Twelve Days (37 page)

"Not now, you mean?"

"You don't understand. She's not going to get better."

"You're just going to let her die?" Sam asked.

"She probably wouldn't live through the surgery, even if she could get on the list and last long enough to get a transplant. I'm sorry. I know that seems harsh. But there are never enough organs to go around. We set strict criteria for patients who get them. The idea is that if only so many people are ever going to get a transplant, we want it to be people with a good chance of surviving," the nurse said. "Annie's accepted that. The only thing she's worried about now is her children."

"What about her husband?" Sam asked.

"The sheriff's been here. They videotaped her testimony, and he promised her husband's going to prison for what he's done to her. Her mother doesn't want the children. Annie's afraid no one will," the nurse said. "Your aunt told her if she picked someone to take them that the courts would likely give a great deal of weight to her request. Your aunt didn't think you'd have any trouble getting approval to adopt them, if that's what you want."

Again, Rachel just sat there, overwhelmed. This woman was dying. She was going to have to leave this earth and leave three young, helpless children behind. It was staggering to think about.

It was only three days ago that Rachel had really come to terms with the loss of her baby and truly known in her heart that her baby was fine, in a place where no one would ever hurt her. But Annie Greene was leaving her children to the mercy of an often-cruel world, faced with no one to trust but people who were all but strangers to her. Rachel couldn't imagine how difficult that must be.

And Emma and Zach and the baby were going to lose their mother...

"You're sure?" Rachel asked. "There's nothing anyone can do for you?"

"Sure," Annie said.

It seemed she wasn't even going to fight anymore.

Rachel started to cry. She couldn't help it. The tears just rolled down her cheeks as she sat there hardly making a sound and struggling to breathe. Sam's hands tightened on her shoulders, and she leaned back against him, hardly able to look at the woman on the bed anymore. It was so sad. Emma and Zach were going to be devastated.

"She wants you to be sure," the nurse said. "If you can't love them, the way they deserve to be loved..."

"We can love them. It's not that. Not at all. But we need to talk," Sam said. He put a hand on Annie Greene's shoulder, told her, "We'll be back."

Rachel wasn't sure how they got outside, but there they were. Out in the cold, the automatic doors of the hospital swishing closed behind them, snow flurries rushing at them on the cold breeze.

There were Christmas lights strung up around the entrance of the hospital, the lights blinking on and off in a way that seemed to mock everything to do with Christmas.

Annie Greene was dying, and she wanted Sam and Rachel to take her children. Rachel, it seemed, was going to get what she'd always wanted.

"Not this way," she said, conscious of the fact that Sam had steered her to the side of the main walkway, out of the line of people rushing in and out. He held her by the arms, held her hard, maybe to keep her from falling down in the snow, maybe to get her attention. "Oh, God. Not like this."

"Rachel, we did not do this," he said. "We didn't wish that woman dead. She isn't dying because of anything we did."

"But I wanted them. I wanted those children, and they're hers. The only way we're going to get them is if she's gone."

"Wishing doesn't make things happen. You and I both know that. If it did, our entire lives would have been different. Things just happen. This is just one of those shitty things that happens."

"Emma..." she said. "Oh, God, Sam. Emma! And Zach! Grace won't even remember her, but the other two..."

"I know," he said, pulling her close. "I know."

And he did. They both knew. Him better than her.

"It's so awful. How in the world are we going to tell them?"

"We're not. It's not up to us. It's up to Annie. They're still hers."

Rachel nodded. Still, it would be up to her and Sam to pick up the pieces. So much sadness... She could see it all coming. How odd to be able to sit here and see it all coming.

They stood there for a long time. Finally, her tears subsided and she stopped shaking so badly, and Sam let her go. Then he stood there staring at her with the saddest look on his face, as if he felt every bit as weary as she did.

It occurred to her that she'd stood outside a number of hospitals just like this. Feeling as if someone had shoved a booted foot into her midsection. And every one of those times, Sam had been right here beside her.

She was awed by his strength, by the sheer determination with which he'd stayed by her side through the years. She reached for him, taking his face in her hands, finding his cheeks damp and his mouth trembling.

He frowned down at her and asked, "What are you thinking?"

"That you've been with me through the worst days of my life. That I've depended on you and leaned on you and taken and taken and taken without—"

"It wasn't like that, Rachel."

"Wasn't it?"

"No. It was a marriage. Two people together through good and bad. Doing our best to take care of each other. To love each other and to stay together."

"There's more inside of me to give, Sam. Not just to these children. To you. And... I don't even know how to ask you what's going to happen now. Because I know you love these children, and I can't imagine you leaving when they need us so much. And that's not fair to you at all. I don't want you to have to stay because of the kids."

"Single people adopt all the time. It wouldn't be a problem. And I can't imagine Annie would object, not if you told her how much you love those kids. You don't need me to have these kids."

"Of course I do."

"No, you don't. I talked to Miriam. There wouldn't be any rules standing in your way."

"I know. I talked to her, too. She told me you'd asked her about that. But I thought you were going to stay. I thought... after Christmas Eve. All the things we said to each other. All the things we figured out about each other, I thought you'd stay."

"I didn't say I was going anywhere. I just said that if you're thinking the only way you'll be able to have these children is by having a husband—having me—that's not true."

"You think I want them more than I want you?"

"I think the way either of us feels at the moment isn't as important as how those kids feel and what they need."

"No, it is, Sam. You're important and how you feel is important. You think I could be happy with them, but without you?"

"You've never really been happy with just me, Rachel," he said.

"That's not true."

"Isn't it?" he asked, then held up his hands. "No. Forget it. Forget I ever said it."

"I can't do that. I won't. Sam... you're the only man I've ever loved in my whole life. The only one. I never wanted anyone else. I never will. And there has to be some way of making you believe that, short of giving up these children and having just you in my life. Because I know you. You would never ask that of me. We would never abandon them now."

"No. We won't, and I wouldn't ask that of you."

"Is it so hard for you to believe I love you?"

"Maybe it is," he said. "Maybe that's what the problem's always been."

"I'm not your mother or your father. I'm not all of those cold-hearted people who took you into their homes when you were little and sent you off to someone else without a backward glance. I'm your wife. I've always seen the real you, the man at the core, and I've always loved him." She put her hand over his heart. "Give me another chance. Give us a chance. And try to believe me when I say I love you. Is that really so hard for you to believe? Have you lost every bit of faith you had in me? In us?"

"Rachel—"

"I can't believe you have. And you know something else, you haven't given me a fair chance, either. You kept things from me, important things. You didn't let me into your life, Sam. Not really. You kept things bottled up inside, and now they're tearing you up. They're tearing us up. You want me to accept you as you are, to understand you and fulfill every need you have? You have to tell me. I can't help heal what I don't know is hurting you. Give me a chance to do that now that I finally know everything. I do know everything now, don't I?"

"You know the worst of it," he said. "I never wanted you to know. I never wanted you to see those parts of me."

"I want every part of you," she said. "The good, the bad, everything. I deserve it. Can you give me that?"

"I have, Rachel. I've given it all to you now."

"Then things should get easier from now on. At least between us. The kids... That's going to be hard. Do you think I can't handle it? Do you still think I'm going to fall apart on you?"

"I think together, we can do this. We can help them." He smiled at her then.

"What, Sam?"

"I'd forgotten what it was like to see you spitting fire, the way you used to do for me, back when you were defending me to the whole damned town. I guess I wasn't sure you had any of that left in you."

"You found it and dragged it out of me." She sighed, trembling again, because she thought it was going to be okay. She took hold of the side of his coat and pulled him closer, until they were almost nose to nose. "I meant what I said Christmas morning. I still love you, Sam."

He held her for a long moment. She felt each shuddering breath, felt the fine trembling in his body. Sam, her rock, trembling.

"I never stopped loving you, Rachel," he said finally. "I never will."

Rachel's poor, battered heart felt full to the point of bursting, a mix of hope and joy and incredible sadness flooding through her. She and Sam were going to raise these children together. They would get them through this terrible loss, and then bring them up in the midst of as much love as they could provide, both for the children and each other.

They held each other for a long time before they went back inside and told Annie Greene that her children had found a home and vowed to love them as they would have loved the baby girl they lost.

Epilogue

On the first day of the New Year, Sam was sitting on the floor of the family room trying to explain to Zach the intricacies of pro football and watching a very determined Grace crawl toward the fireplace one more time.

He caught her by the foot and dragged her back once again. She had on one of those warm, fuzzy, one-piece pajama things, like long underwear with feet in them, and the floor was a heavily varnished hardwood. She slid along quite easily, and it had become a game to her now.

He finished tugging her back, and she pivoted around on her belly to face him and giggled. Great. They could make a game of her trying to get close enough to the fire to singe her gorgeous eyelashes.

"She doesn't understand," Zach said, shaking his head.

"No, she doesn't." And he couldn't turn his back on her without finding her in some sort of trouble. It was definitely a whole new lifestyle.

"Is Emma comin' back soon?" Zach asked. "Sometimes she listens to Emma."

"Emma should be back anytime now." Sam glanced at his watch for the third time in ten minutes. Annie had decided it was time to tell Emma what was going to happen, and Sam had wanted to be there but their baby-sitter—one of his nieces—had canceled at the last minute, so Rachel took Emma and Sam was here trying to keep Grace out of the fire. But he was anxious to know how Emma was holding up.

"I think I hear 'em," Zach said, racing for the door.

"Don't go outside without your shoes, Zach!" he called out, maybe already too late. Kids were impulsive. About everything, it seemed.

Meanwhile, Grace crawled over to him and pulled herself up until she was standing beside him, hanging on with great determination to fistfuls of his shirt and wobbling back and forth. She was determined to walk and fell down at least a hundred times a day.

"You're going to give me heart failure," he told her.

She patted his cheek. Hard. They hadn't convinced her yet to be gentle. Sam made a growling sound and went after her, his mouth landing against her soft, fabric-covered belly. She howled with delight and latched on to his hair. It was her favorite game of all.

When she finally let go and he looked up, Emma was standing there staring at the two of them, looking a bit lost and afraid as she had that first day.

So much had changed so quickly, he could hardly believe it. He'd growled at Emma for real that first day, scared her, resented her presence here, and been scared to death by her, too.

This time he held out his arm to her and said, "Come 'ere, Em."

Her face fell. She dropped to his side and buried her head against his chest. Her shoulders were shaking. She was crying, and he was fighting not to himself.

Grace didn't understand this, either. She thought it was yet another game and soon she was hiding her face against his chest, too, and trying to get Emma's attention. Sam gently pulled her back, so she'd leave Emma alone.