Angel's Rest (33 page)

Gabe wanted to argue back, but he decided to keep his mouth shut for the time being. The last thing she needed now was more stress. Besides, if this did prove to be a false alarm and she and the babies were okay, he intended to see that the situation changed. Forget Eternity Springs. For the remainder of the pregnancy, they could move to somewhere civilized, near a hospital with a neonatal unit and a perinatologist on staff.

Beside him, Nic made another mark in her notebook. Gabe felt his tension level rise from orange to red. What would he do if she started to hemorrhage? If her water broke? If she passed out?

“Do you mind if I put on a CD?” she said.

“Huh? What?”
Did she say she was bleeding?

“I’d like music. I want to play a CD.”

“Oh. Okay. Sure.”

“What would you like to listen to?”

“Your choice.” He bit out the words. “I really don’t care.”

Rain fell in sheets as Norah Jones’ smoky voice drifted from the stereo. He kept his windshield wipers set at full speed, the headlights on high, and his teeth clenched tight. Despite his need for focus, his mind drifted back to another middle-of-the-night, I’m-having-contractions trip to a hospital. That night he’d been tense, too, only that tension had been fueled with anticipation rather than dread. Jen had been five days past her due date, excited and relieved that the big moment was finally under way.

He’d held her hand that night as they made the fifteen-minute trip to the hospital. Tonight, though, he needed both hands on the wheel. He and Jen had laughed and joked during the drive that night—another contrast with current events.

What a magical night that had been. Jen had awakened him with a big kiss on his mouth. Gabe had pulled on suit pants and a Jimmy Buffett T-shirt. Jen had taken one look at him and made him go back and change.

He would never forget the joy that had filled him the moment Matt slid into the doctor’s hands, took his first breath, and let out his first angry cry. He’d been full. So full. When he held his son for the first time, he had truly believed that the bad times were all behind him.

Nic interrupted his reverie when she said, “Maybe I didn’t hydrate well enough. Do you still keep bottled water in the back?”

“I think I have a soft cooler right behind my seat. If you can’t reach it, I’ll pull off and get it for you.”

Nic leaned toward him and stretched her left arm behind his seat. “Almost.”

He remembered how Jen used to lean over like that and lay her head against his shoulder as she reached to pick up a toy that Matty had thrown down.

Nic stretched again, then used her right arm to loosen the catch on her seat belt.

“Don’t do that!” Gabe snapped when he realized what she’d done. He all but expected a car to come careening out of the darkness toward them. In their lane. “Put your seat belt back on. I’ll stop and get the water myself.”

“I’ve got it.” When Nic withdrew her arm from behind him, she held a bottle of water. She buckled her belt, settled back in her seat, and calmly twisted the bottle cap, then took a long sip.

“Don’t ever do that again,” Gabe demanded, his voice
raised, his fingers clamped around the steering wheel. “It’s stupid enough to do it under normal circumstances, but look outside. Look at the rain and the road. These are dangerous driving conditions.”

“Gabe, really. It was just a few seconds.”

“It only takes a second.” His chest grew tight as memories flashed through his mind. “Believe me.”

She stared at him for a moment, then winced. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I shouldn’t have unbuckled. I should have asked you to pull over. My mind is on the babies. Since dehydration can cause contractions, all I thought about was getting more water into me as fast as possible.”

“I get it. Just … don’t do it again.”

“I won’t.” She sipped her water and added, “I promise.”

I promise
. His throat constricted with emotion; nevertheless, a tiny sound of pain escaped. Those two little words echoed through his mind and pierced his heart.

Hold on, Jen. Please. Help will be here soon. Don’t leave me. Please, dear Lord, help us. Jen, hold on. Don’t leave me!

I won’t. I promise
.

They were the last words Jen said to him before she died in his arms.

Grimly he attempted to push the thought aside as he stared ahead, concentrating on his driving, balancing the needs for speed and safety to the best of his ability. But as the miles and minutes ticked by, events from his past assailed him and a sense of inevitability weighted his heart and soul.

This wouldn’t end well. It never did. He never should have let down his guard.

As that thought crystallized in his mind, the car rounded a curve and the animal’s eyes flashed in the beam of the headlights as an elk bounded from the trees
directly in front of them. Gabe instinctively braked and twisted the wheel. The tires skidded. The car began to hydroplane. Nic screamed.
Jen screamed
.

The elk bounced off the front fender and disappeared into the woods as the airbags deployed.

Airbags deployed. Metal crunched. Matt’s cry stopped abruptly
.

The Jeep slid off the road and came to rest softly against a stand of piñon pines. Beside him, his wife cried out, “Gabe?”

A chemical scent filled the air. “Jen, are you all right?”

She let out a little whimper of pain. “Nic. I’m Nic. Can we drive? Please tell me we’re not stuck.”

Nic. I’m with Nic
. Gabe glanced in the backseat. No smashed car seat. No broken little boy. This was Colorado, not Virginia. Nic, not Jennifer. Twin babies on the way, not his beloved little Matt.

He looked at Nic, barely able to see her in the shadows.
She’s moving. She’s talking
. Gabe blew out a breath, released his death grip around the steering wheel, and dragged a trembling hand down his face, then switched on the dome light. “Nicole, are you hurt?”

She was as pale as a corpse. Urgently he asked, “Are you bleeding?”

“No. Just scraped up a bit, I think, from the airbag. Are we stranded, Gabe?”

He took stock. The windshield wipers kept up their rhythmic motion. Norah Jones still sang. The motor continued to run. They had four-wheel drive. He’d get them out of here if he had to push the Jeep back onto the road himself. “We’re not stranded,” he told her, opening his door. “I’ll be right back.”

Cold rain doused him and he vaguely noted the scrapes on his own skin stinging as he rounded the front of the car. The dent in the passenger-side front panel
sucked the breath right out of his lungs. Two seconds later and the elk would have come through Nic’s window. She could have died.

Nausea struck him and he staggered back a step, leaned over with his hands on his knees, and vomited. Then he stood and lifted his face into the cold, driving rain, but he knew he couldn’t tarry. The clock was still ticking.

He returned to the Jeep. “The ground is spongy but not a quagmire,” he told Nic. “Getting out should be no problem.” With a deft touch he guided the Jeep back onto the road.

Gabe didn’t protest when Nic switched on the heater and ejected the CD. He was cold to the bone, though he doubted anything so simple as a heater could warm him. He was lost in a nightmare made up of now and of then. He could smell blood on the air even while he knew he was in Colorado and not in Virginia. What if the doctor couldn’t stop her labor? What if the babies died? What if Nic died? Jen had died. He’d been alone. He’d be alone again.

He was terrified.

They completed the trip to Gunnison in silence.

At the hospital, he pulled into the circular drive in front of the emergency entrance, shifted into park, and looked at her. Light from the emergency room sign turned her pale complexion bloodred. He saw both fear and urgency in her eyes and knew his own eyes must reflect the same emotions. “Wait here until I get help, okay?”

“Sure.”

Even before he rounded the Jeep, the ER’s automatic doors whooshed open and a man wearing scrubs pushed an empty wheelchair toward them. “Is this Mrs. Callahan?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Dr. Marshall is waiting for her.”

Gabe opened Nic’s door and he and the ER employee helped her into the chair. “If you’ll take the first right and go down to the end of the hall, Admitting has paperwork for you to sign, Mr. Callahan. Your wife will be to the left in room three. You’ll want to move your car before you join her.”

“Okay.”

Nic looked back over her shoulder at him, her expression rife with worry, her blue eyes pleading for him to hurry. He tried to smile reassuringly, but he simply couldn’t get his lips to lift.

Gabe made his way to Admitting. In his mind’s eye, he was back in a Virginia hospital, his clothing covered in blood—his blood, hers. Matt’s.
Oh, God. Matty
.

“May I have your insurance card?”

A policeman saying,
His wife is DOA
.

“Sir? Your insurance card?”

“What? Oh.” He winced. “Sorry.”

Blindly he signed whatever papers she put in front of him. Fear was a cold stone in his gut. Nic. The babies.
What if I lose her? Lose them?

He dragged his feet returning to the ER. He was cold, wet, frozen. Terrified. Spying a men’s room, he detoured into it. He ran hot water into the sink, leaned over, and splashed his face. Words echoed in his mind.
So sorry for your loss, Mr. Callahan. Such a tragedy. She was such a joyous spirit. Our condolences, Gabe
.

He looked in the mirror, but didn’t see himself. He saw the fear in Nic’s eyes.
The fear in Jen’s eyes. She knew she was dying
. What about Nic? What about the babies?

He reached for a paper towel and dried his face, dried his hands. Saw blood on his hands, both real and imagined.

Someone else walked into the men’s room, so he
walked out. He walked past the exit and found room three. He stood outside the curtained enclosure, numb, cold, and alone as he listened to Nic’s obstetrician asking a series of questions.

On the other side of the curtain, he heard Nic murmur a question he couldn’t make out. The doctor responded by saying, “I won’t lie to you, Nic. If you are in labor and we can’t stop it, the babies won’t survive.”

The babies won’t survive
.

The boy has a traumatic brain injury. It’s only a matter of time
.

The doctor continued, “We don’t have the facilities here to accommodate babies born at twenty-four weeks.”

But the words didn’t register. All Gabe heard was …

The babies won’t survive
.

Your son is dead
.

My family didn’t survive
.

“My babies won’t survive,” he whispered.

Breathing heavily, his fists clenching and then releasing at his sides, Gabe backed away from the curtain and … broke.

He walked—almost ran—to the hospital exit. Dashing out into the rain, he climbed into the Jeep, started the engine, and shifted into gear.

Gabe drove away. Leaving his wife, his babies, and his self-respect behind.

“Nic? Honey? What’s wrong?”

Nic tore her gaze away from the monitor and looked up to see her best friend in the world standing at the opening of the ER’s curtained cubicle. “Honey? What’s wrong?”

“Oh, Sarah.” She burst into tears.

Sarah rushed to the bed and put her hands on Nic’s shoulders. “Honey?”

“You came. You’re here.” Nic buried her head against Sarah’s chest and sobbed. Sarah held her tight, cooing, “It’s okay, Nic. I’m here. It’s okay.”

Nic cried and cried and cried. Sarah hugged and cuddled and comforted. When Nic finally wound down, Sarah softly asked, “The babies?”

“They’re okay.”

“Thank God. What happened? We were so worried—Celeste and Sage are with me, they’re parking the car. What happened? Gabe called me and said you were here and that you needed me. Then he hung up and hasn’t answered his phone since. I must have called twenty times.”

“He did it again, Sarah. He ran away from his feelings, only this time I needed him. I really, really needed him. I can’t believe he …”

“He what?”

Nic closed her eyes. What could she say? He’d hurt
her? That didn’t begin to explain the devastation. Gabe had ripped her heart out. He’d left her here alone, maybe losing her babies alone. These hours had been the worst of her life, this fear the worst she’d ever known. How could he have abandoned her? How could he have left her to face it alone?

Nic told her about the tension-filled drive to Gunnison, and Sarah said, “You hit an elk? And slid off the road? Oh, Nic. You’re lucky you weren’t killed!”

“I know it scared him. I know he has ghosts riding his shoulder. But that’s no excuse for this!”

“No excuse for what?” Sage asked as she and Celeste entered the cubicle. “What has Gabe done?”

“He left me. He basically kicked me out at the ER door to miscarry our babies all by myself.”

Sage’s eyes flew to the monitors. “You didn’t lose the babies.”

“No, thank God,” Nic said, blinking back angry tears. “But Gabe didn’t know that when he abandoned me here.”