Belle slips into the back seat and gasps as she looks Willow over. “Oh my! Well, aren’t you the most beautiful babe I’ve ever seen? Hello, little one!”
Warren stands back, arms crossed and smiling to himself. He looks proud—of what, exactly, I’m not sure.
“All right, really. Willow has an appointment she needs to get to.” Warren looks at Ram for backup, as if he’d need to be the one to pull Belle away.
“Well, all righty then. You take care of her now. ’Kay, Chloe? And yourself.” Belle taps me gently on my shoulder.
“Will do.”
“Good girl. Nice to meet you.” She shuts the door of the back seat, and I lean out the window to respond.
“Nice to meet you too!”
Ram and Belle walk back to the shop, hands in each other’s back pockets, and Warren takes a step towards the car, lowering his head to my window.
“They seem nice.” I don’t bother to hide the gleam in my eyes or myyou do care about usshit-eating grin.
“They are, yeah.” He studies my expression and rolls his eyes. He looks as if he’s going to say something, but he changes his mind, smiling as he taps the roof of the car. “See you at four.” He walks away as I roll up the window. I drive all the way to Willow’s appointment wearing an unwavering smile.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Not the best news, I’m afraid.” Doctor O’Leary flips a chart two times, then hands me the page. I have no idea what I’m looking at. It’s a graph with a subtle curve heading upwards.
“We would hope to see this line, which represents the blood pressure in her lungs, going down or flattening out. WithPatent Ductus Arteriosus,we need to make sure the opening isn’t allowing too much blood to flow into her lungs. The higher her blood pressure, the higher the risk is of that happening. She isn’t in dangerous territory right now, for hypertension, that is, but we need to be cautious that her blood pressure doesn’t keep trending upwards.”
I scan the page back and forth. I understood a solid 60 percent of what he said. “So what should I do?”
“We’ll adjust her medications slightly, and you’ll need to bring her in at least once a week until her condition stabilises. Most likely in a few months’ time, we’ll see her heart as healthy as can be. However, if the upward trend in her blood pressure continues or if the opening in her artery doesn’t begin closing, we may need to discuss surgical options.”
My lips part as I suck in too much air. “Okay.”
“Otherwise, she’s doing well.” He puts his hand out for the chart, and I give it back. “Her weight gain is trending perfectly; her development seems unimpacted by the Foetal Alcohol Syndrome or premature birth. You are doing a terrific job, Chloe.” He plants a steady hand on my shoulder, and I take a breath in, a single tear falling down my cheek. It’s nice to be told that. Most of the time, I feel absolutely clueless.
“Talk with the front desk on your way out. Our outpatient clinic days are Fridays. You can set a schedule for appointments at the same time each week. Tell them to book for the next eight weeks, and we’ll go from there.”
I nod and gather our bag and place Willow in her car seat, fighting the tremble of my jaw and putting on a brave face.
After my brief stop at the front desk, I get us both buckled into Warren’s car and finally allow the tears to flow freely. I have so many questions I didn’t think to ask the doctor. I text Calvin a few of them. I also add that I’m excited to see him this weekend so he doesn’t think I’m using him for his medical database.
CALVIN: Shit, I’m so sorry. I actually have a thing Saturday I can’t get out of. Can we reschedule for next week? As far as the medical stuff, I will ask Cardiology and get back to you.
CHLOE: Oh, bummer. No worries. Next week should be fine. Thanks!
I gather myself as best I can and drive home. I think of Connie while I do. I wonder where she is, if she is okay and… mostly, I want to know if she understands the impact she’s had on Willow’s life. On her heart. Possibly forever. I doubt the drinks were worth it.
I think of Willow’s dad too—whoever he is. Connie hadn’t mentioned him at all, to me or Odette, but I’d love to find out if she knows. Or if she has told him that out there somewhere, he has a kid. I hope not. I wouldn’t want anyone coming to find her.
Willow'scourt hearing is still eight months away, and I’m fairly sure a biological father could contest it if he wanted to—delaying it, at least. I hold my breath at a red light until my lungs hurt just enough.Little doses of control do nothing to help the actual problem. But it feels good. For a moment.
Once home, I get Willow down for her nap. I snuggle her a little longer than usual and lean my ear down to listen to her tiny chest, feeling it rise and fall gently.
I love her so much.
Her wide nose and strong brow match my own. Most strangers will presume I’m her mother. I will benefit from that, I’m sure.
Willow settles in her bassinet after a few minutes of back rubs, and I begin working on my newest commission; posters for an upcoming music festival. I haven’t had to cut back on work so far—only sleep.
Until I’m confident that Rachel and CPS will be satisfied with my average monthly income, I’ll need to keep finding as much work as possible. I can rest when my re-evaluation is over. Or, if not then, when Willow’s custody is final.
