Roz Denny Fox - Baby, Baby

Stopping at the reception area, she thanked Dr. Peterson’s secretary for the use of his office. After that, she went upstairs to her own ward, post-surgical. Faith wanted to see the babies again after Michael left. Somehow, she couldn’t shake the feeling that he presented a threat.

Her mind not on work, she nevertheless emptied her mailbox. It was full. Among the usual junk was a notice to stop at the finance office and discuss Lacy’s hospital bill. Faith stared at the statement. She had a tidy savings account. She’d expected to use it to stock a nursery; she’d also figured it would allow her to take six months or so off work. Last night when she couldn’t sleep, she made lists of what the babies would need. Planning for two of everything ate up money fast. To say nothing of the fact that the cost of funerals had skyrocketed since she’d arranged her mother’s.

Closing her eyes, Faith rubbed her forehead. It hadn’t entered her mind that she’d owe for Lacy’s care. But then, what company would insure her sister? Even if she had a policy, it probably excluded her preexisting condition. Faith placed this new worry at the bottom of her stack. The next envelope she opened was almost as distressing. The babies needed names before the state could issue birth certificates.

Faith picked up a pen. Abigail was easy. That had been Lacy’s wish. Abigail Dawn. It was a middle name denoting hope, and the two went well together, Faith thought. Hyatt. She wrote the last name in block letters. Writing it felt good. Like thumbing her nose at Kipp Fielding III and his father.

The form for Lacy’s son remained mockingly blank. Faith made a list of names she thought sounded strong. Nicholas kept floating to the top. “Nicholas it shall be,” she murmured, then chewed on the eraser while she searched her list for an acceptable middle name. John. A solid biblical name. Also, it’d been Faith and Lacy’s grandfather’s. Faith remembered him as a soft-spoken man with twinkling eyes.

Once that chore was complete, she dispatched her remaining mail quickly. A glance at her watch suggested she’d wasted enough time; Michael should be long gone from the nursery. She dropped off the birth certificate forms in the outgoing mail on her way to visit the twins.

By now she knew the routine and proceeded to don sterile gear before she entered the nursery. Tying the last set of strings on her mask, Faith pushed open the door to the premie ward. And froze. A fully gowned and masked Michael Cameron sat in Faith’s usual chair. He had a baby lying along each of his forearms, their little heads cradled in the palms of his big hands. Both pairs of baby eyes were wide-open. Faith was near enough to see their mouths working. Oh, they looked like perfect little dolls.

Fuzzy dark hair spilled from beneath Nicholas’s blue stocking cap. Abigail’s wispy curls glinted pale gold in the artificial light.

Faith’s gaze shifted to Michael’s face. Her stomach knotted and her knees felt watery. There was no mistaking the tears that tracked down his cheeks. An involuntary protest rose in Faith’s throat, blocking the breath she tried desperately to suck into her lungs. She didn’t want to empathize with Lacy’s ex. Throwing out a hand, she clutched the privacy screen to keep from falling.

Michael heard the sound. His rapt gaze left the twins. “Faith.” He said her name softly. “I know I’ve been here beyond the time you set, but…but they’re incredible. I’ve never been so humbled. Since Lacy risked everything for them I really hope that somehow she knows how perfect they are.”

Faith watched him transfer his attention to a tiny hand that had worked free of its gown and felt the blood drain from her face.

With one gloved finger, he captured the baby’s waving fist. “Fielding said they’re labeled Babies A and B Hyatt. I stopped in finance to pay Lacy’s bill and discovered she’d never legally changed her name after the divorce. Officially the babies are Camerons. As they should be,” he said sternly, his eyes lifting in time to witness Faith’s retreat. Michael called her to come back, to no avail.

Hands over her ears, Faith stumbled into the hall. She needed to get home and call Lacy’s lawyer. Maybe the custody papers, which plainly stated Lacy wanted the babies to go by the name of Hyatt, were flawed. She took the time, however, to detour by the nursing station to retrieve the birth certificate forms she’d filled out incorrectly.

What was in a name, anyway? Michael had admitted the divorce was final. And she certainly hadn’t asked him to pay Lacy’s hospital bill. Maybe he was being thoughtful. Then again, he might have an ulterior motive. At any rate, Faith felt disloyal to Lacy as she crossed out Hyatt on the forms and wrote Cameron. As she dropped her gown, mask and bootees in the laundry, she mentally rearranged her budget to include attorney’s fees. If Fielding and Cameron expected her to fade quietly into the woodwork, they’d better think again. She intended to be a devoted mom to her sister’s babies. The kind she’d never had time to be for Lacy. She’d been too young then and stretched too thin in caring for their ailing mother. Still, the thought of so many lawyers getting involved made Faith almost sick to her stomach.

ATTENDING LACY’S FUNERAL was even harder than Faith had imagined. She was touched by the number of people from the hospital who came out of respect for her. Likewise, by the number of Lacy’s old friends from high school and college who’d shown up. Faith made a mental note to catch Abigail Moore after the service so that she could tell her about her namesake.

A few acquaintances had sent flowers and cards. Including Kipp Fielding III. His was an ostentatious arrangement of red and white roses. They dwarfed Michael’s small white basket of violets. The violets brought tears to Faith’s eyes; they were Lacy’s favorite flower and Michael must have gone to a great deal of trouble to find a florist to provide them at this time of year.

More surprising than his thoughtful gesture, however, was seeing the man himself walk into the chapel. He paused at a back row and greeted two couples who’d arrived earlier. People Faith had never met. Now it was obvious they’d known Lacy through Michael.

He didn’t tarry long with his friends. Head bent, he walked slowly down the center aisle and knelt in front of the closed casket. Faith had thought her tears were all cried out until she watched his jaw ripple with emotion several times before he leaned forward to kiss the oak-grained lid. There was a decided sheen to his eyes when he rose. Or maybe she was watching him through her own tears.

She couldn’t think of a thing to say when he sank onto the bench beside her. Even if she’d thought of something, she didn’t trust her voice not to break.

“I swung past the apartment to pick you up,” he murmured. “You’d already gone. You must not have listened to the messages on your answering machine. The last one I left said I’d booked a car service for us. I know you don’t own a vehicle.”

Faith clasped and unclasped her hands. The truth was, she had listened to the message. But Lacy’s lawyer ordered her to have as little contact as possible with either of the two men. The attorney, David Reed, had been quite adamant, in fact.

Fortunately, Faith was saved from answering Michael when the minister stepped up to the pulpit. She’d asked Reverend Wilson to keep the service short in deference to the people who had taken time off work. However, his opening prayer droned on and on.

Ending at last, the minister segued into a poem by Helen Steiner Rice. The words celebrated life, and Lacy had been particularly fond of them. Anyone who’d ever received a note from her would recognize the piece, as she’d had it reprinted on the front of her monogrammed note cards.