Читать книгу Leaving Enchantment - C.J. Carmichael - Страница 9

KIM SHERMAN KNEW her co-workers at The Birth Place didn’t like her. She knew she had a reputation for being ruthless, impersonal, bottom-line oriented. All of which was perfectly true. And why not? Kim hadn’t moved to Enchantment almost eight months ago to vie for the local Miss Congeniality award.

Seeking personal admiration of any kind wasn’t her style. People either accepted her for what she was—or too bad. For them. She didn’t care. She never had.

She was good at what she did. Extremely good. Numbers spoke to her. Accounting had been her thing, from the first course she’d taken in high school to her last full credit in college. She’d never encountered a set of books she couldn’t balance. A statement of changes she couldn’t reconcile.

She was efficient. Organized. A merciless perfectionist.

Some people had a problem with those qualities. Probably because they themselves were incapable of meeting standards that high. Those people tended to avoid Kim, and she was fine with that.

Which was one reason working at night appealed to her so much. She could concentrate without interruption. As an added bonus, she didn’t have to listen to the annoying chatter of others who obviously socialized with each other outside of work. Kim checked her Timex and was surprised. She hadn’t planned to stay this late.

It was past ten. She’d been lost in her analysis of outstanding payables for—what?—almost four hours. The Birth Place was out of money. Again. It was up to her to decide which suppliers they simply had to pay and which could be put off for a few more months.

It was a job many would hate. But Kim didn’t mind.

She flicked off the radio by her desk. She’d been listening to a classical station, the sound a comfort in the empty complex. Now, through her open office door, traveled a disquieting noise. Someone laughing quietly… No, crying.

Lydia and Gina had been in earlier with a delivery. But she’d heard them leave hours ago. The night janitor had already made his rounds.

Kim shivered and pulled on her gray cardigan, doing up each button, from the bottom to the very top. Grabbing the three-hole punch from her desk and holding it like a baseball bat, she went investigating. The door to the chief administrator’s office was shut tight. Since his marriage to Hope Tanner, Parker Reynolds had been taking work home rather than putting in extra hours at the center.

The sound grew louder as she stepped into the main hall. It seemed to be coming from one of the birthing rooms to her right—definitely someone crying.

No longer concerned about her physical safety, Kim set the three-hole punch on the empty reception desk, next to Trish Linden’s silly snow globe of Venice. The middle-aged receptionist had never ventured out of New Mexico. What was she doing with a souvenir of Italy of all places?

Kim followed the hallway around the curving counter. One of the birthing-room doors stood ajar. A faint light slipped out into the hall.

The sobbing was louder now. Raw and unrestrained.

All Kim’s instincts told her to walk away. She did not want to get involved with this. But what if the person crying was Lydia? Kim would do anything for Lydia.

Lydia Kane had founded The Birth Place when she was a young mother herself, many decades ago. Though she was now in her early seventies she still worked full-time as a midwife. The only sign she gave of easing up was her recent resignation from the board of directors. Kim guessed she’d made the move under pressure, for reasons Kim could only speculate about.

She peeked through the open crack in the door. Sure enough it was Lydia. She’d changed out of the trousers and shirt she’d been wearing for the labor, earlier. Her long gray hair now hung down the back of a forest-green caftan. Kim watched the older woman pull a beautifully patterned quilt over freshly plumped pillows. As she worked efficiently, briskly, her crying continued.

Lydia’s typical self-control and natural dignity made this a most incongruous sight. Again Kim’s instincts warned her to back away. But then she inadvertently pushed on the door and the hinges squeaked. Just a little, but enough.

“Who’s there?” Lydia straightened and turned to face the door. “Kim?” She wiped away tears with the back of her hand. “What on earth are you doing here?”

“Just some late-night accounting.” She didn’t share her worries about the finances. It wouldn’t be news to Lydia, anyway. They were all used to the center being short of funds, though Kim had been working to rectify the situation since she’d been on board. One of her first projects had been the renegotiation of their contracts with the various health-care providers.

“You work too hard.”

Kim stepped into the room. “What about you? Surely this could wait until morning.” She knew some of their contracts required the midwives to file notice of a baby’s birth within twenty-four hours. But that was paperwork. Why was Lydia cleaning the room?

Lydia compressed her lips and turned away. The old woman’s long, lean body shook with the effort of controlling her tears.

“Did something go wrong with the delivery tonight?”

A sob escaped Lydia. A sob filled with deep, wrenching grief.

Oh, God. What was she going to do? There was no one else at the center to deal with this. “Lydia, can I get you something?”

“No. Nothing.” She sat on the edge of the bed, and Kim perched beside her.

“Want to talk about what happened?”

“No.” She shook her head, then sighed. “Yes. Do you remember Mary Davidson and her husband, Steve?”

Kim nodded. She’d never met the couple, but she’d processed the initial payment from their insurance company. Then Steve had quit his job to start his own company and been taken off the company health plan. Their account had been on her receivables listing ever since.

“I still can’t believe it happened. But I lost her tonight, Kim. I lost Mary and the baby. In all my years of midwifing, it’s never happened like this before.” Lydia’s hand trembled as she plucked a tissue from a box on a nearby end table. Kim picked up the entire box and placed it on Lydia’s lap.

“I thought I heard some commotion—around seven o’clock?” She’d been heating up soup in the microwave for her dinner when she’d noticed Gina dashing down the hall.

“Yes. We ended up transferring Mary to the hospital. I had a feeling something was going wrong, even though there didn’t seem to be a problem. In the beginning Mary progressed so normally, you see. Every indication was that this would be an uncomplicated birth.

“But as labor progressed, I began to feel anxious. Over the years I’ve learned to trust my instincts. And so I drove Mary to the hospital. Steve followed in his vehicle. Oh my God, if only he’d ridden with me…” Lydia pressed a tissue over her mouth, stifling a ragged sob.

Kim shivered as an awful suspicion prompted her to ask. “Did something happen to Steve?”

Lydia nodded, her hands covering her face again. “After—” She paused for a strengthening breath. “After he heard about Mary and the baby he took off. About an hour later, he was rushed back to the hospital in an ambulance. Dead. Oh, Kim, he had an accident on Switchback Road!”

Kim starred blankly at Lydia, stunned by the massive dimensions of this tragedy. The older midwife continued to take big gulps of air and eventually regained some composure.

“It’s all so senseless. Mary Davidson was a healthy woman. She never should have died. As for her baby— I saw his face before the trouble started. He was so dear, so precious. A big baby, a healthy boy.”

“Tell me what happened.” Kim wasn’t keen to hear the details, but it might help Lydia to talk. For sure, the older woman wasn’t ready to go home.

Step-by-step Lydia went through the stages of Mary Davidson’s disastrous labor and delivery. Kim didn’t stop her for explanations of medical terms or procedures that she didn’t understand. She just let Lydia talk and talk, second-guessing each decision, going through all the options that had been open at the time.

Finally she fell silent.

“If a similar circumstance presented itself to you tomorrow, you’d make the exact same decisions,” Kim said.

Lydia’s eyes opened wide, then she allowed her stiff shoulders to slump. “Probably. For the life of me, I can’t see where we went wrong. Mary had a proven pelvis. She was healthy and strong. Right up to the end, the baby was doing so well….”

“Lydia, the situation was out of your control.”

“It’s so difficult to accept. In all my years, I’ve never lost a baby and a mother. Poor Sammy!”

Kim had no idea who Sammy was. Now didn’t seem the time to ask. If only she could say something, do something to help. Another person might put an arm around Lydia, murmur comforting words. But for Kim that wasn’t possible.

“May I make you some tea, Lydia?”

The older woman shook her head and pulled yet another tissue from the box. She blew her nose and wiped her eyes.

“I’d love to help.” Kim felt hopelessly inadequate. If only Trish were here. The receptionist had such a gentle, caring way about her.

“Oh, Kim, I wish…”

Desperate to be of some assistance, Kim leaned forward. “Yes?”

“I’d really like to talk to my granddaughter.”

Kim drew in a breath. What? How? Then she realized that of course Lydia was referring to Devon Grant in Albuquerque. Devon was in the medical profession, too. And she’d recently joined the board at The Birth Place. In fact, she’d taken her grandmother’s position on the board. She would be able to understand Lydia’s pain so much better than Kim could.

“Do you know her number? I’ll place the call if you’d like.”

“Oh, it’s too late.”

“I’m sure Devon wouldn’t mind.” In the other woman’s shoes, Kim knew she wouldn’t. She led Lydia back to the reception area, where she punched in the number Lydia gave her. The phone rang many times. But there was no answer and no message machine, either.

“Devon must be on a night shift.”

“Which hospital?” When Lydia told her, Kim dialed directory assistance and soon the line was ringing again.

“May I speak to Devon Grant, please. Her grandmother, Lydia Kane, wishes to speak to her.” She passed the receiver to Lydia, then prepared to leave to give Lydia her privacy. Her hand was on the door leading back to the admin area, when she heard the older woman speak softly.

“I see. Okay. I’ll try again later.”

Kim turned. “What’s wrong?”

“Apparently Devon is in the middle of a delivery. She wasn’t able to take my call.” Lydia was trembling now and struggling not to show it. She hung up the phone, avoiding the younger woman’s sympathetic gaze.

“I’m sure she’ll call you back soon,” Kim said. But she couldn’t help wondering if Devon truly had been too busy to take this call. Kim hadn’t worked here long, but she was aware of the tension between the two women.

The problem stretched back ten years, to a time when Hope Tanner—then a pregnant teenage girl—had sought refuge at The Birth Place. Hope and Devon had become friends. Then Hope had her baby and left town. Kim didn’t know what happened to her baby. Few people did, but Devon was one of them. And she clearly blamed Lydia for something.

Up until that time, her grandmother had been Devon’s mentor and inspiration. But no longer. Devon had moved to Albuquerque and now the two women rarely spoke.

Kim’s sympathies lay one-hundred percent with Lydia. If the older midwife had done something wrong, she must have had a darn good reason. Lydia would have made sure that baby went to a good home. A good family. If she’d bent a few rules to make that happen, so what?

Devon wouldn’t be so quick to judge, Kim thought, if she knew what it was like to be a child who didn’t have a family. Or anyplace to call home.

THE NEXT MORNING Lydia Kane resisted the urge to stay in bed. She’d dealt with pain, disappointment and loss many times in her seventy-three years. None had been a reason to neglect her work before and they weren’t now, either.

She arrived at The Birth Place fifteen minutes before her appointment with a new couple who’d been referred by an ex-patient. This was their first baby, and Lydia didn’t know if she was up to dealing with their excitement, their enthusiasm…their naiveté.

Bringing a new child into this world was a marvelous voyage. That was how Lydia normally felt. But after last night it seemed as if her heart had been replaced with a lead facsimile. The melancholy would fade, she knew from experience. The sense of having failed would not.

She stopped by one of the many collages of photos on display at the birth center. So many tiny faces, proud parents, excited siblings. If only the Davidsons could be among them. Closing her eyes, she composed the picture. Steve standing at the back, a proud hand on Sammy’s shoulder, the other wrapped around his wife, who would be holding a bundled baby to her chest.

That’s how last night should have ended.

If only… If only…

Lydia turned from the wall and continued to her office, to the sanctuary of her leather chair and old oak desk.

Was there anything she could have done? Any sign she’d missed? It didn’t matter that she’d relived every step of the delivery a dozen times last night, and a dozen more this morning. Lydia knew it would take a while for her mind to accept this latest defeat.

Losing a baby happened so rarely. But when the sad circumstance occurred, she was always reminded of the first time she’d lost a baby, her own baby, when she was only sixteen.

She’d been so young…too young. Giving her daughter up for adoption had seemed the best option at the time—at least according to her father. Lydia’s mother had been dead by then. The child will be happier with a real family, her father had said. And Lydia had prayed for the baby’s sake that he was right.

But in her heart, she’d known that she’d let her baby down. She’d devoted her life to mothers and babies ever since. But for all the good she knew that she’d done, cases like the Davidsons made her wonder if the sacrifices she’d made had been worth it after all.

Especially when she considered her own children, the two she’d had after she’d married Ken. Her devotion to her profession had come at a cost, paid in part, she was afraid, by the son she never saw in New York City and the daughter in San Francisco who only visited sporadically.

Then this past autumn, her second failure as a midwife had been exposed when Hope Tanner came back to town. And now Lydia no longer sat as a member of the board of the birth center she’d founded.

She’d given up everything for The Birth Place. Now she was nothing but an employee. Life could be so ironic.

Noticing Kim Sherman’s closed door, Lydia forgot her troubles for a moment. She had no doubt that the accountant had arrived at work at the usual time, despite the long hours she’d put in yesterday.

Kim had been so kind last night. Lydia wondered why the young woman couldn’t show that side of her personality more often. It was no secret around here that most people found her abrasive. Her comments were usually brisk and often critical. No one could meet her expectations, it seemed. Even Parker Reynolds, the chief administrator, admitted she was hard to take. But he refused to let her go.

“We need someone like her,” he’d told Lydia. “She’s renegotiated all our insurance contracts at much better terms. And she’s implementing incredible improvements to our billing system.”

Lydia changed her trajectory and headed to that firmly closed door.

“Come in.”

Lydia was struck by how young Kim appeared, surrounded by the stacks of computer printouts on her desk. The petite woman was only twenty-five, unmarried and so pretty. She should be enjoying her youth, not spending every waking hour alone with her numbers. She should revel in her fresh beauty, instead of hiding it behind dowdy sweaters and dark-framed glasses.

“Lydia!” Startled, Kim stood, sending her pen and a sheet of paper to the floor. “Oh!” She gathered the items and returned them to her desk. Waving at the only free seat in the room, she waited until Lydia was comfortable before returning to her own chair.

“Kim, I want to thank you for last night.”

“Oh, that was…anyone would have… I mean, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Kim. But what about you? Working so late last night, then in to the office early this morning. You have to make time for a social life, you know. Not to mention a decent night’s sleep.”

Kim surveyed the stacks of paper, her expression bordering on the defensive. Lydia had often wondered at the total absence of anything personal in this office. No framed photos or cute magnets. Even Kim’s coffee mug was serviceable white ceramic.

Something had to be done about this girl. And Lydia thought she had just the idea.

“I’ve come to ask you a favor, Kim.”

The accountant perked up, as if nothing could have pleased her more.

“At the last board meeting the directors approved a fund-raising event. Parker wants to call it the Mother and Child Reunion, which is a wonderful name, I think. It will be a huge event. We’d like to invite as many of the women who delivered at our center—and their husbands, of course—as we can find. Also, any adult children who were born here will be welcome, too.”

“Lydia. That will be a huge guest list.”

“We won’t be able to track them all down. And many will have moved and be unable to attend. At any rate, the board wants us to cap the list at two hundred.”

“Will you be inviting all the staff?”

“Naturally. And board members, too.” Would her granddaughter come? Devon had attended all business meetings since her appointment. But she might consider this function more social in nature.

“Well, we certainly could use some extra money around here.”

“Yes, we could. Which leads me to that favor I told you I was going to ask. Parker already handles our annual SIDS fund-raiser, so I hate to put another event on his shoulders, too. Would you consider taking on the responsibility?”

“Of course.” She seemed insulted that Lydia might have entertained any doubt. “I’d be pleased to do it.”

“I don’t want you doing all the work. Just the organizing. All the staff will pitch in, including me.” This would force Kim to interact with her co-workers. Hopefully, over time, some of them would begin to appreciate the young woman’s more appealing characteristics—as Lydia did. “This project should be a team effort.”

“Oh, don’t worry about giving me too much to do. I love to be busy. And I’m a very efficient time manager.”

Yes. Maybe too efficient.

“I promise you, this will be the birth center’s most successful fund-raising event, ever,” Kim continued.

Mindful of her upcoming appointment, Lydia stood. “Let’s talk more about this later.” On her way out the door, Lydia glanced back at the accountant. Already her head was bent over her papers.

Lydia hoped she hadn’t made a terrible mistake. If Kim took on this project without allowing anyone to help, she’d just isolate herself further. Still, even if handing Kim responsibility for the fund-raiser had been a mistake, it wouldn’t be the worst one Lydia had ever made.

NOLAN STARED AT THE LAWYER, certain the woman had read incorrectly.

“Executor of the will, I can understand. But Mary and Steve wouldn’t have named me guardian of their daughter. That would be Steve’s mom, Irene Davidson.”

Only fifty-five, Irene was healthy and active. Judging from her home and the car she drove, she had plenty of money, too. Nolan knew she didn’t have to work.

Irene had what was needed to raise her granddaughter—time and financial resources. Two things that were lacking in Nolan’s life right now.

He’d stretched his credit to the max when he’d bought the Bulletin from Charley Graziano several years ago. Between that mortgage and the one for his condo, he had precious little spare cash.

And even less time. Running a newspaper was rewarding but very time-consuming. Then there were all his volunteer commitments.

Yeah, money and time were huge concerns. But the biggest problem of all was this: he and Sammy didn’t even know each other.

“When was that will drawn up?”

The lawyer stated a date about six months after Nolan and Mary’s mother’s funeral. Which made the whole setup even less logical.

He and Mary had said some pretty unforgivable things to each other the day they’d laid their mother to rest. Why would she have turned around, only months later, and done something like this?

“It doesn’t make sense.”

“There’s no mistake, Nolan. You are Sammy’s legal guardian. She’s still staying with the Saramagos. I suggest you pick her up and get her settled before the funeral.”

HALF AN HOUR LATER, Nolan was still in shock as he stopped his Explorer in front of the Saramagos’ pale pink adobe house. He thought back two days, to the night of Mary’s death and Steve’s accident. After leaving the hospital he’d driven straight to Irene’s. He’d woken her from a deep sleep, sat her on her floral-patterned living room sofa and told her about Mary, the baby, Steve.

She’d reacted with total silence.

He’d repeated the story, adding details this time, getting up to pace, then collapsing into a chair. He’d rubbed the stubble on his face, watching Irene’s face turn blanker and blanker.

“I’ll make coffee.” He’d been in the kitchen, searching for a filter cone, when she’d started to scream.

That had woken Sammy, asleep in the spare room. As he’d assumed, Mary and Steve had dropped her off on their way to The Birth Center.

The little girl had wandered into the kitchen wearing something soft and pink. “Has Mommy had my baby sister yet?” she asked him.

Irene wasn’t screaming anymore, but sobbing loudly. Nolan had been stunned by Sammy’s question.

Explaining to Sammy what had happened was even harder than telling Irene. The little girl didn’t seem to believe him at first. He’d returned to the living room to try to deal with Irene. Unable to calm her down, he’d phoned her doctor.

Teresa Saramago’s number had been listed by the phone as one of Irene’s emergency contacts, and he’d called her, too. Apparently she had a daughter the same age as Sammy and did some occasional baby-sitting. She agreed to take in the child while he drove Irene to the hospital.

Hard to believe that had happened just two nights ago. Nolan turned off the ignition and sat for a moment, trying to collect his thoughts.

There was a little girl inside that house for whom he was about to become solely responsible. Nolan wasn’t married, or engaged, he didn’t even have a steady girlfriend. Thirty might be a little old to be living a footloose kind of lifestyle, but it suited him and the demands of his profession.

He wanted to restart his vehicle and drive the hell out of there. Instead, he got out slowly, his reporter’s eye ticking off details as he approached the home. A tricycle tipped over near the front step. A red plastic pail tucked into the shrubbery under the front window. Kids lived here, all right. Including, for the moment, his niece.

If only he could leave her here. It was a cowardly thought, but expressed his feelings on the matter exactly.

Nolan stopped in front of the freshly stained wooden door of the well-maintained home. A good mother lived here. She had kids of her own. She’d probably make a perfect surrogate parent for Sammy.

If only he had Steve’s mother for support. But Irene had been checked into the hospital and prescribed sedatives. She was still there now. Her friend and neighbor, Mabel Judson, was planning to pick her up tomorrow and keep her at her house until after the funerals. “For as long as she needs,” Mabel had said when they’d talked on the phone this morning.

It seemed that as well as inheriting a kid, he was getting his sister’s mother-in-law, too. A package deal he could have happily lived without.

Nolan let his knuckles fall against the door. Right away it opened. Teresa Saramago was visibly pregnant, carrying a toddler in her arms. She seemed tired and relieved to see him.

Two little girls stood behind the woman in the hall. One of them had Steve’s big eyes, Mary’s curly hair.

“Thanks for looking after Sammy,” Nolan began.

“We were glad to help,” the mother of two, soon to be three, replied. “I wish we could keep her longer, but I’m due myself in a few weeks.”

He nodded. “I understand.” He wondered if the woman had any idea how panicked he felt right now. How totally unprepared he was for this much responsibility. He felt awkward, standing in the hall, with the mother and two little girls watching him expectantly. What was he supposed to do? Tentatively he held out his hand to his niece.

Sammy started to cry.

“Sammy, you have to go with your uncle now,” the woman prompted gently. “You can visit again, soon.”

Sammy kept crying and Nolan cringed. This was impossible. Sammy wanted to stay here. He wanted Sammy to stay here.

The woman frowned slightly. She set down her toddler, in order to give Sammy a hug, then shot him a look charged with expectation.

He scooped Sammy into his arms, and she stiffened, turning her face away from his. Adjusting his grip awkwardly, he gave another quick thanks to Teresa, then hustled back to his car. As he bent to put his niece in the front passenger seat, the woman shouted from her doorway.

“She’s too little to sit in the front—because of the airbags. Put her in the back.”

Hell. He should’ve known that. He’d read articles about airbag injuries to children under the age of twelve. So he settled Sammy in the center of the back seat, making sure to tighten the lap belt securely.

He was in the driver’s seat, engine started, ready to head to his condo, when he realized he still hadn’t spoken a word to the little girl. He swiveled to face her.

“I’m your Uncle Nolan, Sammy. You probably don’t remember me, but I came to visit you the day after you were born. I bought you a teddy bear.”

“The white one?”

Damned if he could remember the color. “Um, I think so.”

Her head dropped, and she didn’t say anything else. He watched her a moment, then sighed and drove off. Which of them, he wondered, was the most terrified right now?