Chapter Eighty-six
I can’t believe we lost one.”
“Neither can I. Two emergency c-sections at the same time. At least only one went south.” The voice sighed. “I hate nights like this.”
“Me, too. Thank God our shift is over.”
It took a few minutes for Gabriel to open his eyes. Had he been asleep or . . .
He rubbed at his chin. He didn’t know. One minute, he was in the woods behind his house, the next he could hear nurses talking.
His head began buzzing as his memory of Julianne lying on the table, pale and unmoving, came back to him.
The nurses must have been talking about her.
I can’t believe we lost one.
He fought back a sob as he heard footsteps, his eyes focusing on a pair of ugly shoes. It was grossly inappropriate, he knew, but he couldn’t help but notice how thick and unflattering they were. As if they were made of wood.
What a waste of a perfectly good podiatric opportunity.
He lifted his head.
The nurse, whom he hadn’t seen before, gave him a restrained smile. “I’m Angie, Mr. Emerson. Would you like to meet your daughter?”
He nodded and stumbled to his feet.
“I’m sorry you were sitting there so long. Someone should have brought you to her before, but things have been really busy and we’ve just had a shift change.”
She led him into an adjoining room, where a bassinet was situated. Another nurse was standing nearby, writing on a chart.
Gabriel walked over to the bassinet and looked down.
A little bundle of white lay motionless. He saw a reddish face, and black hair that was partially covered by a tiny, purple knitted cap.
“She has hair.”
Angie stood next to him. “Yes, lots of hair. She’s almost nine pounds and nineteen inches long. She’s a good-sized baby.”
Angie picked up the child, cradling her. “We’ll give you a wristband that matches hers so we know she’s yours.”
The second nurse affixed a white plastic wristband on Gabriel’s right wrist.
“Would you like to hold her?”
He nodded, wiping his cold, clammy palms on his green surgical scrubs.
Angie gently placed the baby in his arms. Immediately, the child opened large, dark blue eyes and looked up at him.
Their eyes met and Gabriel felt as if his entire world stopped.
Then she yawned, her tiny rosebud mouth expanding greatly, before she closed her eyes again.
“She’s beautiful,” he breathed.
“Yes, she is. And she’s healthy. It was a difficult delivery, but she’s fine. You’ll notice that her face is a bit swollen, but that will come down.”
Gabriel lifted the baby so she was inches from his face.
“Hello, Spring Roll. I’m your daddy and I’ve been waiting to meet you for a long time. I love you so much.”
He held her close, listening to her tiny breaths, feeling her little heart beat through the swaddling material.
“My wife,” he croaked, not bothering to blink away the tears that had re-formed in his eyes.
The nurses exchanged a look.
“Did Dr. Rubio talk to you?” Angie asked.
Gabriel shook his head, holding the baby tightly.
Angie looked to the other nurse, who frowned.
“She should have spoken to you by now. I’m sorry about that. It’s been very busy, as I said, and there was a shift change.” Angie gestured to a nearby chair. “Why don’t you sit down with your daughter, and I’ll go see if I can find the doctor.”
Gabriel did as he was told, holding his daughter close to his heart.
The nurses’ expressions said it all.
There would be no happy reconciliation.
There would be no vision of Julia holding their child.
He’d lost her. As surely as Dante had lost Beatrice, he’d lost his beloved.
“I’ve failed you,” he whispered.
Hugging his daughter close to his chest, Gabriel cried.
Chapter Eighty-seven
As Gabriel sat, holding Spring Roll, time seemed to have no meaning. Images flashed before his eyes. He saw himself taking the baby home from the hospital. Feeding her in the middle of the night. Walking down the hall to the empty master bedroom.
He was so alone.
He’d loved one woman in his life. At first, he’d loved her like a pagan, eager to make her an idol and worship her. Then he’d recognized that some things were more important than his love for her—her happiness, for example.
In his mind’s eye he could see and hear her clutching his hand, whispering, “I don’t regret getting pregnant.”
She’d regret it now. He’d taken her life.
His shoulders shuddered as a sob overtook him.
His beautiful, sweet Julianne.
He had his cell phone but didn’t feel like talking to anyone. From the texts he’d received, he knew that Richard and Rachel would be arriving soon. Rebecca was readying the house for the guests and the baby. Kelly had texted to say that she’d ordered flowers and balloons, which were on their way to the hospital.
He hadn’t had the will to tell them Julianne was gone.
He stared at the face of his daughter, wondering how he was going to parent her alone. He’d relied on Julianne for so much. And ultimately, it was his selfishness that ended her life.
He was lost in his own grief and exhaustion when someone entered the room and stood before him. Once again his eyes focused on a pair of very ugly, sturdy shoes.
“Professor Emerson.”
He recognized the voice of Dr. Rubio and lifted his head.
She looked tired.
“I’m sorry about what happened. We had several emergencies all at once and I couldn’t get away. I’m sorry it took me so long to—”
“Can I see her?” Gabriel interrupted.
“Of course. But I just need to explain. Your wife—”
Gabriel couldn’t hear the doctor’s words. He was enveloped in pain. All his conversations with Julia about children flooded his mind.
This was his fault. He’d persuaded her to have a baby and then they’d gotten pregnant before she was ready.
He’d done this. He’d planted his child inside her, and the act had killed her.
He lowered his head despondently.
“Professor Emerson.”
Dr. Rubio came closer.
“Professor Emerson, are you all right?” Her lightly accented voice sounded at his ear. She muttered to herself in Spanish, words that Gabriel identified, but dimly.
“Can I see her?” he whispered.
“Of course.” Dr. Rubio gestured to the door. “I’m sorry someone didn’t come to get you earlier, but the nursing staff was overwhelmed.”