The Lives Between Us (24 page)

Faith’s red blotchy face lit up. “That’s a great idea.” She turned, wheezing hopefully in Skye’s face. “Will you?”

Or not.
Sliding off the bed to her feet, Skye recoiled from the sweaty heat and snotty mess her sister had become, as much as from the thought of cuddling those tiny babies.

“Uh...” Skye shifted her weight from one foot to the other. It was a terrible idea. “I don’t know what to do. They have so many tubes and stuff.”

“The nurse is right there. She helps set you up and checks on them,” Faith said.

“But I... I...Won’t Peter mind—after all, he was doing it first? And what if something goes wrong? You’d hate me.”

“Nothing can go wrong; the nurse is right there the whole time. And I wouldn’t hate you.”

But I’d hate me
. Skye scrambled for some halfway plausible excuse. “But there are two of them. I don’t have time for both.”

“I could help,” Mark offered. “I could take one baby while Skye holds the other.”

Faith frowned. “Oh, I couldn’t ask—”

“You’re not asking. I’m offering.”

Skye’s jaw dropped open. “That’s crazy. You don’t have time. You run a company. How can you find the time for that?”

“I can make the time. What about you?” Mark challenged. He stuffed his hands deep in his pants’ front pockets, reminding Skye of a sheriff in an old western movie, facing off the bad-guy gunslinger, ready to draw on him.

Hmm. Skye squirmed. That made her the bad guy.

Geeze. What a pain in the ass. Mark won at Stratego; did he have to win at everything? Skye crossed her arms under her breasts, not sure if she was more angry or impressed. She was definitely annoyed, but a part of her respected Mark’s championing the defenseless. She couldn’t get out of it now, not when her boyfriend was willing to help her sister, but did she want him there with her?

Sitting in a chair next to Mark with babies tucked inside their shirts, pasted to their bare skin, seemed weird, a private experience she wasn’t sure she could handle; and she did
not
need him to see her failing, coming apart at the seams again. However, refusing to allow him to help under these circumstances would make her look bad. Really bad. It wasn’t even her call. Crap.

Upset at being goaded into something that frightened her, Skye attacked. “Maybe Faith doesn’t want a stranger handling her children.”

“That’s fair.” Mark nodded and looked at Faith. “I don’t want to push you into anything.”

“You’re not. We’d be grateful for any time you can give the twins. Thank you,” Faith added, with a beatific smile.

Mark smiled broadly. “Then it’s settled.” He looked at Skye. “Are you ready to go or do you want to visit a little longer?”

“Now?” Her eyes bugged wide.
Right now?

“Sure, why not?”

“I—uh maybe they can only do it during certain hours.”

“Anytime is fine,” Faith said.

Skye sighed. “Okay.” She bent to kiss Faith goodbye.

Faith whispered, “He’s cute. And nice.” Then louder, “Thanks a bunch, kiddo, you’re a peach. The both of you.”

“Yeah, a real peach,” Skye said
.
“I’ll call tonight. Work hard at therapy.”

“Love you.”

Skye wiggled her fingers goodbye. As soon as they were out in the hall and ten paces from Faith’s room, she slapped Mark’s arm. “Why’d you do that? I
do not
want to spend hours a day with a...” She fumbled.

“Baby,” he supplied.

“
Fragile. Delicate. Premature
baby,” Skye sputtered.

Mark stepped behind her to allow an aid pushing an empty gurney to pass. “Would you rather see your sister upset?”

“Yes!” She spun and faced him. “Okay, so, no. But—”

“I know you like kids, so what’s the problem?” Mark punched the elevator button.

“I... I don’t... I’m not good with babies.” Especially very sick kids who made her feel stupid and helpless—or who might die on her.

Skye stalked past Mark into the waiting elevator. Conscious of the strangers occupying the elevator, by mutual consent they suspended the discussion until they achieved a little privacy outside the NICU.

Once off the elevator, Mark pulled her to the side of the hall and lowered his voice. “But they need you so much. And there doesn’t sound like there’s anything to it. You just sit there and hold them.”

In an attempt to hold onto her anger, Skye fought memories of the last time he’d held her so close she could smell his sexy cologne. “What do you know about babies?”

“Not much, but this’ll be good practice for when I have my own.”

Holding premature babies good practice? Who thought like that? Skye narrowed her eyes and angled her head to the side, trying to understand him. “You’re strange.”

“You’re scared.” Mark tugged an unruly lock of her hair, then tucked it behind one ear. “But that’s okay. I’ll be with you, and the nurse will be with us. How can we mess up?”

I can’t even begin to count the ways
. Skye’s glance dropped to his full lips and his neck where the white dress shirt opened to his collarbone. His pulse beat a steady, easy rhythm on the side of his neck. How could he be so nonchalant about this?

She raised her chin. “I’m not scared.”

“Then you’re just cold-hearted?” Mark took a step backward and ducked his head to try and read the truth in her face.

“Yes. No. Look, I’m gonna do this; I’m just not happy about it.”

“Fair enough.” Mark took her arm and guided her into the room. “You’ll be fine. It might even be fun.”

Not likely.

Mark pushed the doorbell outside the NICU. A nurse came to the door and opened it wide, moving to the side to allow them to pass. “You must be Mark and Skye. I’m Sharie. Faith called to let us know you’d be along to kangaroo the twins.”

“If this isn’t a convenient time—” Skye offered.

“This is a
perfect
time. Things are relatively calm now.” She stood back. “I need to see your driver’s licenses or some other picture I.D. and get you signed, and then I’ll show you around.”

Sharie made copies of their licenses, showed them how to sign in, and then escorted them down a short hallway and paused before a sliding glass door that opened into a bright, cheery room. “The twins are doing well and will probably be moved in here to our step-up room shortly.”

She drew them to the side and stopped in front of a large stainless steel sink. “This is where you’ll scrub up and gown up every day before getting near any baby.”

Sharie nodded to a cutsie sign with illustrations beside each step. “There are instructions on how to scrub properly, in case you forget, and clean gowns are stacked here. When you’re through for the day, you toss the gown in this hamper. Scrubbing up is a biggie—before and after changing a diaper or any other contamination.”

Together they scoured their hands and arms up to their elbows with pre-soaped, single-use brushes for the requisite three minutes, before drying their hands with sterile blue towels. She faced them. “We have a lot of rules here to protect the babies. No perfume or cologne. If you’re the least bit sick or have been around anybody sick, stay away. Keep your voices low. You may photograph your baby—but only yours.”

Not mine, Faith’s
.

“Be respectful of others’ privacy, for example breastfeeding moms or grieving parents. Follow all doctors’ and nurses’ instructions. Don’t clog the aisles, and if there’s an emergency, get out of the way. When in doubt, ask. About anything.” Sharie raised her eyebrows and looked first at her then at Mark. “Any questions?”

Only about six million Skye couldn’t think of off the top of her head. She shook her head.

“Not right now,” Mark said, looking like he was busy memorizing and mentally cataloging each and every directive.

“Okay. Let’s find your little guys,” she said as if clapping hands and breaking from their team huddle.

Sharie crossed the hallway and led them into a darkened room. Soft lights glowed dimly here and there in this smaller cave-like room. Instead of large plastic isolettes, the babies here lay on trays the size of large cookie pans with plastic see-through edges, with only a tiny blinding-white diaper to cover them—and some not even that. The lucky ones without tubes attached to their scalps wore tiny little caps. A flat light hung over their trays, warming them, but Skye doubted they cranked out much heat.

All were attached to what looked like at least a half-dozen wires and tubes held in place by white tape or transparent disks so that an obscenely small amount of pink flesh remained exposed. Hulking tower metal machines flanked each baby’s station. Skye wanted to run. Taking a step back, she bumped into a solid body. Mark placed firm, warm hands on her shoulders to hold her in place.
Traitor
.

An alarm shrilled a warning to their right. Skye took an instinctive step closer to Mark.

“Excuse me.” Sharie checked the tiny baby in an isolette. “Now what’s the problem with you, little sugar?” she crooned while fussing with the baby’s wires and equipment. Satisfied, she gave the baby’s bare back one last pat before pushing a bunch of buttons on the machine hanging to the side of his isolette.

While the nurse was busy working with the machine, Skye took the opportunity to study the large room. The very softly piped-in classical music seemed odd. Given the décor, she’d expected lullabies or little kid songs. Undoubtedly studies had proven that this type of music was most soothing to the babies.

The pastel painted walls, stuffed animals, and family pictures decorating each baby’s isolette, and soft blankets enfolding the tiny doll-like babies were too much...too cutsie nursery. To Skye, the attempt at a baby paradise smacked of desperation. She found it about as cozy and comforting as if she’d landed on Jupiter.

There looked to be about six occupied isolettes but only two parents and two nurses present. Tall cloth curtains draped down from the ceiling and could be drawn to afford a little privacy, but Skye guessed that would be an unusual circumstance since all were folded tightly back against the walls. One mother stretched out in a reclining chair, taking a little nap. To her left, a father sat with his head back and his eyes closed, quietly rocking his baby. Was he in pain, asleep, or praying, she wondered.

The nurse returned to them. “Sorry about that.”

“Where are the other parents?” Skye quietly asked.

Sheri looked around the room. “They come when they can. The evenings, after work, tend to be far busier. Most parents spend as much time here as possible, but many of them have other children at home. When a baby’s here for months, the logistics of visiting often becomes overwhelming for lots of families.”

Meaning they abandon the poor little mites
. She frowned.

The nurse led them deeper into the room, and then veered off to the right. She faced them and began giving them instructions. Skye tried to concentrate on the nurse’s orders and explanations, but she couldn’t pry her gaze from the tiny baby she was fussing over on the warming tray to her right. The baby wore a pink cap; it must be Hope.

Why couldn’t they dress them? Somehow she’d feel much better if they were clothed. They had to be cold—even if they were lying on a heating pad with a sunlamp overhead. Babies needed to be tightly wrapped, swaddled to feel warm and safe. They couldn’t be too comfortable being laid out, near naked on those silly trays.

Sharie looked at her expectantly. “Which one would you like?”

She pointed to the larger one with less stuff attached to her.

“Hope. Okay, since the baby needs to be against your skin, you’ll need to change into this.” She held up a cotton shirt that buttoned up the front with cute little teddy bears on it. “You can use the bathroom over there to change.”

Skye took the soft shirt. Inside the bathroom, she pulled off her silk blouse and bra, and replaced it with the cold shirt. She didn’t want to be doing this. Hope was so tiny. Niki had been an average-sized baby at seven pounds three ounces, and she’d seemed impossibly small and breakable then. How delicate must this preemie be?

She walked out of the bathroom feeling conspicuous in the large garment. Now two rocking chairs faced each other in between the warming pans that held the babies.

Sharie picked up the baby, straightening out her wires as she turned to Skye and motioned for her to sit in the rocking chair. “Have a seat and unbutton your shirt. Poor little babes don’t get much rest. Someone’s always coming in poking, prodding, or adjusting something on them. If it’s not me or the doctor, it’s somebody from respiratory. They don’t associate touch with many good things—that’s why she’s fussing so. I’m going to position this little princess right over your heart so she can hear your heartbeat.”

Skye sat in the chair nearest Hope’s tray and waited for the nurse to do her thing with the squirming, mewling baby. Skye looked at Mark around the nurse’s bent body as if to distract herself from a stranger intimately placing this tiny little being inside her shirt, tugging and repositioning the baby and wires until she was satisfied.

Mark had rolled up his sleeves, removed his silk tie, and unbuttoned his crisp dress shirt to reveal a thick mat of dark curling hair. No cutesie teddy shirt for him. She wondered if they didn't have one in his size or if he volunteered to risk ruining his good shirt. Probably didn’t have one.

Mark had keenly listened to each rule and regulation as if being told the gospel truth. He was a rule follower. Hmmm. Her lips curved into a mean little smile. Maybe the baby would accidentally yank a few chest hairs out. She’d like to yank out a few herself.

“Aren’t you going to change, too?” Skye asked.

“I’m fine.”

Whatever
. Sharie rearranged the baby’s ear over Skye’s heart, but the child didn’t seem to like it and kept flailing about, mewing. “It’s okay. Hold her head. She’ll calm down. Shh sugar, you’re all right,” Sharie crooned.

Sharie placed Skye’s hand under the baby so that her palm cradled the little diapered rump while the baby’s chilled feet nestled between her breasts like tiny ice cubes. Skye’s other hand automatically dropped an inch to brace the baby’s back—whole body actually, as her torso was the size of Skye’s palm. And her insubstantial little body weighed hardly more than a can of soup. Good God, what was she doing here? This little one was so needy, and Skye was so not good at being needed.