A Mother's Heart (3 page)

She gasped, then stood abruptly. “Oh. Oh my,” she whispered, her eyes filling with tears. “Um, I have to…I mean…you need to…” She took a deep breath and then pointed to a pair of chairs against the wall. “Have a seat. I need to contact her doctor. He’ll have to okay it.”

Frustrated, Sam backed away, but he didn’t sit. He couldn’t. Somewhere behind one of these doors was the only woman he’d ever loved. And somewhere in this town was the son he didn’t even know he’d had.

Everything felt surreal. He paced the floor, only vaguely aware that he’d become the object of much curiosity. As word of his arrival spread, patients got out of their beds to come look at the wayward father. Nurses sailed past him with judgment on their faces. Even the janitor had an opinion about Sam’s absence in Libby’s life when he ran the floor polisher right up to his feet without excusing himself.

Sam understood. It was no less than he felt about himself. Then suddenly, a doctor appeared, followed by a man in uniform. Sam sighed. Damn. They’d even called the cops. He guessed he couldn’t blame them. At least they were looking out for Libby and Sammy’s welfare.

The doctor introduced himself first. “I’m Doctor Livingston, Libby’s doctor. This is Marcus Fite, our chief of police. I understand you’re claiming to be Sammy Farraday’s father.”

Sam nodded. “Sam Holt,” he said, offering his hand. The police chief hesitated, then shook it.

“I don’t suppose you have any proof of your claim?” Fite asked.

“I didn’t even know Sammy existed until two, no, three days ago…when I got a call from my mother telling me about the video.”

“How could you not know about the video? It’s been on the national news for almost a week now,” Fite countered.

“I’m a troubleshooter for an oil company. I work all over the world. For the last eight months, I’ve been in Amman, Jordan.” Then he pulled out the picture his mother had given him. “Here, maybe this will help,” he said, and handed the police chief the photo.

“If you didn’t know about Sammy, then where did you get a picture of him?” Fite asked.

“That’s not Sammy Farraday. It’s me,” Sam said.

“Lord have mercy,” Fite said, handing the photo to the doctor. “Talk about cloning yourself.”

“I agree there’s quite a resemblance,” Doctor Livingston said. “But you understand our concerns.”

“Take any tests you need to take. Make any calls you need to make. Here’s a list of phone numbers…my employer, my banker, even my preacher from back home. They’ll all vouch for me. Just please let me see Libby. I’ve been looking for her for over eight years.”

A nurse standing nearby burst into tears. “Just like in the movies,” she wailed, and then hurried away.

“I guess a visit would be all right,” the doctor said.

“I’ll go in with him,” Fite offered.

Sam glared. “If you tell me not to, I won’t even touch her. I promise. Just let me see her. I need to tell her that I’m sorry. I need to tell her I’ll take care of her and of Sammy. I just need her to know I’m here!”

Now they were surrounded by onlookers, waiting to see what would happen next.

Livingston nodded. “Yes, of course, but not for long. She is in ICU and the visiting is strictly limited for reasons I am sure you can understand.”

Sam sighed. “For whatever time you’ll allow me, I thank you.”

Moments later, he was walking through a pair of double doors and into a ward. The constant beep of machines monitoring vitals was unnerving.

“Where is she?” he asked, scanning the ward for a sign of the woman he’d known.

“That’s her over there,” Dr. Livingston said, pointing to the bed against the wall.

Sam started walking, but the closer he got, the faster his heart began to beat. By the time he reached the side of her bed, it was hammering.

“Most of the swelling is gone,” the doctor said. “The bruising is fading, too. There were a couple of places on her face that had to be stitched, but as you can see, the stitches have already been removed and are healing nicely. In time, you won’t be able to see them. She had broken ribs, but they’re healing, as well.”

“Why hasn’t she woken up?” Sam asked.

“Her worst injuries were head injuries. Her brain was swollen, although that’s subsided, too. To be honest, we’re not sure why she hasn’t woken up. All signs point to the possibility of that happening at any time. But you also need to understand that, when she does, we have no way of knowing what she’ll remember or if she’ll remember anything. Amnesia is a big possibility.”

“Lord have mercy,” Sam whispered as he stared at Libby’s face. She looked the same, and yet she was different. Eight years had come and gone, changing the young girl of twenty to a woman of twenty-eight. Then he looked at the doctor. “Can I touch her?”

The doctor nodded. “Sammy pats her hand when he visits. And he talks to her nonstop the nurses say.”

That image was more than Sam could bear. “Could I have a couple of minutes alone?”

Dr. Livingston nodded. “Make it brief. We’re already breaking rules to let you in.”

Sam nodded and, as the doctor walked away, leaned down and kissed the side of Libby’s cheek. Time had not dimmed the memory of how soft her skin was, or how she tasted.

“Libby…sweetheart…it’s me, Sam. I’ve been looking for you forever. I just want you to know that I’m here, and that I’ll take care of Sammy until you can get well. And Libby…God, Libby…I didn’t know about Sammy. I looked and looked for you afterward but you were gone.
It was almost as if you’d never existed, except for the big hole in my heart. I wouldn’t have abandoned you. Somewhere down deep in your heart, you have to know that. Libby, please get well. I don’t ever want to lose you again.” Then he kissed her again, this time on the lips. The kiss was fleeting, but it was enough to begin Sam’s healing.

All too soon, the doctor was back. “I’m sorry, but you need to leave now.”

Sam gave Libby one last look, as if imprinting her face in his memory until he could see her again, then followed the doctor back out into the hall. The police chief was still there. Sam went straight for him.

“I want to see my son.”

Chief Fite nodded. “I figured that would be your next request. I’ve already called Kate Wyatt.”

“Who’s she?” Sam asked.

“She’s the grandmother of Sammy Farraday’s best friend, Pete. She’s been raising her own grandsons for six years now. Their father was Kate’s only son. He died in a truck accident a few years back and their mother abandoned them years ago.”

Sam nodded. “When can we go?”

The police chief glanced at his watch. “I suppose now is as good a time as any. Kate already picked the boys up from school, so they’re at the house with her right now. You can follow me in your car.”

“I’ll be right behind you,” Sam said, then turned to the doctor. “I’ll be back at regular visiting hours.”

The doctor nodded, then watched the men walk away. He had to admit he’d never thought this day would happen, but hoped it worked out for all concerned.

L
IBBY CAME OUT
of a darkness, unaware of where she was, of what had happened. All she knew was that something
was wrong. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t hear Sammy’s voice. And she couldn’t find the strength to open her eyes. Slowly she began to realize something was beeping nearby. She inhaled slowly and smelled antiseptic. Then a voice came over an intercom, paging a doctor to the E.R. and she thought,
I’m in a hospital? But how? Why?

In the back of her mind, she thought she’d been dreaming about Sam Holt, although when he invaded her sleep, she usually referred to them as nightmares. Reliving the joy of loving him and then the pain of losing him was just too much. If it hadn’t been for Sammy, she often thought she would have gone mad. Before she could get any answers, she began to fade, falling under the curtain that seemed to hang between her and the rest of the world.

S
AM PULLED UP
behind the police cruiser and parked. They’d stopped at a small, white frame house with a wraparound porch and yellow trim—obviously the residence of Kate Wyatt. There was a porch swing on one end of the porch and a set of white wicker furniture on the other. Two big wing chairs, a small circular table with a giant fern spilling over the lips of a red-glazed pot and what amounted to a small wicker love seat completed the ensemble. He could see three bicycles parked under a shade tree in the back. One large. Two small. Sam sighed. Talk about small town perfection. Places like this didn’t exist anywhere else. As he got out of the car and followed the police chief to the front door, he realized that the next five minutes were going to be the most important minutes of his life.

Most men meet their children for the first time in a hospital nursery. They have time to get to know each other the old-fashioned way. Sam sighed. He’d never
done anything the easy way. It figured he would have screwed this up, too.

Then the door opened inward and a short woman with reddish gray hair was in the doorway. The look on her face was somewhere between disbelief and shock.

“Kate, this here fellow is Sam Holt,” Chief Fite said. “Claims he’s Sammy’s daddy. We’ve done some preliminary checking and he seems to be on the up and up.”

“Where the hell have you been for the past eight years?” Kate asked.

Sam flinched. “Lost.”

“Well…I’d say so,” she muttered. “Libby showed up here about six months before Sammy was born, as alone in the world as a woman could be. She’s never talked about her past and we didn’t ask, but it seems to be a body would have checked up on her once in a while, especially since there was a baby involved.”

Sam lifted his chin. His face was expressionless. “Libby and I had a fight. People have fights. All the time. Ours was a bad one, I’ll grant. But most people don’t disappear off the face of the earth. She left. No forwarding address. Nothing. I looked for her for a year, then left the country. I guess in my way, I ran away, too. I had no idea she was pregnant when she left, and I was in Amman, Jordan, when my mother called to tell me about the video. Now that’s the last time I’m going to explain myself until I meet my son.” At this point, his voice cracked. “I’ve lost eight years of his life I can’t get back.”

Kate exhaled on a sigh. “Well, he’s in the kitchen with the boys. We were just about to sit down to supper. I suppose you could join us.”

“He’s okay, Kate,” Chief Fite said. “He’s clean. Not even a speeding ticket on his record, and like he said, he’s spent most of the last six years out of the country. Now,
if you’re okay, I’ll just get on back to the station. If you need anything, you can always call.”

Then he gave Sam a quick look. “You’re not planning on leaving town with Sammy or anything like that, are you?”

“Hell no,” Sam said shortly. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Well, come on in, then. Supper is getting cold. And don’t go and scare Sammy any, you hear? He’s been through the wringer these past three weeks,” Kate said.

“Thank you, ma’am. I’d be grateful,” Sam said. “As for Sammy, the last thing I want to do is scare him. But he sent out his own brand of SOS and I want him to know that the minute I heard it, I came. That’ll be the first step we both take to building some trust between us.”

“Yes, of course,” Kate said. “It’s this way,” she said.

Sam closed the front door and followed her through the house and into the kitchen. The table was set. The food had already been dished up. Three boys were already at their places, waiting for her return. Sam saw the tallest boy eye him curiously. Then he saw a little redheaded boy sneaking a chicken leg off the platter onto his plate. But it was the dark-haired boy with the big brown eyes staring back at him that nearly stopped his heart.

He walked past Kate without waiting for an invitation, circled the table and then stopped at Sammy’s chair.

“You’re Sammy Farraday, aren’t you?” Sam asked.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“I saw your video, Sammy. It was a really smart thing to do because I’ve been looking for your mother for a long, long time. My name is Sam Holt. I’m your father, and I’m really happy to meet you.”

Sam held out his hand, hoping the boy would at least shake it, but was unprepared for Sammy’s reaction.

“Daddy? You’re my daddy?”

Sam’s vision blurred. He didn’t know whether Sammy was just upset or uncertain. Then he remembered the photo his mom had sent and quickly pulled it out of his pocket.

“Look,” Sam said. “This is a picture of me when I was seven. Almost the same age as you are now.”

Sammy stared at the photo for what seemed like an eternity. Then he looked up at Sam.

“I’m eight,” he muttered, then added, “That looks like me.”

Sam nodded. “Fathers and sons are supposed to look like each other,” Sam said softly.

“My mama is in the hospital.”

Sam heard Sammy’s voice tremble. He couldn’t stand it any longer. He reached down and picked him up, then cradled Sammy’s head against his shoulder. To his surprise, Sammy let him.

“I know, Sammy, I know.”

Sammy leaned back long enough to eye Sam one more time.

“Did you know about the people wanting to give me to the Fosters?”

Sam swallowed past the knot in his throat, and managed a nod.

“You’re not gonna let ’em…are you?”

“Hell, no,” Sam said. “You and Mama aren’t alone any longer. You two have me now. And you have a grandmother, too. Her name is Gracie. She’s the one who told me about your video.”

“My mama won’t wake up,” Sammy said, and then put his face against the curve of Sam’s neck and started to cry. “What are we gonna do if she won’t wake up?”

Sam could hardly say the words. “I don’t know, Sammy. I don’t know. But whatever it is, we’ll do it together. Okay?”

Every muscle in the little boy’s body seemed to relax at once. It was as if the weight of the world had been lifted off his shoulders.

Kate was in tears, too, but she couldn’t let herself break down. Not when there were boys to feed and a man she didn’t know well enough to trust.

“Well, then,” she said, blowing her nose twice before stuffing the tissue into her pocket and pointing at Charlie and Pete. “Fill your plates, boys, before everything gets cold…if it’s not already. Maybe I should warm up the—”