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“Your heart doesn’t know the difference.”
I gawk up at him. “That’s not fair. Are you serious? This is actual grief? I’m not crying for me?” It feels selfish, like I’m a tearful asshole because I’ve killed someone. Again. I can’t even think about it. It’s like my brain is trying to shove a chicken back into an egg. It doesn’t want to go there.
“Of course you’re crying for you.” The doc walks over and sits beside me. He glances across the room before smoothing his palms over his scrubs.
“How could you possibly know that?”
The man doesn’t search for the right words. They just tumble out. “Because I know your story. Avery, you lost so much. You thought you were alone, found out you weren’t—had family—and then discovered your brother was the one who ruined your life and killed everyone you loved. You should cry for you, for things going the way they did. Bottling up emotions won’t help you. Venting, crying, and dealing with what happened will help you get past this. You won’t forget, no one would expect you to, but you can move forward.”
“Who are you?” I meet his eyes, slightly unnerved that he knows so much about me although I’ve never met him. “I thought you were a doctor on call for the Ferro family. That’s not the truth, is it?”
His gaze flicks to the floor as he takes a breath and pauses. When he glances at me side-long, he adds, “It a partial truth. I am a doctor for the Ferros. I met Constance when I was working an ER in Aruba. She offered me a job here anytime I wanted it. At first, I declined.” He clears his throat and avoids my eyes, studies his hands. “I remember you.”
The words are less confident than the others. Almost as if the doc wasn’t sure he should have said them. “What do you mean? Remember me from what?” I sniffle and try to keep my nose from running down my face.
The doc plucks a clean handkerchief from his pocket and extends his hand toward me. “I was there when you were delivered. Then I helped you and your mother escape.”
I take the hankie and dab my eyes and glance over at him, surprised. “You were?”
“Yes,” he says. “It was an unusual situation. It was a delivery in a hospital back when we didn’t ask if the mother or child was in danger. I was young and idealistic, barely into my first year. No one looked twice at me when I wheeled you two outside and put you into a cab.”
I regard the man who protected my mother. “Did you know her back then? Mom, I mean.”
He nods his head. “Yes.” The word is barely a whisper. He avoids my gaze for a moment and explains, “I knew her when she was young. There are some people that you never forget, and she was one of them.” He smiles but it’s bittersweet, as if there’d been possibilities with Mom at one point, but then they turned to dust.
“You loved her?” It’s beyond blunt, but I see it in his eyes. Once upon a time, this man cared very deeply for my mom.
He nods once, and it’s barely perceptible. “She was a good friend, back in high school.” He doesn’t comment further on their relationship. Instead, he continues telling my story. “She insisted that you be kept with her at all times and even followed you down to the nursery. New mothers can certainly be protective, but not to that extreme. I knew something was wrong because I knew her. She wouldn’t let you out of her sight. It made me wonder, and I finally asked if something was wrong. The expression on her face said everything.”
“She told you about Victor?”
He shakes his head. “She didn’t have to—I knew something was very wrong. She was so afraid. I did something drastic, and acted because she was a friend. There are certain people you can’t walk away from, certain people you take risks for, no matter the cost. I hoped I did the right thing by granting her wishes and sneaking the two of your out of the hospital. I took your lives into my hands and often wondered what happened to you both—if it was mercy or a mistake. I’d hoped that if I couldn’t find you, neither could Victor.”
Mom never spoke about this man, and I can’t help but wonder why. I suppose it would be odd to talk about an old friend once she married Daddy. I file the facts away so that I can talk to her about it someday.
Then I confess, “It was mercy. Mom had a few moments of joy between the shadows. I remember her smile, the times she forgot to look over her shoulder and got lost in the moment.”
The doc is quiet and then glances to the room across the hall. “You should talk to her.”
Reluctance slithers around my neck, and I confess, “I don’t know what to say. I feel so guilty like this was all my fault. Even if it wasn’t, it all happened because of me.” I’m wringing my hands and getting dangerously close to hitting the exhaustion wall. There are things I want to say to her, questions to ask. Anger and joy mingle in my chest along with remorse and relief. It makes me mute.
He nods slowly, making sounds of understanding, then lifts a palm, asking, “What if she feels the same way?”
I reply softly, “She shouldn’t.”
“Neither should you, but you do.” He presses his wrinkled lips together and changes the subject. “Can I look you over? I know you’re hurting.”
“Yeah,” I murmur. I sit down on the edge of the coffee table and stare at an ugly painting on the wall and the thick golden frame.
The doc examines me, treats the wound on my temple, cleaning it and applying liquid stitches. The doc talks as he works, telling me about what he’s done since he last saw me, how he left the States and worked at a medical mission in Uganda before moving to Aruba a decade ago. He didn’t come home until recently when he heard that Victor Campone died. He always thought they’d find him. When he saw the headline that Campone was shot, he called Constance and asked if that job was still available. He’s been on staff ever since.
He dabs ointment on my cheek, “In the meantime, I did what I could, where I could. It’s not much, but one life touches another and so on.” His voice is soothing and keeps my mind from bouncing haphazardly.
“My mother used to say that.”
He chuckles softly and glances at her. “Is that so?”
I nod. “Yeah, I suppose that’s where I got it from, and it’s why I couldn’t give up on Sean, despite all the things people said about him. He changed. Vic didn’t.”
“Or maybe neither of those men changed at all. You saw Sean for what he is beneath all the turmoil. You also saw Vic for what he was as well. Having faith in people can bring out the best in them, but I don’t believe we ever truly change. We just continue, moving forward, with scars that remind us of our mistakes. A man who can look in the mirror and remember those errors is far less likely to make them in the future.”
I shake my head and smile up at him. “You’re a walking oxymoron. You know that? You think you can’t save anyone, but you spent twenty years literally saving people. I think there’s a disconnect between your head and your heart.” Like calls to like and in this case, I know he’s like me—wanting to see the best in people and always hoping. It’s a precarious way to live, but that’s the point. He lives. He doesn’t shrink back and withdraw from the world.
The doc offers a grin and places his hands on his hips and laughs lightly. “Touché. The world needs more people like you. Straight and to the point. So, Avery, is there anything else I should check before I tend to the others?”
The smile falls from my lips as I ask, “Is the baby alright? I just found out that I’m pregnant and I’m almost too afraid to ask. Vic hit really close.” I touch my side gingerly and wince. I’m sure there’s a flowering bruise creeping up my ribs.
“I can check. How far along are you?”
I tell him I’m not certain, but maybe eight weeks or so. He presses the stethoscope to my belly and is too quiet. He listens for a long time and then puts it down. When he looks at me, I’m so afraid.
“Is she all right?” My voice chokes. I can’t swallow. “You can’t hear her heartbeat, can you?”
“I shouldn’t be able to hear anything yet, but I can. I suspect that yo
u’re further along than you guessed. Maybe ten to twelve weeks?”
“She’s okay?” I cover my mouth with my hands as I try not to cry. I kept thinking I’d never see her. I figured I’d lost her.
“Yes, she appears to be fine. We can run more tests tomorrow just to make sure.” He smiles broadly at me as I start to cry. I’m shaking and trying to stop, but I can’t. The emotional firehose takes over and there’s a spray of tears and worry in my soft sobs.
A slight touch is on my shoulder a few moments later. Mom is standing there, lips parted, looking down at me. Her expression caught between pride and joy.
“You’re having a baby?” The corners of Mom’s mouth twitch as her lips pull into a smile. “Oh, Avery. I thought that was why you put your hand there like that, but I didn’t want to say anything. I wasn’t certain until just now.” She wraps her arms around me, and we both cry, sitting on top of a tiny table in front of the fire.
CHAPTER 20
I hadn’t planned on talking to anyone about the baby before I spoke with Sean, but the way tonight played out didn’t go that way. When Sean finishes with their meeting, Peter offers to take Mom to the Ferro home in the city.
I stare at Sean, “Your family has an apartment? Why the hell were you in a hotel?”
He lifts a brow at me with a crooked smirk. “I was trying to keep you away from them.”
“That didn’t work out.” I snort a laugh and pad over to Sean, bone weary. “Please tuck me in.”
“Of course. Where are we staying? I heard you’ve come into some money and you don’t need me anymore,” he says teasing before pressing a kiss to my forehead.
I lift my hand and press my finger to the tip of his nose. “Now you know, without a shadow of a doubt, that I did not choose to marry you for your money.”
“I knew that before today.” He watches me carefully, his eyes boring into mine.
