The Beauty Series Bundle (68 page)

L is already admitted to her room in labor and delivery by the time I park and find her. Just as Dr. Sommersby promised, she’s already been positioned in a bed with the head down and her feet up. Gravity. It’s what we used to get her pregnant and now it looks like we’re going to use it to keep her that way.

Several nurses are doing different things to L at the same time—one starting an IV, another getting vital signs and placing a monitor on her stomach, a third asking a long list of questions about her medical history. It’s a lot to take in at once seeing so many things done to your wife simultaneously. And I have no control over any of it. All I can do is sit back and hope these people know what they’re doing.

An hour later, the whirlwind of getting L admitted and the nurses completing the doctor’s initial orders is over. She’s settled in—best she can be while almost turned upside down—and we’re left alone for the first time since this nightmare began. I scoot my chair to the head of her bed so she can see me and I take her hand. I lean over and kiss it. “Can I do anything for you?”

“Wake me up and tell me it’s all a bad dream.”

“Everything is going to be okay. Our baby has a fighter’s heart. She’s part of you so she doesn’t have a choice.”

“You said she. You’re so convinced this baby is a girl.”

I am. “You’re so convinced she’s a boy.”

“Why a girl? I thought every man wanted a son.”

Too much emphasis is placed on men wanting sons. “When I lost you, I had a lot of time on my hands. I spent most of it thinking about what my future would look like if I got you back. You holding a little girl with long brown curls and your same caramel-colored eyes … that’s what I always saw and I guess her image stuck with me, but I’d be thrilled with any child you give me.”

Tears fill her eyes but they run toward her hairline instead of down her cheeks. I reach over and wipe them away. “I should call my parents to let them know what’s happening. I’m sure my mum will be in the car immediately.”

“Tell her she doesn’t have to come. There’s nothing she can do but look at me … like this.”

“As if that’s going to happen.” Margaret McLachlan will be here in less than four hours. I predict it and pity any who gets in her way.

This is going to be miserable for L. Only an hour in and she’s already slid toward the headboard so far that her head is pressed against it. “Want me to pull you down in the bed?” Or up? I don’t know which you’d call it.

“Yeah, but don’t tug on that.” She points to a plastic tube hanging on the bed.

“What is it?”

She wrinkles her nose. “A catheter.”

Oh God. “Inside you?”

“Yeah. That’s generally where they go.”

I didn’t see them put that in her. “Why?”

“I can’t get up to the bathroom and I think you can imagine why a bedpan isn’t going to work.”

“Oh, L. I’m so sorry you’re the one going through all of this.” I would do it for her in a second.

“I can do anything I need to for our baby. I’ll forget all about this little bit of discomfort when they place him in my arms.”

I lean down to kiss her forehead. “Her.”

I help L with repositioning before going out into the hallway to phone my parents. I’m not sure I’ve ever dreaded a call so much in my life. Mum is going to be devastated.

We do our normal greeting but then the part comes where I have to tell her why I’m calling. I start at the beginning, careful to not leave out any details, and I can hear her crying before I even get to the part about the cerclage. “Listen, Mum. The doctor is optimistic that the membranes will go back inside so she can stitch the cervix closed. There’s hope.”

“How is Laurelyn handling this?”

“She’s okay—willing to do whatever it takes to keep this baby inside for as long as possible.”

“I’m packing a bag as we speak. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

This is going to be a long road per Dr. Sommersby. “You don’t have to come now, Mum. There’s nothing you’ll be able to do except sit in an uncomfortable chair and look at Laurelyn while she slowly slides toward the head of the bed.”

“Then that’s what my job will be—not staying four hours away.”

I hang up and prepare myself for the other call I have to make to Jolie Prescott. I still haven’t forgiven her for making Laurelyn cry, telling her she had made a stupid mistake by becoming pregnant. L didn’t tell me so but I wonder in the back of my mind if her mum might have encouraged her to have an abortion. If she did, she’s smart for not telling me. I don’t think I could ever forgive her for such a thing.

“Jolie, it’s Jack. Laurelyn asked me to call you because something has happened.”

“Is she okay?”

“She is but there’s been a complication with the baby and she’s in the hospital.”

“Is she having a miscarriage?” Her voice sounds a little too hopeful.

“She could lose the baby but the doctor is doing everything possible to prevent it.”

“I need to talk to Laurelyn because I have some great news. Jake and I are getting married.”

All I see is red. What a bitch. She finds out her daughter is in the hospital fighting to save the life of her grandchild and her response is to tell Laurelyn about her happy news. Un-fucking-believable! Perhaps she’s mentally ill on some level. No sane person would be so indifferent to their child.

“She’s asleep,” I lie. I won’t allow her to upset Laurelyn. “I’ll have her call when she wakes.” Or maybe I won’t. I’m not sure speaking to her mum is beneficial right now. I think it could cause a lot more harm than good.

I
didn’t sleep
much last night. Even after I was given a sleeping pill, I only dosed in intervals. I don’t think Jack Henry nodded off once all night, although I repeatedly asked him to try and get some sleep. The nurse showed him how to turn the chair into a bed but he refuses, and each time I open my eyes or move, he slides to the edge of his seat and asks me if I’m okay. He’s like a guard dog watching over me and our baby.

I brush my teeth and Jack Henry helps me wash up. “Did you tell Margaret they’re doing an ultrasound this morning?”

He’s standing at my bedside wearing his cotton sleep pants and a T-shirt, rubbing his scruff. He has a case of bed head, although he never slept, and he couldn’t look more adorable. “Yeah. She wants to stay and watch if it’s okay with you.”

Of course, it’s fine by me. “I don’t mind. I’d love for her to see the baby.”

“She’ll be really happy about that. She never got to be with Em when they did any of hers.”

I’m almost afraid to ask about my mom but I need to. “You never mentioned it, but did you talk to my mom?”

“I did.”

“What did she say?”

He looks like he’s thinking up something to say. “I told her what was happening and that we were going to do everything possible to save the baby.”

“What did she say about that?”

“She asked if you were miscarrying and then told me she wanted to talk to you because she had good news. She and your dad are getting married.” He looks like he’s angry. “I didn’t think her timing was appropriate, so I told her you were asleep and would call her later.”

Asking about the miscarriage without any concern for me or the baby and then jumping straight into her good news … that hurts. But it’s just like my mom. I don’t get the disconnect there. I haven’t even laid eyes on this baby yet and I already know I’ll put his happiness ahead of my own. That’s what a real mother does.

She’s hoping I’ll lose the baby because she thinks I should be pursuing my career instead of a family. This is a problem for me and I’m not sure she’ll continue to hold a place in my life if she’s going to wish my child away. “She probably won’t call to check on us but if she does, tell her the nurse is with me and I can’t talk.” I can’t handle her right now.

Margaret arrives only moments before Dr. Sommersby comes into the room for my scan. “Is it okay if my mother-in-law stays?”

“That’s fine with me if it’s all right with you.”

I look at Margaret and she’s wearing a huge grin. That’s how a grandmother should be, ecstatic about seeing her grandchild, not wishing it away. “Yes. I would very much like her to be here.”

The ultrasound procedure is the same as yesterday—lots of measuring and documenting—but Dr. Sommersby is nice enough to show Margaret some great close-ups of the baby. She agrees with me—that the baby looks like Jack Henry—but in the end there’s no change in the membranes, so we’ll continue doing what we did yesterday. I’ll continue to lie with my head down and we’ll check for improvement tomorrow.

D
ay four
. I didn’t think I’d become sick of this so quickly but I am. I don’t want to stay here any longer. I want to be home at Avalon. I cried like a baby after Jack Henry finally went to sleep last night because I didn’t want him to see me. I’ve been holding it in, putting on a tough exterior, because I don’t want him or Margaret to see my weakness and mistake it for selfishness.

I can see how one could lie here and become depressed. Maybe that’s what’s happening to me now, but I’ll keep doing what I have to for this baby and pray the membranes have retreated.

I wait on pins and needles, lying on a bed of nails upside down, as I hold my breath for the verdict. “I don’t see hourglassing, Laurelyn. I think we can put you on the surgery schedule and place the cerclage today.”

Hallelujah! I want to jump out of bed and turn cartwheels down the hall.

Jack Henry squeezes my hand and leans up to kiss me. “I knew you’d do it. I never doubted you for a second.”

Things move rapidly, prepping me for surgery, and I’m nervous. No … more like petrified. There are still risks involved with this procedure, so we aren’t out of the woods yet. But the prognosis is much improved from what it was four days ago.

My surgical nurse and anesthetist come into the room to move me to the OR. Jack Henry looks as terrified as I feel. “You’re going to do perfect and Dr. Sommersby is going to take good care of you. I’ll be right here waiting.” He leans down and kisses my mouth. “I love you, L.”

“Love you too.”

I’m wheeled down the hall backward, the fluorescent lights flashing as we move beneath them. It’s disorienting moving in the wrong direction and the flickering doesn’t help. It’s nauseating. “I don’t feel well.”

The bed is stopped and a washcloth is placed over my face. “Close your eyes and don’t watch the overhead lights.” I remember the nurses telling me to notify them immediately if I felt nauseated. Vomiting could cause my membranes to balloon out further or possibly even rupture. “Concentrate on your breathing and take slow, deep breaths. We’re almost there.” I feel something being placed in my hand. “This is an alcohol pad. Sniff it. It’ll help the nausea pass.”

I bring it to my nose and inhale deeply. Miraculously, it helps. I sure wish I’d known about that little trick a couple months ago.

The freezing cold air of the operating room hits me the second I’m taken inside and my body involuntarily shakes before it’s really even had a chance to cool. My teeth are clenched tightly and a rigor causes me to jerk. “I have some warm blankets for you once we get you moved over.”

I’m slid with sheets and a backboard to a table in the middle of the room. Bright lights shine directly on my crotch. Stirrups await, and I’m pretty sure I know what’s next. I’ll be spread-eagle for everyone in this room to see. How humiliating. I hope they put me to sleep first.

I look up and see the upside down face of the nurse anesthetist placing an oxygen mask over my mouth and nose. “Just a little fresh air for you, Mrs. McLachlan.” A moment later the woman standing over me says, “I’m going to give you something through your IV to make you really sleepy.”

“Okay.”

And everything goes black.

I
can’t sit
. I’m restless, pacing L’s room from the door to look down the hall and back to the ignored chair.

“The doctor said Laurelyn would be in surgery almost an hour if there were no complications and then she’d go to the recovery room for an hour, so park your ass in that chair before you give me motion sickness.” Mum doesn’t look up from where she’s reading, her glasses low on her nose.

I take the chair next to her. “Sorry. I can’t help myself.” My heart pounds and bats flutter in my gut.

“You always were a nervous one, watching over Chloe like she was a delicate flower. You could never see that your baby sister was as tough as nails but it was good practice for you. You’ve transitioned from the sheltering big brother into the protective husband and father.”

“I’m still the sheltering big brother.” And I don’t like Chloe being with that fucker.

“Ben is good for Chloe. He treats her well.”

Because he knows I’ll kick his ass if he steps out of line. “He’s a bastard, Mum. He’s using Chloe and he’s only going to hurt her in the end. You don’t know him the way I do.” It’s only a matter of time and I’ll be there to take him down when he does.

She looks skeptical. “And how well do you know him?”

“Well enough.”

“Ben is the brother of Laurelyn’s best friend and he pursued her when she came to Australia.”

My mum knows Ben went after L? “That’s right.”

“You were both chasing after her at the same time so he was your opponent in the duel to win Laurelyn’s heart.”

“But she was mine and he knew that,” I argue.

“Listen to me, son. Ben went after his sister’s best friend, knowing there would be hell to pay if he screwed it up. He proposed an authentic relationship with her from the beginning, one that might have prospered into something real. Now, think back on what you offered—a fling lasting a few months with no connection afterward. You never even asked her last name while she was living with you and sharing your bed. So, tell me who behaved worse.”

Okay. Mum has a point. I was probably more of a bastard than Ben but that doesn’t mean I should stop looking out for Chloe. “I’ll lighten up a little on him.”

“No, son. You’ll lighten up a lot. Chloe’s in love with Ben and you don’t have the right to ruin it because you refuse to let go of a rivalry that ended when you won Laurelyn’s heart.”

Oh hell. Why’d my sister have to go and fall in love with Ben Donavon, of all fucking people? The earth is populated by billions and she had to choose him. “I can do it but it’s going to take some time. I can’t cut it off like a switch.”

“If it helps, think of it as a favor to your mum.”

No. It doesn’t help one bit but I don’t have time to answer because L’s phone is ringing in the cabinet where her things are stored. I’m sure it’s her mum. I really don’t have the patience or desire to talk to her right now, but she has the right to an update on her daughter and grandchild—if that’s the reason behind her call. She could be calling to discuss wedding plans. I wouldn’t put that past her. Selfish bitch.

I don’t recognize the number and then remember it wasn’t her ringtone I heard. “Hello?”

“Good morning, this is Grayson Drake, assistant to the prosecuting attorney in the case against Blake Phillips. I’m trying to locate Miss Laurelyn Prescott.”

“It’s McLachlan now.”

“I’m sorry?”

“She’s no longer a Prescott. It’s Laurelyn McLachlan. This is her husband, Jack McLachlan,” I explain.

“I was unaware you and Miss Prescott had married. May I speak with her?”

“She’s not available at the moment and won’t be anytime soon.”

“Well … I guess I can go ahead and speak with you since you’re one of the witnesses to testify in this case. I spoke with Miss Prescott several months ago …”

I interrupt because that’s no longer who she is. “It’s Mrs. McLachlan.”

“Er … yes. I spoke with your wife several months ago when the Blake Phillips case went before a judge for arraignment but I’ll catch you up, as you are now her husband and you both live in another country. Are you familiar with the American justice system?”

“Not at all.”

“As you know, Mr. Phillips was released on bail months ago since he wasn’t considered a flight risk due to his ties in the community, meaning his wife and children.” Yeah, I know. The fucker has been walking around free as a bird. “The judge in the preliminary hearing felt there was sufficient evidence to move the case to trial, and the grand jury did as well, so Mr. Phillips was officially indicted. He entered a plea of not guilty to all charges against him and a trial has been set for next week on May seventh. The prosecutor needs to speak with both of you about your testimony prior to that day, preferably in person, but over the phone is acceptable if you can’t be present before the trial.”

Seriously? We live on a different continent and we’re given a week’s notice? “Our presence isn’t possible at this time. My wife is pregnant and is experiencing some complications so she’s been admitted to the hospital for an indefinite period of time.”

“We can try to move the date back but not more than a few weeks at most.”

That won’t work. “Laurelyn won’t be traveling for the remainder of her pregnancy.” Or soon after. She’ll be nursing and there’s no way we’re dragging a newborn across the globe because of Blake Phillips.

“Well, that certainly poses a problem, Mr. McLachlan. Mr. Phillips is already making a lot of noise about his constitutional right to a speedy trial being violated with the date as it is.”

That sends me into orbit. “Who gives a fuck about his rights after the things he did to my wife?”

“The American justice system does.”

“Well, that’s very unfortunate.” This is a technical world we live in. “What about testifying via video?”

“It isn’t unheard of for a witness to testify over closed-circuit video but it’s a long shot. I wouldn’t expect the judge to go for it. Allowing a victim to testify from the other side of the globe is unprecedented in a criminal case where constitutional rights are at stake. Not to mention that cross-examining over webcast would be terribly difficult. Frankly, Mr. McLachlan, I’m surprised this case made it to trial because you and your wife are basically the only evidence we have. It’s weak even with your testimony because it’s otherwise unsupported. The remaining evidence is circumstantial, at best, and likely inadmissible, so it would be damn near impossible to get a guilty verdict without your testimony. I would expect his defense attorney to make a motion for the charges to be dropped and that will likely happen if you don’t testify.”

This is incredible. “You have our statements. Can’t you use those?”

“They’re hearsay, and even if we could use them, they are unpersuasive.” He has an answer for everything.

Un-fucking-believable. “So, you’re telling me he can attack my wife, attempt to rape her, and get away with it?”

“It’s hard to win a case when the defendant has connections and the best defense attorney money can buy,” he explains.

“Well, he’s not the only one with money and connections. So, I guess that’s the American way.” But it’s not the McLachlan way. There’s no way I’m letting that fucker get away with what he did to Laurelyn. “It truly sickens me to see him walk but we can’t risk the safety of our unborn child. As such, Laurelyn won’t be coming and I can’t leave her at this critical time.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that, Mr. McLachlan. I wish you and your wife the best.”

I end the call with Mr. Drake and I’m beyond furious. “Blake Phillips attacked Laurelyn—left her body bloody with bruises—and attempted to rape her. He would have been successful had I not gotten to her in time and he’s going to walk without any repercussions.”

I’m sorry my mum had to hear that conversation. “It’s not right but at least she’s here now and not in Nashville. He can’t get to her from where he is.”

“I’m not done with him.”

“Son, there’s nothing you can do. As much as I hate what that man did to our girl, you have to let it go.”

I’m set to argue with my mum and throw her words back in her face. “She’s one of us now and we protect our own … at any cost.” But I’m not able because the door opens with L being brought back into her room.

I’m happy to see the head of her bed in a normal position. I reach for her hand but she’s sleeping and doesn’t stir when I take it in mine. “I thought she’d be awake when she came back.”

“Some people are a little groggier than others after anesthesia. It’s just sticking with her a little longer—doesn’t mean anything’s wrong.” The nurse reapplies the monitor on her belly. “I’m putting the contraction monitor back on so we can make sure she isn’t having contractions. Sometimes a cerclage will cause the uterus to contract. If that happens, we’ll need to give her some medicine to stop them.”

So, the cerclage is a step in the right direction but we’ve yet to hit a safe place. “The procedure went well as far as you know?”

“She did great. Dr. Sommersby should come around and talk to you within the hour.”

I breathe a sigh of relief because nothing catastrophic, such as ruptured membranes, happened. This woman is my life and now this baby is as well. I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to either of them.