Her Unexpected Family (13 page)

“And Dolly. What if she gets it? She's more prone to things than Tim.”

“She's as tough as they come. Tougher than you give her credit for.”

He scowled at the door, then faced her. “You're right about me overprotecting her.”

“I know I am.”

He flushed. “I never worry about Tim the same way. I fret about Dolly, about her limitations all the time, but I just kind of took Tim's health and well-being for granted. What kind of father does that?”

“The normal kind.”

“What if I hadn't gotten up tonight? What if I hadn't gone to check on them? I don't, all the time. Usually, if all seems quiet I just go back to sleep. What if I'd done that, Emily, and lost him?”

She held his gaze. “I call those Holy Spirit nudges. Those instincts that come for no reason, out of the blue. I believe God uses the Holy Spirit to nudge our conscience to do good. To choose well.”

“God makes house calls?” He sounded cryptic, but he was stressed so she let it ride.

“He does
every
kind of call. He promised to be wherever two or more are gathered in his name.”

“Em.” He stared out, over the city, and exhaled slowly. “I wish I had your faith. Your beliefs. I—” He stopped talking and turned quickly when the doctor strode in.

“How is he? Can I see him?”

The doctor motioned to a chair. Grant shook his head. “No, I don't need to sit. Just tell me, straight out. Is he going to be okay?”

“Well, I'll sit then, because it's going to be a long day.” The doctor sank into a chair. Grant didn't look any too happy, but he followed her lead. Emily did, too, and folded her hands in silent prayer.

“He's got pneumonia.”

“Pneumonia?” Grant shook his head. “How can he? He hasn't been sick. He had sniffles for a day or two, but nothing that would give you pneumonia.”

“Whooping cough does.”

“He's got whooping cough?” Emily sat forward. “I've been watching him for the past several days, Doctor, and he hasn't really been coughing.”

“Not everyone gets the textbook cough.”

“He's been vaccinated.” Grant gripped the arms of the chair. “How could he come in contact with someone with whooping cough?”

“It's highly contagious and we're seeing more cases even with the vaccine. In Tim's case I'm going to keep him here and monitor him until the antibiotic takes hold and gives him the upper hand. But I want to put Dolly on a course of antibiotics starting immediately. We don't want this bacteria lurking in her system, so we're taking a proactive approach.”

“Of course. I just don't see how he could get something like this.”

“Exposure to someone harboring the bacteria. And everyone Tim has been around this week has been exposed.”

“I've taken them all over this week, Doctor,” Emily told her. “In and out of town, visiting people. Did I cause a new pandemic?”

The doctor laughed. “No, but we will get the word out. Babies are especially susceptible, as are children with health issues. No blame to spread here—these things happen. I'll write you a prescription, and yes you can stay right here with Tim. We'll probably keep him here for forty-eight hours or until he turns the corner and I'm confident about his prognosis. Is there someone who can watch Dolly?”

“My sister and I will.”

“Good. I'm going to send a prescription over to the pharmacy in Grace Haven, the one I usually use for you, Grant. That hasn't changed, has it?”

“No, the Grace Haven Pharmacy is fine.”

“And they should have it in stock, so you can pick it up later this morning. If not, I'll forward it to another drugstore. I want Dolly fighting this sooner rather than later.”

“I'll call my sister to pick it up,” offered Emily. “She's right there in town.”

“All right.” The doctor stood. “I'm going to take you in. He looks funny right now because we've medicated him and we're giving him IV fluids. We've got oxygen on him just to help ease his struggle. You're not going to freak out on me, are you, Grant?”

He shook his head, but the sadness in his gaze broke Emily's heart. “I'll be fine.”

“Okay. Let's go.”

Chapter Twelve

G
rant's heart seized and his breathing went tight when he saw Tim hooked up to various tubes and machines. His vibrant, sturdy, smart little boy looked suddenly helpless.

His stomach knotted.

His hands formed fists.

Tears smarted his eyes, but he needed to be strong for Tim. Strong for Dolly. He brushed the back of his hand against his face and leaned over the high-sided bed. “Hey, buddy. Daddy's here. I'll be here with you all day, okay? I love you, Timmers.” He leaned in and kissed his son, choking back emotion.

He worried about Dolly constantly. He fretted nonstop, he overprotected her, and he kind of just expected Tim to be okay. And now he wasn't. Guilt mushroomed inside him.

“He'll sleep for a while.” The doctor kept her voice soft. “The nurses are monitoring his breathing, his oxygen and his fluids. We started with an IV antibiotic and we'll go to an oral once he's better.”

“But he's going to be all right? He'll recover?”

The doctor put a hand on Grant's arm. “He should be fine, but there is a slight mortality rate. Let us do our jobs while you guys continue to pray for him.”

Pray for him.

Grant swallowed hard. He hadn't prayed in a long time. Not since he got down on his knees as a little boy, begging God to bring his daddy back.

It never happened, and he decided right then that God didn't exist because if he did, could he ignore a child's plea like that? And if he could, then Grant wanted nothing to do with him.

Prayer hadn't been part of his college life, or his work life or his married life. In Grant's opinion it was old-school nonsense, a simplistic way to handle complex issues.

Now it was life and death, his child, his beloved son. He bowed his head.

What should he say? How should he start? And why would God cast favor on a stubborn nonbeliever like Grant?

Emily prayed softly and sweetly, murmuring words of supplication, asking God to bless Tim, to bless Dolly, to bless Grant.

God owed him nothing. Grant knew that. But if he could see his way clear to heal Tim and keep Dolly from getting sick, Grant would be forever in his debt.

* * *

Seven hours and no change.

Tim's pallor didn't make Emily nervous: it downright scared her. Pale, waxy skin. Washed-out lips. Faded fingernails.

The doctor had been in twice, and the last time she'd been accompanied by an infectious disease control specialist. They conferred in soft tones, backfilling the room with murmured words behind the hums and clicks of machines.

And then they left, leaving Grant and her wondering.

A young woman came to the door. “I've got a coffee cart here. Can I make you something special?”

“No, I—” Grant began, but Emily stood and moved across the room.

“Yes. Absolutely. I'd love a mocha latte, and straight coffee for my friend, here.”

The young woman smiled, fixed their coffees then handed Emily a small tray of fresh bagels and cream cheese. “Just in case.”

“Thank you.” Emily whispered the words and took the food over to the small side table near the window. She pulled back the curtain partway.

Bold winter sun brightened the room. The angled light got Grant's attention. He stood and stretched. Worry etched his face. “I'm sorry to mess up your day.”

“You didn't.” She handed him his coffee. “He did.” She indicated the sick toddler with a smile. “But it's kind of special to have the chance to come and sit by his side and pray him through this.”

“What if—”

She held up a firm hand. “We don't go to what-ifs. We go to whens.
When
Tim turns the corner, we take him home.
When
Tim is better, he'll tease and torture his sister again.
When
Tim feels good, he'll want ice cream. Get it?”

He smiled, and it was the first smile she'd seen all day, then he reached out and hugged her with one arm. “Got it.” He rested his chin on top of her hair. “Thank you for being here. I couldn't have gotten through this without you.”

“You're welcome.” His arm, slung gently around her. Being tucked in, close to his side. The feel of his chest, rising and falling with each breath. Yes, even sharing his concern for this beautiful child, struggling to fight off illness. Emotion rose within her. Sweet emotion, tender thoughts of what could be, shoving Noel's lucrative offer out of contention.

He'd prayed with her today. It took a near-death experience, but he'd turned his son over to God, the Father Almighty, and for a stubborn, take-charge guy like Grant, begging was a huge step. Was this a real change or a God-of-convenience thing?

Who knew? But it was a move in the right direction.

Corinne tiptoed into the room just then. “Hey, guys. I have tonight off so I brought some necessities from home. New toothbrushes and toothpaste, some fruit, chocolate—” She arched a knowing brow in Emily's direction. “And a picture from Dolly.” She held up a sheet of construction paper covered with scribbles. “Rory put this on an art board and gave her a box of toddler crayons. This handcrafted work of art is her gift to you. And I'm supposed to tell you that she's had her first dose of the antibiotic and will get her second dose right about now.”

Grant looked relieved as he accepted the drawing. “Thank you. And thank Rory again for me, okay? You Gallaghers know how to step up to the plate.”

“Well, we're baseball lovers.” Corinne grinned as if that was a given.

“There is that.” Grant's slight smile didn't erase the concern in his eyes as he watched Tim for any sign of improvement. “But it's more than a good analogy. It's how you live.” His mouth pressed tight. “I didn't realize how rare that was. I've spent so much time coasting through life, I never realized how important some things were.”

Sympathy swelled within Emily. “We all make mistakes. And life hands us curveballs. Oops. Sorry. Baseball again.”

He touched her cheek with his free hand, a gentle gesture. “It was stupid that it took me this long to see things more clearly. To understand better.”

“I think we come to moments at different points in our lives,” Corinne told him. “And what we make of those choices, those bends in the road, helps mold us. We can't change what's been, but we can be a blessing to what will be.”

Tim moved just then. He wriggled on the bed. His face contorted, then he yawned, a big old normal, little-kid yawn. He blinked, peeked around then dozed back off, but for just a moment, he looked delightfully normal.

“Did you see that?”

Corinne laughed softly. “I think the meds are kicking in and we've got bacteria on the run.”

“You think?”

She pointed to the tips of his fingers, now a healthier-looking pink. “Yup.”

“Oh, man.” Grant grabbed hold of his son's bed rails and breathed relief. “This has been a day for the record books. First, Serenity's call, saying she was in town and wanted to see me. Then having Tim get sick and rushing him into the hospital. I would be okay with never having to do this again.”

“It's parenthood, Grant. Trust me.” Corinne smiled down at the little one in the bed. “It will happen again.”

Emily appreciated her advice, but she zeroed in on Grant's first statement. “You said Serenity is in town?”

Grant grimaced. “Someplace, yes. She wanted to see me, without the kids. I said no, of course.”

“Why?” Foreboding took the place sympathy had held, because Emily was pretty sure she knew why.

“She walked out. She made choices. Why should I let her waltz back in when she feels like it? We've had no contact from her in two years. Not even a Christmas card. No.” He shook his head. “She didn't need us. We don't need her.”

And there it was, the quiet knell of confirmation.

Christ had talked about forgiveness.

Grant had none. He'd taken old hurts and turned them into a life sentence. He casually examined both sides of the issues and chose stubborn anger each time. His firm jaw and squared shoulders said he meant business.

Well, so did she. And it didn't include a life full of drama, anger and angst.

“Hey, I see good news on the monitors.” The doctor strode in, looking more cheerful than she had two hours before. “He's oxygenating better, and his pulse rate is coming back to normal. The meds are doing their job.”

“He'll be okay?” The hope in Grant's voice reflected Emily's, but she put her heart in pause mode.

“It looks like we're on the road back,” the doctor told him. “We'll continue treatment here until I'm sure, and then you'll have to be vigilant at home. This is a tough bacteria, and we can't get comfortable or let down our defenses. No taking him out, dragging him around, wearing him down, okay? He needs to be at home, quiet and cozy, all right?”

“We'll see to it,” Grant promised.

“Good. I'll check back later.” She left the room, humming, a much more cheerful sound than the earlier quiet of hushed voices.

Grant swung around and gave Emily a nice big hug. “Did you hear that? He's going to be okay!”

“I heard.”

“Aren't you thrilled?” he asked, clearly pleased and relieved by the doctor's prognosis. “I thought you'd be doing a happy dance.”

She looked up. Met his gaze. Held it. “His mother is in town.”

Grant nodded. “Yes.”

“And her little boy was rushed to a hospital in the middle of the night, and you never called her, Grant.”

He stared at her. “She left. That was her choice, not ours.”

“But she's his mother.” She moved to the side of the bed and brushed back a lock of hair from Tim's forehead as she whispered her goodbye. “What if this had gone all wrong? What if Tim hadn't made it through the night? Then would it be all right for you to deny his mother the chance to see him one last time?”

His frown said she surprised him. Didn't he realize that every decision, large and small, had consequences? Or did he just not care? Either way, she needed to quietly walk away from this attraction. She breathed deep and took a firm step back. “I'm heading home with Corinne. We'll keep Dolly as long as we need to, so don't worry a thing about her. Keep in touch, okay? Let us know how he's doing.” Decision made, she moved toward the door.

“Emily.”

She didn't turn, didn't look back, didn't pause.

She couldn't.

How could he do that? No matter what Serenity had done, no matter that his ego got crushed and his feelings hurt, knowing she was in town and not contacting her when Tim could have died—

Her heart clenched. Her breath caught. She couldn't talk, couldn't think about this now and maintain control in the vibrant-colored children's hospital, surrounded by strangers immersed in their own dramas.

Tim was doing better. Her heart sang with joy over that, but realizing that Grant chose anger over forgiveness wasn't just a red flag. It was a big bold stop sign.

Faith, forgiveness and trust were key factors in life.

She knew that change had to come from within Grant. She saw that clearly today. She followed Corinne to her car, climbed in and let the tears fall.

She still had a wedding to handle for him, a beautiful and well-planned celebration for Grant's sister. She'd do it well, with a pageant-worthy smile firmly in place.

And then she'd tiptoe out of the twins'—and Grant's—lives and never let anyone see the ache she held inside.

* * *

Grant watched Emily leave and knew it was a final straw.

Why would she think badly of him for not pulling Serenity in when Timmy got sick? It was coincidence, pure and simple, that had Serenity in the area now. Not love of family, and certainly not any regard for these wonderful children.

Anger simmered within him. Emily didn't understand. She'd never had anyone walk out on two babies. How could she judge him when she'd never walked a mile in his shoes?

He was tired. She was tired. Maybe this wouldn't seem so dire after they both got some sleep.

He texted her a late-afternoon picture of Timmy awake, eating a freeze pop.

Her reply was
Dolly loves seeing Timmy! She sends her love!

He texted back,
Can you keep Dolly overnight?

One word. One tiny word.
Yayuh.

Her stretched-out version of yes made him smile while his heart ached. He dozed fitfully in the chair. Images of Timmy and Dolly kept him from falling into a deep sleep. He woke up early, rubbed sleep from his eyes and went into the bathroom to wash his face.

Solemn. Stern. Forbidding.

He stared into the mirror.

Was he always like this? So rigid, so sure he was right?

The mirror told him nothing, but his conscience wasn't as reticent.
You're foolishly stubborn in your personal life. That's no one's fault but your own. Why would a wonderful woman like Emily Gallagher be attracted to you? You're gruff and grumpy.

“Fweeze pop, pwease? Daddy, Tim have a fweeze pop, pwease?”

Emotions rolled up inside him. Joy that Timmy was coming around, and frustration. Frustration at himself, at life, at people unwilling to do their best.

Serenity abandoned her family, just like his father had. Grant had done no such thing. He'd stayed the course. Therefore...

Therefore, what? No one gets a second chance in the McCarthy house? What a wretched way to live.

“Hey!” Timmy stood, waggling his arms, delighted to see Grant. “Timmy have fweeze pop, pwease?”

He looked down at his beloved son, and really looked this time.

Serenity's eyes smiled up at him from his boy's face. Serenity's smile, too.

No matter how angry he was, Emily had hit the nail on the head. He should have called her when Timmy went into crisis. It was the right thing to do.