Branching Out (12 page)

She had nearly reached the store's street exit and her escape into a homebound cab.

And then, someone's hand reached out from the pushy crowd and touched her pregnant belly. Her baby.
Her baby!
How dare this stranger try to touch her unborn child!

“When are you due?” came the voice of a stranger.

“Stop!” Shelby burst out, stopping in her tracks to address the group. “Back off!” She heard the words but didn't recognize the venom in her voice. “You have no right!”

She turned around in the group with a look that must have been perceived as a challenge.
Don't cross me! Don't you dare hurt my child!
Judging by the looks on their faces, she had succeeded. One by one, people seemed to lose interest and walked away. A few kept taking photographs, but as quickly as the crowd had surrounded her they now dispersed, so that she wondered if she had imagined the whole thing. Gone were the eyes and voices and intrusive hands. She turned once more for the exit and saw her escape. Free and clear.

She set her hand upon the firm curvature in her abdomen and rubbed hard enough for her baby to feel her caress through the thin wall of tissue that separated her from her child's back. “We're going to be okay, little one,” she whispered. She held her head high and walked swiftly out of the store and into the cold outdoors with its honking cars, wind whistling between skyscrapers, and the static hum of people's voices on the sidewalk. And in that moment she knew how it felt to instinctively need to protect a child. In that moment, rubbing her child's back, she realized she had loved him all along. What a fool she had been to deny it. To deny
him
.

Shelby was quick to hail a cab and was relieved when one pulled up to the curb without a wait. She settled into the backseat, smiling, and gave the driver her address. She placed her purse and shopping back beside her and smiled, caressing her stomach and speaking to her unborn child through inner thoughts.

She stopped moving her hands. Her smile disappeared. It suddenly occurred to her that she hadn't—
No. I'm sure it's nothing,
she thought.

She unzipped her coat and moved her hands underneath the fabric of her sweater, feeling the warm softness of her taut skin.
Come on, sweetheart. Don't be shy. Wake up.

As the cab continued down the city streets, it began to snow outside. Slow-moving clusters of snow dropped like torn bits of cotton candy, accumulating quickly throughout the city. She heard the rhythmic beat of the cab's windshield wipers, left-right, left-right, ticking off the seconds that passed without feeling anything move within her womb. Not a hungry kick. Or a lingering stretch. Not even a quiver of a foot from a sleeping babe.

Left-right. Left-right.
Swoosh. Swoosh.

How long had it been? she asked herself, looking down at her middle for a sign.
Dear God, please give me a sign!

Breakfast? Lunch with Ryan? Had she feel the baby kick while she was leisurely walking through the department store, before the crowd formed?

She looked down at her body, as if it could give her answers. She rubbed his back again, realizing now that he did not push back. He did not wiggle, nudge, or kick. Her mind raced through her day. Reading in the den. Lunching with Ryan. Shopping.

“Oh my God,” she said aloud, her eyes opened wide in dread and her lip trembling.

“You say something, miss?” said the driver through the glass partition that separated the front seat from the back.

She felt panic well in her chest like floodwater, moving up into her throat, making her lip tremble.
My God! What kind of mother am I? I can't remember the last time I felt my baby move!

“The hospital—?” her voice squeaked out quietly.

“What's that, miss?” the driver asked, turning his head back to hear her better through the glass partition between them.

“Please. The hospital. I think it's an emergency.” Shelby hoped he wouldn't ask her anything else. She needed him to know where to take her. She had no other recourse than to put her trust in him.

“The hospital?”

“Memorial!” She breathed deeply.
Maybe it's nothing. Maybe he moved at the store and I just didn't notice. I'm sure it's nothing.

“You change your mind about Lake Shore Drive?”

“Yes,” Shelby answered, choking down her fear and trying to maintain her composure. As well as her hope. “Memorial Hospital. Please hurry.”

She felt the cab pick up speed and take a sudden left turn at the light, the momentum of which forced her body to lean against the passenger door. Shelby didn't mind; she was grateful for the cabbie's urgency. She righted herself in the backseat and reached for her bag, opened it, and rummaged through its contents until she felt the smooth flatness of her cell phone in her hand. She opened the screen and quickly hit the preset phone number in her contacts list.
Ryan
. With the phone to her ear, she waited for him to pick up while watching the snow continue to fall heavily about the city, noticing how the winter weather had erased most of the color from the surrounding landscape. As the cab sped through the black-and-white city streets, she listened.

C
HAPTER
17

R
yan was sitting in the living room of his parents' penthouse apartment when he heard the faint ring of his phone coming from within his coat, which he had draped casually over a stately upholstered chair in his parents' foyer.

“Oh, just let it ring,” his mother said from her seat across from him in the living room. “My God, can we not have ten minutes together without being interrupted? Being with you these days is just like being with your father.”

“Just let me check it. It could be Shelby.” Ryan rose from his seat and was about to walk past his mother when she reached out her hand to stop him.

“Shelby's a big girl, darling. Can't you call her later?” his mother asked without really asking. She was insisting.

“Mother, she's eight months pregnant,” he said, assuming Charlotte would understand, but from the look on her face, clearly she didn't.

“And she has my home phone number. She would call you here if it was an emergency,” Charlotte insisted, picking up her wineglass from the end table beside her. “I'm sure it's nothing. And I'd appreciate it if we could finish our conversation before your father returns home.”

Despite his instinct to retrieve his phone, he settled back into his chair. She was right. Their conversation was important to both of them and it would be best to finish it before his father's return.

“All right. But if it rings again, or she calls the apartment—”

“Then by all means, I won't keep you,” she assured him, raising the glass to her lips and taking a sip of chilled Chablis. “But really, William, you need to relax. Everything is going to be fine.”

“So, back to our conversation,” Ryan said, appreciating the unusually intimate talk he had been having with his mother, while also sensing that it was a mistake not to take that phone call.

“I've been very concerned about the way the press has been targeting Shelby,” Charlotte said.

“I know. We all have,” he agreed.

“Your father and I have talked about it at great length and—”

“And I've told him—I've said to both of you, in fact—that she isn't doing anything to antagonize the press or bring any attention to herself.”

“Ryan,” Charlotte interrupted, carefully setting down her glass and speaking calmly. “Neither of us blames Shelby. In fact, it's quite the contrary.”

“But you've always given us the impression that we need to change our routine, be more open to the press—what has Dad been saying for the past several months? ‘Put on a good face, if not for your personal reputation, then for the good of the family business'?”

“Yes. I know.”

“Mother. I'm going to continue saying this until I'm blue in the face. Shelby has not done a single thing to incite the press to give her any attention. And whenever she does go out, she's often harassed by a photographer. It's no wonder she wants to stay inside. And I absolutely hate the fact that—hell, that none of us have been able to do anything to stop it.”

“I agree.”

“I knew this life would be an adjustment for her, but have you seen her lately?”

Charlotte nodded.

“She's a shell of her old self,” he said, dropping his head and rubbing the back of his neck. His mother didn't press him for more details. She waited while he took this time, sitting quietly in his childhood home, with his mother's full attention. He rubbed the back of his hand against his eyes, pushing away the emotion. He had to continue to be strong for his wife. He had to find a way to make her life easier. Finally, he looked up at his mother again and told her what he knew she had already suspected. “She barely leaves the apartment anymore. When I leave for work in the morning, she is usually sitting on the couch in the living room. And when I return, it's as if she hadn't moved all day.”

“It's difficult. I know.” Charlotte stood, picking up her wineglass before moving to sit beside Ryan.

“All day,” he muttered again, loud enough that only he could hear.

“You have been incredibly understanding with her. And patient. Protective,” Charlotte said with assurance while rubbing his back. It was the kind of attention he had desperately craved while he was growing up, here in this very apartment. “And, quite frankly, you've proven yourself to be a stronger partner than your father ever has been to me.”

Ryan turned to look her in the eye, surprised by her candor.

“I'm not here to disparage my husband in any way; he has his strengths as well as his weaknesses, as we all do,” she said. “What I'm trying to say is that she is fortunate to have you, William. You will find a way to help her get through this, and I am confident you will be an outstanding father. You make me very proud.”

“Thanks. That means a lot.”

“Now. About Shelby,” she continued, standing back up, glass in hand, and walking to the window to look out upon the snowfall. “We need to find a better way to entice her to get out more, especially in these last several weeks before the baby comes. If she's feeling reclusive now, it's only bound to worsen when she's exhausted with a newborn.”

“She actually left the apartment with me today. We had lunch in town, and she wanted to do some shopping,” Ryan said. “I saw a lot of the old Shelby in her today. It was great.”

“Then why on earth are you here with me? My goodness, you should have run with it. If she was out and about, you should have canceled with me and continued to raise her spirits a little bit. She needs it!”

“But you insisted on—”

“Well, I was wrong. I can be wrong, can't I? Hang on, William. Did you hear something?” She raised her hand to quiet him. “Is that your phone?”

He quickly rose from the couch and rushed to the foyer. His mother set down her glass and followed after him.

As soon as he pulled the phone out of his coat pocket, he saw Shelby's name appear across the backlit screen. “It's Shelby,” he said to his mother at the same time his finger slid across the screen to answer the call. “Hey, Shel. How are you? Is everything okay?”

“Mr. Chambers?” came an unfamiliar man's voice from the other end of the line.

“Who's this?”

“My name is Thomas Allen,” he said carefully. “I'm a nurse here at Memorial Hospital.”

“Wait a minute; I don't understand,” Ryan said, standing but not moving, clutching the phone tightly in his hand. “Why are you calling me with my wife's phone? Where is she?”

His mother moved closer, with tentative steps. “Ryan. What is it?”

He turned away from her, wanting to block out her questions and worried expression as he listened to the nurse.

“We wanted to let you know that your wife has been admitted to this hospital.”

“Is it Shelby?” his mother continued to inquire from behind his back. “Is the baby all right?”

“I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you,” Ryan said, struggling to keep his voice calm as he covered his other ear to block out his mother's questioning. “What happened?”

“There has been a complication with her pregnancy, Mr. Chambers,” the nurse continued. “She said that you're just across town. Do you have someone who can drive you?”

Ryan looked back over his shoulder toward the living room windows, inwardly cursing at the thick snowfall that was coming down swiftly outside, most certainly creating havoc on the city streets below. “What kind of complication?” he said, unable to control the frightened catch in his voice.

“I think it's better if we talk to you in person, once you arrive,” the nurse said. “How soon can you be here?”

“Please!” Lashing out in a burst of fear and anger, he lifted the chair beside him and slammed it back down to the ground with a crash on the hardwood flooring. Then he closed his eyes, a quiet prayer running through his mind, and reached out to lay his palm against the wall, bracing himself. Trying to remain calm while inside he was screaming in fear.

The nurse cleared his throat and said, “I am sorry to have to be the one to tell you this, Mr. Chambers, but we have not been able to detect a heartbeat. The sonogram shows that . . . there is no sign of life.” Ryan could hear the pain in the voice on the other side of the line, even though he was a stranger to them.
No sign of life.

“Your wife was already dilated by the time she arrived and has gone into labor naturally. I don't mean to alarm you, Mr. Chambers, but her labor is progressing quickly. You'll want to come as soon as possible.”

There was another long pause on the other end.

“Ryan?” his mother asked again, quieter this time, stepping over the legs of the fallen chair and placing her hand gingerly on his shoulder.

Ryan's breaths were shallow. He could barely feel the air move in and out of his lungs. He closed his eyes, shutting out the lavish apartment, the soft light that shone through the nearby windows as the sun fell between the city skyscrapers outside of the adjacent windows, and the intensity of his mother's gaze.

“She's not alone, and we're working to keep her comfortable. I am very sorry for your loss,” was the last thing Ryan heard before he mumbled, “Thank you,” and clicked off the phone. His arm fell heavily to his side and the phone dropped from his grasp. He barely noticed the sound of it hitting the hardwood flooring.

“Ryan.
Please,
” his mother pleaded. “Tell me what's happening.”

“He's gone,” Ryan replied.

“I don't understand. Gone?”

“The baby,” he said. “Shelby's at the hospital and—”

Ryan's body slumped against the wall.

“And what?” his mother asked, rushing to his side and putting her hands on his shoulders.

“They can't hear his heartbeat.”

“Oh, William. I am so, so very sorry.” She put her hands on either side of his face and looked him straight in the eye. “You'll know what to do. You're strong.”

He looked up with tears welling in his eyes. “I, I need to go; I—”

“I love you, darling. It's going to be all right. Everything's going to be all right.” She set the chair back on its legs and guided Ryan to sit before she rushed down the hall and disappeared into the apartment.

Ryan sat, stunned, looking down the hall to the wall of living room windows. The snow was continuing to fall heavily upon the city.

“Lois!” he heard his mother call out to her assistant. “William needs a ride. Please call for a driver. We need to get him to Memorial as soon as possible!”

They can't detect his heartbeat,
Ryan thought in disbelief.
He's gone before he ever had a chance to take his first breath.