Key Lime Pie (26 page)

Sadie frowned at the sign and looked around, realizing this room was set apart from the rest of the unit just like the name Montez had been separated on the sign. Hopefully, within the next few minutes Sadie would know why there was so much differentiation between Megan and the other women in Labor and Delivery.

Please let this work,
she thought to herself before pushing open the door.

Butterfinger Cookies

1⁄2 cup butter, softened

2⁄3 cup sugar

3⁄4 cup brown sugar

1 egg

1 1⁄4 cup peanut butter (chunky or creamy)

1 1⁄2 teaspoon vanilla

1 cup flour

1⁄2 teaspoon baking soda

1⁄4 teaspoon salt

5 (2.1-ounce) Butterfinger candy bars, chopped* (about 2 cups)

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Cream butter and sugars. Add egg; mix. Add peanut butter and vanilla; mix until smooth. Add flour, baking soda, and salt. Mix well. Add Butterfingers; mix. Roll into 1-inch balls, use a 1-inch scoop, or drop by 1-inch spoonfuls onto ungreased baking sheet. Bake 10 to 12 minutes, just until browned. Allow cookies to cool 2 minutes on baking sheet before moving to cooling rack.

Makes 4 dozen.

*Chop Butterfingers with a chef’s knife or put in a zip-top bag and crush with a rolling pin. Food processors make the pieces too fine and you lose the crunch.

Sadie had made it this far by pretending she knew what she was doing, but she was at the most important part of her journey now; the stakes were higher than ever.

Taking a breath, she pushed the door all the way open, then closed it behind her, holding the hairbrush and lotion she’d bought at the hospital gift shop. The curtain was drawn around part of the bed, hiding it from Sadie’s position at the door.

“Hello, hello,” Sadie said, using her “everything’s great” tone as she moved forward. She reached out a hand and pulled back the curtain. The sight of a woman curled on her left side with her hand on her swollen belly was a shock. Sadie kept her smile in place, however, and continued forward as the woman’s big blue eyes opened and then blinked up at her. Blue eyes just like Eric’s. Sadie’s stomach flipped to have the visual evidence in front of her. It
was
Megan, she had no doubt about that, and not only was Megan alive, but she seemed to be well . . . and very pregnant. But she’d been here for two days, and the note on the door had said surgical. Was there a problem with the pregnancy?

Megan’s hair was cut into a bob, shoulder length, and while she didn’t have any makeup on, the acrylic nails and the highlights in her hair attested to the fact that she’d been taking care of herself. Sadie was grateful for that. Ever since realizing Joe had wanted to help Megan, Sadie had worried the poor girl was being mistreated somehow. Seeing her up close put many of those fears to rest; Megan could have passed as a soccer mom.

“Hi,” Sadie said. “I’m . . . Connie, one of the hospital volunteers. I wondered if you’d like to have your hair brushed, or maybe some lotion rubbed on your feet?”

“No, thank you,” Megan said. Sadie realized her eyes were somewhat red and swollen. She’d been crying. Not in the last few minutes, but not long ago either.

“Are you sure, sweetie?” Sadie said, cocking her head to the side. “The very best medicine is often a little pampering. Just to help you relax a little bit.”

Megan looked at her again, her eyes traveling to the brush in Sadie’s hand. “My mother used to brush my hair when I was a little girl,” she said, a sad and wistful tone in her voice.

Sadie almost said “I know,” but stopped herself just in time. “It’s even an antistatic brush,” she said lightly, holding it up for inspection. “I can brush your hair as long as you like without making you look like you put your finger in a light socket.”

Megan managed a small smile, which Sadie took as an invitation. She moved around the bed so Megan’s back was toward her. Megan made no move to sit up, so Sadie simply focused on the side of Megan’s head that wasn’t against the pillow.

“So, how are you doing?” she said as she pulled the brush through Megan’s hair. As her hair moved to the side, Sadie saw a small tattoo, just beneath Megan’s hairline, centered on her neck. It took a few seconds for Sadie to read what it said, but she thought it was the name “Alex” in fancy lettering.

“Okay, I guess,” Megan said, her voice still soft. Still scared.

“And the baby?” Sadie said. “I bet you’re excited to meet him or her about now, aren’t you?”
Could the baby be named Alex?
Sadie wondered. But would a pregnant woman get a tattoo?

Megan didn’t answer, but she dipped her chin and seemed to curl into herself a little more.

“I’ve said something wrong,” Sadie said, worried she’d ruined her chances right out the gate. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“No,” Megan said in a tiny voice that made her sound young and vulnerable. “It’s not your fault. It’s just . . . hard.”

Sadie put a hand on the girl’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “I’m sorry,” she said, and although she wanted to ask what was hard, she knew that would be too pushy. “I’m sure everything will be okay, though. When are you due?”

“Not for three and a half more months,” Megan said.

Sadie looked at the size of Megan’s belly. Three more months? That couldn’t be right.

“Twins,” Megan said, but she still sounded upset, making Sadie wonder if she didn’t want to be pregnant. But then she realized that Megan’s emotion must be related to the “Surgical” sign on the door. She looked at Megan’s extended belly again. It wasn’t as big as Macy Nelson’s had been when she had her twins a few years ago. Macy had looked impossibly huge, but Megan didn’t look much bigger than a typical woman did at full term, which made sense if she was only two-thirds of the way through her pregnancy.

“That’s wonderful,” Sadie said, trying to choose her words carefully but, with Megan’s back to her, unsure of how well she was doing. “Girls or boys? Or one of each?”

“Boys,” Megan said, and Sadie could finally hear the tenderness that laced itself within those words. Even though it had been many years since Sadie had come to terms with not giving birth to her own children, that tone of wistful motherhood still caught her in the gut. For a long time it had nearly reduced her to tears when other women took on that glow, both in words and in expression, when they talked about their pregnancies. Sadie would never begrudge God the gift her adopted children were, but there were still moments when she wished she’d had the whole experience.

She pulled the brush through Megan’s hair again and put those thoughts back where they belonged, far behind her gratitude for two wonderful children, a husband who had loved them all, and a full life which held very few regrets. Not everyone had it so good.

“Congratulations,” she said, and she really did mean it.

“I hope so,” Megan whispered, almost too quiet for Sadie to hear. She turned her head into the pillow.

“Oh, sweetie,” Sadie said, stilling the brush and laying a hand on Megan’s shoulder. Megan cried for a moment before getting a hold of herself.

Sadie was hesitant to push, but then again, that’s why she’d come—to learn everything she could about Megan and the new life she was living. “What’s going on?”

“You don’t know?” Megan asked.

Sadie dissected the tone, looking for suspicion, but only heard surprise.

“They don’t tell volunteers much about the patients,” she said, glancing toward the door and praying no one else came in for a few more minutes. “I don’t mean to pry, though,” she said, hoping that would encourage Megan’s continued trust.

“They call it TTTS,” Megan said, pausing for a breath. “Twin-to-Twin Transfusion Syndrome. It means one of the babies is getting too much blood, too many nutrients, and the other is . . . the other isn’t getting enough.”

“Oh dear,” Sadie said. She wanted to move around to the front of the bed and take Megan’s hand, try to give her a hug or something, but she just kept brushing her hair instead for fear that was all the comforting Megan would allow. Even though Megan was talking, Sadie still sensed a ring of caution in everything she said. “But the babies are okay?”

“So far,” Megan said. “But the doctors say it’s serious. Without surgery, they aren’t sure Carlos will make it. That’s why I had to come here; this is the closest hospital that can do the surgery.”

“Carlos is the twin who’s in trouble?” Sadie asked for clarification.

Megan nodded, her head still against the pillow as she raised an IV-laden hand to wipe her eyes. Across the back of her wrist, above the tape that held the IV tubing against her arm, was a three-inch scar that stood out against her tanned skin. It was wide in the center and a little puckered, attesting to the fact that she hadn’t had it stitched up, but probably should have. Sadie thought back to the police report she’d read in Eric’s car. It had clearly said Megan had no noticeable scars. No tattoos either. What had Megan been through since she left home? Her heart ached a little more for this poor girl—this woman—who was obviously facing a very difficult time. Was Alex the father of these babies? Sadie wondered.

“When is the surgery?” she asked.

“Tomorrow morning,” Megan said, her voice quivering. She was so scared; it caused a lump to rise in Sadie’s throat. She wanted to tell her that her father was in Florida, just a phone call away. He’d be right beside her, help her through this.

“And the babies’ father?” Sadie asked, thinking about Joe’s trip to Paris. “Is he here with you?”

“No,” Megan said, and her voice cracked. “He had to stay with the boys until he could make arrangements.”

Boys?

“You have other children?”

“Yes,” Megan said. “Two boys—five and three.”

They couldn’t be Megan’s children, then. She’d only been gone three years. “Oh, how fun,” Sadie said out loud, still brushing while her brain tried to piece the information together in a way that would make sense of it all. She scanned the counters and tables in the room in hopes of finding a family picture, but there wasn’t anything personal in the room. “Will your husband be here in time for the surgery?” Sadie asked, hoping that Megan was married and not part of one of those modern relationships where marriage was considered obsolete. She glanced quickly at Megan’s left hand—wedding ring; thank goodness.

“No,” Megan squeaked, then took a deep breath as though trying to calm herself. “He hopes to come next week though.”

“How long do you have to stay in the hospital?” Sadie asked.

“Ten weeks.”

Sadie’s mouth dropped open and her hand stilled until she realized what she was doing and went back to the methodical brushing. “Ten weeks?” she repeated. “You can’t go home after the surgery?”

“It’s too far,” Megan said, crying again. “I have to be on bed rest until the babies are born, and I can’t fly or sail home, so I have no choice but to stay here until I can deliver. Even then the babies will be about a month early.”

Sail?
A flight, Sadie could understand, but where did Megan live that sailing provided an option of getting home? Megan didn’t mention a car. It had to be an island, right? No roads. Cuba was maybe a couple hundred miles away, but going back and forth was pretty much impossible, wasn’t it? Key West? But that was drivable thanks to the highway that connected the Keys to the mainland.

Sadie heard voices outside the door and held her breath, thinking they were coming in. They moved on, but Sadie was reminded that time was of the essence. Every question mattered.

“You don’t look old enough to have a five-year-old,” she said, looping the conversation back to the earlier topic, even though she knew Megan was twenty-five years old—plenty old enough to have a child that age.

“I’m twenty-nine,” Megan answered.

She was
adding
years to her age? But then Sadie remembered the hospital admission forms—Liliana Montez was twenty-nine.

“You don’t look a day over twenty-five,” Sadie said.

Megan didn’t answer, but Sadie sensed a change in the feel of the room. “I’m sure everything will turn out fine,” she said, hoping to restore the younger woman’s comfort. “You said one of the twins was named Carlos. What about the other one?”

“Jorge,” she said, using the Spanish pronunciation of George that sounded like Horhay. Two Latin-American names.

“Good strong names,” she said. “Strong names for strong babies.”

“I hope so,” Megan said, her hand rubbing her stomach as though comforting her unborn children.

“Ten weeks is a long time to be in the hospital,” Sadie said, digging for more information. “I hope you have some family close by who can help you out.”

She immediately realized she’d said the wrong thing again. Megan tensed and didn’t say anything at all for a few seconds, then she pulled forward on the bed a couple of inches—away from Sadie. “Thank you,” she said. “I’m going to try to get some sleep now.”