So what kind of mother could Laura be if she just...froze? Instinct should have made her leap out of bed and out the door. Old trauma made her useless.
The pillow was wet before she knew it, silent tears rolling from both eyes, pooling at the bridge of her nose before spilling over. Josie came closer and took her hand.
“You did a great job, Laura,” she soothed. Mike and Dylan shared a puzzled look.
“I froze!” Laura wailed.
“Hey,” Josie said, gently forcing Laura to stare directly into her eyes. “You did nothing wrong. It was totally understandable that you froze at first, but you did get started. You were trying to get out. And you did what Dylan said and you’re safe now and the baby is fine.”
“Is she? Are you sure?” Laura turned her attention to the nurse, who was now writing rapidly in Laura’s medical chart.
The nurse looked up and smiled. “So far, so good. We need to monitor you for another day and make sure you didn’t inhale too much smoke. Plus, the polyhydramnios puts the baby at risk in general, so we’re running some basic tests to check on that.”
Laura could see Dylan and Mike exchange a worried look. So much to tell them. A flood of overwhelm hit her, hard, like a wave of exhaustion. How could she unravel this mess? Why had she waited so long?
Was this what they felt like when they waited to tell her about them—and about their money? One day seemed to have blended into another and now here she was, both men staring at her with plenty of questions—as if she had all the answers. A flash of sympathy for their delay in confessing the truth—both times— coursed through her. Maybe she’d been too harsh. Perhaps she should have put herself in their place and tried to see their choices through her own eyes.
Or, maybe, she was just a wimp who felt trapped, now, and could only feel empathy when she experienced the torture of making a similar bad decision. She didn’t like to think of herself like that, but if the baby shoe fit...
The nurse looked around the room, first at Dylan, then Mike, then Josie. Finally, she jotted something in Laura’s chart and looked at her patient. “I’m going to leave now so you can rest, but a medical assistant will be in within an hour to check on you and take a few stats.” Laura caught a good look at her now; almond-shaped brown eyes, dark hair, kind, plump face. About her age. Short and full-figured, fast walker, quick wrist for writing. Her name tag read “Diana.”
“Rest is what she needs,” Diana declared. “The cops and firefighters want to interview Laura.” Her heart began to race. Why would they want to interview her?
Buh bum buh bum buh bum. Diana chuckled. “It’s a mood detector, isn’t it?” Really? Every emotion Laura felt was going to be tracked by the baby’s heart rate? Oh, wow. That was going to be sooooo awesome as Dylan and Mike confronted her. Really. Might as well strip her naked and—
“I promise we won’t stay long,” Mike said gently, sitting on the edge of the bed, eyes tracking back to Laura’s belly over and over.
“Me, too, ” Dylan added, shooting Diana a charm-filled look. It worked; the nurse wasn’t immune to his smile, and frankly, neither was Laura. A warmth, a hope, began to grow in her. Deep breath. Maybe she and the baby would be safe and fine and the three of them—
Uh. The four of them—would be OK.
Whoa, there. Getting ahead of yourself. You still have to face the music. The baby monitor made a series of strange sounds, like skittering bumps.
“What was that?” Mike asked, eyes filled with fear.
Laura’s turn to laugh. “She’s just moving all over the place.”
“She?”
“The baby.” Mouth open, his expression shifted, then closed off. What he had been about to ask was clear as he stopped himself, mid-reach, hand pulling back.
“You want to feel?” she offered. Tears filled his eyes suddenly, which made her own pool just as fast, and as Mike’s strong palm rested on her sheet-covered belly, it felt like being welcomed home after self-imposed exile. A bit awkward yet familiar, regret tinging everything good but hope a steady presence.
“Oh!” His eyes danced as the baby shifted, the feeling tangible through Laura’s stomach. “Was that a kick? It wasn’t very strong.”
“I just felt her first movement yesterday, so I know that was a movement, but I don’t know what she’s doing. A kick, a roll, Gangnam Style—who knows?” A tear trickled down Mike’s cheek and landed on his t-shirt, staining the light-blue fabric dark. In that moment, she felt a tearing horror of regret, of pain, of shame for keeping this from him. From them.