The Choices We Make (22 page)

48

By the time I get back up to the ICU I'm ready to speak with David, to convince him to wait one more week for the C-section. Peter said that should be step number one, to try and solve the issue between us first. If David is unwilling to wait, then we ask for a second opinion...and then maybe a third opinion, which will buy us and the baby some more time. In the meantime Peter will have Annabel file an application for an injunction, which will prevent the hospital from taking further steps and delivering the baby until a judge has ruled. I'm horrified at how quickly things have unraveled, but I'm prepared to do whatever I have to.

As I approach the nursing station, one of the charge nurses looks up and smiles. “Hi, Hannah, you're going to have to wait a minute. She's got two visitors in there right now.” Thinking maybe Ben beat me to it and is already talking with David, I lean against the far wall so I'm out of the way of passing medical staff and visitors. I feel jittery on the inside, keyed up with adrenaline, but my outsides are exhausted and I'm grateful for the solid wall behind me.

A few minutes later a man walks out of Kate's room, his arm around David's shoulders. His tanned and sun-spotted forearms tell me he's older, likely my mom's age or so, but because his head is bowed—the two men in deep conversation—I can't clearly see the stranger's face. But I do see a quite round patch of bald skin in the middle of his crown, a bull's-eye in his otherwise dark, gray-flecked hair. David's nodding at what the man is saying, and wiping his eyes, and it's only a few seconds later when the man looks up that I realize who he is.

Edward McTavish. Kate's dad.

I've never met him in person, but did once see a picture Kate had buried deep in her chest of drawers, when I was sleeping over at her place and had forgotten to pack my pajamas. Before I can even stop myself I've pushed off the wall and the words are out. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Hannah.” Ben suddenly appears, and I wonder where he's been all this time. His voice delivers the warning I surely need:
Be calm. Don't make anything worse.
But I can't abide by his warning tone or my own good sense, because Kate would not want this at all.

“Hello, Hannah, I'm Edward,” he says, extending his hand, which I ignore. Kate would hate that I'm thinking this, but she really does look like her dad. “Nice to finally meet you, though I'm sorry it's under these circumstances.”

“I know who you are.” I cross my arms over my chest and glare at him. “But what I don't understand is why you're here.”

Edward pulls his hand back and clears his throat, looking uncomfortable.

“It's okay, Ed,” David says.

“‘Ed'?” I say, turning on David. “Why did you let him come here? Kate would have a fit, David.”

I can feel Ben's anxiety coming off him in waves, and David's look and tone tells me I'm pushing my luck. “You don't speak for Kate, Hannah.”

I'm exasperated, disbelief etched on my face. “She would not want this, David, and you know it.”

“He is her father. And he deserves to be here.”

“
Deserves
to be here? You've got to be kidding me. She hates him. You know it. I know it. Hell, he probably even knows it.” I gesture wildly toward Edward, who still looks as though he wishes to be anywhere but in this hallway. “How can you do this to her?”

“You're crossing a line, Hannah.” David's face is pinched, his expression one I've never seen before.

“I'm sorry, but she would not want this,” I say, my voice and shoulders dropping simultaneously. Any hope I had of finding common ground with David is quickly evaporating with every exchange we have. “She would not want him here.”

David takes two quick steps toward me, fast enough that it catches me off guard and I stumble back into Ben, who rights me, keeping his hands on my arms in a way I hope he means to be comforting. “I guess she didn't tell you, did she?” he says. “So much for the best friends who tell each other everything, huh?”

“David, come on,” Ben says, and all I can do is stare at David, wondering where this is going.

“They had lunch about two weeks ago. Patched a few things up, apparently. We were planning on going to his wedding.”

I'm too shocked to respond—pained that Kate didn't tell me she met with Edward and wondering why not.

“Is it okay if I say something?” Edward asks. David, Ben and I don't respond, so he continues. “Hannah, I know the relationship I have with my daughter is complicated. And I wish it were different. I wish we were...close. I hope we can get there.” He runs a hand through his hair, stopping on the bald spot to rub the skin for a moment. “But no matter what has happened in the past, I love her. She'll always be my daughter, and I'm only here to support her, David and my granddaughters.”

I try to find compassion for Edward, to accept what he's saying and reconcile that with what David has just told me—that Kate had reached out to her dad. But all I can hear is Kate's childhood voice, shaking with emotion as she told me she wished her dad had died like mine had instead of simply leaving—that at least he'd have a good reason for breaking her heart.

I don't know why Kate didn't tell me about lunch with her dad, maybe because she wasn't sure it was going to stick, this mending-fences thing; maybe because even if we had been best friends for all these years, there were still some things we didn't share with each other. But my need to protect her while she lay nearby unable to speak for herself, to say the things no one else is, takes over and my compassion evaporates.

“I don't care that you had lunch with Kate,
Edward
. Or that you're sorry. And I'm not sure why she reached out, but you being here feels wrong. So why don't you leave and offer your support from a distance? You're good at that from what I hear.” My tone is malicious, and I try to stop myself, but I can't. It feels too good to have a landing pad for my anger. “Why don't you just get your secretary to type her a letter and enclose another check she'll never cash? She doesn't want anything from you, Edward.
She doesn't need you.
”

When David shoves me I think we're all shocked. I'm not physically hurt, because he didn't use much force, but now we're in even murkier waters—a line has been crossed on both sides, and I'm not sure how we can come back from it. Ben holds on to me, staring at David in disbelief. “What the hell, man?”

Edward continues standing in the same spot, his eyes sad. But David is furious. I've never before seen him like this; frankly I didn't think he had it in him.

“Like I said, you don't speak for Kate.” David's face is lit up with anger, nostrils flaring, mouth tightly drawn, eyes narrowed. “I do. And if I can't, then Edward does.”

“David, I don't think now is the time,” Edward says, and I wonder what he knows that I don't. What does David mean, that Edward “speaks” for Kate?

David sees the confusion on my face, and continues, agitated yet eager to share what comes next. “I suppose you didn't know that, either, huh? She listed Edward as her alternate agent on her health care directive. Not you, Hannah. Edward.”

I am speechless, trying to comprehend what he's telling me. There's no way Kate would have given her father decision-making power on her behalf.
Is there?

“Get out of here, Hannah,” David says, barely opening his mouth to get the words out. “Leave. Now.” Edward puts a hand on David's back, tells him to calm down, that this isn't necessary, but David shrugs him off and steps closer to me.

In response Ben steps partially in front of me, a worried look on his face as he tries to talk David out of what he's suggesting. “Look, we're all upset. This is not going to help.”

“It's okay—I'll go.” I place a hand on Ben's arm to have him stand down. I turn to walk through the doors, tears streaming down my face, and I choke back a sob when I hear David's next words.

“I don't want you back here, Hannah. I mean it.”

Past the automatic doors I collapse against the wall, sobs racking my body. “I'm so sorry, Kate. I'm sorry.”

Ben comes through the doors and frantically looks left, then right, seeing me against the wall. He walks over to me and gathers me in his arms, and I allow myself to fall apart. He holds me up, kissing the sides of my face, the top of my head, murmuring all the right things at just the right moments so I can really hear them. After a couple of minutes I pull back and give him a questioning, desperate look.

“Were you able to talk with him? About the baby?”

Ben shakes his head. “I tried before...before all that. He's so overwhelmed, Hannah. I honestly don't think he knows what he's doing. This whole Edward thing.” He sighs. “Are you okay? He didn't hurt you, did he?” Now I see the anger on Ben's face, and I run my fingers across his forehead to erase the worry lines.

“No. But I have to tell you something, and I need you to listen without getting mad.”

He looks at me for a moment, his eyes searching mine for a clue, then nods. “Tell me.”

* * *

Things escalate quickly and it isn't long before I'm wondering if we've done the right thing. After Ben and I ask for a second opinion from an expert in Los Angeles—which Peter figures buys us at least another seventy-two hours—Annabel applies for the injunction to keep the C-section from happening until at least thirty weeks, and ever positive, Ben tries to reassure me things can still have a good outcome.

But everything is a mess—I'm barred from the ICU thanks to David, told by the very uncomfortable head nurse, who has clearly never been placed in this situation before, that they will have to call security if I try to see Kate. Annabel is working on it, referencing the guardianship document and the fact that I'm the baby's intended mother to try and overrule David's decision. Ben is still allowed to visit, but he mostly stays outside Kate's room and receives updates about the baby from the nursing staff and Dr. Swartzman.

I go to call David's cell a dozen times, wishing I could somehow make him see none of this was meant to hurt him or his family—I merely want to give our baby the very best chance at life. But I never get further than letting his name flash up on my screen, my finger hovering over it. Besides, even if I find the courage to call, there's little chance he'll talk to me after learning about the injunction application.

And through it all—the endless calls and texts between Peter, Annabel and us, and Ben's updates from the hospital—I miss Kate so desperately I have to press my hands hard to my chest to dull the sharp pains that radiate from shoulder to shoulder and throat to stomach.

The days somehow pass, and we make it just past twenty-eight weeks. Because the judge has yet to rule on the injunction application, and the second opinion determined that delivery would likely not improve Kate's condition and could increase complications for the baby—the ethics board confirms the hospital cannot perform the C-section David has requested. Yet I know that even if we “win”—making it to or beyond thirty weeks—we'll still have lost so much.

49

The first time I heard about David I couldn't have guessed he would become Kate's whole world. At the time he was merely a Good Samaritan, who happened to be in the right place at the right time.

We were both students, Kate starting her final year of a business degree, and me finishing a bachelor of science, with a focus in nutrition. I was between relationships, recently dumped by a guy on my rowing crew who felt I was interfering in his bid to become a world-class rower. Kate was dating Jackson Harris, a fellow biz student who at least on paper seemed like the perfect catch. The problem with Jackson, however, was that he was notoriously bad at reading Kate—for her twenty-first birthday he got her a very expensive cashmere sweater that made her itchy, and tickets to see a famous comedian who was on tour and just happened to be in San Francisco for two shows. But Kate hated cashmere and hated stand-up comedy even more; two things Jackson should have known after dating her for more than a year.

So another year later, on Valentine's Day, when Jackson told Kate he had something special planned, she was sure it meant a ring. When my phone rang around dinnertime that night I was deep into a
Sex and the City
marathon and a take-out container of chow mein, and had to press the handset tight to my ear to hear her furious whispers.

“Who gives his girlfriend of two years a fucking key on Valentine's Day?”

“Kate?”

“Of course it's me. You aren't going to believe this. He gave me a key. A key!”

“Where are you?” I took a bite of the noodles, slurping them up before responding.

There was a pause. “Turn off
Sex and the City
and put down the chopsticks, Hannah. I need your full attention.”

“How do you what I'm watching?” I asked, pausing the show. But I kept eating. I hated cold food.

She sighed, irritated. “Because it's Valentine's Day.”

“It's off. Okay, so what happened?” I asked.

“You know how he said he had a ‘special surprise' for tonight, and I thought maybe he was going to propose?”

“Yes.” We had fully debated and analyzed Jackson's “surprise” multiple times in the past week. She flipped back and forth between hoping it wasn't a ring and wishing it might be. I had done my best to play devil's advocate, knowing she liked Jackson a lot but worrying that marrying him wasn't going to make her happy long term—they really were so different, and not in the way that can balance things out in a relationship.

“Well, he did not propose marriage. And guess where we are? We're at the fucking Outback—the
Outback
, Hannah, on Valentine's Day—I mean, does it get any less romantic and uninspired than that?” I laughed a little, and she let out an irritated sigh. “He
proposed
us living together, in his disgusting apartment where the toilet seat is always covered in urine.”

I laughed again, until Kate told me this was serious and not even a bit funny.

“Sorry. You're right. So where are you now?”

“I'm in the restroom. And I have to go back because our steaks and the clichéd Bloomin' Onion Jackson apparently loves are probably out and I need to break up with him immediately.”

“Wait. What? You're going to break up with him on Valentine's Day? At the Outback steakhouse? All because of a key?”

“Not just because of the key.” She sounded exasperated. “The key is just the final nail in this relationship coffin.”

I rolled my eyes. She did always have a flair for the dramatic. “Okay, fine. Go eat your steak, break up with Jackson and then come here. I have lots of Chinese and bad TV.”

When Kate didn't come over, or call me to fill me in on how Jackson took things, I figured the steak came out and she lost her nerve. Or that the breakup was dragging long past the steaks and into the early morning hours. Until the phone rang at two in the morning—startling me awake on the couch, the container of cold and greasy chow mein crumpled in my armpit. It was Kate: she was in the hospital, being kept overnight for observation.

Seems the breakup didn't go quite as planned.

She'd gone back to Jackson and her filet mignon and double-baked potato, and was mulling over how exactly to tell him he could keep his key and everything that came with it, when a mouthful of meat got lodged in her throat. Jackson panicked, slapping her on the back repeatedly while she choked, her eyes rolling back in her head just before she dropped to the floor beside their table. David, on a similarly bad Valentine's date two tables over, jumped up—and with the help of the Heimlich and his chosen career path—saved her life.

Kate didn't break up with Jackson that night, or for two weeks afterward. But when she called David to thank him—after tracking his phone number down from her ER admitting report—she asked him if she could buy him dinner to show her appreciation. “Anywhere but the Outback, okay? I think you should avoid steak for a while,” he joked. She broke up with Jackson right after the phone call, and that dinner was the beginning of Kate and David.

But David couldn't save her this time.

There was no maneuver to fix her brain, to reverse the damage the aneurysm had left behind. He was like Jackson that night at the steakhouse, panicking and flailing and useless—standing by as he lost his wife, his life, a little more each day.