Nothing to Fear (21 page)

"Hasn't he come back yet?" she asked.

"No," I shouted. "Look, I gotta find him. Where did he go?"

"Well, he had a number of calls to make. Is this an emergency, young man?"

"Yes, it's an emergency. My ma's having a baby!"

"Oh well, then, if that's all—"

"What do you mean, if that's all!"

Mrs. Davis smiled and shook her head. "You men get so worked up over these things. It's the most natural thing in the world. Why I remember when Mrs. Flaherty—"

"Mrs. Davis, please ... you don't understand. I've got to find Doc
now!
"

"All right, all right. I'll tell you where he went. But I'll let you in on a little secret. Your mama will probably go right ahead and have her baby just fine, with or without Doc."

She was writing as she spoke, and when she finished she handed me a list of addresses. I grabbed it from her hand and tore out of the room without even bothering to say thanks. Down on the street I checked the list. Chances are she copied it right out of the appointment book in order, I figured, so if I started with the last one first, that's probably where he'd be.

It turned out that Mrs. Davis had more brains than I'd given her credit for and had already reversed the list. That still didn't help, though, because Doc apparently followed his own route which had nothing to do with order whatsoever. I ended up going to all four addresses only to find that Doc had been and gone and apparently was on his way back home again.

Nearly frantic and sweating like crazy, I stood once again banging furiously on Doc's door. It had been over an hour now since I'd left Ma. Anything could have happened. At last the door swung open.

"All right, all right," said Mrs. Davis. "Oh, it's you again. Doc just left. Didn't you pass him in the hall?"

"Left! Left where?"

"Why to see your mother, of course. Why didn't you tell me it was an emergency?"

I stared at her, so frustrated I didn't know whether to cry or scream. I just shook my head and bolted after Doc. I caught up with him on the next block. Boy, was he hopping mad!

"Why didn't you call me sooner?" he shouted.

"Sooner! Where do you think I've been? Chasing you all over the dad-blamed city, that's where!"

"Did you call the hospital?"

"What hospital?"

"The Fifth Avenue, of course!"

"No, I didn't call the hospital. You didn't say anything about any hospital. You said to call
you.
"

"Well, can't you use your brain, boy? Your mother's a sick woman."

"Don't you think I know that?"

Doc didn't answer. We had reached our building and he was taking the steps two at a time. When he reached the door he burst right through and stalked into Mama's room without a word to anyone.

Mrs. Riley stood leaning against the sink, a cup of tea in her hand. "And a good day to you, too, Doctor," she called after him. She turned and gave me a wink. "You've got a little brother," she said, just as calm as if she was saying
the mail came
or
there's beans for supper.
"And," she added, "your Mama is fine."

My knees suddenly started trembling and I knew that if I didn't sit down I was gonna fall down. Mrs. Riley knew it, too, I guess, because she suddenly rushed over and slid a chair under me.

"There, there," she said. "You've had quite a scare, haven't you, poor thing?"

"Mama's all right?" I whispered.

"Just fine."

"A brother?"

"A lovely little brother—a bit scrawny, but he'll fill out."

"And it's all over, just like that?"

"Just like that."

Doc Davis came out into the kitchen a few minutes later, looking like he'd just been robbed.

"She's still going to the hospital," Doc insisted, shaking his finger at Mrs. Riley.

"I am
not!
" came Mama's voice from the bedroom.

Mrs. Riley smiled. "Go on," she said, pushing me toward the bedroom door. "Go meet your brother. I'll talk to the good doctor."

Mama was propped up on a couple of pillows. She looked tired, but happy. She smiled at me and reached out her arms. I hugged her tight.

"I love you, Danny," she whispered.

"I love you, too, Mama. Are you sure you're okay?"

"Just fine. You've got a brother." She pointed to the Rileys' old cradle on the other side of the bed. I went around and peeked in.

"He's little," I said.

"Aye. So were you once."

"That little?"

"Well, not quite. He's a bit early, but Doc says he'll catch up. You can pick him up. He won't break."

I bent down and picked the little fella up. He was as floppy as a rag doll.

"His head. Watch his head," Mama warned.

"I know," I told her, sliding my elbow under his head. "It wasn't so long ago Maureen was new."

Mama smiled. "I guess I'm forgettin' how grown-up you are."

I looked down at the baby. He was all puffy and pink, with a mass of curly black hair that clung in damp ringlets around his face. He was warm in my arms, and I felt sorry for the things I'd thought about him the past few weeks. I was glad he was okay. He held his hands clenched in two tight fists, like a tiny prizefighter ready to take on the world. I poked at one of the fists and five tiny fingers fanned out, then closed again over mine.

"Got a good grip," I said.

At the sound of my voice, he opened his eyes and stared up into my face.

"He's lookin' at me," I said.

"Sure he is," said Mama. "And I'm bettin' he can see you, too, no matter what the old wives say."

"Sure he can. See the way he's wrinkling up his nose? He's thinking, 'Gee, I hope I'm not related to this funny-looking guy.'"

Mama laughed. "He's not thinkin' any such thing, now."

I looked at the little face again, and suddenly felt a twinge of jealousy. "He's the image of Pa," I said. "It's him should be Daniel junior, not me."

Mama's eyes filled with tears and she looked away.

"Mama, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you sad."

"No, it's all right." Mama brushed her tears away. "Come on over here, the both of ya."

I carried the baby around and sat down on the side of the bed. Mama reached up and grabbed my chin.

"Now, you listen," she said sternly. "I don't ever want to hear you talkin' like that again. You are yer daddy's firstborn son. He gave you his name, and it belongs to you. You remind me more of him every day."

I made a face, thinking she was just giving me a line, but Mama shook her head and went on.

"I'm not speakin' of yer features or the color of yer hair. I'm speakin' of yer heart, Danny, and yer courage. The way you're growin' to be a man. You are yer daddy's son, all right, and you've done nothing but proud by his name."

I smiled, warmed by her words.

"Besides," she went on, "this little bairn's got a name of 'is own—Padraic."

"Padraic?"

"Aye." Mama beamed. "It was
my
father's name."

"I know that, Mama ... but—"

"But what?"

"Well, don't you think it sounds sort of ... Irish?"

Mama's eyes flew open wide.

"And what were you expectin' then? Jewish? Or Spanish, maybe?"

"No, Mama, American."

"American?"

"Yes, Ma. We
are
American."

"Aye, that we are, but..." Mama's eyes grew troubled. "Are ya wantin' so soon to forget yer Irish roots?"

"No, Ma, of course not. I'm proud to be Irish. It's just that the kids'll give him an awful hard time with a name like Padraic."

Mama stared at me a moment longer, then brushed the baby's cheek with her finger and smiled.

"So," she said, "yer big brother is lookin' out for ya already. What do ya think of that?"

The baby yawned and closed his eyes.

"Aye," said Mama, "sleep well. You're in good hands."

She looked up at me.

"American it is then," she said. "
Patrick
. Patrick Seamus Garvey."

"Seamus?"

"Something wrong with Seamus, too?"

"Nope, nope. Seamus is fine."

"Don't worry," I whispered as I tucked Patrick back into his cradle. "Nobody ever uses their middle name anyway."

When Doc left, the score stood tied, Doc-one, Ma-one. Doc had agreed not to make Ma go to the hospital as long as Ma agreed not to try to nurse Patrick.

"You're too weak," he told her, "and the baby will thrive just as well on cows' milk."

"Aye," grumbled Mama, "and pigs can fly." But she gave in.

It was late by the time we got everyone settled, and I fell into bed, exhausted. Tired as I was, though, I jumped up again in the middle of the night as soon as Patrick started to cry. We had moved Maureen's crib into my room, but still, I was afraid Patrick might wake her. Besides, I figured I could give Patrick his bottle and let Mama rest. I guessed she was exhausted, too, 'cause she never moved a muscle when I went in to pick up the baby. I whisked him out to the kitchen and popped the little sugar teat Maggie
had made for him into his mouth to keep him quiet while I heated his milk.

A soft knock came on the door, and I opened it to find Hank standing there.

"Heard the little feller hollerin'," he said. "Figured you might need a hand."

"Can you change a diaper?" I asked.

"Reckon I can. I was second oldest of fourteen kids."

"Whew! And I thought Rileys were a crowd."

Hank laid Patrick on the table and started undoing his pins.

"He sure is a puny one, ain't he? How's your ma?"

"Okay, I guess. She's still sleeping."

Hank looked at me and raised an eyebrow. "Sleepin'?"

"Yeah."

"You mean she didn't wake up with this little feller hollerin'?"

"No," I said, my stomach starting to squeeze into a knot. "I ... guess she's real tired."

Hank pushed his hair back and scratched his head. He looked troubled. "Never heard of a mother so tired she didn't hear her newborned baby cry," he said. "I better just check in on her."

"No, no, I'll check," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "I'm sure she's fine."

I tiptoed back into Mama's room and over to the bed. Her face looked small and pale, lost in the tangle of red hair that spread out over her pillow. One leg hung down over the side of the bed, as if she
had thought to get up, then changed her mind. The blanket covered her chest and I stood stone still, staring at it, waiting to see it rise and fall. A second went by, two, ten, an eternity, and still the blanket did not rise. Trembling, I placed my hand in front of her open mouth. I held my own breath, waiting. It seemed forever. Then, at last, there was a rush of warm air.

I breathed again myself—deeply, with relief—then moved my hand up and rested it on her forehead. It was damp and cold.

"Mama?" I whispered.

There was no response.

"Mama? Are you sleeping?"

Still no response. I stepped forward and leaned in closer. My leg bumped into Mama's, and I felt something wet and sticky beneath my toes. I looked down. There was a small, dark puddle on the floor. My heart thudded against my chest at the sight of it. My hand shook as I reached out to pull the blanket back.

"Oh God," I breathed. "Oh,
God!
Hank! Come quick!"

Doc stormed out of the operating room in a blind rage.

"I told her!" he shouted. "I told her. What a waste. What a damned waste!"

"Doctor!" One of the nurses gave Doc a sharp, silencing look, then nodded toward the bench where Hank and I sat waiting. Doc shook his head in disgust and walked over to us. He looked at Hank, looked at me, then motioned Hank to one side.

"No." I stood up. "She's
my
mother. Tell me."

Doc studied my face again, then nodded.

"Your mother's lost a lot of blood," he said, "and she was very weak to begin with. She's in a coma. Do you know what a coma is?"

I shook my head.

"It means her brain was deprived of oxygen for
some time and is now functioning only on a rudimentary level."

"What does that mean?" I asked.

"It means she can breathe, and that's about it."

Doc's harsh words and manner were hard to take, but I had to know more.

"Will she get better?" I asked.

"Better. Or worse," said Doc.

I stared at him. If I asked the next question I had to be ready for the answer, and I wasn't sure I was ready yet. If only Pa were here. Where on earth was Pa?

Hank put a hand on my shoulder.

"You okay, son?" he asked.

I jerked away from his touch. "Of course I'm okay, and I'm not your son." I glared at Doc. "So what are you saying?" I asked. "Is she gonna die?"

"I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know? What kind of answer is that? You're the doctor."

"That's right. I'm the doctor. Not God. I've done all I can. If you're a believer, you can pray. If not, all you can do is wait."

"How long?"

Doc shrugged. "Days, weeks, months maybe, though I doubt she could hang on that long. There's just no telling."

"What ... What will she be like if she lives?"

"No tellin' that, either," said Doc. "Don't know how serious the oxygen deprivation was. She could
be normal. She could be ... not much better than she is right now."

It was all too much. I slumped back down on the bench.

"You might as well go on home now," Doc said.

I looked up at him. "Home? You mean, just leave her here? What if something happens? What if she needs me?"

"If there's any change, we'll call you."

"But ... I
can't
go home."

"Look, son," said Doc. "I'll tell you once more. This can go on for weeks or even months. You
can't
stay here."

"Can I just see her, then?"

"Not today, maybe tomorrow." Doc started walking away.

"Please?" I called after him.

"Tomorrow!" he shouted over his shoulder.

Hank patted me on the back.

"Come on, boy," he said gently. "We'd better go."