Casey turned her attention back to Emma, who was watching her with
huge eyes, and said, "Who was that masked man, Miss Emma?" The baby
just blinked at her. "That was your daddy," she said. "We like
him. A lot."
Rob
Everything they'd told him had been a lie.
It wasn't as much a lie of commission as one of omission. They'd
satisfactorily explained to him the mechanics of birth. He'd learned how to
feed Casey ice chips, how to rub her back and keep her feet warm. He knew the
different stages of labor, knew he needed to prepare for his mild-mannered wife
to turn into a raging shrew during transition. Knew how to breathe during each
stage, how to help her hold back if she felt the need to push but wasn't fully
dilated. He knew that he should expect his brand-new offspring to look red and
wrinkled and misshapen. He'd sat, with great discomfort, through a movie that
showed a live birth. He was prepared. Or so he'd thought.
But in leaving out the most significant part, they'd told a
massive whopper. Although the childbirth educators had imparted a wealth of
factual information, they'd failed him miserably by their failure to address
the emotional aspect. He'd had no idea he would feel like this. Even after
weeks of childbirth classes and hours spent talking with Casey about the
impending birth, he'd been woefully unprepared for the reality of it.
Unprepared for the intensity of emotion, for the astonishing level of pain
she'd suffered to give birth to the child he'd planted in her. For her stoic
response to that pain. He'd smugly believed he knew how he would feel
afterward: pleased and proud and happy, ready for the handshakes and the
backslaps and the congratulations. How could he have known that the first time
he held that little girl and looked into those huge, innocent eyes, he'd feel
as though he'd been dropped down an elevator shaft?
After having Paige in his life for the better part of a year, he'd
thought he understood fatherlove. But this was vastly different. Paige had come
into his life without warning, and nearly fully grown. They'd danced warily
around each other for months before the relationship ripened into something
resembling a normal father/daughter bond. The difference between that
relationship and this one was so fundamental, so profound, he couldn't put it
into words. The birth of this child had his emotions racing all over the place,
ping-ponging like a crazed tennis ball. He bounced between elation and terror,
pride and terror, adoration and terror. Awe, gratitude, tenderness,
protectiveness.
And terror.
There weren't supposed to be negative emotions mixed in with all
that other stuff. Were there? If this was normal, it would have been nice if
somebody'd bothered to mention it ahead of time. He loved that little baby,
loved her so much he would gladly lay down his life for her. But the terror
wouldn't let go of his vital organs. It wasn't even a concrete terror that he
could identify. It was vague and amorphous, an invisible bogeyman that clutched
at his insides and squeezed them into a hot ball of anxiety. Wasn't it the
mothers who were supposed to suffer from post-partum depression? Not that he
was depressed; what he was, during fleeting moments tucked in amongst the pride
and the joy, was scared shitless.
He wasn't the kind of guy who spent much time going to dark
places. For the most part, he had a sunny disposition. But sometimes, when
those dark places were inside him, he couldn't stop himself from going there.
What the hell did he know about being a dad? He'd missed those
first fifteen years with Paige. By the time she reached him, the most
significant portion of her growing-up years was already behind her. The best he
could hope for with his eldest daughter was to provide guidance and support,
something more avuncular than paternal.
But this was different. This was the real thing. Parenthood, with
a capital P. And with an infant, there was no wiggle room. The first time you
dropped the kid on her head, it was instant fail.
God, she was beautiful! Perfect in every way. Casey had told him
once, a long time ago, that it was the most incredible feeling you could
experience, the knowledge that you and the person you loved most in the world
had created that exquisite creature from an act of love. He'd understood her
intellectually, but not viscerally. Not until now. The simple biological fact
of sperm and egg uniting to create something so precious, so flawless, was
mind-blowing. His awe and astonishment sprang not only from Emma herself—which
would certainly have been enough—but also from Emma as a symbol of their deep
and abiding love. He and Casey were in a place he'd never really believed they
would ever be. He'd wanted to be there, for so long. But it had always seemed
so far out of reach it was laughable.
He wasn't laughing any longer.
The house was quiet, the kitchen clock ticking in the silence.
He'd been gone for five days, and in the interim, Casey had been packing; there
were boxes stacked everywhere. Hard to believe that his universe had been
irrevocably altered since this morning. Hard to believe, after the intensity of
what they'd been through, that the entire birthing process had taken just over
five hours. He'd packed a lifetime into those five hours, and now he was as
high as a kite.
He walked to the refrigerator, opened it, stood staring at the
contents, remembering his mother's perennial refrain: "For the love o'
Mike, close the damn door. Whatever you're looking for, if you didn't find it
in the first ten seconds, it's not there."
He pulled out a chicken leg, unwrapped it, and took a whiff. It
passed the sniff test, so he ate it cold, standing right there in front of the
fridge. He was ravenous, too hungry to care about heating it up. Once he'd
eaten everything in the fridge that wasn't nailed down, he was going to take a
long, hot shower. Maybe, while standing under the steaming spray, he could
wrestle his swirling emotions into submission. Maybe even have a good cry, to
release some of that built-up tension. When he wasn't contemplating running
away, he wanted to climb the highest hill in town and shout his news to the
world. Wanted to relive every moment of the experience. Wanted to smother his
wife, that goddess who stood above all other women, with love and gratitude.
He settled for calling his mom.
"Congratulations," he said when she answered. "You
have a brand-new, beautiful granddaughter. Emma Danielle MacKenzie."
He heard her sharp intake of breath. "Well," she said,
in her classic understated tone. "That
is
something to celebrate,
isn't it?"
Of all people, his mother understood. Mary MacKenzie might not
know all the details, but she knew enough about the struggles he and Casey had
gone through to get to where they were now. She understood the significance of
this baby. Mary had grieved with them through the losses. She understood that
Casey had been the other half of him since day one. She knew about the other
women who'd been substitutes because he couldn't admit, even to himself, that
he was in love with his best friend's wife. More than anyone besides Casey
herself, his mother knew what lived inside his heart.
"She's beautiful, Ma. Five pounds, eight ounces. Just a
little bitty thing. She looks like Casey, but I think she'll have my coloring.
She has the most delicate little blond eyebrows."
"And she's a healthy, full-term baby?"
" Even though she came early, even though she's small,
everything seems to be working the way it should. I helped deliver her. Can you
believe that? I actually helped deliver my own kid. I was the one who caught
her when she came out. The first one to hold her."
"Well, then," she said, "that's pretty amazing. In
my day, fathers weren't allowed in the delivery room. They all sat in the
waiting room, smoking cigarettes, until it was over."
"Things have changed, Ma. It's a shame Dad never got the
chance to experience what I just did. It changes you forever."
"It does. And darlin' Casey is fine, as well?"
"She's fine, but she's exhausted. It was a hard labor. It
only lasted five hours." He paused, unsure of how to proceed. He'd never
thought of his mother this way, as a sexual being. To imagine her going through
what he'd just witnessed was unreal. "How did you do it, Ma? Nine kids. I
saw firsthand what Casey went through. You know her. She's not one to whine or
complain. But the pain just unraveled her. How the hell did you do it nine
times?"
"God made women strong, Robbie. It's all part of life."
"Whoever said that women are the weaker sex never watched his
wife deliver a baby."
He heard a sound outside, glanced out the window to see Paige
getting out of her cousin Luke's ancient Toyota. Long and lean, with a wild
tangle of blond curls like the ones he'd worn for most of his life, she looked
so much like him it was scary. Beautiful, where he'd been blessed with this
ugly mug, but somehow on her, their shared features worked.
"The first time's the hardest," his mother said,
"because you don't know what to expect. After the first, it gets easier.
She's been through it before. She knew what she was getting into."
"We've talked about having two kids," he said, "but
I just don't know. To put her through that again—” His voice broke.
"She'll be fine. Casey's strong, and she's resilient."
Paige burst through the door from the shed, looking breathless and
anxious. He gave her a wink. Said into the phone, "I love you, Ma."
"And I love you, my son. Your father and I will be up on the
weekend to meet the new wee one. In the meantime, give my love to Casey. And
congratulations to both of you. This one's been a long time coming."
He hung up the phone, swiped at a tear. "What's wrong?"
Paige said.
"Nothing's wrong. You have a beautiful new baby sister."
"And Casey's okay?"
He tried to make sense of her anxiety, realized she'd already lost
one mother and was probably terrified of losing another. He stood drinking her
in, amazed by her beauty, crushed by the knowledge that if Sandy hadn't died,
he might never have known he had a daughter.
"Casey's fine. Tired, but that's to be expected. I think that
right now, she's walking on air."
Paige wrinkled her brow and said, "Then why are you
crying?"
He shook his head slowly. Blinked, and took a step closer to her,
while she looked at him like he was some kind of alien life form. "Um,
Dad?" she said.
"S'okay." He reached out, fingered a single blond curl,
studied her blurred face. "I am so sorry. So sorry I wasn't there for you.
So sorry I missed everything. Your birth. Your first tooth, your first step.
All those birthdays."
"It wasn't your fault. We've already established that. Not
your fault that my mom lied to me, not your fault that she never told you about
me. I've come to terms with it. I think you need to do the same thing."
He wiped his flooding eyes on his sleeve. And let out a choked
laugh. "Count on you," he said, "to get right to the heart of the
matter."
"We're okay. It took us a while, but we're okay now."
She stepped forward and gave him a hug. He clung to her, completely annihilated
by this uncharacteristic show of affection.
"Have you eaten anything?" she asked suspiciously.
"Just a cold chicken leg."
"Jesus. That was like, three days old. If you can give me a
half-hour, I'll make you something decent."
"That would be great, kiddo. I have a few calls to make
anyway."
First, he called Will Bradley, Casey's dad, and reassured him that
all was well in spite of the unexpectedly early delivery. Next came his twin
sister, Rose, and his sister-in-law, Trish. He chatted for a few minutes with
Casey's brother Travis, in Boston, then called his sister Maeve and his brother
Michael. His mother and Rose could take care of the rest of the MacKenzie clan.
He would have phoned Colleen, Casey's younger sister, if he'd known how to
reach her. She lived somewhere in Florida. But he was sure she'd get the word.
Bill, the oldest of Casey's siblings, stayed in touch with his baby sister,
even though the rest of the family hardly ever spoke to her.
Once he finished the calls, he went upstairs, peeled off his
clothes, and took a long, hot shower, letting the heat work its magic on his
knotted muscles. He felt better afterward. He brushed his teeth and his hair,
threw on clean clothes, then stood for a moment studying the stranger who
stared back at him from the bathroom mirror. He still hadn't adjusted to the
new Rob MacKenzie. It was still a shock every time he passed a mirror and
wondered who the hell that guy was. It had been one of those impulsive,
spur-of-the-moment things that might have led to quick regrets after the fact.
But he'd been closing in on forty, with a teenage daughter and a baby on the
way, and it had just seemed the right thing to do. It was time. So he'd called
Jesse one Saturday afternoon and asked where he could get a decent haircut, and
Jesse had pointed him to a downtown salon called Shelley's Cut 'n Curl and told
him to ask for David.
There, he sat in a swivel chair and watched in the mirror as a
flamboyant, purple-haired freaking genius lopped off the wild tangle of curls
he'd worn hanging past his shoulders since he was sixteen. A couple of inches
long and shaped neatly to fit the contours of his head, his hair fell in soft
waves that actually looked, to his utter amazement, pretty damn good. When it
was done, he'd been so pleased by the result that he'd tipped the kid a hundred
bucks, probably gaining a new friend for life.