Perfect Timing (47 page)

Quincy straightened. “You mean she’s still alive?”

“Oh, God.” Concern wrinkled Stevenson’s usually unlined countenance. “No one came out to update you? I told one of the nurses to find you.”

Quincy barely heard her. Somehow he found himself standing up. “Where is she? Can I be with her? Please don’t say I can’t. Hearing my voice, knowing I’m there—well, maybe it’ll give her strength to fight the weakness.”

Stevenson stood. “I agree, but I’ll go you one better. The baby is still incubated, but now only because, with her body mass being so slight, I think the stable temperatures inside the incubator are better for her. If we swaddle her in blankets, I think it would be safe to take her in to see her mommy. Ceara is too weak to hold her, but if she’s at all aware of what’s being said to her, knowing her baby is near and doing well might help her make a turnaround.”

In a daze, Quincy followed the doctor to the NICU. His daughter protested when she was removed from the incubator. Her tiny fists and feet pumped, her face went bright red, and she let out a small, enraged shriek. Somehow it reminded him unbearably of Ceara. Stevenson laid her on a dressing table and began to efficiently wrap the little girl in prewarmed receiving blankets. Quincy, standing with his back to the window, was startled when wind gusted against the glass, followed by rain that struck like a spray of bullets.

“My goodness,” the doctor cried as she hurried to swaddle the infant. “What a storm! That sounds like really high wind.”

Quincy frowned and stepped over to peek out past the blinds. Below, he saw people struggling to walk across the parking lot, their bodies bent to press forward against the gale-force gusts. Beyond the asphalt area where full-grown pines peppered the hospital grounds, the evergreen canopies whipped to and fro like feather dusters. Water had already pooled in the parking lot, so deep it reached above people’s ankles.

Unusual, he registered. There had been no sign of a storm when he’d driven Ceara to the hospital. Behind him, he heard the doctor making cooing sounds as she surrounded the child with the warm blankets, and the baby suddenly stopped crying. A chill pebbled Quincy’s skin when the storm abated in tandem with his daughter’s change of temperament. He remembered Ceara’s story of her birth, how she’d called up a terrible gale when she left the warmth of her mother’s womb.

Coincidence?

Quincy turned to study his baby girl, now tightly wrapped in the soft, oven-warmed blankets and happy again.
Shit, she’s a druid
. She’d clearly inherited her mother’s gifts—at least some of them, anyway. Raising her without Ceara’s guidance would be challenging, Quincy knew, but he was too overwhelmed right then to think about it.

The doctor carried the baby to Ceara’s room with Quincy nearly treading on her heels. A wave of sadness hit him when he saw that his wife was in a maternity suite now, only it had been transformed into a temporary ICU. There was a bassinet near her bed, seating for family, and a sofa that could be pulled out for a father to stay overnight. This should have been such a happy moment. Instead Ceara was hooked up to machines and so pale that for a panicked instant he wondered whether she’d died while Stevenson had stepped out. But no, that machine was still bleeping.

Quincy took his daughter, cautiously getting her swaddled shape cradled safely in one arm, and then he stepped close to Ceara’s side. “It’s Quincy, honey. I’m here with a very special visitor: our baby girl. You saved her, Ceara. It was the most incredible thing I’ve ever witnessed. You healed her completely! She can breathe just fine on her own now. Her skin tone is a healthy pink. Doc Stevenson says except for her size, she’s perfect now.”

Ceara didn’t so much as wiggle an eyelash. Quincy studied the heart monitor. The beats came intermittently, and in between he saw flutters. He didn’t like her blood pressure numbers, either. When he glanced at Stevenson with an arched brow, the doctor touched a finger to her lips, signaling him not to ask questions. Quincy agreed with the woman’s call. If Ceara could hear—if she was aware on any level—discussing her condition in her presence wouldn’t be wise.

Quincy cuddled his daughter closer. She felt so insubstantial, and yet when he looked down she had poked her tiny fist in her mouth and was sucking on it to beat the band. “She’s sucking her fist, Ceara. You know what that means, don’t you? She’s wanting her mum so she can nurse.”

Still no response. Stevenson was studying Ceara’s chart with a frown and not really paying attention, so Quincy decided to just keep talking. “She’s so beautiful, Ceara. Absolutely gorgeous. And you’ll never guess what! When Dr. Stevenson took her out of the incubator to bring her here, she got mad as blazes when she felt the cool air, just like you did when you were born.” Quincy forced a laugh, even though he was far from feeling any trace of amusement. “And you guessed it: The little stinker called up one hell of a storm. I’ve never seen anything like it, wind strong enough to nearly uproot full-grown trees, and rain falling so hard and fast it would have caused flooding if the doctor hadn’t gotten her wrapped and warm as fast as she did to end the temper tantrum.”

Just then a tap came at the door. Quincy turned to see his dad poke his head into the room. Water dripped off the brim of Frank’s Stetson, and the shoulder of his shirt was drenched. “Family’s all here,” he said. “We’ll wait outside.”

Stevenson approached Quincy to take the baby. “I think we’ve visited long enough. You can bring her back later. I’ll have a nurse return her to NICU, and then I’ll talk with your family out in the hall. I’m sure all of them have questions.”

Quincy watched the physician leave and then returned to his wife’s bedside for a private moment with her. He scooted a visitor chair close and sat down, curling his hand over one of Ceara’s. Her flesh felt cold as death. Beneath his fingertips, he felt the weak flutter of her pulse. Tears nearly blinded him, for he knew he was going to lose her. How cruel could life get, damn it? Deep in his heart, he’d believed her to be already dead when he’d been sitting in a daze on that hallway bench. Then he’d learned differently and allowed himself to hope, only to face the fact now that she was going to die on him anyway.

“You make my heart sing, Ceara.” Quincy groped for other words—special words to describe how she made him feel. “You’re my sunshine, honey. My only sunshine. Please fight to live. With every smidgen of strength you’ve got left, fight to stay here with me and our little girl. Without you, I’ll have no light in my life. You understand?”

Quincy thought he felt her hand twitch under his, but the movement was so slight he might have imagined it. He stood and bent low to kiss her white cheek. “I love you so much, Ceara. Try with everything you’ve got to come back to me.”

Wiping his cheeks, Quincy crossed the room and exited into the hallway. Just a few feet away at the opposite side of the corridor, he saw his family gathered with the doctor in a waiting area. On feet he could no longer feel, Quincy moved toward them. Everyone jumped up to hug him and whisper words that didn’t register in his brain. When the hellos were finished, Quincy sat down next to his father, maybe because, even at forty, a guy needed to be close to his dad at a time like this.

Stevenson gave the family a quick but thorough recap of events, telling how Quincy had slashed his wrist and Ceara had healed him. “Ceara’s use of her powers apparently brought on premature labor.”

Quincy heard soft gasps when the physician went on to tell his relatives about Ceara’s decision to heal her baby.

Palms pressed together, the doctor sat forward on the sofa to brace her arms on her knees. “Ceara knew she was putting her own life at risk to save the child,” she said softly. She glanced toward Quincy. “And her husband gave her his unswaying support, backing her decision all the way. I gave it to Ceara straight. She was already very weak, and nothing I had tried seemed to help. If she weakened herself even more by trying to heal the baby, I knew I might be helpless to save her. Ceara understood the consequences, but she still insisted on being taken to her daughter.”

Frank cleared his throat. He’d removed his hat, and now he turned the Stetson in his hands. “So what are we lookin’ at now, Doc? Is Ceara gonna pull through?”

Stevenson shook her head. Tears shimmered in her eyes when she met Quincy’s gaze. “I’m so sorry. I won’t overwhelm all of you with medical terms or lists of medications I’ve tried. It’s enough to say that Ceara is barely clinging to life, and nothing I’ve done has had any effect at all.” She lifted her hands in a helpless gesture. “There’s nothing more I can do. From here on out, it’s up to God.”

Standing, the physician crossed over to place a hand on Quincy’s shoulder. “Power of prayer, remember? I have seen miracles happen.”

Quincy nodded. He couldn’t, for the life of him, push out a word. After the doctor left the waiting room, silence descended over his family. Quincy hunched his shoulders, shrinking into himself.

Then, with a ragged sob, he whispered, “I don’t think I can do it, Dad. I can’t lose her and go on living. I don’t think I’ve got it in me.”

Frank whacked Quincy on the back. “You’ve got what it takes,” he said firmly. “You may not know it right now, but if Ceara dies, you’ll have plenty of time to face it and figure your way through it.”

Quincy wasn’t so sure about that. With a dull gaze, he looked around the sitting area. All his brothers had shown up with their wives, and Tucker had come with Sam. That was the Harrigan clan in a nutshell: When one member of the family needed help, they circled the wagons. Dimly, Quincy realized Dee Dee was missing. He guessed that she’d stayed behind with the kids.

Just then Father Mike burst into the waiting area. “Dear God, what happened?”

Frank gave the priest a hurried recap; then he turned to Quincy. “Come on, son. The rest of us shouldn’t go in, but you should be with your wife when she receives the Anointing of the Sick.”

Still in a fog, Quincy followed Father Mike. Once in Ceara’s room, Quincy held her hand, somehow reciting prayers when called for and giving responses on cue. It was a beautiful sacrament. What stuck in Quincy’s brain was that Father Mike called upon all the departed, and all the angels and saints, to become Ceara’s escorts to heaven. Quincy didn’t want her to go, but even so, it comforted him to know that she wouldn’t be alone.

After the ritual was over, Father Mike led Quincy back to the waiting area, where he once again sat beside his dad. People started shoving a sandwich and a drink into Quincy’s hand. He couldn’t even see what he was holding.
Ceara
. She had been such a bright light in his life, and now she was blinking out like a candle flame.

A nurse came to tell Quincy that he could see his wife again, but he had to go in alone and could stay only ten minutes. When Quincy entered the maternity suite, he saw nurses working frantically over Ceara, checking her vitals, giving her IV injections. Quincy knew nothing they did would help.

Because his time with Ceara was limited, Quincy moved in close to her side as soon as the nurses backed away. Precious seconds. He used every one of them to stroke Ceara’s hair, kiss her dear face, and whisper to her how much he loved her. He could only hope that something he said might call her back to him, but she remained white, waxen, and unresponsive.

When he was ushered from the room by one of the nurses, he left a huge chunk of his aching heart behind. Would Ceara last long enough for another visit? Would he ever see her alive again? Only God had the answers to those questions.

Once back in the waiting room, Quincy headed for his dad again. After sinking onto the cushion, he told everyone, “No change. Well, that’s not true. I’m no expert, but judging by the frenzy the nurses were in, I think she’s losing ground fast.”

Mandy choked on a sob and pressed her face against Zach’s shoulder. Loni bent her head and leaned closer to Clint. White-faced, Sam just stared blindly at the floor. Quincy tried to think of something else to say. They were nearly as upset as he was and needed him to be strong. He just found it difficult right now. He suddenly noticed that there wasn’t a person among them who wasn’t wearing damp clothes, including Father Mike.

Voice hollow, he said, “Looks to me like all you guys got caught in my daughter’s storm.”

“Your daughter’s storm?” Clint looked bewildered. “What do you mean?”

Quincy told them how his baby girl had protested when she was removed from the warm incubator. “The instant she started throwing a temper fit, a storm struck. I’ve never seen the like unless it was on the news.”

“Your baby girl caused that storm?” Zach arched both eyebrows. “The wind damned near took my truck off the road.”

Everyone started talking at once, describing their own close calls during their drives into town. Father Mike had been caught as he walked from the rectory over to the church.

Suddenly Loni held up her hand, calling for silence. “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” she cried. “Can you repeat that for me, Quincy?”

“Repeat what?”

“Did you or did you not just say your daughter caused that horrible storm?”

Quincy shrugged. “She’s her mother’s daughter. Ceara told me the same thing happened after she was born, that—”

Loni cut him off. “I’m aware of the story, Quincy. Ceara told me about it, too. Don’t you get what this
means
? Your baby is a druid. She has
gifts
.”

“Nothing strange about that, I don’t guess,” Quincy replied. “Her mama’s a druid, and according to Ceara, I’ve got druid blood, too, watered down though it is. The baby had every chance to be born with some of her mother’s powers.”

Still comforting his wife, Zach spoke up, clearly aiming for a jovial remark to lighten things up. “I think we should nickname the little sprite Stormy. It’s a cute name, and if she brought that gully-washer on, it suits her to a T.”

Loni sent her youngest brother-in-law an exasperated look. “Zach, for once—just this once, mind you—can you keep your lip zipped?”

Mandy’s head came up. “That isn’t very nice, Lonikins. He didn’t say anything wrong. I think Stormy is an adorable nickname for the baby.”