“Yes, Ellie, you did something very right with this little guy.”
When she wandered back down the hall, everyone was standing. Her father was demanding to know how the baby was doing. Ang was demanding to know how Ellie was doing. Her mother was demanding to know where the bathroom was, and Jameson was demanding that everyone calm the fuck down. Standing apart from everyone was Sanders, calm and quiet.
She burst out crying and fell into his arms. Pandemonium broke out around her. Was the baby sick? Was Ellie hurt? What the fuck was wrong with Tatum? What was going on? Say something, say something!
“She's fine,” Tate managed to choke out. “The baby is beautiful.”
Then Sanders led her off down the hall, hugging her to his side. She cried harder, so hard she could barely walk right.
“I know, Tatum. I know,” he said softly.
“You ..., always ..., do,” she managed to get out.
He chuckled, then led her further away from everyone else.
~11~
Tate went to visit her sister the next day, all by herself. She was able to sneak out of the house and steal the Jag without anyone catching her, though she did get several angry text messages from Jameson. When she got to the hospital, she was glad to see that no one else was there, either. She carried a small bouquet of flowers and tiny stuffed bear.
“You awake?” she whispered, peeking into her sister's room. Ellie nodded, but held a finger to her lips.
“Yeah, but he just fell asleep,” she explained softly, gesturing to the crib. Tate nodded and crept across the room.
“How are you doing?” she asked, sitting on the edge of the bed.
“Good. I actually feel pretty good. They're releasing me later today,” Ellie replied.
“That's great. Do you have a ride?”
“Yeah, my friend is gonna come get me. Believe it or not, Mother is going to stay at the apartment with me, till I get settled,” Ellie laughed. Tate laughed as well.
“Oh god. Well, I guess that's a good thing. I was gonna offer to stay with you, but I probably wouldn't be much help,” Tate put out there. Ellie nodded.
“Thanks.”
They made idle chit chat after that; Ellie shared some of the more disgusting, lesser known facts about childbirth. Tate tried to hold down her lunch. They turned on the TV and watched some crap reality show, made fun of the contestants. But after about an hour, Tate grew restless.
“Ellie, I have a favor to ask,” she started.
“Sure, what is it?” her sister responded.
“I hate asking when you're like this, in the hospital, but I really need your help,” Tate continued.
“You're kind of freaking me out. What's up?” Ellie asked. Tate took a deep breath.
She asked Ellie if she could borrow some money. She hated doing it, especially after the little show she and Ang had put on, but she didn't have anyone else she could ask. She couldn't ask Sanders, he would tell Jameson, and she certainly couldn't ask Jameson. Luckily, Ellie agreed to it with very little questions asked.
“Are you sure you're okay? I feel like I'm doing a drug deal,” Ellie commented, handing Tate a check for $3,000.
“I'm fine,” Tate laughed.
“I saw the baby stuff, online. About Jameson. I'm sorry,” Ellie said softly. Tate shrugged.
“No biggy. I mean, we're not really together, and we certainly weren't together then,” she replied, but when she looked up from putting the check away, Ellie was frowning at her.
“It would be hard for me, if you suddenly said you were pregnant with Angier's baby,” Ellie added. Tate laughed again.
“Who says I'm not?” she teased, winking at her sister. Ellie didn't laugh.
“What are you planning?” she suddenly asked. Tate sighed.
“Nothing you need to worry about. I'll talk to you later,” Tate replied, getting up and kissing Ellie on the forehead. Her sister grabbed her hand.
“Be careful, Tate,” she warned her. Tate chuckled, and it sounded vaguely evil.
“I always am.”
She kissed her fingertip and pressed it to the baby's forehead, then waltzed out the door. She made a brief stop at her bank, cashing the check before she headed back to the house. Back home.
Well, back to his home.
Being sneaky around Jameson was difficult. He was very smart and very intuitive, and on top of all of that, he watched her like a hawk. She had to execute her plan in stages, usually when he was out of the house. Which wasn't often; he'd barely left at all since “The Petrushka Incident”.
“Baby girl,” he whispered one night, sliding into bed beside her. Tate had been trying to act like she was asleep.
“Hmmm?” she mumbled, trying not to slither away when his arm went around her waist.