Ekatherina ended up in the hospital again, right as Cordelia was admitted for delivery. Early, just as she predicted.
Augustus and Charles massed together at roughly the center point between the rooms of the two women. They’d both been booted from the respective suites by their wives, one from anger, the other, cruelty. The men in the hall were responsible for landing them in their respective predicaments and were unwelcome.
“I didn’t know she could be so angry.” Augustus crossed his arms. “She was always so quiet in the office, and even when I took her to Maine…” He glanced repeatedly down the hall, hoping to see a nurse gesturing to him to return. “She loathes my presence, and I don’t know what I did to deserve it. I’m at a loss. It defies logic.”
“My son is being born and this wench knows right where to stick the knife and turn,” Charles grumbled. He wouldn’t stop moving. The small circle he cut with his pacing screeched with the sharp angles created by his sneakers. The sound was met with dirty looks by passersby. “I knew all that nice crap she was pulling was a ruse to get me to lower my guard, so she could fuck me right in the ass with her vengeance.”
“She may even hate me,” Augustus said. “I can’t wrap my head around it.”
“If I really wanted to be in that room, there’s not a fucking thing that bitch could do to stop me.”
“She blames me for her sister. What else could I do? Should I fly to New York and strongarm the immigration office?”
“Won’t she be shocked when she looks down through her legs expecting to see my boy and she sees my merciless fucking face. Surprise, bitch.”
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I always know what to do. I’m not sure I can fix this.”
“Maybe I’ll go in there and play doctor and deliver him myself. Double surprise, bitch.”
The brothers projected their fears into words, not really talking to each other, or even at each other. They were hardly aware of one another, except in the subtle comfort they drew from proximity.
If Augustus was going to be standing in this hospital with anyone, he was glad it was Charles.
“Mr. Deschanel?”
Both brothers whipped their heads at the sound of their name.
“Augustus,” the doctor corrected.
Augustus exchanged a wary look with his brother. Charles shook his head and went back to pacing.
“She’s waking up now,” the doctor explained. He set her chart in the holder. “The sedative we gave her was mild. We’re very limited in our options when a woman is pregnant.”
“Of course.” Augustus stuffed his sweaty hands in his trouser pockets. “Did she ask for me?”
“No, but you did request we notify you when she wakes,” the doctor answered. His nervous look back toward Ekatherina’s room betrayed what he didn’t say. “Please be aware, Mr. Deschanel, it is very important that we keep your wife calm. I believe your O.B. already discussed the risks her stress could pose to the health of both her and your unborn child.”
“Yes.”
He tapped his pen against his thigh, thinking. With a look suggesting he might regret saying it, he added, “She asked me not to tell you she was awake. Now, I’m not in the business of marital counseling, and what’s happened between you two is between you two. It’s none of mine whether you’ve got bad blood in the marriage. I can’t tell a husband to stay out of his wife’s room, and I won’t. But… consider treading carefully.”
Augustus’ cheeks burned as it slowly dawned on him what the doctor was implying. “Doctor, that’s not what’s happening here. My wife has suffered a loss, and she’s reacting to that. She thinks there’s more I could have done to bring her sister here, where she could have received treatment that might have saved her life. She blames me. That’s all.”
The doctor held up his hands. “You don’t owe me an explanation, Augustus. Not the first time I’ve turned a blind eye, and won’t be the last. But don’t make me regret it.”
Augustus stepped closer. He lowered his voice. “Doctor, I am not abusing my wife, and I detest the insinuation.”
The doctor smiled knowingly, nodding. “Of course. We never had this conversation.”
Augustus was horrified. Had this doctor really allowed the abuse of women to be glossed over, out of some archaic notion of fraternity?
He grabbed the doctor’s arm as he started to walk away. He didn’t know what he was doing. Was he really going to do this? Here? Now? He’d never done this so impulsively, without thought, without weighing out the risks.
Augustus burned his eyes into the doctor’s. He pressed all his focus into one channel. “You will stop protecting terrible men. Your priority from now on is ensuring the safety of the women who trust you with their health. In fact, I think you’re going to donate thirty percent of this year’s salary to an organization that provides relief for battered woman. Next year, too, and hell, why not the year after? Sound good?”
“Sounds good,” the doctor replied, dazed.
“Sounds like the least you can do,” Augustus countered and left the doctor in the hallway, drawing from his well of strength as he stepped through the door of Ekatherina’s room.
Colin came upon Charles as he was yelling at a pack of cowering nurses. An ashy cigarette flailed around in one hand while the other pointed with escalating vigor.
“Colin! Finally, someone who knows what the fuck is going on here. Can you please explain to these workers whose salaries I help pay that I have every goddamn right to be in the room when my own flesh and blood comes into this world?”
“Charles. Can we talk?”
“Now? Really? Does this look like a good time for a little chitty chat?”
Colin smiled placatingly at the shell-shocked nurses. “Ladies, will you excuse us?”
“No, they won’t fucking excuse us, not until they let me into that goddamn room.”
“Sorry,” Colin said over his head and all but dragged him to a small seating area in the corner of the ward. “What’s gotten into you?”
“Stop apologizing for me. That was bullshit, the way you acted like I was the bad guy.”
Colin smelled at the air and curled his nose in disgust. “You’ve been drinking. Today of all days.”
“What better reason is there on this entire planet than the birth of my first son?”
“One could argue the birth of one’s son is a more compelling reason not to drink, for once in your life. Tell me you’re not high, too.”
Charles sniffed; it was a phantom reaction, now second nature. He wished he were high, but he’d forgotten his stash at Ophélie, and he wasn’t leaving until these incompetents let him into the birthing suite.
“Since you’re here,” Charles answered. He pointed his cigarette toward the nurse’s station, gesturing wildly. “Help me deal with this bullshit.”
“I can try,” Colin said. His eyes darted around. He was embarrassed, the poor baby. Charles wanted to hurl him like a bowling ball, right into the gaggle of useless women who knew only how to say no, or I’m sorry.
“Steeee-rike!” Charles cried out. He sniffed. God, what a foolish thing to forget at home. He wondered if he could score off someone here. If anyone was the ideal consumer for some high quality coke, it was those high-strung-bloated-salary motherfuckers running around all day and night. If every doc on this staff wasn’t as keyed up as he’d like to be right now, he’d eat his hat.
“What are you on about now?”
“I’m an excellent bowler.”
“You’re… what?” Colin craned his neck down both ends of the hallway. Charles mimed doing the same with a slack-jawed expression and a few ridiculous slurs to match.
“Why are you even here?” Charles asked, as it occurred to him he hadn’t called his friend nor was there any obvious reason for him to be at the hospital, other than to annoy him and serve as chief judge.
“I’m here because as soon as your son is born, I need you to sign paperwork naming him as your heir.”
Charles threw his head back and laughed. He slapped the wall, cackling as if he’d been privy to the funniest joke in the world. His humor died away as Colin’s expression evolved to be gradually more and more annoyed.
Charles cleared his throat. “That can’t wait?”
“Technically, legally, it can. Absolutely,” Colin replied. Everything about him changed when he morphed into Lawyer Colin. The way he held himself, his voice, his choice of words. “But your ancestors had a stipulation—you might consider it ceremonial—that the honor be granted at the moment of birth.”
“Ceremonial,” Charles parroted. He enunciated each syllable with escalating flair.
“Yes, it seems that men who have billions to hand down possess the prerogative of doing so with pomp and circumstance.”
“Will there be a band, Colin? Tell me you’ve booked the Stones.”
“No, Charles. There will not be a band.”
The heat from the overhead lights was overwhelming. Charles broke out in a sudden sweat at the realization, and from then on it was all he could think of. He ran his hands around the exposed areas of his flesh in no particular pattern.
But then as quick as the onset of heat had descended, he began shivering. Full body shakes, and a chill to the depth of his bones.
Around him, the hospital went about their work as if the room had not turned from fire to ice.
“You’re nervous,” Colin said. He draped a tentative arm over Charles’ shoulder, not quite resting it against his humming flesh. “Of course you are. I was a mess when Oz was born. To tell you the truth, I still am.”
“I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with this place, but this shit is Biblical. Like my wedding day.”
“What is?” Colin’s head shuddered as he thought better of the question. “I have an idea. It could be hours before Cordelia delivers, so why don’t we get a coffee?”
“No, fuck coffee.”
“Right.” Colin dropped his arm and again scanned the hospital. What the hell was he looking at? “How about we find Augustus? He’s dealing with a lot of stress, too. He could use the company.”
“He’s in with that Russian.”
“Ekatherina.”
“She doesn’t get a name until she starts respecting my brother.”
“Right.”
“Stop saying that.”
“What?”
“Right. Stop saying right, like I’m some fucking madman you can’t hold a conversation with.”
Colin cocked his head to say, well…
“Did you come here to help, or to flaunt your perfection in my face?”
“I told you why I’m here,” Colin said. “We could’ve sent my dad. He’s probably the more appropriate person to handle this, since he’s lead on the Deschanel account, and he went through this once before, when you were born. But I said I wanted to come, because I thought you could use a friend, Huck. I know you’re scared, because this is scary. And Cordelia, well, she doesn’t make it easy. I get that.”
“Fucking understatement.”
“But,” Colin went on, “once your son is born, you’ll forget about her. You’ll forget about your ire toward the nurses, and how you’re feeling right now. It will all fall away, and you’ll be completely and totally in awe of the new life that’s half you, and all Deschanel. He’s your heir, but he’s also your son, and there’s nothing else in the world that feels more like magic than that. Not even to someone like you, who grew up around the real deal.”
Charles fought the urge to cry. He didn’t know where it had come from. He never cried, unless he was too high to know what the fuck was happening. Tears were pointless, but they were also scary and wild and a symptom of a bigger problem, which was a lack of control. There was no greater sin than letting anything sneak by that he didn’t approve.
“I hate her.” Charles’ voice dropped low. He sniffed, this time from something other than the phantom cocaine. “I really, really hate her. I’ve tried to like her, Colin. I know you think half of what I say is full of shit, but I have tried. I’ve tried harder to like Cordelia than I tried in all the wasted years of college. She’s not good. And I am afraid, but my fear is bigger than these bullshit nurses and their useless words.”
Colin stopped his nervous, judgmental shuffling and listened.
“I’m afraid she’ll be a terrible mother, and that I won’t be good enough to make up for it.” Charles crossed his arms and turned completely away when the tears spilled. He gritted his teeth, cussing himself out in his head. This was unacceptable. Complete and utter bullshit. He had to work himself back to the anger, because anger was better. He knew what the fuck that meant.
Colin’s perpetual smugness disappeared. The change was so absolute that Charles felt it, even though he couldn’t see his friend’s face. Colin sidled up to Charles, but seemed to understand not to come close enough to witness the unforgivable lapse in emotion. “Terrible parents don’t worry about things like this,” he said, approaching his words with obvious care. “You’ve had your share of sins, but none of it will matter by the time today is over. None of it, Huck. Because the Charles Deschanel of yesterday is not the man you are right now. When you hold your son, you’ll transform into someone so different from who you are in this very second that you wouldn’t believe me if I described him.” He reached out and squeezed Charles’ arm. “You can’t decide who Cordelia will be. But you will be the father your son needs, and Catherine and I will step in and help wherever you need it. Your sisters will step in and show him their own nurturing. You won’t be able to keep Irish Colleen away.”
Charles sniffed. Laughed.
“He won’t want for love. Not in this lifetime.”
Charles turned and without lifting his head, he pressed his face into Colin’s face, allowing this very temporary lapse into vulnerability, with one of the few men who knew him enough to give him such reassurances.
“You lie to me!”
Augustus was helpless against the ire. He dared not say anything to further incite her, but he hadn’t said anything to bring her wrath upon him when he walked in, either. He was frozen by his fear of the irrational. Anything he said could make this worse. He doubted anything would make it better.
“Ekatherina, I never lied to you. I’ve probably failed you in other ways, but I’ve always been very honest with you about the roadblocks I’ve faced trying to get your family here.”
She whipped her face to the side, away, an active denial of him and his words. “You say you can help. You convince me to marry you, and I do, for this!”
Augustus winced. She was angry and grieving her loss. She clearly didn’t mean it.
It still stung.
“I’ve tried everything I know. I’ve offered money, and more money. I’ve used my influence. The one thing I can’t change is the political climate.” Augustus pulled his seat close to her and tried to ignore her instinctual recoil. Was this, here, now, the truer reflection of her feelings for him? Now that his usefulness was spoiled, was her love, also? Or was this really only grief talking?
“I care nothing for politic, husband.” This last was said with such acrimony that Augustus’ stomach clenched into a tight knot.
“I know you don’t,” he said, attempting to come across as gentle and soothing. Neither were characteristics that were very natural for him, and he worried this was obvious enough to make things even worse than they were. He didn’t know what worse looked like. He didn’t want to. “But I’m learning the hard way that even my best has limitations.”
“Your best is nothing. It’s no use to me. It kill my sister!”
Augustus sighed inwardly. Nothing he said would get through to her, because she wasn’t in the frame of mind to be rational. She’d taken one word and twisted it into something vile, and she’d keep doing it. There would be no end to his faults.
Later, he would evaluate this. Not simply this conversation or the few preceding it, but his entire courtship and marriage. Somewhere, his judgment had failed him. Perhaps several somewheres. He could spend time convincing himself her words were born of emotion, or he could accept that at no point in their relationship had their love been two-sided. Even when she folded herself into his arms in Maine, he suspected her behavior to be the culmination of her feelings for another. And could she be blamed, truly? He’d known all along he was not the marrying type. He’d loved and pursued her anyway. Insanity was going against your better judgment and then having the gall to be surprised when it ended up exactly as it should have.
Later, remember? Unless you want to do this now, when she’s wild with hatred for you? Is this helping?
“I love you,” he blurted. The words came from somewhere within him, but it was a place he recognized no better than the side of him who had forsaken himself for the love that led him to this very moment.
“Hmph.” The heart rate beeps on her monitor blipped faster and more frequently every time she spoke. Over time, they’d gradually increased, and he’d watched this with apprehension. Any higher, and it would trigger an alarm. “Love. You say you love me. You say you do anything for me. You don’t know anything.”
“I’m so sorry about Anasofiya,” he hazarded. “I would have moved the world to get her here. To get all of them here.”
“My world is destroyed. It is nothing now. You destroy it.”
“I loved you enough to forget who I was and become someone you could love, too.”
“You don’t know love. You know power. You know to take what you want because you never lived like I live. You are spoiled and eat from silver and that is not love. You use love. You don’t know it.”
I never wanted any of it. I tried to walk away from my name and everything it stood for. I focused on myself, on… Maddy. On my business. On Evangeline. On everything except all those things you would persecute me for.
But then, you.
“I can’t deny who I am, Ekatherina,” Augustus said. He needed to leave. She didn’t want him here, and it hurt more than he could manage to hear her say the words, when on some level he knew she meant them. He reached for her, to touch her, but thought better of it. Instead, he went to the door. He lingered long enough to add, “But you’re wrong about my love. I’ve never given it freely, or easily. Until you, I didn’t know I could.”
Colin was a force. He might have treated Charles like a toddler in need of extreme babysitting when he’d arrived at the hospital, but as soon as the announcement of Cordelia’s safe delivery was made, he turned into another man entirely. He commanded that the wing be cleared of all but essential personnel. He informed—didn’t ask, but directed—the doctor that he was to bring the baby to a private room for Charles to see him and hold him, once Cordelia had held him first.
Before the doctor could act on the orders, a flurry of activity drew their attention to Cordelia’s room. Two other doctors rushed in, and it all happened very fast. One minute she was resting quietly, and the next, she was being wheeled to surgery, for reasons no one paused to explain.
“What’s happening? What’s going on?” Charles asked every last person who ran by him, but he received only one word in response, from a harried nurse taking up the rear: bleeding.
“Charles,” Colin said to bring him back to the moment. “I’ll stay on top of Cordelia’s situation. Right now, you should be with your son.”
“My son,” Charles whispered as he gaped down the hall where his wife had just been wheeled away. He needed to ground himself. To remember what was important. “Yes, my son. My son! Where is he?”
A nurse appeared, smiling. “Come with me, Mr. Deschanel.”
Colin nodded to follow her. “I’ll deal with this. Go.”
Charles wandered several paces behind the nurse. Everything around him had faded to a blur, like the dream sequence of a movie. Faded, hazy, lighter.
He entered the room he’d watched the nurse disappear into. The effect of his daze intensified and for years after he would swear that he’d seen a halo of heavenly light appear around the woman holding his son.
Her smile was warm and beckoning. “You ready to meet your son, Mr. Deschanel?”
Charles accepted the tiny bundle. He was daunted with how light the weight was and how little it pushed at his arms, but at the same time, how heavy he felt.
A wrinkled, reddish face peeked out from the swath of blanket. Eyes closed, mouth twisted as the wee one adjusted to his new reality.
His son.
“Have you and your wife picked out a name?”
Charles didn’t think he could speak, but these were the words he’d been waiting to say for months, and he wouldn’t miss his first chance to say them aloud.
Looking down at the best thing he’d ever done, Charles said, “Nicolas Charles Deschanel.”
Colin gave Charles the news as he watched, in awe, as Nicolas slept.
He would murder Cordelia later, but the Charles sitting in the nursery next to his newborn son was a changed man.
“Do you understand what this means?”
“Yes, Colin,” Charles said, measuring his voice in sweet, dulcet tones. If Cordelia’s wickedness disturbed Nicolas for even a second, it would be an unforgivable sin. “It means she can’t have more kids unless that kid is Jesus.”
Colin exhaled into his lap. He’d folded himself over his knees, hands pressed together. “I don’t know how she managed it. The scene. The drama. I really thought something was wrong with her.”
“Something is wrong with her,” Charles said sweetly as Nicolas’ sleeping hand tried to grab the finger he’d used to tickle his palm. “She’s a psychopath. I’ve told you that all along.”
“Emergency hysterectomy.” Colin mulled the words, as if he might suddenly understand the mind of someone as soulless as Cordelia Hendrickson. “How did she convince the doctor to perform such a procedure?”
“She just sold her shares in her father’s failing company. She had more than enough to buy off these incompetents.” Charles didn’t want to think about this just now. He wanted to go to wherever Nicolas’ sweet baby imagination had taken him. Wanted to jump cotton candy fences on their matching ponies as the pink sun rained colorful sprinkles.
“But why?”
“Why do pigs roll around in their own shit? Because they like it, Colin. She likes being this way. It’s probably the only damn thing she likes.”
“Doesn’t it negate the whole value of marrying you?”
“She gave me a son,” Charles said. “A legitimate son, not a child born from a woman we paid off, somewhere in another state.”
“You don’t want other kids?”
Charles leaned into the crib and blew soft kisses against Nicolas’ cheeks. Nicolas wiggled in his tiny pajamas in response.
“Huck, I’m sorry… I don’t know what I was thinking, talking to you about this now.”
Charles plucked at Nicolas’ tiny toes. “Don’t be. It gives me a reason to throw her ass out onto the street without feeling the least bit of remorse.”
“I’m really so sorry. I can’t believe she would do this… and today, of all days. The sight of her own son inspired her to do this.”
“I know this is hard for someone of your moral caliber to understand,” Charles said. “But women like Cordelia exist. Monsters are real, Colin. They’re all around us.” He tucked the blanket around his son and turned around to face his friend. “But you know who does want kids? A whole fucking lot of them, according to her.”
Colin looked confused.
Charles grinned. “Lisette.”
“You can’t be… you are. You’re serious.”
Charles redirected his attention back to his son, where his only happiness lived now. “We’ll talk later.”