“My other son? Myotherson?” I whispered, letting the realization crash into me. “She’s . . . ?”
“Yes,” Mary answered my unfinished question. “She’s pregnant, or at least we hope she still is.”
She’s pregnant.
“How? When? What?” I rambled, needing it all to make sense right this second.
“You didn’t know, did you?”
“Does this look like the reaction of a man who knew he was having another son?” As if she needed to see the proof for herself, she scanned my face, her eyes roving over me like a laser scanner looking for the smallest of imperfections.
She must have been satisfied with what she saw, because she said, “She’s twenty-one weeks. We didn’t even know,” she admitted, sounding more than a little ashamed. “She was just so damn skinny. We thought she was losing weight because of what happened with you two.” The shame turned to sadness. “The accident caused some internal damage—her liver, a broken rib, and a partial abruption.”
“What’s that all mean?” My head spun. It was all too much to process, and even Sarge’s steadfast and calming presence at my side did nothing to slow the racing thoughts.
Mary must have keyed into my distress. A small smile pulled at her sad face, and she offered me a glimmer of compassion. “At first we didn’t know. They had to control the bleeding,” she explained, keeping her wits about her as she recalled what had to have been some of her scariest moments as a parent. “That’s why she was in surgery.”
She’s pregnant and she almost lost him.
My son.
Another son.
“But she’s okay now?” My voice cracked under the pressure of it all.
“We’re just waiting for the anesthesia to wear off from surgery, but—” Mary paused to take a deep breath. As she looked over my shoulder, I followed her gaze to where Delilah lay in her hospital bed. “The doctor thinks everything will be just fine.”
The rest of the day flew by in a rushed haze of anxiety and elation. Once Delilah was out of recovery, she was wheeled to her own room. After taking Simon in for a brief visit, I gave Mary and Clark the time they wanted with their daughter, so I took him down to the cafeteria where we shared chocolate pudding cups. He told me all about his karate class and about how much fun he was having at summer camp.
“I missed you, though. Are you back now? Mommy said she didn’t think you’d ever come back, but I told her that made no sense. I mean where else were you going to live? You live in our house, right, silly?” He looked at me, his eyes wide and innocent. He had a chocolate mustache and his hair was a ruffled mess, sticking up at all odd angles.
And he was absolutely perfect.
Since he was too young to understand the complexity of the decision I had to make, I told him, “I’m not leaving you again, I promise.” And I meant it.
I loved Jude. There was no doubt about that. And if he loved me the way he said he did, then we’d have to figure this out. There was no other way.
As I wiped the mess from Simon’s face, Mary and Clark stepped behind him, relief written clearly across their faces. “Come on, Simon,” Clark said, clapping a hand down on his shoulder. “Time to go.”
“But what about Daddy?” Simon whined, looking up at his grandparents. They may have had nothing but contempt for me, but they loved Simon. They didn’t want to confuse or upset him, but they didn’t know what to say.
“You should go sleep at Grammy and Pops’s,” I said, figuring I was giving him the answer they wanted. “Take a bath. Maybe Grammy will make you one of her world-famous ice cream sundaes. I’ll pick you up in the morning and you can visit Mommy with me. Then we can go home tomorrow.”
Satisfied with my suggestion, or overly excited at the idea of a five-scoop sundae, Simon gave me a hug before walking away. As he held the door open for his wife and my son, Clark looked back at me, mouthing the words, “Thank you.”
“Let’s do this,” I said to Sarge as I cleaned the pudding cups from the table.
As I walked to Delilah’s room, I had no clue what I was going to say. I had no idea what she would say to me. But I had to let her know I was here. No matter what the future brought, I’d be here.
Not as her husband. That lie had served its time.
But I would be here as the best father our children could ever have.
There was a nurse outside her door as I approached. “How is she?” I asked, hoping for a good report.
“She’s good. Strong. A real fighter.” Wasn’t that the truth? “She’s a little tired, but she seems okay.” The nurse closed the chart she was writing in before adding, “Try not to stay too late. She needs her rest. So does the baby.”
Rather than scaring me, the nurse’s last statement gave me the strength I needed to knock on the door. “Come in,” Delilah’s weak voice called out.
