Saving Abby (21 page)

“What do you mean?” Josh asked. Claire struggled to remain awake long enough to hear Abby’s response.

“I think you know what I mean.”

Claire let out a small groan, not liking what she heard.

THIRTY

MILLIE

Present day

T
he fireplace blazed in Claire’s front room, and Millie was sweating like a pig. She fanned herself furiously and wondered how her daughter could be curled up on the couch with a blanket covering her legs with a hot mug of tea in her hands and not be melting.

Getting old sucked.

She gulped back her cold glass of water, but it did little to cool her down.

“Aren’t you warm, honey?” she asked for the umpteenth time in the past hour.

She’d come over to help sort through all the gifts, and they’d spent over thirty minutes so far oohing and aahing over the little sleepers and onesies. Her favorites were the little black sheep gifts. From stuffed animals, to books and outfits with little lambs on them . . . The fact that people went to great lengths to find things with black lambs, something everyone knew Claire collected, was special in its own way.

“Go ahead and shut the fire off, Mom. I’m not frozen anymore.” Claire gave her a smile as she rested her head against the top of the couch and turned the page of the memory book from the surprise baby shower.

“Who thought of this idea?” Claire asked as she giggled over something she’d read.

“I did. I figured it would be something you’d always cherish. I had a memory book given to me at my own shower. Did I ever tell you that? Your grandmother and aunts wrote the most practical advice I’d ever received. Some silly,” she said with a shrug. “But practical nonetheless.”

“Like what?” Claire’s interest was piqued, Millie could tell.

“Well, your grandmother would dip a soother in honey for teething babies.”

“That’s a lot of sugar.”

“That’s a hyped up baby who wouldn’t sleep.” Millie laughed, but only because she had to learn the hard way.

“Thanks for organizing the baby shower, Mom. I know it was your idea, wasn’t it?” Claire set the book down and looked at her with sleepy eyes.

“I wasn’t the only one involved. Abigail helped a lot, and Liz rounded everyone up. It was a community effort of love.” She’d been pleased with how well it had all come together. Claire hadn’t suspected anything, which is what she’d wanted.

Otherwise . . .

“Yeah, yeah. But you instigated it and decided to keep it a surprise—admit it,” Claire accused.

“Would you have come if you’d known about it?”

Claire shrugged.

“Didn’t think so.” Millie leaned over and patted Claire on the leg. “Which is why we kept it a surprise. You didn’t mind, right?”

“No, it was fine.”

Millie knew from the tone that it had been anything but fine, but she was so proud of her daughter for not freaking out last night and leaving.

“I don’t think there’s anything you guys need to buy for your little one for the next year, other than diapers.” Millie glanced over at the piles of bags, and her heart swelled with the amount of love her daughter was shown. “Do you want help putting everything away?”

“Josh and I can tackle that, but thank you.” Claire yawned, compelling Millie to yawn with her.

“You know a good way to find out if someone isn’t a sociopath is to see if they yawn after you.”

“What?” Claire gave her a weird look.

“No, I’m serious. Something about how our brains are wired and yawns being contagious.” Millie tried to explain.

“Mom, you say the weirdest things sometimes, you know that?”

“I know.” She really didn’t know where that came from other than she knew she needed to give her gift to Claire and she was hesitating.

Millie stood and paced around the room, tidying things up here and there.

“Quit stalling,” Claire said.

Millie turned. “What do you mean?” Had she been that obvious?

“I love you, Mom, but you’re the worst at hiding things from me,” Claire said.

“Other than the baby shower,” Millie muttered.

“Which explains why you were avoiding my calls the past few days.” Claire frowned at her. “Spill.”

Millie bit her lip and plopped down on the couch again. She reached for the bag she’d set on the ground and held it in her lap.

She had no idea how to give this to Claire. No idea what to say or how to explain it.

“I wasn’t sure when to give this to you, but . . .” She rubbed the back of her neck. “With your delivery being bumped up and all, I figured I should do it now rather than . . .”

“I’m not going to die,” Claire said quietly.

“Of course you’re not,” Millie snapped. “You’ll be fine. I know that,” she said, softer this time. “I just . . . you’ll be so busy and preoccupied and not feeling your best after the baby is here and with Abby forcing you to start the treatments right away, so . . .” She rambled as she held out the bag.

“What is this?” Claire reached for it and looked inside.

“Mom?” Claire pulled out a photo and choked up as she stared at it.

Millie leaned forward, crossing her legs as she stared down at the carpet.

“I don’t know how else to say this other than to just say it.” Millie said.

Claire put the photo down and nudged her with her leg. “Don’t you dare do this to me. I’ve had enough of people giving me bad news.”

Millie turned, facing her daughter and looked her straight in the eyes.

“But it’s not. I promise. It’s not.” She took the photo and looked at it. She couldn’t help but smile at the quirky smile and messy hair on the boy. Her grandson.

“I have a story to tell you, but I’d like you to promise that you’ll listen to me before you say anything. Please?” Millie begged.

Claire slowly nodded, her hands gripped together on her lap.

“I know sometimes you think I’m cold or indifferent about your first child, but that’s further from the truth than you could ever imagine. I can’t live in regrets, honey, I just can’t, but I can’t forget either. I know you needed to learn to walk away, to find a way to keep going after you gave your son up for adoption, but I couldn’t.” Millie saw the shock on her daughter’s face, mixed in with pain and remorse. And she knew she was to blame.

“I know you decided to have no contact with the family, but I wrote the adoptive mother a letter, from one mother to another and asked her to cherish my grandson and that if he ever asked, to tell him a little about his mother. Then I told her stories of how much you loved him and what kind of girl you were . . . you know, just in case he ever wondered.” Millie had to look away, the pain in her daughter’s gaze was too much for her.

“The mother, Marie, wrote back. She sent me photos of Jackson as he grew, ones taken on his birthdays and when he took his first steps . . . Those things that she thought maybe you wished you could have been there for.

“I wanted to share these with you,” Millie continued. “But every time I asked if you wanted to keep in touch, you said no. I worried that I would be opening up a wound you couldn’t handle if it were open.”

“I said no,” Claire cried, “because it would hurt too much, because I needed to move on, because I was worried I would lose myself in the pain of giving my child away to a complete stranger.” She wiped the tears off her face. “I said no because I knew his life would be better without me in it.”

She looked at the image of her son, and Millie’s heart crumbled at the love and fear on her daughter’s face.

“He’s happy and loved, and Marie has written so many letters sharing his life with us.”

“Does he know of me?” Claire clutched his image to her chest.

“No.”

The questions regarding that one small word hung between them.

“So why . . .”

Millie scooted closer to her daughter on the couch and gathered her in her arms.

“Because he wants to know you, or of you. But not until he’s eighteen.”

Claire slowly nodded.

“Does he know about you?”

“No. I promise. I wouldn’t do that to you, or him. All communication was between myself and Marie, and only for a few years. That’s it, and as you’ll see in the letters, it’s only once or twice a year. Birthday and Christmas.”

“Birthdays.” Claire leaned her head back on the couch and closed her eyes. “Every year when I remembered his birthday, every card, every gift I donated in his name . . . you had a photo. Something to look at, to see the changes as he grew up, while I only had the memory of holding him in my arms.” She pulled the blanket off and tossed it to the side. “Every birthday when I would try to talk to you about him, and you’d brush it aside, you read about his life while keeping me in the dark.”

Claire stood and stared down at Millie.

“I need some time to process this,” she said.

Millie stood. “Of course. Honey.” She reached only to have Claire step back. Millie’s hand dropped to her side. “I . . . I did what I thought was best, and while I know I haven’t always been the best mother to you, all I’ve ever done is loved you the best I know how.”

When Claire didn’t respond, Millie gathered her purse, shrugged on her coat and scarf, and slowly opened the door.

“Why now?” Claire called out.

“Because I wanted you to have another reason to fight, to live.”

“I have lots of reasons.” Claire’s hand caressed her swollen belly.

“I know, honey. One more doesn’t hurt though, right?” It was so hard for her not to run to her daughter and hold her close, to tell her how much she was loved and how sorry she was for not telling her sooner.

“Thank you.”

What?

“I’m angry and hurt and very, very confused,” Claire said. “I’m also happy, though. To know he’s with a good family, that he’s okay and loved.” She tilted her head up and groaned. “But my heart hurts, Mom. You kept something from me for sixteen years. That’s no different than what dad did.”

“Oh honey, no.” Millie dropped her purse and rushed forward, taking Claire’s hands within her own. “Please don’t think that. It’s not what I wanted. I just—”

“Just wanted to make sure the chance was there, of getting to know him, right?”

Millie nodded and breathed a sigh of relief. Claire understood. She understood.

“It still hurts.”

“I know. And I’m so sorry.” Millie brushed the tears from her daughter’s cheek and placed a kiss on her forehead. “I’d hoped there would be a day when you were ready for him to be in your life, and I wanted to do what I could to make that happen. I only ever thought of you. Maybe I did it wrong . . . but I did it with love.”

A smile played with Claire’s lips, and she gasped. She took Millie’s hand and placed it on her belly.

Millie marveled at the tiny movements she felt beneath her palm.

“I love you, Mom.”

“Oh honey, I love you too. There isn’t anything I won’t do for you and this little one. I want you to know that. Anything.”

“Good.” Claire leaned into her for a hug. “I’m going to hold you to that,” she whispered.

THIRTY-ONE

CLAIRE

Present day

Walk daily.

Reduce sugar intake.

Sing songs to the baby every day.

Record bedtime stories for the baby and place headphones on my belly every night before bed.

Sort through all the baby clothing and place them in containers according to size.

Learn to drink decaf coffee.

Finish my story.

W
hile she didn’t get everything checked off the list she’d created, she was close. She would never learn to enjoy decaf and some days her headaches stopped her from going for that walk, but she was close to being finished with her story.

Claire was antsy. She pushed her notebook away and paced the upstairs floor, walking from her bedroom to the baby’s room and back to the office. She needed to do something to keep herself busy.

Abby would be calling any time now to give them the results of the MRI she had this morning. If it was good news, then it meant the tumors hadn’t grown, and she could have surgery after spending time with her baby.

If it was not-so-good news, then the tumors had grown, and there would be no surgery.

She once thought she would be okay with that. She’d made the decision to forgo any sort of treatment in order to give her child a chance to live, even knowing it could mean her death . . . , and she’d been okay with that.

She wasn’t sure anymore.

“I want to get to know you, watch you grow, and listen to your laugh. I want to hear you read me stories and witness how easy it is to wrap your daddy around your little finger. I want to dress you up for your first day of school and cry as you climb onto the bus. I want to bake you cookies and play hopscotch and maybe one day introduce you to your big brother.” She rubbed her belly as she talked to her baby.

Despite telling Abby at her first ultrasound that they didn’t want to know the sex of the baby, Claire really did.

From the very beginning, she’d wished for a girl.

Josh hoped for a boy. One to play baseball with and roughhouse on the grass.

Abby let it slip one night when it was just the two of them—that she couldn’t wait to see her goddaughter in the cute little dresses she’d bought. She hadn’t realized what she’d said at first, and then apologized profusely for spilling the beans.

Now Claire just wanted to meet and know her daughter.

“I can hear you pacing up there. Come on, come join me downstairs.” Josh called up to her from the living room.

She leaned over the railing, as much as she could, and smiled down. “Sorry. I have just a few things left to take care of, and then I’ll be down.”

“Can’t they wait?”

“I’ll be down soon, I promise. Besides, Abby won’t be calling for a few more hours.”

Josh shuffled his feet. “I might go for a run then, do you mind?”

“It’s not too cold?”

“Nah. I’ll warm up quick enough anyways.”

“Go. Burn off that energy. I’ll just work on some more drawings.”

She was glad he was getting out of the house, even if it was to run in the cold. She could use the time alone.

Over the past couple of weeks, Claire had been working on some special projects. Along with letters and audio recordings of her reading her favorite stories, she’d also recorded several mom talks to her child, the things she might not get to say if things didn’t go as well as she hoped. She gave her advice about puberty and how important it was to have a girlfriend you could count on, she told her stories about Josh, and she gave her advice on dealing with Dad as she got older. Then there was the boy talk. But the one that was hardest for her was for when she was getting married. Claire had done a few retakes for that one.

The idea of not being there for her daughter’s wedding, or seeing her grandchild—that gutted her.

She had one last project to record, and today was the only day she could do it.

Over the past few months, she’d been working with her editor on a secret project, and she’d e-mailed the final draft this morning.

Josh thought she’d been working on a project for a client, but instead it was for herself. For them. For their child.

There wasn’t a title yet for the story. She wanted to wait until after their baby was born, because their child’s name would be on the book.
The adventures of xxx and her little black lamb.

Claire looked at the little black porcelain lamb that sat on her desk and smiled.

Claire pulled up the document on her computer and then started the recording.

“All right, love. Are you ready for your bedtime story? This is a special book, created just for you, and it’s extra special because . . . Well, because it’s all about an adventure I hope one day you’ll be able to take. There are special clues hidden not only in the story but in the pictures too. See if you can find them. Ask your daddy for help if you need to . . . but see if you can find them first, okay?

“Now remember . . . I love you. You are the child of my heart, the love of my life, and no matter how old you get or what roads you take, my love will always be there to help you if you need it.

“Ready now? Try to read along with me if you can.”

By the time Josh returned, Claire had completed her recording and cleaned up her office.

“No word?” Josh wiped the sweat off his forehead as he stood in the hallway.

“Not yet. How was the run?”

“Exactly what I needed. Want a hug?” He opened his arms and stepped forward while she backed away.

“You smell.” She wrinkled her nose. “Go have a shower and—”

“And you join me? Help me dry off? Get me all sweaty again?” His eyes twinkled with laughter as she swatted his arm playfully.

“What’s that?” He pointed to a box she’d set on the middle of her desk.

“That’s for later, you know . . . just in case.”

“In case what?” The teasing glint in his eyes disappeared. “In case what, Claire?”

She winced. She should have thought this out better, been more prepared. “In case something happens.”

“What’s in the box?” The iciness in Josh’s tone had Claire hugging herself. She hated this even though she knew it was necessary.

“Some letters, to you, my mom, Abby, Sami, and our baby. I also made some recordings and saved them on a thumb drive. It’s all explained in a note, just in case.”

Her husband stared at her. It wasn’t difficult to read his thoughts.

He was angry. Angry at her for needing a “just in case”
plan, and no doubt, angry at himself for not doing enough to avoid this situation.

“Just in case, Josh. You know me, always needing to be prepared. You can tell me
I told you so
after we come home from the hospital, and I’ll eat crow with grace, okay?” She needed him to understand.

“Nothing is going to happen. You know that, right?” Josh gripped her arms. “I need you to know it, Claire, to believe it deep inside. Because if you give up on me and our baby, I’ll never forgive you.”

“I am so confident that Abby is going to call us with good news that I called the bakery and asked them to make us a special cake that was half chocolate and half coconut. My mom is going to pick it up and bring it to the hospital, so we can celebrate after our baby is here.” She rose on her tiptoes and kissed him with all the love she had within her.

“You’d better get her to add the image of a crow on the top of it,” Josh mumbled, and he pulled her tight against him.

She pushed away, not enjoying his
eau de sweat
. “Already taken care of.”

When Claire had called the bakery earlier this morning to place the order, Kat had answered.

“Not again,” Kat said with a giggle. “Doesn’t Josh realize he’s not to fight with his pregnant wife?”

“This time I’m the one at fault,” she said. “Hopefully,” she added under her breath.

The first time Claire had ordered a crow cake was a few years after they were married. They’d fought over who would win the Stanley Cup, and she’d lost that one. The next time, Josh lost a bet that he could win a pie-eating contest during a local fair. For that one, Kat had made an apple pie with the cutout of a crow on the top crust. It had become a running joke, and either Josh or Claire ordered one at least once a year.

Claire curled up on their bed and waited for Josh to finish up with his shower. The phone rang just as he was getting out. They both froze.

After the third ring, Claire picked it up.

“Please tell me it’s good news,” she said after checking that it was Abby’s cell number. She put it on speaker.

“I hope your bags are packed, because I’ve got a delivery room scheduled this afternoon with your name on it.”

“What does that mean?” Josh asked. He wrapped a towel around his waist and dripped water on the carpet as he stood by the bed.

“It means, things look good. The tumors haven’t grown since the last MRI, and I’ve got a team on standby not only for helping deliver and take care of your baby but for your surgery as well.” Abby said, her voice swelling with happiness.

“I’m going to be okay?” Claire checked, her hand covering her mouth as the news set in.

“I promised you I’d take care of you, and that’s exactly what I’m doing, girl. You’re not out of the woods yet. There’s the surgery and then the radiation, but you’re going to be okay. You’ll see your little one grow up, I promise you.”

She was going to be okay. She still had the tumors, but she wasn’t going to die. Not today. Not tomorrow . . . not anytime soon, not with Abby by her side.

“I’m going to be okay,” she whispered to Josh who leaned down and kissed her.

“Grab your bags and stop in at the Wandering Table. Gloria wants to feed you before you come in, because once you’re here, all you’re going to get is ice chips and Jell-O. But don’t eat too much . . . I don’t want you getting sick, so just eat the soup she made along with one of her biscuits. And bring me some too, okay? Delivering a baby is a lot of work, let me tell you.”

Claire leaned back in the bed and laughed, really laughed, as the fear of not knowing, of facing death directly, melted away.

“I love you, Abby,” Claire said before she hung up.

“I love you, Claire Turner.” Josh leaned down and captured her in his arms. “Now, shall we get ready to welcome our little girl into the world?”

“You knew?”

He nodded. “Derek kind of let it slip.”

“Go figure.” Claire chuckled.

“Go figure, indeed. Come on, let’s go have this baby.” Josh pulled her up off the bed and grabbed her bag.

Claire waited until he was about to walk out of their room before she stopped him.

“Um, Josh?”

She held his towel up by her fingers, laughing as he looked down at himself and then back at her. “I think Abby would appreciate it if you were dressed.”

Josh set her bag down and leaned against the door in a somewhat seductive pose. “I don’t know,” he said, “I’ve always kind of thought Abby had the hots for me, you know? After all, I am Mr. Perfect.”