Empty Arms: A Novel (18 page)

I shake my head and reach for him. “It wasn’t all a lie. I do love you.”

He lets me take his hand but refuses to look at me.

“We can fix this,” I say gently.

His eyes are full of anguish. “How?”

“Help me find her.”

He frowns. “What if she doesn’t want anything to do with you?”

The possibility is too painful to consider. “What if she does?”

“All right, what if she does? You two get to play mother and daughter. Where does that leave me?”

The truth is, I don’t know where it would leave him. Emily already has a biological father and an adoptive father, what role could Paul ever play in her life? I’d get my shot at parenthood, but he wouldn’t get his. “If you help me find Emily, I’ll adopt a baby with you. Whether she wants me in her life or not, I just need her to know she was never unwanted by me.”

“Why don’t we adopt first and then I’ll help you find her?”

I shake my head. “I’m sorry but I can’t move forward until I do this.”

“But it could take years to find her.”

“I know.”

“And the adoption process could take a couple more years on top of that.” His face falls as the reality sinks in. “I’ll be an old man by then.” He pulls his hand away and steps backward. “I don’t want that.”

“So what are you saying?”

He looks at me with disappointment. “I’m saying that I don’t want to wait anymore.” He turns and climbs into his truck. “I’m sorry.” He pulls the door shut.

Tears swell in my eyes as his truck backs down the driveway, and the thought of losing him makes it hard to breathe. He stops in the middle of the street and looks back at me standing alone next to the beautiful home he created for us. He shifts the truck into drive, and in that split second between gears, I hope he will change his mind, pull back into the driveway and come inside with me. But the gear catches and he drives away.

“P
AUL LEFT ME,”
I tell Melody over the phone that night when I crawl into bed. “He doesn’t want to wait for me to find Emily.” Even though talking to her always helped me fall asleep when we were roommates, tonight my mind is racing and her comforting words don’t stand a chance.

“He doesn’t understand what it’s like, Cate.”

“I tried to explain it to him.”

“I know, but it’s a lot to absorb. It sounds like he needs some space. He’ll come around.”

“I’m not so sure about that.”

“Only time will tell. All you can do now is wait.”

“Yeah? And what do I do in the meantime?”

“What do you want to do?”

The question knocks around in my mind. No one’s ever asked me that before; it’s never mattered. “I don’t know.”

“Sleep on it. The answer will come to you eventually.”

She was usually right when it came to matters of the heart. We bid each other goodnight and hang up. I turn off the light and shift from side to side, struggling beneath the weight of the question.

P
AUL IS STANDING
in the distance holding a rope. His face is clouded with grief.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Do you still love me?”

“Of course I do.”

He pulls on the rope and that’s when I realize the other end is tied around my waist. The force jerks me forward. Just as I go to take a step toward him, a force yanks me backwards. I struggle to turn around and see who’s holding the rope behind me but before I can I’m pulled to the right.

“Mom?”

“Forget the past,” she barks.

My body jerks away from her. James is standing there with crossed arms.

“How could you forget about me?”

“I can explain …” My body jolts forward again.

“How could you lie to me?” Paul snarls.

“I can explain …” But before I can say anything else, a force tugs me backward.

“How could you abandon me?” an angelic voice cries.

“Emily? I can explain …” I fight to turn around and catch a glimpse of her, but the ropes pull from every direction, tightening around my waist until I can’t breathe.

My body hurls forward and I gasp for breath. I claw at my stomach but there’s no rope, no tugging. I reach for Paul but the space beside me is empty. I remember his truck backing down the driveway, and reality hits me with the force of a wrecking ball: my marriage is over.

I fall back against my pillow and stare at the flat white ceiling, trying to breathe through the panic that’s creeping over me. Even though we’ve been living separate lives for months, I have no idea how to go on without him, or if I even can. I reach for the phone and dial the hospital. They can do without me today; Delaney herself is like a small army. And it’s not like the babies will miss me, they’ve all got parents who are dying to hold them. All of them except Baby Girl Glass. I think of the fragile infant who’s all alone in the world, fighting against the odds. Lying there in my bed, struggling just to breathe, I realize how much I can relate to the little girl in the NICU. Delaney and the other newborns may not need me today, but Baby Girl Glass does. I hang up the phone and force myself to get out of bed.

W
HEN
I
OPEN THE DOOR
to the Special Care Nursery, I’m relieved to see that the fragile little body is still inside the incubator. Every time she makes it through the night, her chance of survival grows ever so slightly.

I sit down next to her and reach inside her warm little world. Her eyelids are closed, and I’m thankful she can’t see the mess of tubes and wires jutting out of her. Her little chest rises as her lungs fill with air, delivering oxygen to her organs. Every single breath makes her stronger. Unfortunately, there is some strength that all these tubes and wires can’t give her, like the strength to forge ahead alone when loved ones turn their backs on you; the courage to follow your heart when no one else wants you to. Right now, we can only give her the strength to keep breathing. It’s not much, but it’s a start.

M
Y STOMACH GROWLS
like clockwork at noon but I ignore it. I’d rather starve than risk bumping into Harper. If I see him, he’ll suggest another date and I’ll have to turn him down. He’ll want an explanation, but I can’t very well tell him that I’m married or that I used him to find Emily’s file. Starving is just easier.

At 12:30, Delaney pokes her head into the NICU. “Aren’t you taking lunch?”

Since when does she care? “I must’ve lost track of time,” I lie.

“Well, if you want to eat, you better go now. I need you back here by one for bath time.”

I nod and she disappears.

“I’ll be back in a little while,” I whisper to Baby Girl Glass and pull my hand free.

Delaney is busy at the nurses’ station, so she doesn’t notice me walk to the end of the hall, buy a pack of peanut butter crackers and a Diet Coke from the vending machine, and duck into the locker room to eat my lunch and avoid Harper, in peace.

When I return from my break, I retrieve a stack of towels and wash cloths from the supply closet. Every afternoon we wash the babies to get them squeaky clean and smelling good for visiting hours. Bath time is usually the most action-packed part of the day in the newborn nursery. Some babies scream when you wash them and others love it.

Little Richie Kovacs closes his eyes and nuzzles into the soft damp cloth I run over his face. He doesn’t pull away when I wipe the wet cotton ball across his eyelids or behind his ears, but his eyes flash open and he squeals when the wash cloth tickles the bottom of his feet. His little body shivers, and I wrap him in a towel and pull the hood over his head. I hold him against my chest, and his warm little body squirms in my arms as I inhale the fresh scent of his hair and skin. I close my eyes and dream of my little girl.

W
HEN
I
GET HOME
, the driveway is empty and the house is dark and cold. I flip on the lights and listen for cheering fans and referee whistles, but silence greets me instead. I shrug out of my coat and open the closet, but it’s half empty. My mind immediately jumps to burglary, but then I realize that only Paul’s coats are missing. I search the rest of the house and discover that his clothes are missing from our bedroom closet. His sock and underwear drawers are empty too.

Even though Paul and I were barely on speaking terms before he left, I can’t get used to not being surrounded by evidence of his existence, like dirty clothes in the laundry basket, whiskers in the sink, and angry shouts at the TV. He comes to the house while I’m at work so we don’t have to face each other. He takes the things he needs, leaving me to make the gut-wrenching discoveries on my own. An empty slot in the toothbrush holder. His razor, absent from the sink ledge. His shampoo missing from the shower. Every time something vanishes, my heart aches as if he’s leaving me all over again.

Fortunately, the babies help keep my mind off Paul and my half-empty house. The newborn nursery is no place for emotional baggage, so I put everything out of my thoughts and focus on the new lives beginning all around me. But Thursday, as I’m singing little Ruthie Shiers to sleep, it all comes rushing back with a gentle tapping on the nursery window. When I look up, Harper is standing on the other side of the glass. He waves.

“I guess I can’t avoid him forever,” I whisper to the little girl sleeping in my arms. I lay her down in her bassinette and slip out into the hallway.

“I haven’t seen you in a while,” he says.

“Things have been busy up here,” I say with an apologetic grin. “Spring fever, I guess. I’ve barely had time to eat.”

“Phew.” He pretends to rub sweat from his brow. “I thought you were avoiding me.”

“Don’t be silly,” I say, hoping my words sound convincing.

“Well, since you’re too busy for lunch, maybe I could take you to dinner one of these nights? Are you busy Saturday?”

I sigh and my gaze falls down to his camel suede clogs. “Harper, I would love to, but …”

“Oh boy, here it comes.”

“I can’t.”

His face falls with a defeated grin. “Let me guess. I’m not your type.”

“It’s not that.” My stomach is sick with guilt. He’s such a nice person who, for some misguided reason, seems to genuinely like me. Leave it to me to screw this up.

“Then what is it?”

I can hardly look at him. “I haven’t been completely honest with you.”

“About what?”

The words are like lemon juice on my tongue. “I’m married.” Not to mention I apparently still have some unresolved feelings for a boy I loved twenty-three years ago.

“You’re married?”

I nod, wishing the floor would open up and suck me in.

He runs a hand through his hair as he digests the information. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

“I’m sorry.”

“But you don’t wear a ring.” He reaches for my hand but stops when he sees the gold band. His eyes and lips twist in confusion. “But you smiled at me every day?”

I fight the urge to tell him how much I looked forward to that smile, how it stripped away everything awful thing in my life and made me feel happy for one blissful second every day. But how could I ever make him understand my selfishness? “I’m sorry,” I say, but the words fall on deaf ears.

“How could you lead me on like that?”

“Paul and I, we’re going through a rough patch and I …”—I struggle to find an excuse that won’t make me sound heartless and cruel, one that will keep his dignity intact—“I’m very confused.”

He shoves his hands in his pockets and accepts my explanation with a nod.

“Harper, I’m sorry …” I reach for him but he dodges my hand as he brushes by me.

“Me too,” he mutters over his shoulder.

W
HEN
I
GET HOME
from work, the silence is unbearable. It leaves too much room for Harper’s disappointment to replay in my head. I slide into Paul’s recliner and flip on the TV. I close my eyes and zone out as sportscasters talk about hockey standings. Some punchy music plays, and then the show goes to commercial.

“Detective Jackson Walsh: The People Finder,” a deep voice says. My eyes fly open. Staring back at me is a tall man with slick black hair and a Florida tan. “He’ll find anyone, anywhere, or your money back.”

I dash into the kitchen, grab the phone, and dial the number without a second thought.