A warning alarm buzzed close to Jem’s ear. He jerked his head up from where it rested on the hospital wall. What piece of medical equipment was that?
He squirmed upright in the large window seat of Olly’s hospital room, Natalie’s head limp on his shoulder. Careful not to wake her, Jem viewed the machines in the room. Predawn sunlight filtered through the window, devoid of warmth. Despite the tubes coming out of Olly, so small and still in the hospital crib, he couldn’t figure out which contraption made the racket. They’d been shifted to a private room sometime around 3:00 a.m., so the alarm couldn’t be coming from anyone else’s machine.
The sound rang out again, and he looked at the pocket on his hoodie—the one Natalie was wearing. It vibrated.
“Nat, wake up.” He jostled her and brushed the navy hood back from her head.
She sat bolt upright. “What’s wrong?”
“Answer your phone.”
She fumbled for it. “It’s Mom.” She looked at Olly, clearly torn.
“Go. I’ll watch him.”
She pressed the answer button. “Mom?” She slipped out of the room.
Jem stood and stretched, working out the kinks from a night spent in chairs that made a torturer’s rack look comfortable. Resting his hands on the rail of Olly’s crib, he gazed at his son.
Olly wore a baby-sized hospital gown—Natalie had held on to his blue “I’m Dad’s favorite” onesie ever since the nurses changed him out of it. His white-blond hair blended in with the pillow, cheeks barely a few shades lighter.
Jem stroked the soft skin of one of them, noted the lack of chubbiness. Olly had lost much of his baby fat in recent weeks. Jem had attributed the change to a growth spurt—he’d seen friends’ babies suddenly grow up instead of out. But the doctor said the change—as well as Olly’s ravenous hunger and thirst—had not been due to growth but the fact that his body could no longer draw energy from his food. It was Olly’s internal reserves, stored in fat, that had kept him going so far.
His own stomach growled, and he winced. His son had been starving, and he hadn’t noticed. How could he have missed the signs?
He expelled a breath and shook his head. Even the family doctor had gotten it wrong, prescribing antibiotics.
Footsteps sounded in the hall, approached the door.
“What did your mom sa—” The words froze in Jem’s throat.
Chloe stood before him, hair tousled and no trace of makeup on her face. She wore gray sweats and had mismatched ballet flats on her feet.
Jem stared. He’d never seen her in such a state, not even when they were dating.
“I got your message that he was here. What’s wrong?” She made no move toward Olly, but a tremor rang in her voice.
“They say he has diabetes.” His voice came out wooden, just fact, no emotion. He couldn’t make it sink in.
She swore.
Still comprehending that she’d shown up—looking like this, no less—he took her elbow and led her to his chair, taking Natalie’s seat himself.
Chloe’s eyes remained glued to the little boy on the bed. “Is he going to die?”
Jem flinched. “It has risks, especially if his blood sugar drops too far, but if we manage it carefully he should be okay. But he’ll have to take insulin for the rest of his life.”
Her hand went to her stomach. “Is it genetic?”
“I think so. Dad’s brother has the same thing.” That little fact had clicked in his brain somewhere around 4:30 a.m. as he stared at his son in the dark.
She looked at Olly, still motionless on the bed, and her face crumpled. “Richard t-told me this w-w-was a bad idea.” She kept talking, but it came out in a mumble he couldn’t decipher.
“As in your ex, Richard?” She’d mentioned him—quite a bit, now that he thought about it—back in Chicago.
“Now my fiancé.” She pulled a ring from her right hand and slipped it onto her left. The diamond sparkled, even in dull fluorescent light. “We got back together not long after . . .” Her eyes darted away from Olly. “We got engaged two months ago.” She shrugged. “He doesn’t want to do the blended-family thing, but I had to come check on Oliver.”
Jem’s neck heated. The guy was pressuring her to stay away because he didn’t want to do “the blended-family thing”? What kind of man did that?
Memories crashed through him—comments she’d made sitting outside the doctor’s office, an offhand remark from her mother. Chloe had been two years younger than him—twenty-four, newly graduated and ambitious—when she fell pregnant. He’d known she was under pressure from outside forces not to be a mother. But he hadn’t realized to what extent. A fresh wave of gratitude flooded him that she’d given him his son.
He grasped her hand. “The question isn’t what Richard wants. It’s what’s best for Olly, and for you. You . . . can be a part of his life.”
The words didn’t want to come out. Sharing custody would mean less time with his son. Probably another move.
But like he said, it wasn’t about him.
Her eyes filled again, and she dashed a hand across her face. “I’ll—I’ll remember.” She drew a deep breath and calmed herself. “Where’s Natalie?”
He blinked at the change of topic. “On the phone with her mother. She’s been here all night.”
“She’s a good woman.”
“She is.” His gaze went to the door Natalie had disappeared through, and he silently thanked God that he’d asked Lili to call her last night.
“She’s a good mother.”
Jem looked back to Chloe. Where was she going with this? “She’s . . . not my girlfriend.” He couldn’t quite bring himself to say “seeing someone else.”
“I hope I haven’t messed that up for you.”
“I’ve messed up plenty on my own.” His tone was rueful.
“You’re a good father.”
Yeah, a father who didn’t notice his son had a chronic disease. He ran a hand over his face. “It doesn’t feel like it.”
“I mean it.” She stopped and looked at Oliver. “And I’m sorry about this week. I know I was demanding. And awful to Natalie.” A wry smile poked through. “I’ll admit, some of it was on purpose. I wanted to see how she did under pressure. How you both did.”
A flicker of movement caught his eye, and his gaze darted to the door. A Natalie-shaped shadow shifted, then stilled. He scratched his lip to cover a smile. “I wondered.”
“I think Natalie nearly skinned me once or twice, but that’s good. She’ll fight for what she wants. And tell her she’s got a knack for graphic design. I was just being catty. This festival she’s organizing sounds terrific.” A chuckle burst out. “And tell her I’m impressed that Olly can pass wind on demand.”
Jem’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. What had gone on during that day she’d spent with Nat?
“Thank you,” he managed.
Chloe ran a hand through her hair, straightening the mess. Her tone changed to businesslike. “If you don’t want to, you never have to hear from me again. Richard doesn’t want me getting involved. But . . . if it’s okay, I wouldn’t mind an email with a photo every now and then.”
Both relief and grief swelled inside. Yes, things were less complicated if she stayed away. But Olly would miss out on knowing someone who—ideal circumstances or not—was important to him.
But it was her decision.
“That’s okay.” He touched her arm. “I’ll be honest with him and tell him who you are. If he wants to meet you—again, that is—it’ll be up to him.”
She nodded, scrubbed her sleeve over her face. “I have a plane to catch. I’ll send you the official paperwork from Chicago.” She paused. “If it wasn’t for Natalie, I’d stay, but I think the two of you have him well covered.”
“I’ll let you know how he does.”
She looked toward the door, then back to the crib, her face pinched. “I didn’t want to get attached . . . but could you give him a kiss goodbye for me?” She rushed from the room before Jem could respond.
He stared at the empty doorway. Shook his head. That was the second time in two years Chloe had left him and Oliver in a hospital, alone.
Natalie’s head poked around the doorframe. He smiled.
Not alone.
“How long were you standing there?”
“Long enough. I hid around the corner when she left.” As she drew closer, the tear tracks on her face reflected rising sunlight.
He fought the urge to reach for her. “Hey, it’s okay. I know this is major, but he’ll be okay.”
She shook her head. “It’s not that.” She lifted her watery gaze to his. “Mom said Dad’s had a bad turn.”
* * *
Natalie picked lint from Jem’s hoodie as she paced the hospital hallway, waiting for Dad to be transferred to his room. She checked her watch. Nine fifteen a.m. Two hours and forty-five minutes until the festival was due to start.
She sniffed. Her nose had turned into a tap. Where was a tissue when you needed one?
Sam’s phone went to voice mail again.
“Natalie.”
She whipped around to the sound of Steph’s voice from behind.
Steph’s heels clacked on the floor as she approached, arms outstretched. “I got your message. How’s your dad?”
Natalie accepted her hug and used the moment to clear her throat. Never mind last night’s fiasco, her stress over Olly, gritty eyes from no sleep, and now a terror that gripped her every time a doctor walked past with a grim face.
Now was not the time to be emotional.
“I’m waiting to hear. But I needed to talk to you about the festival. I’m not going to be able to leave.”
The words were hard to say. Surely this would only increase Kimberly’s lead in their race for that permanent position. But there was no question about where she’d spend today.
With Dad.
Steph nodded, face grim. “I thought you’d say that. I teed up Kimberly, just in case. She can run things with Sam.”
Natalie rubbed her irritated eyes and nodded. It couldn’t be helped.
“But I thought you should know—” Steph hesitated, then placed a gentle palm on Natalie’s arm. “I’ve been chatting with some of the board members. They’re beginning to lean in Kimberly’s direction.”
Natalie swayed against the wall behind her. How much bad news could a body absorb in twenty-four hours?
Steph shrugged. “Sam’s in your corner, obviously. But he only has so much influence. I just thought you should know.”
Natalie closed her eyes and counted to ten. The world was too loud, her feet in these flip-flops were too cold, and she was one stubbed toe away from lying down in the middle of this floor and having a good cry.
Deep breaths.
As she tried to regain her zen, a thought hit her. “Aren’t you supposed to be at a conference?”
Something flickered across Steph’s expression. Come to think of it, she didn’t look too hot either. Her face showed more lines than usual, and she radiated tension. She wrapped her cashmere jacket more tightly around her. “I came home early. Just got in, actually. Lili’s in the car.”
“Okay. Good.” At least they knew Lili was fine for now.
“Nattie.” Mom rounded the corner of the corridor, today’s sweat suit a lime green that clashed with her red Sketchers.
Natalie straightened. Steph squeezed her shoulder. “Just let me know when you can come back. You can still give Kimberly a run for her money.”
Maybe. But her underdog status was now obvious to all.
She nodded her thanks and walked toward Mom, who looked calm. But Mom had been a nurse. She always looked calm, no matter how bad the news was.
Natalie dug her nails into her palm as she approached. “How’s Dad?”
“Asking for you.”
She breathed a sigh of relief. He was responsive, then.
“And?”
“And he’s more worried about you missing your festival than he is about the fact I couldn’t rouse him this morning.”
Natalie smiled, despite herself. “That sounds like Dad.”
“Were you able to organize something?”
“Kimberly’s going to take my place.” Hopefully not in more ways than one.
Mom nodded. “I’ll tell him. He doesn’t want to hurt your chances for this job. He’s so excited about it.”
Natalie’s smile turned fragile. “Tell him it’ll be fine. I’ve got it under control.”
Had she claimed to leap tall buildings in a single bound, it could not have been more untrue. But one thing was certain: as soon as Dad recovered, she’d work harder than Kimberly ever could to make sure she got this job.