| |
“Hey, man.” Eliot jumps away from me and stands there with his hand stretched out like he’s Jake’s long-lost buddy.
Jake ignores him and doesn’t take his eyes off me. “What are you doing?”
His entrance has startled my tears away for now. “I didn’t know you were in town,” is all I can think to say.
He gives Eliot a quick once-over. “I figured that part out myself.”
“Listen.” Eliot takes a step forward. He’s filled out since his days as a sickly asthmatic. He’s a few inches taller than Jake and slightly stronger by appearances. “Tiff’s had a bad day. She just found out Grandma Lucy’s in the hospital ...”
“Tiff?” Jake interrupts, his steadfast eyes never losing their angry focus. “Since when did the doctors around here start calling you Tiff? And who the heck is Grandma Lucy?”
I have to rewind. Make Jake come in two minutes later. Or twenty minutes earlier. None of this is right.
“You should go,” I tell Eliot. I know he’s got to get back to work. Slave-driven resident and all that. He’s probably already spent too much time here trying to be my grief counselor.
He raises an eyebrow. He’s questioning me. Asking me if I really want him to leave. It’s cute he thinks I might be afraid of Jake. “It’s ok,” I tell him. “Really, it is.” And I know I’m right. As soon as I explain to Jake, everything will be fine.
Jake seethes over our baby’s crib until Eliot leaves.
“That’s a friend of mine from Massachusetts,” I tell him. “We went to school together. Lived with the same foster family for a little while.”
“Is that why you were so quick to come back to Seattle?” he demands.
I can’t let myself get angry. Can’t lose my temper. All my worries about Natalie, all my confusion at the news of Grandma Lucy being so ill, I shove them into a tiny compartment in the back of my brain. My to-deal-with-later box. Right now I’ve got to do damage control. It’s what you’d expect when your husband sneaks up on you when you’re out of town and finds you falling in the arms of some posh doctor.
“We bumped into each other a few days ago,” I explain. “He just came up to check on Natalie. I was having a bad day. He was trying to make me feel better.”
I know Jake’s got a dozen different retorts. If I were him I’d probably have even more, but he’s letting it drop for now. I’m sure this isn’t the last I’ll hear of Dr. Eliot Jamison, but at least for now Jake’s calmed down enough we can have a civil conversation.
“What’s this?” He nods toward the baby.
I bite my lip. Have I seriously not told him? “Well, I was going to call you last night, but my phone died. They put her on the ventilator a few hours ago.” I’ve stretched the truth a little. So sue me. Right now Jake doesn’t need to know all the details. He needs to know enough that he can stay calm and rational. This isn’t how our first meeting back in Seattle was supposed to go.
“I thought we signed a form ...” His face is contorting, like his pity for his daughter’s raging a war against his anger toward me, and right now I’m not sure which side is going to come out victorious.
“The doctor asked me. Said I needed to give him a decision right away. It happened really fast. I didn’t have time to call you or anything.” I’m fidgeting with my fingers. I hate when I feel like I have to pacify Jake. He’s usually such a pushover. I can’t stand it when I’ve got to take the defensive. “You’re not mad about that, are you?” I frown and try to look humble.
He shakes his head. “You should have called me. That’s why we signed the form together.”
“I already told you there wasn’t time for me to think through it or anything. Basically, the doctor said I needed to let him intubate her or she was going to die right there. I mean, her numbers were really low. She wouldn’t have made it.”
I’m squinting my eyes studying him. He’s not mad our daughter’s still alive, is he?
“Did I make the wrong decision?” There’s an edge in my voice. I’m sure he must detect it, too. Must know he just walked into a verbal minefield. One false move and they’ll be stumbling upon his remains from a mile away.
“No.” He shakes his head again and lets out his breath. I can sense a little of the tension melt away. “No, you did the right thing. I just wish we could have talked about it first.”
“I’m really sorry about that. If I’d had the time, you know I would have called. It just happened really fast.”
“You said that already.”
“I’m sorry.” I’m offering him a hug. His muscles are tense. It’s like wrapping your arms around a stinking statue or something. “The good news is her numbers are getting better. Fever’s down, too.”
“Ok.” He’s moody now. Moody I can deal with. It’s when he’s mad at me, when I have to prove I haven’t done anything wrong, that I feel so lost.
“You all right?” I ask in my best Mama will take care of you voice.
“Yeah. I just need to rest. Where are the keys?”
“Keys?”
“To the Ronald McDonald house. I was up at five this morning. I’ve been on the road all day. I could use a nap.” He stretches out his hand.
“I don’t have any keys. I’ve been sleeping here.”
He eyes the oversized chair. “Here?”
“Yeah. They’ve got blankets and stuff. Want me to find you a pillow?”
“No, I’ll go over and talk to the people at the house. Get us a room for tonight.”
“You a room,” I mutter.
He whips his head around. “Huh?”
“Nothing. Sure, if you need your rest, go find a room.” I give what I hope is a peace-offering smile. “I’m sure you’re tired after such a busy morning.”
I hope to God he doesn’t sense the biting sarcasm in my remark, but he’s either too tired or too stupid to notice, and he walks out the door without another word.
I slump back into the chair by Natalie’s crib. It’s going to be a long day.