hand out to him. He lowers himself onto the floor and takes both her hands in his, holding them tightly. Then he looks at me and smiles, and in this awful situation, when so many things could go wrong, his optimism makes me believe that just maybe, things will go right.
I take a deep breath and utter my favorite words.
“It’s time.”
* * *
“Everything is going to change,” Abby said the night she told me she was pregnant. We were in my bed, and, unable to sleep, I’d pulled my blinds all the way open to let the moonlight shine in, brightening all the clean, organized surfaces in my room. It was one of the rare times Abby had sneaked into my room instead of me sneaking into hers. She had tucked her head into the nook under my arm, like a toddler, and in that moment I felt like the older sister. I felt like I was the strong one—strong enough to get both of us through this.
“Not everything,” I said. “You’ll still be you. I’ll still be me. We’ll still have each other.”
She looked up at me and smiled. It faded quickly, and she turned her head back down again.
“I won’t be able to go to college,” she said. “I won’t be able to travel. How can I be a good journalist if I can’t travel?”
“Maybe not at first. But you know Mom will help with the baby. And when he or she gets older, you’ll find a way to make it work.”
“I hope it’s a she,” Abby whispered.
I grinned. “Me, too.”
Abby sighed. “I’m going to end up stuck here, Dylan. People have a small window of opportunity to break out and create a life of their own away from their parents, and I’m going to miss it.” She was less than a month away from graduating high school. She’d been planning on fleeing like a baby bird from its mother’s nest the moment the rolled-up certificate landed on her palm.
“Ab—”
“I don’t want to be comforted right now. Please. I just want to be realistic, okay? No one is going to want to date a single teenage mom. No one is going to hire a journalist without a degree who can’t travel. All the adventures I’ve wanted to have, all the places I’ve wanted to see...they’re just a sad dream now.”
Abby sniffed, and a small patch of moisture bled through my shirt onto my shoulder. I wanted to say something to encourage her, but what did I know about life? If my older, more experienced, more courageous sister couldn’t see a way out of this, what advice could I offer?
“Maybe you can come up with a new dream?” I asked her.
“You can’t just come up with a new dream, Dylan,” she said, like I’d suggested she grow a third arm. “Each of us is born to do something important with our lives. You can’t just pick something different out of a hat.”
I thought she was probably right, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell her that maybe most people didn’t actually know what that important thing was at eighteen years old. Maybe what she thought was important now would change.
“What’s your dream, Dylan? Basketball?”
“No,” I was quick to say. I liked basketball. I was good at it. But if I had only one important thing to do with my life, I didn’t think basketball was it. “I don’t know. If I figure out anything to do that could be considered ‘important,’ I’d be happy.”
Abby shifted so she could look up at me. Today, I felt like I was already doing something important.
“That’s a cop-out answer,” she said. “There has to be something you want to do.”
I sighed, thinking. “There was this one time last year when one of the girls on the team was having trouble in math—”
“Who?” Abby asked.
I laughed. “Uh-uh. No gossip tonight. So she was having trouble with math, and her parents had threatened to take her off the team if she didn’t get her grades up. We were talking about it in the locker room after practice one day, and I offered to help her with it. I didn’t mean for it to be a big deal, but she was really grateful. We met at lunch for a few weeks, and I helped her with her homework and showed her how I calculated the problems. Sometimes the way teachers explain things is just stupid—” Abby hummed her agreement “—but the way I approached it seemed to work for her. Before two weeks was up, she was doing it on her own, and she finished the year with straight As. And she hasn’t even needed my help at all this year.” I shrug. “It felt good to help her feel like she could handle it.”
“So you want to be, like, a teacher or something?”
“Maybe,” I said. “Maybe not. I just like helping people.”
I said it quietly and waited for her to laugh, to tell me I hated people. It was a common misconception. In truth, I hated small talk, gossip, petty arguments. I loved being with people when we could break through all that and get to the heart of things. That’s how Abby and I had always talked, and I never understood why I couldn’t find a friend like that. Maybe I never worked hard enough to get past the getting-to-know-you phase.
Instead, Abby said, “I think you have a lot to offer people. You’ve always been there to help me.”
I couldn’t help it. I laughed. What could I have possibly done to help Abby—the one who had everything figured out?
“I’m serious, Dylan,” she said. “I know I give you a lot of crap about not getting out more and meeting new people, but you’re the only person I’ve ever been able to truly count on. You’re always there when I need you, even when I don’t deserve it. That’ll get you a lot further in life than chasing adventure. Speaking from experience.”
The sullen mood fell over the room again, but her compliment fanned the spark of hope in my belly. Maybe I had a dream after all—even if it wasn’t fully formed yet.
“Promise me you’re not going to give up,” I said. I rolled onto my side and scooted down until we were face-to-face. I was already taller than her. “We’ll find a way to make this work. I’ll help you.”
“See, you’re doing it already.” I pushed her shoulder and we both laughed. When we fell silent, she said, “I’ll tell you what. I promise not to give up if you don’t.”
“Give up on what?” I asked.
“Whatever your dream turns out to be. And...a little bit of adventure.” She held her thumb and forefinger half an inch apart in the space between us. I smiled and stuck out my pinky finger. It was what we’d always done to seal a promise, and I wanted Abby’s word that she would never stop being the girl I looked up to, the kind of woman I hoped to one day be. Abby stuck out her pinky, too, and locked it with mine.
“Promise,” she said.
I held her pinky tight and kissed my thumbnail for extra assurance.
“Promise,” I said.
* * *
As the overcast sky begins to brighten with the morning sun, the red ambulance lights flash color onto every wall in the house. Megan and Stephen both lie on the bed, the baby in Stephen’s arms, as medics look over mother and child to make sure they’re fit for travel. Megan has changed into a long nightgown and looks tired but more happy than I’ve ever seen her. Stephen is still in awe.
Cooper checked out the baby immediately after birth, and he’s shown no signs of being anything but healthy, aside from a little jaundice, though doctors will probably want to keep him at the hospital for a couple days for observation. It’s unbelievable. With Erika’s baby, the scene was set for the best possible delivery, and the worst happened. This time everything went wrong, and yet, it all turned out fine. Great, even.
“I don’t want to go to the hospital,” Megan says. She reaches across the bed and runs the back of her finger over the baby’s head. The black woman examining her raises an eyebrow at me, questioning whether or not we’re going to have a problem getting Megan into the ambulance. I smile and give her a discreet shake of the head.
“I know,” I say. “But I need to make sure you don’t need any stitches, and I’d feel better knowing the baby has been checked over by a clocked-in pediatrician, just to be sure.”
“This little boy is perfect,” she says to her son in baby talk.
“Yes, he is.”
A knock on the door frame makes us all look up. Cooper stands at the threshold.
“See,” Megan says, “there’s our pediatrician.”
Cooper grins and takes a seat at the edge of the bed, admiring the sleeping boy. He runs a finger over the baby’s toes as a young male medic crouched next to Stephen listens to his little heartbeat.
“You know,” Cooper says, “I see babies all the time...but this one just feels different.”
Megan laughs. “That’s what Dylan has said at all of our prenatal appointments.”
Cooper grins at me. “It’s because he’s family.”
A smile plays at my lips, but I look away.
“Do you want to hold him?” Megan asks Cooper.
“If he’s finished,” he says, nodding to the medic. “I don’t want to interrupt.”
“I’m done here,” the medic says. “We’re going to grab the stretcher.” He stands and leaves the room, his colleague right behind him.
Stephen passes the baby over to Cooper like he’s made of paper, and Cooper takes him just as gingerly. He pulls the baby close, and even though the little one is fast asleep, Cooper rocks him and shushes him naturally. He has years of experience as a pediatrician, but something tells me this movement is more instinctive.
“You want to hold him?” Cooper asks, turning to me like he’s ready to hand the baby off before he accidentally shows his sensitive side. I stifle a laugh.
“No. That’s okay.”
“Go on,” Megan says. “He’s still your nephew. And godchild...I hope.”
I take a step back and put my hands up, my cheeks warm with emotion. It’s overwhelming, this gesture of unconditional love.
Stephen rises from the bed and places an arm around me.
“C’mon,” he says. “This isn’t a moment you’re going to want to miss.” He guides me forward. Cooper holds the baby out and places him in my hands. He’s so warm and soft and can’t weigh more than six pounds. His skin really does feel like paper against my lips as I lean down to place a kiss on his forehead. I leave a tear there, as well.
“He’s beautiful,” I say. “He has Stephen’s nose.”
Stephen and Megan both laugh through their happy tears. “He does, doesn’t he?” Stephen says. “It’s a good nose.”
“It’s a good nose,” I agree.
Cooper comes to stand next to me and brushes my hair behind my shoulder. He places his cheek against mine, and my heart melts. In spite of myself, I lean into him to ease the mutual ache for the future we could have had.
Ten minutes later, Cooper and I wave to Megan and Stephen as the paramedics close the ambulance doors. We stand with our hands shielding our eyes from the drizzle still coming down and watch them disappear around the corner. It’s eerily quiet.
Cooper looks at me, a tilted grin on his face. It’s the last expression I expected from him after what he witnessed at his office, but it’s so Cooper.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing. Just, tonight...watching you work. You’re amazing at what you do.”
I roll my eyes but can’t help the smile that creeps across my face. “You’ve seen me work before.”
“Yeah, but it’s been a while. I forgot. And you’ve gotten better. A lot better. It was like you didn’t believe in yourself before.” He takes a step closer. “But once you relaxed and gave in to the situation, you were completely in control in there. It’s incredible what you do. You don’t just deliver a baby—you’re, like, the Pregnant Woman Whisperer.”
“Pregnant Woman Whisperer, huh?”
He chuckles. “I don’t know. It was the first thing that came to mind.”
Cooper steps closer and reaches for my hands. I hesitate, then take them and lean my head back to let the rain kiss my face. When I look to Cooper, he appears awestruck. When I ask him what he’s thinking this time, he shakes his head, looking at me with something that looks like adoration. His tired smile makes my heart skip a beat.
“I have to tell you something,” I say.
“Okay.”
I’m not sure why it’s important to tell Cooper about my sister—it means nothing to him now—or why it feels like the right time to finally get it off my chest. Maybe because it’s important he understands I’m not any kind of whisperer. I’m just a woman and a doctor with the best intentions. Or maybe because I need him to know that I understand how I used it to distance myself from him, and I accept my part for what went wrong between us. Either way, he’s been there for me all these years. He deserves to know.
“You were right. I have been keeping a secret from you.”
“What is it?” he asks. He doesn’t look nervous, no sense of foreboding, like he once had whenever I tried to open up to him about my past. At first I think it’s something in him that has changed, but then I realize it’s me. There’s no fear in my heart when I begin to speak the words. There’s no urge to flee for him to pick up on. There’s just me, and the truth.
“There’s more to my sister’s death than I’ve told you.”
And then I tell him everything. About how she confided in me. About how I kept her secret when I felt like I shouldn’t. About our hospital trip the night she died.
“And then my sister asked you to keep her secret, too,” he says.
“It’s okay,” I say. “I’m okay. She’s worth it. Besides, it all worked out perfectly.”
I go on to tell him about how my guilt put a rift in my relationship with my mom, and how we’ve begun to repair it. I confess my father’s adultery, how it ruined my parents, and what I’ve learned from it. I tell him all the dark parts of my life that I was once ashamed to tell anyone, especially the man I am—still, inexplicably and completely—in love with.
When he’s heard it all, he frowns as he tries to process it. Finally, he says, “Oh, babe,” and pulls me into his arms. He holds me so close we could melt into one, and I revel in his embrace. I need it. “I can’t believe you never told me this. I can’t believe you’ve been living with it all this time, thinking it was your fault.” He takes me by the arms and holds me in front of him so he can pointedly say, “You do know it wasn’t your fault, right? It wasn’t your fault, Dylan.”
I nod, my lips pursed. “It took me a long time to realize it, but I think I finally believe it.”
He fills his cheeks with air and blows it out, like it hurt him to hear the story more than it hurt me to tell it.
“I wish you’d trusted me enough to tell me before,” he says. “It could have changed so much.”
“I know,” I say. “Believe me, I know. But sometimes it takes going through something big to finally face what we’re afraid of.”
Cooper frowns. Something big. The end of us.
“It wasn’t only losing you,” I say. “There are a lot of things I’ve been too afraid to deal with. But I couldn’t have done that last one without you.” I nod toward the house.
He puts his thumb to my cheek and grazes his skin over mine. “You can do anything without me. The question is whether or not you want to.”
“I don’t think I want to,” I whisper.
His gaze flickers over my face, from my eyes to my lips and back again, as if he doesn’t dare believe the words. I don’t know if this counts as an adventure—trusting a man who could break my heart again—but it’s a risk I’m willing to take. Looking into his eyes and knowing his heart, it doesn’t seem like a very big risk to me.
“Can I take you home?” he asks me, reminding me of the night we met, when we fell in love, whether I wanted to admit it or not. I bite my lip and bite back the overwhelming happiness that fills my chest.
I nod.
* * *
When we walk into the house, the energy is different with Cooper here again. I take Spencer out while he gets a drink in the kitchen. I take my time outside, letting it all sink in.
When I go back inside, Cooper is leaning against the couch, waiting for me. I stop a few feet from him, watching him, watching me. I’ve never wanted so badly to know what he was thinking. He takes one long, deep breath as if preparing for what we both know will come, then he rushes over to me and takes me in his arms. And I want more. I want all of him. My lips search for his, and when they find them, he hesitates for only a moment before he kisses me back—the soft, loving, familiar kiss that is all I’ve ever wanted. He pushes my hair back from my face, kisses away the tears on my cheeks. My lips wait for his to return, and when they do, I convey everything I’ve been feeling, everything I’ve been wanting, everything I’ve been needing for months and years. I show him how I feel with every touch until we’re grasping at each other with a hunger I’ve never felt before—love, with no barriers between us.
“I love you, Dylan,” Cooper gasps, and I realize he’s crying, too. “I can’t live without you.” I cry harder.
Cooper carefully sweeps me off my feet and carries me to the bed. The early morning light brightens the room just enough to see him in shadows. He sets me down in front of the bed and looks into my eyes. Everything I’ve needed to know is there. It always was.
Cooper peels off my clothes. I take his off in a rush. I crave the feel of his skin on mine. I wrap myself around him, and we fall together.
Cooper and I lose track of time and space as we make love for hours, caressing one another, reintroducing each other to how our desires have changed over the years—changes we’ve missed in our old routine that fulfilled only physical needs. The only time we speak is to say “I love you” over and over again. Eventually we reach a point somewhere between exhaustion and an altered state of consciousness, and we curl up next to each other as easily as everything else has come today.
“God, I missed you,” Cooper says. He pulls me closer and kisses my hair. I smile and nod, trace lazy circles on his chest. I could stay like this forever. But there’s still so much to figure out. If Cooper and I are going to make it this time, we have to learn to talk to each other again.
“Why did you fall in love with me, Cooper?” I ask as a place to start.
He turns to face me. He’s wearing a reminiscent smile, and his eyes are bright with happiness. I’m sure mine are, too.
“Well, you came home with me that first night.”
I roll my eyes.
“No, I’m not talking about that. I mean, that sure didn’t hurt—”
I cut him off with a playful smack on the arm. He laughs and kisses me. He won’t stop kissing me.
“Do you remember what you told me when I asked you why you wanted to be a doctor?”
I shake my head. “That was a long time ago. I’m not even sure I would give you the same answer.”
He traces his thumb across my chin. “You said it was because people are afraid and lonely...especially when they’re hurt or sick or about to do the scariest thing they can imagine. You told me all they want is someone who will tell them it’s going to be okay and mean it. And you wanted to be that person.”
A coy grin creeps across my face. “Boy, I sure was naive back then, wasn’t I?”
“Yes, you were.”
But the answer still holds true. I still feel that way. I still love to help people.
“And when I told you that you wouldn’t be able to do that for everyone,” he says, “you said you could try. Right then I knew no one else would make me happier or more proud than you. And I was right.”
I swallow hard, and tears leak from my eyes. I can’t believe he remembers so much from that night when I assumed, while it was happening, it would be a night I’d want to forget. He knew all along our conversations would mean something some day, and he memorized them. What I would give for that kind of faith.
“Do you remember what you told me when I asked you why you wanted to be a doctor?” I ask.
He shakes his head.
“Because you wanted people to have to call you Dr. Caldwell.”
We laugh and kiss and fall into silence again. Cooper combs my hair away from my face with his fingers.
“I do love delivering babies,” I say. “But I still can’t help but feel I’m meant to do more.”
“You are, Dylan. I should never have forgotten that.”
“And I should never have forgotten that being able to live a long life with the ones you love is why doctors exist. Or that you’re the one I want to live mine with.”
He’s smiling from ear to ear.
“What?” I ask.
“I just can’t remember the last time I’ve seen you so happy. You’re really beautiful, you know that?”
My cheeks warm, and I bury my face in his shoulder.
He leans down, and I come out from hiding for a kiss. When he pulls back, I look away. There’s one more thing to discuss, and I hope it won’t ruin the progress we’ve made in the last few hours. I feel no shame for what happened with Reese. Maybe it’s wrong of me to forgive myself so easily when it was nearly impossible for me to forgive Cooper, but when the foundation of a relationship is shattered, sometimes it takes time away from the wreckage to see if it’s worth rebuilding. Still, the omission would hang over my head forever. Cooper and I can’t start a future based on lies. It’s what almost broke us the first time.
“There’s one other thing I feel like I should tell you,” I say in a whisper. His body tenses, and I know he knows what I’m about to say. He takes a deep breath and runs his finger across my collarbone.
“Is it going to affect us from this day forward?” he asks me.
“No,” I say. A month ago, I might not have had the same answer, but now I know, without a doubt, where my home is.
“Then don’t tell me,” he says.
“Are you sure?” I ask. It would be easy to tell him. Nothing happened. But the fact that he trusts me without having to say it means so much more.
“I’m sure.”