The Choices We Make (23 page)

50

August

I'm sitting at the kitchen island with a coffee and a store-bought muffin my mom dropped off, with neon-purple dots I can only assume are blueberries, when Ben comes downstairs. Clover is at his feet, barking and jumping in circles. I smile at her enthusiasm, and Ben smiles at me.

“That's nice to see,” he says. He picks Clover up and then comes into the kitchen and hands her to me. She turns in circles on the top of my thighs, then burrows deep into my lap with a happy sigh. “Is there more coffee?”

I nod yes, my mouth full from my last sip. I run my hands over Clover's toasty warm body, her silky fur lacing between my fingers. “So I'll drop her off to get groomed. Then I'm going to pop into the office before heading to the hospital,” Ben says.

I murmur that's fine, then laugh when Clover nudges my hand because I've stopped petting her. “Okay, okay,” I say, resuming my stroking. “But I have to drink my coffee, too.” She lifts her head to look at me, then lets it drop back down and closes her eyes.

“What do you have on today?” Ben pours himself a mugful of coffee before leaning back against the countertop. I know what he means, and it certainly isn't as if I'm planning to get to the grocery list or head to work to catch up for a few hours. What he's really asking me is, “So, how are you going to make it through today?” I push the muffin toward him, and he takes a bite, oblivious to the fake blueberries.

“I'm having lunch with Shoana to go over a few things for the next edition, and then I'm meeting Peter and Annabel to get an update.”

Ben nods, looking at me critically. “Do you want me to meet you there?”

“That's okay. You have enough going on today. Besides, I'd rather you go see Kate.”

It's been nearly two weeks since David shoved me and told me to stay away from Kate's room. Two weeks more we've been able to keep our son inside Kate's sick body. Two weeks since Kate's heart attack. It has been the longest two weeks of my life.

“Okay,” he says, pushing back from the counter and wiping crumbs from the front of his shirt. He holds out his arms, and I set Clover into them. “Call me after you see Peter.”

“I will.” I kiss him goodbye and get Clover's collar and leash, then wave as I shut the door behind them.

After lunch with Shoana, where she tries to stuff me full of pasta carbonara, garlic bread and panna cotta, declaring me so skinny I'm practically waiflike, she tells me everything with work is fine and she'll call me if she needs me. “I don't want one iota of your energy going to this magazine,” she says, pushing the creamy panna cotta toward me until I relent and have another bite. “I'm not kidding, Hannah. You need to focus on you, and your family, okay? We're fine, I'm fine, and your job is going to be here when you come back.”

After thanking Shoana another few times for lunch and her reassurance, my phone rings just as I walk out of the restaurant. My heart drops when I see the caller ID.

“Hello?”

“Mrs. Hannah Matthews?” The voice is young, cheery and doesn't sound the least bit concerned about anything. This should set me at ease, but I'm too far down the rabbit hole of worry to notice.

“Yes, I'm Hannah Matthews.”

“Oh, good. It's Lucy Smithson, over at San Francisco General. I'm glad I was able to catch you. It's about your husband...”

Ben. Oh, my God.

“He's down in triage and you're listed as his emergency contact so I thought I'd—”

I have no idea what Lucy says next, because I hang up and sprint down the street, frantically waving my hand for a taxi as I do.

I call Ben's phone repeatedly while I'm in the taxi, but it keeps going to voice mail. I'm a mess by the time we get to the hospital a few minutes later and don't see the commotion at the front entrance because I'm frantically digging around in my purse for money for the fare.

“What's going on here?” the driver says under his breath, as he brings the car to a stop just short of the entrance. I stop rummaging the depths of my purse and look up to see at least two dozen people walking back and forth in front of the doors, holding picket signs and blocking the entrance. There's also a news truck and a few bored-looking reporters and camera people standing to the side.

As the group walks past my window, I read the signs.

I am the voice for those who cannot speak.

God is Pro-Life.

Every Life Matters.

But it's the last sign I see that makes me gasp.

Save Baby Matthews.

The driver is clearly reading the signs, too. “Ah, right. There's a pregnant lady here in a coma, and some sort of issue with the baby. I heard something about it on the news earlier. You hear anything?”

“No,” I reply, my voice hoarse.
The news? How did they find out?
I temporarily forget why I'm at the hospital, the shock of the signs, the picketers overwhelming me.

But then the shock fades and I'm out of the car, tossing a twenty into the front seat. I keep my head down and walk quickly past the picketers, and am shaking like a leaf by the time I get through the emergency department's entrance.

“My husband, Ben Matthews? Please, where is he? What's happened?” I lean heavily on the triage desk.

“Hannah?”

I whip around and there's Ben. A large white bandage on one hand and a surprised look on his face.

The relief is so sweet I start laughing. “Ben.”

“What are you doing here?”

“They called me.” I gesture to the phone in my hand. “I thought... Well, it doesn't matter what I thought.” I took his hand in mine, holding it gently. “What happened?”

“An incident at the groomers. No big deal. Clover got freaked out by another dog and bit my hand when she tried to get away.”

“She bit you? Are you okay?”

“Two stitches and a tetanus shot. I'm fine. Here, sit down. You look worse than my hand.”

I sit heavily and drop my bag to the floor, spent from the rush of adrenaline.

Just then a nurse comes into the waiting room and hands Ben a piece of paper. “Okay, Mr. Matthews. Here are your discharge instructions. And your insurance form went through—it was just a missing number apparently.”

“Thank you. Also, do you know who called my wife?”

“No one from down here. Maybe accounts receivable, for the insurance form? They might have called your emergency contact. Anyway, you're all set. If you notice any reddening of the skin or have significant pain or swelling, come right back, okay?” She turns to go, then notices me sitting there beside Ben.

“You okay, hon?”

“Yeah, yeah, I'm good. Thanks.”

“Okay, then. Might want to put a muzzle on that dog of yours.” She smiled, and Ben thanked her again before sitting down beside me, an irritated look on his face. “An insurance form mix-up hardly qualifies as an ‘emergency.' Sorry they called and freaked you out. That's the last thing you need to—”

“It's fine. I don't care, now that I know you're okay. But have you seen... Have you seen the signs, outside the main entrance?”

“Yes.” His expression darkens, and I know the signs affected him as deeply as they did me.

“How do they know about any of this?” I ask. “How do they know our last name?”

He sighs and leans back in his chair, resting his bandaged hand gingerly on this thigh. “Edward talked to a reporter.”

My mouth drops open. “Why? Why would he do that?”

“I have no clue. Seems he told them about Kate. And the injunction. Maybe he thought it might help David? Gain some sympathy for him and for, and I quote, ‘the hell Hannah and Ben Matthews are putting my daughter and family through,' end quote.”

Leaning forward on my knees I rest my forehead in my hands and close my eyes. “Shit. What are we going to do?”

* * *

“I understand you're probably not thrilled about this being aired in the local media, and Kate's father is probably regretting it by now, but this is actually really good news for us,” Annabel says. The four of us—me, Ben, Peter and Annabel—are sitting in Peter's office, going over the latest developments—specifically, the protesters outside the hospital.

“How so?” I ask. “It's hard to see any of this as ‘good news.'”

“Because pro-lifers tend to be strong, determined groups,” Annabel replies, tapping her pen against the folder on her lap. “And now that they've decided to intervene, our case is even stronger.”

“Intervene how?” Ben asks, looking as confused as I feel. “They don't know us. They have no ties to the baby, or to Kate.”

“True,” Peter says. “But they don't need to have any relationship with you or even the child in question.” He flips open a file and releases a paper from the clip holding the stack together. He places the paper on the table in front of us, and I glance at it, trying to understand what I'm looking at. “Essentially they've filed a motion to intervene with the courts. They're asking to become a party to the suit.”

“But what happens now? What does ‘intervene' mean exactly? We'll still have full guardianship rights for the baby, won't we?” I ask, nervousness tickling deep into my stomach.

“Yes, guardianship remains with you and Ben,” Annabel says. “The best way to think about it is as a stall tactic. It will buy us time. And time is what we need.”

“So what happens next?” Ben asks.

“Now a briefing happens, and we prepare a memorandum of the points and authorities of the case. And the other group does the same. And then we wait for the judge to make a decision.” Peter sits back in his own chair and pushes his glasses on top of his head. He looks at least ten years younger without his glasses, having one of those baby faces despite his forty-two years. “The way we see it, we have two choices. One, we can wait it out. I suspect this pro-life group is only going to increase their presence, and it won't be long until this is a national story.” He leans forward and riffles through some papers on the table. “And when that happens, things will get locked up for a while because the judge will want to proceed very carefully, which again will be to our benefit. These cases don't happen often, and we're talking precedent-setting stuff here.”

The thought of being involved in something “precedent setting” makes me nervous. I only want our baby to get stronger; I have no interest in forcing any of us into a courtroom and subsequent battle.

“And what's the second choice?” I ask.

“The second choice is to withdraw the application,” Annabel replies. “You allow David to make whatever decision he wants, which as we know from Damon Cumberland is to move ahead with the C-section. Without our application to anchor the case, the other group probably won't move forward. Or they'll try, but a judge will be less willing to consider it after the intended parents have withdrawn.”

I take a deep breath. “Can I ask a question?”

“Please,” Peter says.

“Is it true that Kate put her father down as an alternate on her health care directive? After David?”

Peter pauses before replying. “Yes, it's true,” he finally says. “I know you're wondering why you aren't on the list, Hannah. But in this case there's a good reason for that, and it has nothing to do with your relationship with Kate.”

I look at him, tears in my eyes. “She would have been given legal advice to not name you on her health care directive,” Peter explains, his voice gentle. “For a situation exactly like this. It's a conflict of interest, because of the baby.” I nod.

“Hannah, we're at twenty-nine weeks and one day,” Peter continues. “Dr. Swartzman feels your baby has an
excellent
chance at survival if delivered right now, as does the other expert we spoke to yesterday.”

I look up at him, then Annabel, and take a sip of water. “I still want to wait until at least thirty weeks. We're so close. Please, let's keep moving forward.”

“Hannah, be reasonable,” Ben spits out, frustration spilling out with his words. “David is devastated. This is killing him. And now he has to walk past those signs every time he leaves the damn hospital.”

“And whose fault is that?” I let out a short, harsh laugh. “He has his ever-helpful father-in-law to thank for that.”

Ben shakes his head, looking at me as if he isn't sure who I am, or maybe, who I've become. “You haven't... You haven't seen him lately. It's bad, Hannah. Really bad. Don't you think we've pushed things enough?”

“No, I don't!” I shout, twisting in my chair to face him. “Until we're sure our son can be delivered safely, no, we haven't pushed things enough.”

Peter clears his throat. “Look, the hospital can't perform the C-section until the judge rules or we drop the application, or God forbid, something happens with Kate that makes it absolutely necessary for delivery to happen. And I know this is hard. David is grieving, he's suffering and he has to make decisions and think about things no one should ever have to. But that's your baby Kate is carrying. And I believe you do have a responsibility to ensure the safety of your son, however you can.”

Ben doesn't respond to Peter, glaring at me instead. I glare back, and an uncomfortable silence fills the office.

“Why don't we give you two a minute?” Peter says, he and Annabel standing, barely disturbing the heaviness of the room. A moment later they close the door behind them and it's just Ben and me—a boulder of anger and hurt resting between us.

“He is our friend, Hannah, our best friend, and he is facing the very real possibility of a life without Kate,” Ben says. “Please, let's not forget
everything
that's at stake here.”

I clear my throat, trying to compose myself so the fury doesn't take over. “Why do you always feel so compelled to take David's side?”