Dina Santorelli (40 page)

Jamie
lowered the volume so that it didn't wake up Edward. She picked up her phone
again and thumbed through her applications, clicking onto her photo gallery. A
bunch of saved photos popped into view, and she clicked on them one by one:
Peter and Sara at Jones Beach; Edward barbecuing spare ribs in his backyard...

"From
Hamilton County,"
the governor
read,
"Susan Keener..."

...Jamie
and Edward wearing matching bowling shirts; Edward sticking his tongue out;
Jamie and Sara showing off red, white, and blue pedicures; a sunset at
Eisenhower Park; a photo of her and her mother, her favorite one from when she
was a little girl; and then there was a photo that Jamie had never seen before:
a close-up of her sleeping on her side, with Charlotte Grand, also asleep,
tucked under her chin, a blanket pulled neatly over them.

"From
Nassau County, Tim..."

A
text came in from Tricia: "Coming back up."

"From
New York County, Robert Scott of Worcester, Payne & Leach..."

Jamie
was sure Bob had set his DVR to record this morning's press announcement, even
though he had no idea he'd been selected; the governor suggested they "let him
sweat it out." She imagined he would spend the rest of the day eating in and
playing the recorded segment over and over.

"Knock,
knock," said a friendly voice.

Reynaldo,
carrying a bouquet of flowers, limped in, favoring his left leg. He was told
repeatedly that his leg injuries sustained during the car crash on the bridge
would heal faster if he would remain on bed rest; however, Reynaldo balked,
telling the doctors that he had done enough lying down to last a lifetime. In
the past several days, he had even begun leaving his cane at home.

"Hi,"
Jamie said, sitting up, her lips meeting his. Without either of them thinking
much about it, she and Reynaldo had fallen into an easy and comfortable
courtship, one that filled Jamie with warmth, as if she had drunk a hot cup of
cocoa at the sight of him. She had forgotten she could feel this way with a
man. The relationship was just in the budding stages and felt almost like a
middle-school romance—hand-holding, flowers, a kiss on the mouth here, a hand
on the hip there. It was like starting over again. Although she knew what
people said about the doomed nature of relationships formed during duress—she
had even written a freelance article about it once for a psychology trade
publication—and on a rational level she knew she should probably just be alone
for a while, considering all that had happened, she felt herself drawn to
Reynaldo and decided that she was tired of feeling empty inside. She decided to
let herself indulge her emotions to see where they led her.

Reynaldo
rubbed her face. "The bruises are just about gone."

Jamie
felt her cheeks turning red as Reynaldo placed the flowers on her lap. "A
going-away present," he said, frowning.

"When
are you coming down?"

Reynaldo
ran his hand through Jamie's hair, curling several strands around his finger.
"I'll be down in a couple of weeks, as soon as I get Pedro up to speed." He
looked at Edward. "How is he today?"

"A
sleepyhead," said Jamie, mussing up Reynaldo's lush curls. He had a habit of
wetting down and taming his luxurious hair when he came to see her—she could
still see the wavy tracks of comb's teeth. Jamie much preferred it wild and
erratic, and she made a mental note to tell him one day.

Doctor
Tucker knocked on the door. "Good morning."

"Good
morning," Jamie and Reynaldo said in unison.

Doctor
Tucker was in his civilian clothes today—a pair of khakis and a white polo
shirt. He hadn't bothered with the white lab coat. He had the day off but
insisted on coming in, in hopes of seeing Edward, his favorite patient, get
discharged. Edward had that effect on people, even as a boy. More than one
schoolteacher had pulled Jamie's mother aside during parent/teacher conferences
and back to school nights to wax poetic about the young man who not only scored
straight A's, but was always kind to and supportive of his fellow students.

"Good
news, Jamie," Doctor Tucker said, flipping through a series of papers on his
clipboard. "As I had anticipated, your brother is stable enough to be
transferred to a facility downstate, and very soon, he'll be going home."

"That's
great," Tricia said, walking in. She looked refreshed, and Jamie could tell she
had applied some makeup and brushed her hair, which was now pulled back in a
neat ponytail. Tricia arrived immediately after Edward had been admitted and
stayed for about a week until Edward insisted that she go home for a few days,
get some rest, and be with the kids. She drove back and forth three or four
times since, each time escorted by one of Special Agent Wilcox's men, who would
be a familiar sight in the weeks, perhaps years, to come. Tricia had arrived
yesterday, spending the night on the other side of Edward's hospital bed in
what had become "her chair" right opposite Jamie's. "The kids can't wait to see
him."

"Well,
they won't have to wait much longer," Doctor Tucker said.

As
if on cue, two orderlies arrived, amiable men whom Jamie had seen chatting up
the nurses in the cafeteria.

"Please
take Mr. Carter to Ambulatory," Doctor Tucker instructed. It was odd for Jamie
to hear him refer to Edward by his last name; he had dispensed with the
formalities not long after they arrived at the hospital.

"Right
now?" Jamie asked.

"Yep,
you're going home." Doctor Tucker looked as if he were about to break into his
customary wide smile, but Jamie thought she saw something cut it short when he
looked at her.

The
team of men wasted no time and lifted Edward, using his bedsheet, which they
unhooked from its hospital corners, and placed him, like a baby swathed in a
sling, onto the gurney. It looked as if Edward might sleep through the entire
transfer—like a child who has fallen asleep in his car seat and wakes up in his
crib—when he opened his eyes.

"What's
going on?" Edward asked, unsettled.

"Easy,
easy," Doctor Tucker said. "You're fine. You're going home."

His
eyes gaining their focus, Edward looked around the room. "Where's Jamie?" he
asked.

Every
time Edward awoke from a nap over the past three weeks, he asked for his
sister.

"Right
behind you," Jamie said, winking at Tricia.

"I'd
better go," Reynaldo said. He leaned down and kissed Jamie's cheek. "I'll call
you later, okay. Have a safe trip."

"Okay."
Jamie gave him a hug. "See you soon."

"That's
right, with me laid up, I'll need you to take care of her," said Edward,
smiling. He reached out and shook Reynaldo's hand. Edward seemed to have
accepted Reynaldo immediately. Jamie imagined that Edward saw the same goodness
in him that she had seen. Or maybe Edward was just happy that Bob was finally
gone.

She
playfully rolled her eyes. "I can take care of myself."

"It's
useless, Jamie," Tricia said. "You thought he was overprotective
before
..."

"Nah,
I know you can, James," Edward said. "Maybe that's what I'm afraid of."

Doctor
Tucker handed Jamie some of Edward's discharge paperwork. She had been Edward's
power of attorney since the day her mother died. And vice versa.

"I'm
perfectly capable of signing my own paperwork," Edward said, raising his arm,
but then stiffened.

"No,
that's all right," Doctor Tucker said. "You go. We'll take care of things here.
And I expect a full recovery, young man."

"Thank
you, Doctor Tucker."

"You're
welcome."

"And
don't take too long," Edward said to Jamie as the orderlies maneuvered the
gurney out the door.

"I'll
be right there," Jamie said.

Tricia
threw her handbag strap over her shoulder and took the drawings and cards that
Peter and Sara had made for Edward down from the wall. Jamie surveyed the room,
which had been filled with flowers when Edward first arrived—gifts from the
Grands; the Garcias; the Manhattan DA's office; Worcester, Payne & Leach;
her aunt in Arizona; and all sorts of well-wishers. Weeks later, nothing was
left but a white-bloomed gardenia, which arrived accompanied by a plush monkey
wearing a "get well" T-shirt. Tricia picked it up.

"I'll
see you downstairs," she said. No sooner had she rounded the corner of the
doorway did Jamie hear Edward bellow, "Where is she?" from the corridor.

"She's
coming,
Big Brother
," Tricia's voice echoed in response. "Here, hold
your monkey."

Jamie
smiled at Doctor Tucker. "I guess some things never change," she said with a
shrug. "Where do you need me to sign?"

"Oh."
Doctor Tucker appeared lost in thought. He indicated the signature lines. Using
the flat surface of Edward's tray table, Jamie signed and dated the forms as
Doctor Tucker gave her some instructions regarding Edward's care. She handed
him the paperwork.

"Jamie,
there's actually another matter I'd like to discuss with you."

"Sure,
what is it?"

The
doctor seemed troubled, at a loss for words, unlike the self-assured,
good-natured man who had gotten them through these last few weeks. "It's rather
difficult to say..."

"About
Edward?"

"No,
no, Edward is recovering nicely. There will be lots of rehabilitative therapy,
of course, and hopefully he will regain much of his flexibility and strength.
This actually has to do with you."

"Me?
How do you mean?"

"Well,
you understand that for your brother's transfusion that all donated blood had
to be subjected to a series of tests so that we could check for a variety of
infections," he faltered, "you know... so we could keep your brother safe."

"Yes,
I understand." The gravity of what the doctor was trying to say began to weigh
on her. "Did you find a problem with my blood?"

"Not
a problem, exactly..."

He
put his hand on her arm. It was the first time that Jamie could remember that
Doctor Tucker, for all his kindness, had made physical contact with her; she
flinched at its unexpectedness, and a memory came to her: When her nephew Peter
was three years old, she and he had been walking in Eisenhower Park on Long Island after a game of miniature golf. A small sparrow came to perch on top of a
nearby bench, and Peter had screamed, terrified, at the sight of the tiny
thing; the startled bird flew away immediately, but Peter was inconsolable.
"There's nothing to be afraid of," Jamie said. "It's only a bird. It can't hurt
you. Look around. They're everywhere. No one else is afraid." But Peter shook
his head and said, "No one else sees the danger. Only me."

Jamie looked past Doctor Tucker through the rain-speckled
glass window. Across the parking lot stood the towering west wing of Albany Memorial Hospital where, somewhere, up on the third floor, healing on a hospital
bed, was Don Bailino. She had spent many nights, in the relative quiet of the
hospital, looking out that window and wondering if the fear and the anxiety
would ever go away. Since Bailino's arrest, everyone—Wilcox, Governor Grand,
Mrs. Grand, Reynaldo, and Edward among them—had been assuring Jamie that Don
Bailino would no longer be able to hurt her, that she would be safe, have
protection. Years later, her nephew, who has learned that birds cannot hurt
him, still flinches when a sparrow flies too close. And for the first time,
Jamie felt as if she knew why.
No one else sees the danger.

But
if she had learned anything during this time, it was to take things day by day,
to trust herself and hope for the best, to learn from mistakes and try again.
She imagined that trauma did that for people, reminded them of all that they
had instead of the things that they lost. She remembered her mother's words:
"You don't always need a doctor, or people, to tell you what's going to happen,
sweetie. Some things you just know." Jamie knew that despite all the assurances
there was still a real danger out there, but she hoped that by concentrating on
the good, the bad could one day fall away. And she hoped that she could one day
live a life free from fear. In the meantime, she would keep trying.

Jamie
put her hand over Doctor Tucker's, which was still on her arm. "It'll be all
right. Whatever it is," she said. And she meant it.

Then
Doctor Tucker said the unexpected words, and everything changed.

"You're
pregnant."

For many years, the idea of
this book settled comfortably into the background of my life, and I'd like to
take a moment to acknowledge those individuals who helped me yank it to the fore.
A heartfelt thank you:

To
Judy Linden, Ellen Scordato and the entire team at Stonesong, which signed-up
Baby
Grand
back in January 2010 when the manuscript was merely a third
completed. Thank you for your dedication and for being staunch supporters not
only of this book, but of me.

To
Julia Markus, Martha McPhee and all my graduate professors at Hofstra University, the place where this book grew from a notation in a Word document to a
partial manuscript. I am grateful for your advice and your encouragement.

To
all my writer-friends and the "Making 'Baby Grand'" community on Wordpress,
Facebook, Twitter and beyond, who have had a front row seat throughout the
entire writing, editing and publishing process for this book. Thank you for
cheerleading
Baby Grand
and for all your words of wisdom. I am proud to
be in your company.

To
Ma'am and Sir, who, although you are amused by "this book business" I've gotten
myself into, are there whenever I need you — unless, of course,
Murder, She
Wrote
is on. (Is it Wednesday already?)

To
Viki, my person, for listening to me whine "I have no talent" during the dark
days of the writing life and for calling me the next day to ask, "Well, do you
have talent
today
?" and reminding me that I do. Thank you, as always,
for being my friend.