Come Back To Me Page 23

“What were you thinking?” Kevin asked as he and Beau left the police station. “You’re lucky he didn’t press charges.”

  “He’s lucky I didn’t kill him,” Beau fumed, marching toward Kevin’s truck.

  “Jesus, Beau. Don’t you want to see Tess? At this rate you’ll…I don’t know. Something bad’s gonna happen.”

  Beau gave him a sideways look.

  Kevin rolled his eyes. “Sorry.” He waited for Beau to say something.

  Beau didn’t respond.

  “What’s going on, Beau? Tess is lying in the hospital, man.” He prepared for a punch, knowing he had gone too far, but he was sick of the crap Beau was pulling. His wife was lying in a hospital, brain dead, their baby was struggling for her life, and Beau was acting like a psycho teenager. Kevin was no better prepared to handle this than he was to handle the mess he was in with Alice.

  “What the fuck? You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t think about her every second of the goddamn day? She can’t fucking do anything, Kevin, and she’s not coming back. I have to fucking deal with that.”

  Kevin turned away, his heart aching.

  “You expect me to just say, Oh, whatever. She slept with some other guy, great, no problem. I’ll just play daddy to that prick’s kid.” He shot Kevin a cold look. “I got news for you, Kev,” he paused, “it ain’t happenin’.”

  Kevin wondered how long a hospital could care for a baby if a father refused to.

  ***

  Beau was becoming used to the way the house felt—like returning to his childhood home after his parents had sold it—alive with memories, but lacking animation. He went upstairs and lay back on the unmade bed. He’d found the boxes of his clothes in the basement the week after Tess’s accident, and he’d begun the slow process of restocking his drawers. As his eyes sailed over the half-empty box, he wished he could restock his life as easily. It had been weeks since Tess had been pronounced brain dead, and he was still too angry to make any decisions. He loathed the hospital, sitting by Tess’s bed, the nurses passing him with pitying looks, treating him with kid gloves, Dr. Kelly pressing him to make a decision. How the hell do you decide to end someone’s life? What if they’re wrong? What if she’s not brain dead, but just—he didn’t know what—lost in the recesses of her own mind? He rolled onto his side. Maybe he was just being stupid.

  His mother had told him to let her go, but he didn’t know how. How could he? He was too mad to let her go. Selfishly, he wanted her to wake up so he could yell at her, make her feel the pain he was feeling at that very moment. He rolled over onto his back, his leg and arm aching, reminding him of the desert. Suha. He wondered what had happened to her body. Samira. Jesus Christ. He propped himself up on his elbow and dialed Mr. Fulan’s number.

  “Beau, how are you?” Mrs. Fulan’s voice was laden with concern.

  “I’m doing okay, thank you. I’m sorry to bother you. Is Mr. Fulan available?”

  “Yes, he is.”

  Beau could hear her hard shoes moving across the marble floor. She covered the phone, said something in Arabic. Beau could hear the smile in her voice.

  “Samira is here,” she said into the receiver.

  Beau hadn’t expected that.

  “Would you like to speak with her?” she asked.

  His heartbeat quickened. “Yeah, sure.”

  The phone passed hands.

  A tentative hello whispered through the receiver.

  “Samira?”

  Her small familiar voice, “Yes.”

  “I’m sorry about leaving. I…there’s been an accident.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  Beau was thankful she understood the words he spoke. “Are you okay? The kids?”

  Edham’s voice piped up in the background, “Mr. Beau?”

  Samira hushed him. “Yes,” she said to Beau. Edham rattled on in the background. Samira hushed him again.

  Beau smiled at Edham’s excitement. “Can I talk to him?”

  Samira handed the phone to Edham, speaking quickly in Arabic to her excited son.

  “Mr. Beau!”

  “Hey!” Beau felt his spirit lift for the first time in weeks. “Are you being good?”

  “Good. I’m good,” Edham said. “You see me?”

  Beau smiled. “Yes. Soon.”

  Samira took the phone from Edham.

  “How’s Zeid? Athra?” he asked.

  “Zeid? He is Zeid. Athra close to Mrs. Fulan,” she said with warmth.

  A brief silence passed between them.

  “Sorry. Your wife,” Samira offered.

  “Thank you.” Beau lowered his voice, “Suha?”

  A strained sound came through the receiver.

  “Don’t. The children. I’m sorry.” Beau shook his head. He should have known better. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes. Mr. Fulan is very kind.”

  Beau let out a relieved sigh. He told Samira that he’d see her soon and spoke briefly to Mr. Fulan, who thanked him for bringing Samira and the children into their lives.

  “Layla has taken the children in as siblings, and Mrs. Fulan and Samira are like sisters,” Mr. Fulan had said.

  Knowing that Samira and the children were safe and happy eased a weight from Beau’s shoulders. He was pleased that Samira had been using her given name, rather than the fake name she’d been given. What Mr. Fulan said next, sent Beau into bittersweet hell.

  “Samira gave me your camera. The photographs will be published next month. You’ll gain international credit.”

  Beau lay back on the bed and closed his eyes.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Alice sat in a padded wooden chair next to Tess’s bed, wondering how she’d carry on without Tess in her life. She was the closest thing Alice had to a best friend. They’d had an odd relationship, that was true. Alice knew she’d been off-putting at times, perhaps exuding an aura of snootiness, but she had to believe that Tess had seen through that, of course she had.

  Alice had been in the hospital room since six A.M., having woken up at five A.M. with thoughts of Tess careening through her mind. The nurses didn’t seem to mind. Alice supposed that traditional visiting hours didn’t come into play when a person wasn’t conscious.

  She’d finally notified Top Staffing Consultants’ clients of Tess’s condition, which explained the multitude of bouquets that lined the counters and windowsill in Tess’s room. Alice had even begun to get back on track with running the business. She was driven by the belief that she was making Tess proud. Tess had worked too hard to build the business. Alice owed it to her to carry on. Today, though, something within her had guided her to Tess’s bedside.

  The room brightened with the rising sun. The bandages had been removed from Tess’s face, exposing angry red stitches and fading multi-colored bruises. Why her and not me? Alice wondered. Why did I live through my attack, and she didn’t even see hers coming? She tucked stray strands of hair behind her ear and leaned forward, her fingers lightly touching Tess’s arm.

  “Tess?” she whispered. “I’m sorry for everything.” Everything? What did that really mean? She leaned forward and tried again. “I’m sorry that I was such a bitch. I’m sorry that I acted like I was better than everyone else, when really…” She looked behind her. She was alone.

  Alice turned back to Tess and whispered, “When I was really scared.” She closed her eyes and thought about what she really wanted to tell Tess. Tess had pulled Alice through the most difficult times in her life. She’d accepted Alice as she was without question or judgment. Tess’s support had helped Alice to maintain her confidence. She needed her, plain and simple. Alice leaned back in the chair, disappointed in herself—again. She didn’t know how to climb out of her internal pain and tell Tess what she felt. It would expose her own vulnerability. To whom? she wondered. A woman who would never wake up? Selfish bitch.

  Alice knew her own limitations. Sure, she had been able to push past them for a short period, with Kevin, but he’d only pro
ven to her that it was dangerous to let anyone see who she really was. She looked down at her perfectly-pressed linen suit, the three-inch taupe heels that she knew made her look elegant. She smoothed the expensive fabric that covered her thin thighs. Her eyes moved to Tess, a lonely thread weaved its way through her heart. The clothes, the stature, it wasn’t what made her feel strong. It was merely a costume. She was the female version of Batman, and she needed her Robin. She needed Tess. With Tess by her side, building her up, believing in her in a way that no one ever had, looking at her in that way that said, Sure, you’re beautiful, but you’re even more beautiful inside. In her disguise, she was untouchable. Alice covered her eyes. Without you, I’m right back at square one—that little girl that Daddy hurt.

  “Alice?” Kevin’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

  Alice tensed.

  “I’m sorry,” Kevin approached her from behind. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

  Alice looked away, “It’s okay. I was just leaving.” She rose to her feet.

  Kevin reached out and touched her arm, “Al, can’t we talk? I miss you.”

  She looked from him to Tess, the lonely tug in her gut hard to ignore.

  ***

  Beau kicked the pavement outside the hospital. He was stalling. He took a few steps closer to the automatic doors. Just go in, he told himself.

  “Mr. Johnson?”

  Beau turned to face Susan, the nurse he’d seen weeks before. The one he’d almost forgotten.

  “It’s nice to see you.” She fell in step with him, walking toward the elevator. “Here to see Baby A?”

  He looked at her sideways.

  She blushed. “That’s what we call your baby girl.”

  Beau nodded, slipping his hands into his jeans pockets. “A?”

  “Oh, don’t worry, we’re not allowed to name her. We call her A because it’s first in line, you know, like the first letter in the alphabet? She turns toward you when you walk in the room now, like she’s saying, ‘Hey, here I am!’” Susan waved her hand in the air with a smile. “Like she wants to be seen first.”

  An unfamiliar sensation swelled in his chest. They arrived at the NICU and went directly to the viewing window. Beau didn’t recognize Baby A. He looked over the four babies in their incubators.

  Susan pointed to the largest of the babies, the only one not in an incubator. “There she is. Isn’t she fantastic?”

  He touched the glass between them. She’d grown so much, he couldn’t believe it was the same baby.

  “She’s had a few bowel issues, but I guess you know that.”

  Beau startled. “Bowel issues? Is she alright?”

  “Oh, yes,” she waved the comment away. “She’s shaping right up, breathing on her own pretty well. This is all pretty standard for a preemie. She was on a vent for a week or so, but she’s doing well now. They’re monitoring her for sleep apnea, but the doctor said she’d probably be out of the hospital very soon.”

  A vent? Bowel issues? His mind was tangled in knots, and Susan was pulling the ends of his strings even tighter. He feared he’d never unravel the mess he was in.

  “Your mom’s been here every day.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  Susan turned to face him, crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s okay, you know. You’re not the only parent who hasn’t been able to face your child’s weakness.”

  Her voice was kind, her eyes gentle. So why did Beau feel as though he’d just been slapped in the face?

  Chapter Forty

  Carol had scrubbed the bathroom and kitchen until her fingers were raw. She’d dusted, vacuumed, and prepared and frozen enough dinners to last for weeks. It was no use. She couldn’t ignore the pull to see her son. He was drowning and every lifeline she threw fell short. It had been almost two months since Tess’s accident, and Beau still wasn’t answering most of her phone calls, and when he did, he was short and distant. She’d lost him once, and she couldn’t bear to lose him again.

  She couldn’t listen to Robert’s passive advice for one more second. “He’ll come around. Let him be, when he’s ready, he’ll see the baby.” Carol pushed herself out of the kitchen chair. She’d minded her business for forty-something years. She’d had enough. Robert could take his children-move-naturally theory and put it where the sun doesn’t shine. Carol was Beau’s mother. It was time she acted like it.

  “I’m going to the library,” she called to Robert and headed out the front door. She’d never before lied to Robert, and it didn’t sit well now. It’s for a good reason, she rationalized.

  ***

  Carol parked in the empty driveway, remembering the day Beau and Tess had purchased their little bungalow. The perfect house for the perfect couple, she’d said. Sadness gripped her by the shoulders. She slumped against the door of her car and waited for Beau to arrive.

  Beau pulled up ten minutes later.

  Their eyes met through the car window. Carol met him on the sidewalk.

  “Mom, what are you doing here?”

  “I missed you, honey. I figured you could use—”

  “I’m fine, Mom.” He brushed past her, heading for the front door.

  Carol hurried behind him, the pull of a mother guiding her.

  Beau pushed the door open, tossed his keys on the table next to the front door, and walked into the kitchen, his mother stopped in the living room.

  Stark. That was the only word Carol could come up with to describe the feel of Beau’s house. The house that had once exuded warmth, solicited smiles, was now cold and barren.

  Beau grabbed a beer from the fridge and leaned against the door jamb between the kitchen and the living room. He took a long swig.

  “You okay, Mom?”

  His voice brought her out of her dumbstruck state, “Uh, yeah, sure, honey.” She moved around the room, picking up Beau’s dirty socks, unable to stop her eyes from hovering over the empty sections of the wooden shelves, where pictures of Beau and Tess used to stare happily back at her. Beau’s books sat stacked in a half-open box on the floor.

  “Are you moving?” she tried to quell the alarm in her voice.

  “Nope,” he said and trudged upstairs, taking another long pull on his beer.

  Carol stood with a bundle of dirty laundry in her hands, unsure if she should follow. She bit her lower lip, wishing the world would have been kinder to her only son. She took a deep breath and marched up the stairs, tossing the socks into a hamper in Beau’s cluttered bedroom. The closet doors were shut, half-full boxes of Beau’s clothes leaned against the dresser, Tess’s clothes strewn across the floor.

  “How do you live like this?” she asked.

  Beau flopped on the bed, leaned back against the headboard, and watched his mother with disinterest. He lifted his beer—and his eyebrows—in response.

  Carol set her hands on her hips, suddenly thrown back to being the mother of a rebellious teenager. “I didn’t raise a pig,” she said and began to straighten up the room.

  Beau didn’t move.

  “Beau Mitchell Johnson, you put that bottle down and clean up your room. What would Tess think of this?” She turned her back, knowing the mention of Tess’s name might cause a stir.

  Beau pushed himself to his feet. “You know what, Ma? She wouldn’t think anything of it. She can’t think, remember?” His anger stung Carol.

  She closed her mouth, swallowing her body’s desire to coddle his sadness and anger away. You can do this. You have to. She crossed her arms, more of a stabling of her body than a meaningful gesture.

  Beau set the beer bottle on the dresser with a loud clunk.

  Coaster? sailed through Carol’s mind.

  “That’s right, Mom. She’s gone. Oh, her body is here, and her goddamn baby, but she’s nothing but a vegetable.” He threw open the closet doors. “She’d already moved me out. All my shit,” he spread his arms like Vanna White presenting a prize, “gone. She was all ready for that other guy to move right in and take over.�
�� He pulled open his sparse dresser drawers. “Whaddaya say to that?” He set his jaw in a smirk. His eyes glazed over.

  Carol moved around the room, closing the drawers, and folding his clothes, “I think she was a grieving woman, a woman who had just lost her husband.” She stared at her son’s disheveled hair, tension emanating from his every muscle. Her heart ached for him. She knew her words hurt, but she pressed on—she had to. “I think she was a woman doing all she could to remain sane. Losing someone you love is not easy.” She realized what she’d said, and softened her tone, “You, of all people, should know this.”

  “She had another man’s baby.”

  Carol did not mistake the hurt in his voice for anger. “Maybe.” She lowered herself to sit on the bed. Carol ached to tell him what Louie had said, but worry stopped her. It might seem a betrayal to her son that she’d held this knowledge that Louie had confided in her and had somehow done so behind Beau’s back. Beau’s love for Tess, his faith in her, had to prevail.

  “No maybe, Mom. The doc said the baby was twenty-six weeks.”

  “The doctors told me that I’d never have a baby. Then they told me that I’d never carry you to full term.” She recalled the memory as if it were yesterday. She smiled, remembering the joy of holding Beau for the first time. “Doctors can be wrong, Beau.”

  Beau turned away.

  “That baby did not ask for this. She didn’t ask to be unwanted.”

  Beau flushed.

  “You’re a smart man, Beau. If you’re so inclined to believe the baby isn’t yours, then do a paternity test. They do it all the time.”

  “And say what?” his eyes filled with tears. “Excuse me, but I think my dying wife screwed around behind my back, and before I claim this baby, I wanna know for sure?”

  Carol pushed to her feet. “Yes! If that’s what it takes, then yes, sure, why not?” She paused, waiting for Beau to respond. No words left his lips. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “What would Dad have done?”

  Carol stopped and thought about the question, finally answering in a meek voice, “I have no idea what your father would have done, but it doesn’t matter. This is your life, Beau. That may be your baby, and in any case, she’s Tess’s baby. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”