Day T+17 (17 days post-transplant)
THE ACHE IN HER BREASTS told time better than her watch. Amelia wearily pushed herself up from the recliner in the corner of Jordan’s room at the bone marrow transplant unit.
Jordan’s laptop, open on the adjustable bed table, blared Hawkins movies. Amelia had nicknamed it HTV—all Hawkins, all the time. She’d had no idea her daughter had gathered so much footage during their time in Erie, from the travelogues Jordan and Finn had made, to interviews with almost every member of the family, to Shannon and Greg’s wedding.
If it comforted her, then Amelia wasn’t about to protest.
Even if she could now narrate most of them by heart. Even if she suspected it was Jordan’s subtle way of torturing her.
The images tugged at her. Finn’s smile, his dancing with Jordan at the wedding, the beach scene...
Amelia missed him. Some days she felt as if she’d lost a limb. And the phantom pain sucked.
She paused by the bed. Jordan slept, her face flushed with fever, which thankfully had been lower at last check. Antibiotics dripped into her IV to help combat the mouth sores she’d developed. She’d also been given pain medication. Amelia stroked her daughter’s head, fingers sliding over the silky scarf Jordan wore, even in this private place, to cover her hair loss.
That had made her sob more than any of the stressful procedures.
Amelia pulled a notecard out of the desk in the room, placed it on the table next to the laptop. Gone to feed Chip. Be back soon.
She struggled to balance her time between the kids, to nurse Chip at least twice for his daytime feedings, since he was getting the short end of the stick. Some days she worried her baby would forget who she was. Without her showing up to nurse him, he might have.
She scrubbed her hands before entering the anteroom, a chamber that acted as a buffer between Jordan’s pressurized space and the outer unit. An additional germ barrier to protect her now even more fragile child. Once the inner doors closed behind Amelia, she could open the outer ones. Her chapped hands stung.
Outside, she gathered her purse and coat, pausing at the nurses’ station to tell them she’d be gone temporarily. Before leaving the BMTU, she removed her blue paper booties, then went through a final set of doors, marked Exit Only. In the elevator, she leaned into the corner, fighting to keep her eyes open.
Outside, a cold wind blew her hair into her face. The afternoon sun struggled to break through the cloud cover. Amelia crossed the street to Daniel’s House, a four-story building that rented furnished apartments to the families of children at the Portland Presbyterian Children’s Hospital. A large portrait of the little boy, Daniel, whom the facility honored, hung on the wall near the elevators.
She joined another couple heading up. The man and woman wore the weary, shell-shocked expression Amelia had become all too familiar with. When the elevator stopped, she followed them off, turning left while they went right.
She slid the key into the lock. But it wouldn’t turn. She wiggled it, tried the other direction, took it out and inserted it again. Finally, she rapped on the door, calling for the nanny. “Charlotte? Open the door. My key won’t work.”
A few moments later the door opened, revealing a middle-aged man with a balding head. He rubbed his eyes, then stared at her. “Can I help you?”
“You’re not Charlotte.”
“Nope. Can’t say that I am.”
Amelia glanced at the number beside the door. “Oh, I’m sorry.” She sighed. “I got off at the wrong floor.”
The man smiled wearily at her. “Happens to us all at some point. The absentmindedness of sleep deprivation.”
Another short elevator ride, one floor up, and this time, as Amelia slid her key home and turned it, Chip’s muffled cries penetrated the door. “I’m sorry, baby, I’m coming.” She draped her coat over the island that separated the efficiency kitchen from the living room, and dropped her purse.
Charlotte, a chubby older woman, paced the floor, bouncing the crying baby in her arms. “Here’s Mommy.” Charlotte was actually her second nanny. Amelia had fired the first after a week when she’d discovered the woman’s tendency to watch television all day and let Chip cry.
Amelia took her son, who immediately turned his face toward her chest.
“I thought we were going to have to tap the milk supply in the freezer again,” Charlotte said.
“I was waiting for Jordan to fall asleep after the pain meds before I left.”
Chip, frustrated by being so close and yet not being fed, scrunched his face up and burst into serious wailing.
Amelia carried him into the bedroom, stretching out in the middle of the king-size bed on her side. Chip latched on to her breast immediately.
Crying gave way to contented gulps.
He watched her, his brilliant blue eyes making her feel guilty every time she gazed into them. Like his big sister, Chip had his father’s eyes.
Amelia was starting to realize she’d made a serious mistake.
She talked to the baby, telling him about Jordan’s day so far, from the three spoons of applesauce and the ice pop she’d managed to get down for lunch, to the video greeting she’d received from her friend and crush, giver-of-the-awesomely-scary-exciting-first-kiss, Tyler. Ty e-mailed new videos on a regular basis, and they did the same, though Jordan preferred being the one holding the camera when she could manage it.
When Chip finished on one side, Amelie gathered him into her arms and repositioned them both on the other, placing a pillow between him and the edge of the bed.
Chip’s sucking slowed. His eyes closed. He’d stop nursing for a few moments, then start again.
Amelia closed her eyes, too. Just a little rest.
In the space of several moments, she was asleep, dreaming about Finn’s face, his smile, his voice.
“I love her because she’s smart and funny. She’s independent and strong—”
The doorbell startled her awake. She got up empty...aching...trying to remember the wisp of the dream, knowing only without doubt Finn had been involved.
Careful not to disturb Chip, she tucked him into the portable crib at the foot of the bed. She knuckled her eyes, then headed out.
Charlotte was closing the door. She held a vase with a bouquet of mini sunflowers, orange roses and lilies mixed with fall foliage. “I’ll say this for him. The man is persistent.” She handed Amelia the card, then set the vase on the counter.
“A little something to brighten your week. Thinking of you. Love, Finn.”
Amelia’s throat tightened. He’d sent flowers with the same message every Monday since Jordan’s admission to the BMTU—where flowers and balloons weren’t allowed because they gathered dust and germs.
“Too bad the goodies haven’t gotten here yet,” Charlotte said. “I’m craving chocolate.” Every Thursday, like clockwork, brownies and other homemade treats appeared at the apartment, delivered by FedEx. He’d sent a football and a teddy bear for Chip’s one month birthday.
Persistent didn’t begin to cover it.
Consistent. Stable. Thoughtful. Wonderful.
Reliable...
Once again the idea that she’d made a horrible mistake, not just for herself, but for her children, gnawed at Amelia. Time away from him, not to mention the lessening of her anxiety and stress from both the pregnancy and Jordan’s situation, had opened her eyes.
Every time he hadn’t been there for her—putting her out of his house, not showing up at Chip’s birth—that had been her fault, not his. She’d been the one to hurt him first. He hadn’t abandoned her. She’d driven him away.
Because she’d been convinced he could be another Ron. That even if he wasn’t, she somehow weakened herself by depending on him. Set herself up to hurt down the road...
A few hours later, after coaxing Jordan to eat some chicken soup and about a quarter of a chocolate milk shake, Amelia found herself rapping on the door of the unit’s social worker, a warm, caring woman who invited her in.
“You just caught me. I was getting ready to head out for the evening.” Though she kept seminormal hours, Helen gave cards with her cell number to all parents upon first meeting.
Amelia slumped in the chair in front of her desk. “I need somebody to talk to. I’m so damn confused.”
“I’m all ears.”
“Is there some kind of patient’s-parent confidentiality here? If I spill my guts, you’re not going to spread it around, right?”
Helen smiled. “As long as no one’s going to get hurt if I don’t.”
So Amelia told her the entire story of Finn. A story that had begun over a year ago, when she’d shown up on his doorstep with a specimen cup and a small—in her opinion—request. She left out the more personal details, like losing her head in his kitchen. She talked about how he’d taken over caring for her, caring for Jordan, the whole thing.
Helen nodded when appropriate, made quiet noises of encouragement when Amelia faltered in the telling.
“So, what’s your question?” she asked when Amelia finally fell silent.
She’d come to realize over the past few weeks that she loved Finn. But love wasn’t the issue. “Is there really such a thing as too independent?”
Helen snorted. “I’ve watched you run yourself ragged, trying to take care of Jordan and that baby of yours, and you actually have to ask me that?” She leaned forward and pulled a pencil from the blue ceramic mug on her desk. “One pencil. Independent. All by itself.” She snapped it in half. “Easily broken.”
She pulled out two more. “Two pencils together. Sharing the load.” This time the veins on the back of her hand stood out, she gritted her teeth, but neither broke. “See?” the woman asked. “They’re stronger together, not weaker.”
Amelia stared at the pencils for a moment, then slowly nodded her head. “Got it.”
“Good. Now I have a question for you. Does this guy have any brothers? And are they available?”
Amelia grinned, her tension easing for the first time in weeks. “As a matter of fact...”
###
Finn glared at Tracey as she set a bowl of risotto back on the serving island. “Don’t shoot the messenger.” She raised her hands.
“What’s the message?”
“Customer says it doesn’t taste right.”
“What the hell do you mean, it doesn’t taste right?” He grabbed a tasting spoon from the holder and dipped it into the dish. “Tastes fine to me. You taste it.”
He handed her a clean spoon. Her nose wrinkled after she sampled it. “What?”
“It’s a little bland. Needs more salt or something.”
He sighed. Bland had been a complaint lately, but everything tasted right to him.
It was the world that was wrong. Bland. Lacking.
He fired up a replacement, this time adding salt slightly beyond what he thought it needed. When it didn’t come back, he adopted the strategy for the rest of the service.
The kitchen cam and his laptop were both running. In case Jordan wanted to chat. Or just peek in on him. But she hadn’t, to his dismay.
During the lulls, he rewatched the latest video from her on his laptop. Footage Jordan had shot from her hospital bed. The camera wobbled, then zoomed in on Amelia, sprawled in a recliner. Jordan’s narration was hard to understand because of the sores in her mouth. “Here’s Mom,” she said. “Sleeping again.”
He didn’t catch the next sentence. But the images of Amelia tore at him. She’d lost all of the pregnancy weight. Maybe more. No longer radiant, she appeared wan. Pale.
There were moments when she looked almost as bad as Jordan.
She needed help, damn it. And he’d waited long enough for her to admit it. So, to hell with what she wanted.
When the final customer had left for the evening, and he’d turned the cameras off, Finn gathered his staff in the middle of kitchen cleanup. “Guys, I have an announcement. This was our last service for a while. I’m closing the restaurant. Hopefully temporarily, but...” He shrugged.
They stared at him as if he’d grown a second head.
“I need to help take care of Jordan and Chip,” he explained. That brought nods of understanding. His staff had taken a shine to Jordan while she’d lived with him.
Kara clapped her hands. “About damn time.”
“I’m sorry. I know the holidays are coming up. I’ll pony up a month’s severance. And I’ll write you all excellent letters of recommendation—actually, Kara will.” He looked at his youngest sister. “Okay?”
“Okay.”
“I’ll put out some feelers around town, pass on any leads. I’m sure you’ll be working again in no time. And if I reopen, hopefully I can steal you all back from your new employers.” In the morning he’d call his suppliers, stop shipments and deliveries. Hayden would keep an eye on the building. Sometimes it paid to have a brother living with you.
Without Amelia and the kids, the restaurant meant nothing, anyway. The goal he’d worked for his whole career, his own restaurant, and it didn’t even come close to satisfying.
###
T+19 (19 days post-transplant)
It had taken him an entire day to get Fresh put to bed. Finn eased the Explorer off the highway into a rest area on the Massachusetts Turnpike. They’d been on the road since 5:00 a.m., and according to the navigation on his phone, had only about two more hours in the ten-and-a-half-hour trip to Portland. He’d hoped to make it without too many delays, but his butt had gone numb. He needed more than a quick bathroom break or gas tank refueling. “Let’s grab lunch, huh, Mom?”
She nodded. “Sounds like a plan. I’m hungry.” His mother had insisted on accompanying him to Maine to help care for Jordan and Chip. Other members of the family had also offered to rotate to the hospital to lend support.
Amelia didn’t know it, but reinforcement troops were about to land.
Finn settled a baseball cap—swiped from Hayden—on his head. Sliding from the driver’s seat, he went around to the back of the SUV and raised the door. He dragged the cooler to the edge of the cargo space and opened it as his mother joined him. “What do you want? Roast beef and provolone on a sourdough roll, or grilled turkey and Monterey Jack with cranberry sauce on a kaiser?”
She smiled. “Have I mentioned that I like road-tripping with you? The food sure beats what they serve in there.” She jerked her thumb in the direction of the plaza building. “I’ll take the turkey, please.”
“Of course it does.” Finn eased aside the pumpkin pie he’d made for Amelia, now that pumpkins were readily available. He grabbed two wrapped sandwiches, two bottles of water, and closed the cooler. Then he picked up his laptop, which he slung over his shoulder. “It’s too cold to eat out here. Let’s go inside. I want to check my e-mail, anyway, see if there’s anything new from Jordan.”
“You didn’t tell her we were coming, did you?” His mother fell into step with him as they crossed the parking lot. A crisp wind rustled dried leaves along the blacktop.
“No. I want to surprise her and Amelia.”
“I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” He held the door for her, releasing the warmer air from inside.
“I just hope you—we’ll—be well-received. She wasn’t thrilled with you when she left, and I’m afraid she might feel the same way about me.”
Finn slid into a booth in the food court, setting his laptop on the seat beside him and unzipping his jacket. “What’s that mean, Mom? What did you do?”
“Nothing. I just told her she was passing up an amazing guy. And it wasn’t fair to her children to be raised so far from the family who loves them.”
Finn groaned. “Mom.”
“Sweetheart, you can understand now what it’s like to be separated from your children. It doesn’t hurt any less because it’s a grandchild.” His mother sighed, staring at her sandwich.
“Hey.” He waited for her to meet his gaze. “Are you sure you’re going to be okay seeing Jordan in the bone marrow transplant unit?”
She nodded. “Absolutely. I can do this.”
He smiled. “Okay.” He didn’t want to bring back too many memories of Ian for her, and how he hadn’t lived long enough to make it into the transplant unit.
“Eat your lunch, Finnegan, and let’s get back on the road.”
“Yes, ma’am.” While he did, he hauled out his laptop, powering it up and connecting to the free Wi-Fi. Almost at once, e-mail messages began to come in, including one from Amelia with an attachment. The downloading icon indicated more on the way, but he opened Amelia’s first.
Finn, these papers are necessary to take care of this. They must be signed in the presence of a notary, and we’ll need a DNA test to prove her paternity.
He stopped reading there. A DNA test? He clicked on the attachment.
And had to force the bite of sandwich past a sudden lump in his throat.
“Finn? Is something wrong? Something about Jordan?”
He shook his head. Then he nodded. He cleared his throat. “Amelia...sent me paperwork, Mom. She’s amending Jordan’s birth certificate to name me as father.”
His mother beamed at him. “That’s wonderful news.”
“Yeah.” An incredible gesture on her part. He was officially going to be more than a sperm donor. He was truly going to be Jordan’s dad.
So why did that still leave him feeling only partially satisfied?
Because he wanted it all. Greedy, yes. But he wasn’t going to rest until he convinced Amelia that he should be in her life as well.
The final e-mail finished downloading. It was from Amelia with another attachment. A big attachment, judging from the download time.
Finn—I’m going to let this video speak for itself. I hope you believe in forgiveness. In second chances.
Second chances? Heart thudding, he plugged in his earphones, tucked them into his ears, then clicked open the video.
The camera panned around Jordan’s hospital room. Amelia narrated. “This is Jordan’s room here at Portland Presbyterian Children’s Hospital.” Amelia’s hand moved in front of the lens. Everything went blurry for a moment, then the camera autofocused. On her palm, in black ink, was “Wish you were here.”
Finn held his breath. The scene flashed to a sign marked 407. “This is my apartment.” The door opened, and the field wobbled as she walked inside. “This isn’t much like your kitchen, but...” She set the camera on a countertop and again stuck her hand in front of it. The letters were fainter, but the message was still loud and clear. Wish you were here.
Warmth radiated from the center of his chest. Amelia showed him the living room, Chip’s crib, and then finally settled on a bed. She patted the floral bedspread, then flashed her palm one more time.
She didn’t just need him. She wanted him.
She turned the camera around so her face filled the frame. “I was a fool. A stubborn fool who was so afraid of getting hurt. I hope you can forgive me. If you can...you know where to find me. Us.”
The video went black.
She hadn’t mentioned love. But he’d take what she was offering. Elated, he slammed his laptop closed. “Grab your stuff, Mom. Let’s finish eating on the road.”
“Why the rush? Something wrong?” She immediately began wrapping her sandwich.
He again shook his head, a huge grin lifting his mouth and his spirits. “No. Something very right.”
###
Fortunately, he made good time on the highway. Because once reaching the hospital, Finn discovered the process for getting into the BMTU was excruciatingly tedious.
Three hand-washings, a pair of paper booties, a health questionnaire and interrogation by a nurse later, Finn left his coat and cap on a shelf outside Jordan’s room. The volunteer staffing the front desk downstairs had confirmed Amelia’s presence. His mom had to wait in the lobby, since only two visitors were allowed in a BMTU patient’s room at a time—and the rules were strictly enforced.
Finn stepped into the anteroom. Through the glass, he could see Jordan in her bed. He went to the sink, washing his hands again as instructed.
He craned his neck to see Amelia sprawled in the recliner, eyes closed. She was probably used to the medical staff coming and going. And she’d learned to sleep when Jordan did. He went to his daughter first, hunching down alongside the bed. “Hey there. You gonna wake up and say hello to me? Pretty sad thing, I come all this way and my two girls are both sleeping.”
Jordan’s eyes opened. Widened. “Dad.” Her grin turned to a grimace, and she winced, covering her mouth briefly. “You’re here!”
“I am.”
“Ohmigod. What happened to your hair? Daddy, you’re bald!”
“Shhh. Don’t wake your mom. What, you don’t like it? Uncle Hayden said it makes me look tough. Scary.”
Jordan giggled, again covering her mouth. “I don’t think he meant scary in a good way.”
“Oh, thanks a lot. Here I shave my head to prove to you it’s only hair, and that’s what I get for my trouble.” Finn stroked the silk covering she wore over her own head. Brown peach fuzz, visible around the edges of the scarf, had started to grow back. “No fair. I think you have more hair than I do.”
“Chip has more than both of us.”
“That’s okay. I’m sure we’ll both have a full head again long before he does.”
Jordan held open her arms. Hesitantly—the wires and tubes connected to her made him nervous, especially the one in her chest—he gathered her into a hug.
“I’m not gonna break,” she whispered.
Finn blinked hard. “No, course not. You’re the tough one in the family. I guess this means you’re not mad at me anymore?” He released her.
She shook her head. “No. I got over that the day we left. But...I’ve been fighting for you.”
“You have? How’s that?”
The corners of her mouth edged up in a tightly controlled smile. “For one thing, I’ve been playing your videos over and over. Especially the one where you say you love Mom.”
“I don’t remember that.”
She looked sheepish. “I thought I had the camera turned off. But it caught the audio. The day you made us leave? I asked if you loved Mom?”
Finn chuckled, taking Jordan’s hand. “Well, whatever you did, it worked. Your mom should have been more careful when she taught you to always have a plan, huh? Now I’m going to wake the other sleeping beauty.”
He knelt beside the recliner, just staring, drinking his fill after being deprived of her for almost eight long weeks. Then he leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers.
She sighed in her sleep. Then her mouth began to move beneath his. Her hand came up to cup the back of his head.
And her eyes flew open.
He backed away, grinning.
“Finn! Oh, your hair,” she whispered. “Your beautiful hair.” Her lower lip quivered.
“It’s only hair. It’ll grow back. That was the point.”
She bit her lip.
“You’ve gotta stop doing that. You’ll make it bleed.” He brushed his fingers over her mouth. “You’d seriously cry over hair?”
She shook her head. “No. Over a wonderful man who would shave his head for his daughter. And be-because I’ve been so stupid. I need you, Finn. We need you. And—and...I love you.”
She loves me. The realization thrilled him.
She started babbling about pencils, and being stronger with two instead of one, and tears actually started to fall.
Jordan giggled behind him from her bed as her mother melted down.
“I think your mom is a bit overtired, Jordan.”
“I’ll say.”
“I— I’m not making any sense, am I?” Amelia asked.
He shook his head. “Nope. But it’s okay. You had me at ‘I love you.’” He started to gather her into his arms, but she pushed against him.
“I don’t know about marriage. I’m not sure I can do that. You okay with that?”
“Sweetheart, if you won’t make an honest man of me, I will shack up with you for the rest of my days if that’s what you want. I’m sure my mom will have a few things to say about it, but...” He shrugged. “She’ll get over it. If you give the word, I’ll spend my days cooking at a greasy spoon diner in the north woods of Maine, as long as I can come home at night to you and our kids.”
“I don’t think we have to get that drastic. You’re a chef, not a cook. Except for maybe at home. And we can decide where that will be later.” She glanced at her watch. “Hey. How did you get here so fast? I only sent those e-mails a few hours ago.”
Finn took her red, rough hand in his, turning it over. The words had been scrubbed clean by the numerous hand-washings she’d endured since the morning. But he pressed his lips to where they’d been. “You wished me here.”
Heart full to the point she feared it would burst from her chest, Amelia caressed the smooth surface of his head. Though she missed being able to run her fingers through his thick, dark hair, she had to admit the gesture had been the final proof.
Finn Hawkins was no toad. And was worthy of her trust. Her love.
And their children.