Rachel's Bundle of Joy Read online

“Oh, I don’t…I just…I…Rachel…”

  “I’ll be right over.”

  “But Rachel—”

  “Mom. Just wait. I won’t be long.”

  * * *

  “Let me take you,” Bryce said, when she told him her mother was seriously down-cycling and she had to go, now.

  “Thanks, but I’ll handle it.” She spoke as calmly as she could while racing for the door.

  He followed her out and held the door for her as she got in the car. “I’ll call you later, make sure you’re all right.”

  “Yeah, okay. Thanks.” She started up the car.

  “Rachel.”

  “I have to go, Bryce.”

  “Your number?” She must have looked as frantic to get moving as she felt, because he added, “Just tell me. I’ll remember.”

  So she rattled off her home number and he shut the door and she tore off down the drive.

  * * *

  Somehow, Rachel managed to make it to her mother’s across the river a few blocks from her own place without getting a ticket or causing a wreck. She ran up the flight of steps to the second-floor apartment, noting as she got there that the curtains that usually hung on the window by the door weren’t there anymore.

  Just as she was collecting herself to knock, the door opened.

  Her mother stood on the other side, wearing a pink chenille robe and a pair of black sneakers, the frayed laces untied. Blood oozed from a cut on her right cheek and dripped from another shallow gash on her hand. Behind her, on the living-room rug, what looked like every curtain in the apartment lay in a tangled mound.

  Rachel whispered despairingly, “Mom…”

  “Oh, Rachel,” her mother cried. “Oh, Rachel, what will I do?” The dark eyes, sunken and haunted, but otherwise the same eyes Rachel saw when she looked in the mirror, pleaded for answers that Rachel didn’t have. Yesterday’s mascara ran in tracks down her too-thin face.

  Rachel stepped over the threshold and carefully pried the bloody scissors from her mother’s shaking hand. “It’s all right, Mom. I’m here, now. I’m here…”

  CHAPTER 6

  Four hours later, Rachel sat in the main waiting room in Portland General’s psychiatric wing. She wasn’t really waiting for anything—except maybe for the moment when she’d find the energy to get up and leave. Everything that needed doing for the day had been done. She could go home, draw a hot bath, pour in the scented bath salts…

  Double doors to the main hall swung open—and there was Jenna Cooper, four months along now, her stomach gently rounded under her scrubs. Frowning, she scanned the waiting area.

  Rachel dragged her tired body upright. “Jenna…”

  Jenna spotted her and smiled. She hurried over and they shared a quick hug. “I heard a rumor you were here,” she whispered in Rachel’s ear. They stepped back from each other and Jenna took her by the shoulders to look in her eyes. “How are you holding up?”

  “I’ve been better.”

  “Your mom?”

  “They’re keeping her here for a few days, until the crisis is past.”

  “How bad is it?”

  “Bad enough. But she’ll be okay once they get the meds back on track—are you on duty?”

  Jenna nodded. “How can I help? What can I do?”

  “Nothing. Honest. It’s done. But thanks for checking on me…”

  “You look beat.”

  “Yeah. I’m wrung out.”

  “You need someone to take you home. I can—”

  “No. Really. I have my car. I’ll manage. I’ll just drive really slowly.”

  “You’re sure?”

  Rachel nodded, firmly—and then she remembered about Monday. “Wait. There is one thing…”

  “Name it.”

  “Lunch. One o’clock Monday, the usual place. You, me and Lily. Jake’s watching Sam, so it’ll be just like old times.”

  Jenna’s comforting hands dropped away. “Oh, I don’t know. You should see my schedule…”

  Sometimes Rachel wondered if Jenna was still a little wary, if she hadn’t completely put the Michael Carson fiasco behind her. She patted her friend’s arm. “No pressure. Just, you know, if you can…”

  “I’ll try…”

  * * *

  The phone was ringing as Rachel let herself in the door. It was Lily. “At last. I called your cell, but it was only taking messages.”

  “Sorry. I turned it off while I was at the hospital.”

  “Jenna called me and told me about your mom. She said things were…well, handled, anyway.”

  “Yeah. She’ll be okay. Till the next time…”

  “Listen. Jake’s here.” A firefighter, Jake would work round-the-clock and then get several days off in a row. “I can leave Sam with him and be right over.”

  “Thanks, but no. I just want to sink into a hot bath…for about a year.” Rachel knew what her friend’s next question would be. She was right.

  “So…how was last night?”

  From the perspective of a day spent having her mother temporarily committed, the magic of last night seemed so long ago…

  “Rachel?”

  “Sorry. Last night was wonderful. I…I do really like him.”

  “Ah.”

  Rachel knew when her friend had something on her mind. “When you say ‘Ah’ like that, I know there’s more coming.”

  “Well, I told Jake you’d met a guy named Bryce Armstrong. We both felt sure we’d heard the name before. And then Jake remembered that a Bryce Armstrong showed up at the last Logan Burn Center fundraising drive. He delivered a huge check courtesy of Armstrong Industries. You think maybe this could be the same guy?”

  “He’s the CEO, actually.”

  “Ah.”

  “Lily. Say it. My bathtub is calling me.”

  “He’s one of the Armstrongs.”

  “Figured that one out.”

  “Rich as they come.”

  “You only have to look at him to know that. But if I had any doubts, well, I followed him in his Mercedes to his mansion in Portland Heights. That he’s got money is just not news.”

  “You sound defensive. I’m not telling you this so you’ll get your guard up. This is only…information, you know?”

  “I know. So go ahead. Tell me the rest.”

  “Okay. The guy’s not only an Armstrong, he’s the major heir. I think there’s a sister, but you don’t hear a lot about her.”

  “There is a sister. Her name’s Chelsea. She has a baby named Ariel that Bryce adores. So what else?”

  “Well, don’t you remember him? He even made People magazine once. That issue on sexy CEOs. He got a whole quarter page. They wrote about how he had a different gorgeous woman on his arm every night…”

  “Oh.” Rachel sank to a chair. “Well. That’s news…I mean, I kind of remember that article now you mention it.” She’d read the brief piece and mused a little over how the other half lives. Oh, and she’d thought he was gorgeous, too. Unbelievable. Really, how could she have forgotten that article until now? She pulled at a loose thread on the chair seat. “Well, I guess that’s me. Just another in an endless chain of stunning, willing women.”

  “Oh, come on. I only told you because we had an agreement, remember? No more secrets when it comes to men.”

  “I know. And I’m glad you told me.”

  “And it’s not a huge issue that he’s dated a lot of women, is it?”

  “Well, no. No, of course not.”

  “Rachel. Wait a minute. You didn’t happen to…?”

  “Oh, you’re just so tactful this afternoon.”

  “Well. Did you?”

  “Yes. I slept with him.” She stopped tugging on that thread and sat up a little taller. “And it was great. Believe it or not, lovely, passionate sex is possible even when you’re six months along.”

  “Don’t I know it.”

  Rachel actually giggled as she realized that Lily had been there, too. “And before I would go home wit
h him, I at least made sure there was no special woman in his life.”

  “Good for you. And you know, if he’s unattached and you’re unattached and you treated each other with understanding and mutual respect, well then, is there really a problem?”

  She let out a long sigh. “Oh, probably not. Other than the fact that’s he’s way out of my league.”

  “Stop that. There is no one—no one—who is out of your league.”

  “You are the very best friend a girl could have—and I have to stop falling into bed with every charming, handsome guy I meet.”

  “Oh, puh-lease. Two guys. It’s hardly a pattern.”

  “Maybe not. It’s just that, after this morning, it’s a challenge to have a positive attitude about anything.”

  Lily made an understanding noise low in her throat. “Sure you don’t want me to come over?”

  Rachel demurred again, with many thanks, and told her friend she had to go. Once she hung up, she headed straight for the tub, shedding her clothes as she went. She took the phone in there with her, just in case the hospital called. It rang as she was settling back in the fragrant, soothing hot water.

  “I’m guessing you just got home and don’t want to deal with some guy who won’t let you have a minute to yourself.”

  The world was suddenly a better place. “Bryce. Hello.”

  “How’s your mother?”

  She hesitated over what to say, then settled on a bare-bones version of the facts. “Not good. I took her to the hospital. Just got home a few minutes ago.”

  “Want some company?” Her first reaction was a delighted, yes. But she hesitated a fraction too long before she said it and he gently suggested, “Tired?”

  She sank deeper into the lovely warm water. “Mmm, hmm.”

  “Then maybe later…”

  She smiled at the thought. “Yeah. I’ll hold you to it.” She said the words and then wondered if she really meant them.

  After all, he was Bryce Armstrong, sexy CEO—just ask anyone who read People magazine. With him, there was a different glamorous woman for every day of the week. Their brief time together had been perfect. But she didn’t really fit the profile, now did she?

  They talked about nothing in particular for a few minutes more and then he said goodbye.

  * * *

  On Monday, one of her favorite patients lost the fight for his life. He was only a kid, just twelve years old, as sweet and gutsy as they come. He’d been battling leukemia for over a year.

  While the boy’s father made the necessary arrangements, Rachel sat with the mother for a while. They whispered together of the twelve-year-old’s goodness and bravery, how he greeted each day with a smile, how even at the end, he saw life as a great adventure. Rachel reassured his mother that he would never be forgotten, that years from now, people would remember him and speak of him with fondness and admiration.

  But no matter what uplifting things she said—and meant—he was still gone. She looked in his mother’s eyes and saw that awful, gaping hole of loss and felt her own inability to make things any better as a blow straight to the heart.

  Yes, she was trained to help cope with the death of a patient. But coping seemed a paltry thing, so pitiful and small and useless when stacked against the agony in a grieving mother’s eyes.

  She met Lily for lunch at their favorite place. Jenna didn’t show.

  Rachel told her friend about the loss of her patient and for a while they sat there, looking at all the food they’d ordered, neither of them really feeling much like eating.

  Eventually, they started talking about Jenna. Jenna worked in the E.R. She saw death close-up and far too often, and somehow she’d kept her plucky, ready-for-anything attitude intact.

  At one point, Rachel dared to suggest, “Do you think, maybe, she’s still kind of…I don’t know… guarded with us?”

  Lily was shaking her head. “She just works too hard.” And then they started talking baby showers. Rachel had had hers the month before.

  “But Jenna hasn’t.” Lily was looking very pleased with herself.

  Rachel asked, “Should we go for it, you think?” It was a purely rhetorical question. Of course, they would go for it.

  Before they left the restaurant, they had Jenna’s shower halfway planned and Rachel’s spirits had lifted, at least a little.

  After her shift, she stopped in to see her mother. Ellen Stockham turned her face to the wall and whispered, “Go away.”

  The bright spark of optimism kindled during Rachel’s lunch with Lily seemed to wink and go out.

  When she got home, the guy down the street was mowing his postage-stamp of lawn—bare-chested in baggy cargos as always. He had an impressive six pack and shoulders for days. And she didn’t even have to remind herself that he was out of bounds as an object for her fantasies.

  Really, how could she lose herself in fantasy when her mother was in the hospital suffering from acute depression and a fine, bright young boy had just died?

  She dragged herself inside, where the message light was blinking on her answering machine. It was Bryce. The sound of his voice, of the simple words, “How are you? Call me,” sent a shiver of pleasure running under her skin.

  So. The sight of the half-naked guy down the street didn’t tempt her anymore, but she had shivers to spare if Bryce Armstrong was calling.

  Was this good news?

  She couldn’t decide. She didn’t want to decide. She didn’t want to do anything much. Maybe brew a pot of tea and watch the news, broil a lamb chop, turn in early…

  Somehow, she never got around to calling Bryce back.

  The week dragged by. She went to her patient’s funeral on Thursday. The little chapel was packed. She listened to the minister talking about fearing no evil and the hope of the righteous and the innocent in death and didn’t feel particularly comforted.

  That night, she lay in her bed with her hand on the firm mound of her stomach and cried.

  Friday, her mother didn’t turn away when Rachel entered the room. Ellen Stockham even managed a quivery smile. Rachel sat with her for a while, holding her thin hand.

  Before she left, she spoke with her mother’s doctor. She learned that if her mother continued to improve, she would be discharged in a week or so. The doctor said what her mother’s doctors always said. “You’re a nurse, Rachel. You have to know that, with proper medication, almost all bipolar patients can lead normal, productive lives. But then, the patient must be willing to stick with the course of treatment.”

  Rachel nodded and promised—as she always promised—that she would encourage her mother to take her meds.

  Bryce called again that night. She was there when the phone rang. She listened in as he left his message. “Rachel. Just trying again. Call me back when you get a moment.” His voice was flat. She almost picked up before he disconnected.

  But she didn’t.

  Okay, she felt a little like a jerk. But her life was too complicated as it was. She just didn’t have it in her to add a man to the mix. Especially not a guy like Bryce, who would probably get tired of her in no time flat. She just couldn’t deal with it, with anything casual—or with letting herself start to feel too much for him and then having him walk away.

  She wasn’t regretting their one night or anything. She could never regret something so beautiful.

  But if there was going to be more than one night, well, she wanted it all: a guy who would love her and her baby. A guy who could put up with her mother’s scary, often overwhelming emotional disorder. A guy who was going to be there, just like in the marriage vows: For better or for worse.

  It was a lot to ask of a man. And especially of a man like Bryce, who had money to burn and a high-powered job and status and good looks and women falling all over him.

  Really, that was the biggest fantasy, now wasn’t it? That of all the gorgeous, willing, glamorous women he might have had, Bryce Armstrong had somehow decided he wanted her.

  Only in her d
reams.

  So she didn’t pick up—and she never called him back.

  Lily asked about him three days later, on Monday night, during a phone conversation when they were supposed to be talking about Jenna’s upcoming shower.

  “So, what happened with the sexy CEO?” Lily asked—way too casually, Rachel thought. “You haven’t mentioned him in days.”

  Rachel tried to be casual right back. “Oh, he called a couple of times,” she said airily. “But you know how it is. I don’t really think he’s the guy for me.”

  “Why not?”

  So okay. The airy approach wasn’t working. Rachel moved on to huffing a little. “Well. Isn’t it obvious?”

  “No, not particularly.”

  So she let out a big sigh and ran down the list: the money, the Armstrong name, all the women…

  Lily said, “Give a rich, powerful, hunk of a guy a chance, why don’t you? And hey, so what if there have been lots of women, as long as he’s ready to settle down now?”

  “Lily, I only spent that one night with him. There was absolutely no talk of settling down.”

  “So maybe you should bring it up to him.”

  “Oh, I don’t even imagine Bryce Armstrong is going to be interested in settling down.”

  “See. There. That’s a conclusion and you’re totally jumping to it. You don’t know what the man’s interested in. You don’t know what he’s willing to do. Because you haven’t asked him.”

  “Well, but, I mean, he’s not going to appreciate—”

  “How do you know what he’ll appreciate? Have you asked?”

  Rachel huffed out another exasperated breath. “Why is it married people suddenly think they know it all when it comes to how to relate to a guy?” Lily, not only a true friend, but a smart one, knew when to say nothing. And that’s what she did. Finally, Rachel grumbled, “Well, okay. Fine. Just what do you want me to do?”

  “Oh, something simple. Maybe give the guy a chance?”

  “What do you mean, give him a chance? We weren’t…well, you know. It wasn’t anything… serious, between us.”

  “Maybe it wasn’t. And just maybe that’s because you wouldn’t let it be.”

  “Why does this all have to be my fault? You’re my friend. Why can’t you just do the usual and be blindly loyal?”