Take This Regret (18 page)

grabbed my keys from my desk.

I had started for the door when Elizabeth began fumbling over earnest words. “I tried to cal Matthew, but he didn’t answer . . . and Lizzie won’t stop crying . . . and she keeps asking for you.” Her voice dropped as her unease increased. “Can you come? I don’t want to take her to the hospital by myself.” A brief moment of silence fel between us at her request. Her discomfort in asking for my help was clear, but the need of our daughter was so much greater than that.

My condo door slammed closed behind me as I hit the hal and rushed for the elevator.

“I’m already on my way.”

Traffic was heavier than I’d hoped, but I stil made the short trip to Elizabeth’s house faster than I ever had. The neighborhood was already quiet when I turned onto their street. Children no longer played on the grassy lawns of their front yards or on the sidewalks. Instead windows glowed as families had taken their activities inside.

I jumped from my car, not bothering to pause to knock when I reached the door. I threw it open to find Lizzie on Elizabeth’s lap where they were huddled on the couch.

Lizzie clutched her left arm protectively to her chest and whimpered while Elizabeth held a damp towel to her head.

“Lizzie,” I said as both worry and relief rushed out of me from where I stood in the doorway, stil clutching the door handle. My heart ached to see her this way but was thankful it had not been so much worse.

“Daddy.” She sniffled but stil managed to welcome me with a smal smile.

I crossed the room, dropped to my knees in front of her, and brushed back the matted hair stuck to her face.

“Oh, sweetheart, are you okay?” My gaze swept over her, ultimately landing on the towel slowly saturating with blood that Elizabeth had pressed to Lizzie’s forehead.

“My arm hurts.” She grimaced and hugged her arm closer, her bright eyes wet with tears. The sharp stabbing in my chest made me wonder if it were physical y possible to feel someone else’s pain.

“I know, baby girl, I know.” I smiled sadly and then shifted so I could pick her up. “Come on, let’s get you fixed up.”

Lizzie’s eyes grew wide, and she pul ed away. For a moment, my heart fel with rejection before she shook her head stubbornly. “No, Daddy, I don’t like doctors.”
Oh.

I glanced at Elizabeth, her eyes pleading.
Say
something.

I scooted closer. I tried to ignore the fact that as I did so, I hovered over Elizabeth, her knees brushing against my chest with every unsteady breath I took.

Instead, I focused on what was important—reassuring my daughter.

“Did you know I used to be scared of the doctor when I was a little boy?” I asked, keeping my tone light in an effort to comfort Lizzie.

She looked surprised. “You were?”

“Yep,” I answered, nodding. “And do you know what I learned?”

She shook her head.

“That doctors want to help us feel better,” I said, hoping I sounded convincing enough.

“But doctors give shots,” Lizzie said, pressing her lips together in defiance.

I suppressed a chuckle. Even in her distress, she was stil the cutest thing I’d ever seen. I felt Elizabeth’s smile, and imagined she was thinking the same thing.

Reaching out, I cupped Lizzie’s face, running my thumb over her cheek. “Sometimes they do, but it’s only to help you feel better.”

Lizzie’s bottom lip trembled. “But I
hate
shots, Daddy.” My expression softened in sympathy. This was the first time I’d real y seen my daughter frightened, and while I wanted to take away al her fear, to be her hero and to promise her I’d never let anyone or anything hurt her, I couldn’t do that. I had to be honest with her.

“I know, Lizzie.” I leaned in further. “But if you have to get a shot, Mommy and I wil be right there with you the whole time, okay?”

“Promise?” Lizzie whispered, stil fearful, though I could feel her resistance fading.

“Promise.” That was a promise I could make.

“Okay, Daddy.”

Careful y, I took Lizzie into my arms and murmured how proud I was of her. Elizabeth looked up at me as she handed Lizzie over and mouthed, “Thank-you.” Her lips moved slowly, cautiously. I knew it was hard for her to put this much trust in me, to place our injured daughter in my waiting arms. I nodded once as I met her eyes, wordlessly promising to never give her reason to regret it.

I carried Lizzie to the car where I strapped her into her booster seat, mindful of her injured arm. Elizabeth climbed into the backseat beside her, rattling off directions to the nearest ER. Within minutes, we walked through the doors and had Lizzie signed in.

We tucked ourselves in the farthest corner of the waiting room. I cradled Lizzie on my lap, and Elizabeth sat down in the chair next to me, closer to me than she was probably comfortable with. Warily, we eyed the room overflowing with people sporting about every il ness and injury we could imagine.

I blew out a loud sigh through my mouth.

Obviously, it was going to be a very long night.

By ten, probably thanks to the dose of medicine Elizabeth had given her before I arrived to their house, Lizzie’s pain had waned enough that she’d fal en asleep curled up on my lap as I rubbed continuous circles along her back. Elizabeth had said little, only quiet murmurings when she checked on her daughter, sweet words of reassurance and comfort.

Lizzie couldn’t have had a better mother.

For the hundredth time that night, I looked to the beautiful woman beside me. She appeared exhausted, dark bags beginning to appear below her honey-colored eyes, her blond waves in disarray from the number of times she’d wrenched her fingers through them. This time she must have felt me, and she lifted her eyes to meet mine as she smiled somewhat apologetical y.

“Thanks for being here, Christian,” she said as if she thought my being here was putting me out.

I inclined my head, turning so that I nearly spoke against her ear. “Would you be anywhere else right now, Elizabeth?”

She glanced at our sleeping child and then back at me, her brow furrowed. “Of course not.”

I looked at her intensely. “Neither would I.” She blinked several times before she pursed her lips and nodded. My mouth fel into a smal , sad smile, knowing part of her stil didn’t believe it. But that was okay because I knew another part of her did.

It was just another thing that only time would prove.

We sank back into silence. The passage of time dragged by as patients were cal ed back and others

arrived to take their place. Elizabeth yawned, her eyes drooping. “This is ridiculous,” she muttered under her breath as she scrubbed her palm over her face.

“Here.” I shifted, laying Lizzie in her arms. Her eyes shot to my face, wild and pleading.
Don’t leave me.

She fel back into distrust so easily. It stung. “I’l be right back.”

Less than five minutes later, I returned with two Styrofoam cups of steaming coffee. I had prepared Elizabeth’s the way I remembered she liked it, one cream and two sugars.

She moaned in pleasure when I handed her the cup.

“Christian.” She breathed in the aroma, and her eyes closed as she brought it to her lips. “You’re a life saver.” Then she flashed me the first real smile she’d given me since I had come back into her life.

For what had to be the twentieth time in the last ten minutes, Elizabeth looked over her shoulder, checking to make sure Lizzie was comfortable. Lizzie had fal en back asleep almost the moment I’d put her in the car.

Elizabeth sighed as she faced forward, slumping deeper into the front passenger seat. Her elbow rested against the door with her head in her palm. “I always overreact when it comes to her,” she uttered, mostly to herself.

Glancing to my right, I smiled softly at the woman who owned my heart, who I now had come to know as one who questioned herself as a mother, worried that she was making mistakes, that she was too cautious or not cautious enough. Apparently, parenthood did that to you. She rol ed her head across the headrest and turned to face me, her eyes tired but warm. My smile grew.

“What?” she drawled, returning a lazy grin.

“I was just thinking what a good mother you are.” I pul ed into her driveway, cutting the engine and hoping I hadn’t ruined the amicable mood we’d fal en into over the last several hours.

She laughed quietly. “Sometimes I feel like I have no clue what I’m doing.”

Through the rearview mirror, I peered at the child she had raised, the little girl I had a hard time seeing as anything but perfect, and shook my head before turning back to Elizabeth. “You shouldn’t doubt yourself so much.” The urge to reach out and touch her was almost too much to resist—the way her lips parted in response to my words as she stared across the smal space at me, her body fatigued and mind weary. It reminded me so much of the way she used to look just before she fel asleep in my arms.

I quickly removed myself from the car before I did something very stupid.

Careful y, I gathered Lizzie in my arms and fol owed Elizabeth into the dark house and upstairs to Lizzie’s room where I laid our daughter on her smal bed. While Elizabeth dug in the dresser to find Lizzie’s favorite nightgown, I pul ed off her shoes and shorts. Guided by the dim light filtering in from the hal , Elizabeth and I worked together to get Lizzie ready for bed by removing her shirt over the sling that protected her elbow and wrist, her tiny fingers now swol en.

“You have no idea how happy I am this isn’t a cast,” Elizabeth whispered as we coaxed the shirt from her head.

I nodded. I couldn’t have agreed more.

Lizzie’s injuries could have been so much worse, but she had escaped with only a sprained wrist and the cut on her head had only required a simple butterfly bandage.

Most important to Lizzie was the fact that it meant no shots.

She’d been so brave with the doctor and nurses, sitting stil as they’d examined her and ran a series of x-rays and cooperating while they placed the bandage above her eye and rested her arm in a sling.

I was so proud of her.

Lizzie barely stirred as I held her up, and Elizabeth dressed her, pul ing the pink satin nightgown easily over her head. She took more time to careful y maneuver Lizzie’s arm through the sleeve.

Elizabeth held the comforter back while I laid our daughter on the sheets, and for the first time in Lizzie’s life, both of her parents tucked her into bed.

Even under the terrible circumstances, it felt amazing.

Pressing my lips to my daughter’s head, I whispered against it, “I love you, Lizzie.”

She groaned an unintel igible response that went straight to my heart.

Standing, I yawned and stretched. The smal digital clock on Lizzie’s nightstand glowed two-nineteen.

It was real y late, but stil I wasn’t ready to go.

From the bedroom door, I watched as Elizabeth kissed our daughter and ran a tender hand through Lizzie’s dark hair before she reluctantly stood and crossed the room.

I stepped out into the hal way, and Elizabeth fol owed behind me, leaving the door ajar behind her.

We both breathed a simultaneous sigh of relief, the ordeal official y over.

Standing in the subdued light of Elizabeth’s hal way, the two of us were frozen, unwil ing to move. There were so many things I wanted to say—needed to say, the silence between us expectant. It stretched on and inevitably became uncomfortable.

“You’d better get some rest,” I final y said, wishing I didn’t have to say goodbye.

She fidgeted. “It’s real y late, Christian.” She wrung her hands. “Why don’t you stay? I don’t have a guest room, but the couch is real y comfortable . . . if you want.” The nervous edge to her words dissipated as she extended her hand, reaching out but not touching. “Lizzie wil want to see you in the morning.”

She seemed to think she needed to convince me.

Didn’t she understand I never wanted to leave? But as much as I wanted to stay, I understood this was a huge offering for Elizabeth to make.

“Are you sure?”

She nodded. “Yeah . . . stay.” Maybe she would never admit it, maybe she didn’t even realize it herself, but as I peered down at her, I
knew
she wanted me to stay. The armor she wore to protection of herself wasn’t enough to conceal the hope in her eyes.

I swal owed, searching for my voice. “Elizabeth—” She held up a hand to stop me. “Please, Christian . . .

don’t.”

On instinct, I stepped back and closed my eyes to keep myself from saying things she wasn’t ready to hear.

Soon we would have to talk and lay it al out. But I heard her plea, and tonight I wouldn’t push her any farther than she was ready to go.

“Okay.”

The tension between us dissolved, and she moved into action. “Hang on a second.” She turned and disappeared into her room at the end of the smal hal before she returned less than two minutes later with a new toothbrush and a pair of pajama bottoms.

“Here.” She handed the smal pile to me. “Matthew left these here a long time ago.”

I looked down at the things in my hand and then back at Elizabeth, incredulous. Did she real y expect me to wear these? Matthew wasn’t exactly my biggest fan.