Two Blue Lines (Crossing The Line #1) (25 page)

Promises

M
el’s phone had been rolling straight to voicemail since yesterday. I contritely told her that I had to work late last night and on my day off today, so I wouldn’t be able to see her and I would miss the doctor’s appointment. That I’d promised to make. And I was really, really sorry.

I watched the clock in the dark projection booth tick by the minutes as the movie credits rolled, wondering how pissed she was. Why hadn’t she answered? Should I worry?

Half an hour later, I finally got her first text.

Mom can take me . . . dont worry about it

My fingers flew over the keys.

Text me when u done. Luv u

No return text, no call, no ‘I love you.’ I was not reassured. I tried calling her again. No answer.

An hour later, I checked my phone. Still nothing. Was she that pissed? I debated texting again, but decided that was too much of a chick thing to do and shoved my phone back in my pocket as my thoughts drifted back to my conversation with Mr. Ross.

Was that the life I had to look forward to?

Growing old and gray in a life that was only a pseudo-alternate of the life I’d dreamt of? Like the loser kid always picked last in gym class; I would become the pathetic wannabe of my old self. But could I find happiness like Mr. Ross? Contentment in the mundane—in my screw up?

Could Mel and I really, truly make a go of it for the long haul?

Shit, I hoped so.

A couple hours later, just as I was starting the last showing of the matinee, my cell vibrated in my pocket and I fumbled for it. I slid my finger over the screen to answer when I saw Mel’s number. Finally.

“Hey, baby, I’m so—”

“Reed?”

The frightened uncertainty in her voice stopped me cold. “What is it?”

“What time do you get off? Can you come?”

I glanced up at the John Wayne clock ticking on the wall. It was half past
Rio Bravo
, or five-thirty. “Um, not yet.” I peeked out the little projection window to check the movie alignment on the screen. “Why? What’s wrong?” My heart was beginning to stutter as my intuition told me something was very, very wrong.

I heard chatter in the background, office staff maybe. Her mom’s voice. Papers shuffling.

“Dr. Foster’s sending me to the hospital.”

It took a couple heartbeats for that to register. “What? Why?”

She took a breath, the sounds dimmed like she stepped away to a quieter spot. “He wants to send me in for some kind of tests. I’ve gained like twelve pounds since my last visit, I’m super swollen today, and my blood pressure is way up . . .”

“So?” I asked, thinking that didn’t sound so bad. Normal?

“He says those could be signs of pre-eclampsia.”

“What’s that?” I sat heavily on my stool, staring blankly through the tiny window at the film rolling across the screen. It made no sense. Why did she sound so scared over gaining some weight? I thought pregnant women were supposed to do that.

“That’s like a high blood pressure thing in pregnancy, and I have all the signs, including protein in my pee now. He says it can be really dangerous.” She paused. “I’m kinda scared. He says, depending on the results, I may need some kind of yucky medication. Or . . .”

The air hung heavy with the ‘Or.’ “Or what, Mel?”

I heard the tears in her voice now and my throat tightened convulsively. “Or . . . if I show signs of getting really sick, he said he might have to deliver the baby by c-section.”

I barely registered the end of my shift and rushed to get the heck outta there and to the hospital. Surely everything would be fine. A false alarm like the last time she went in with contractions. Right?

I parked and a sense of déjà vu enveloped me as I walked through the automatic sliding doors of the Women and Newborn’s Entrance, like Mel had told me. A gust of overly cold air conditioned air puffed in my face, filled with the scents of hospital; cleanser, generic medication . . . fear. Or was that me? But no amount of air freshener was going to cover the pain and panic that echoed off these walls.

I swallowed and passed the cafeteria, the grouping of doctors in crisp white coats who barely looked older than me, an older couple with a wailing toddler who they were trying to shush with an ice cream sandwich, a couple of people in scrubs with their hair up in surgical hats.

Efficient.

Life moved on.

And all while I felt like a fish swimming against the stream as I made my way to the elevator.

One middle-aged lady with kind eyes and business clothes stopped and smiled at me. Probably because I looked so lost. “Can I help you find something?”

I glanced down at her nametag. Maggie. Human Resources. I met her eyes again and tried to look normal. “Um. I’m looking for Labor and Delivery?” I’d been here not too long ago. Why couldn’t I find it again?

Her smile widened. “Oh, sure.” She pointed down the hall. “Just keep going and take the elevator to the second floor. You can’t miss the sign.”

I thanked her and moved on.

Finally, I found something that looked familiar and signed in. A tired looking nurse with a sagging ponytail pointed me toward Mel’s room after checking my driver’s license with a pointed look like I was some kind of perv.

I tried to calm my thundering heart—there wasn’t anything to be nervous about . . . these were just tests—and knocked on the door.

“Come in.”

I pushed in and saw her mom huddled in an oversized chair in the corner first. I offered her a small smile, which she didn’t return, before I turned my attention to Mel.

Holy shit.

Her face was super puffy, her nose flatter on her face from the swelling. The foot she had poking out from under the covers was probably double its normal size, her little toes like sausages.

She had wires strapped to her belly, beeping out what must be the baby’s heartbeat. A blood pressure cuff wrapped around her arm. Something lit up on her finger like ET. An IV was hooked up to her arm with multiple lines snaking up to several clear plastic bags. Another bag hanging off the bed looked like it was collecting pee . . . I didn’t want to know where the other end of that one was. She was wired for sound, that was for sure.

And as she turned miserable eyes to me, my heart nearly broke for her.

I tentatively approached, kinda intimidated by all the tubes and wires. “Hey.”

Her mom stood. “I’m gonna go get a cup of coffee. Let you two talk.” She shot me an exhausted look and made her way out.

I sat in her vacated chair and took Mel’s hand. “You all right? I thought you said it was just tests?” I eyed all the medical doo-dads.

She nodded. “I know. That’s what I thought, too. But I guess my blood pressure was even higher when I got here, so they went ahead and started this medicine . . .” She pointed to the IV above her.

“What is that?”

“Magnesium.”

I wrinkled my nose. “What’s that for?”

She shrugged. “They said something about my blood pressure and risk for seizures. All I know is it’s making me feel like absolute crap. And I’m hot and tired.”

I rubbed my thumb across her knuckles. “I’m so sorry.”

Tears accumulated on her lashes. “And they won’t let me eat.”

“Bummer.”

She kicked the covers off with an aggravated sweep of her leg. I rose to adjust the AC, though it was already pretty cold. “They also gave me a big shot of steroids in my butt to help mature the baby’s lungs in case he has to deliver her early. And it hurt.”

I sat and grabbed her hand again. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t guess she wanted me to. She was venting and she had a right to. This was not what she signed up for when we messed around in the backseat that night. Hell, neither of us did.

She snatched up a cup of ice chips from her bedside table and sucked on one. That’s when I noticed the tiny, pinpoint bruises all over her arms, as well as a couple of big ones. “What’re those?”

She glanced down and studied them. “I dunno. The big ones are where they tried to stick me for an IV but it didn’t work.”

“Hmmm.” I glanced around the room, already feeling claustrophobic. “So what now?”

She crunched one of her ice chips. “We hurry up and wait. The nurse said it shouldn’t take too long for my lab results to come back. Then they’ll call Dr. Foster and he’ll decide what to do with me after that.” She scrunched the sheet in her hand. “I’m scared, Reed. It’s too early for the baby to come.” Her eyes met mine. “And what if something is really wrong with me?”

I scooted her legs over and sat next to her. “Babe. Nothing is going to happen to you or the baby. The doctor and nurses are taking good care of you.”

She flung herself up and clung to my neck. “You promise?”

I nodded, unable to say it out loud. How could I promise something like that? And the doubt was killing me.

October 31
st

Numb

D
r. Foster’s stoic face gave nothing away when he came in with the nurse about an hour later.

I hadn’t left Mel’s side, not even for a drink or to use the bathroom, though her parents had taken to pacing like caged animals and Chris kept his post in the waiting room. But all eyes swiveled to the good doctor, desperate for news to kill this anxious waiting. Any news.

He pulled up a stool and removed his glasses to rub his eyes briefly before offering us a tired smile. “Melissa. Reed.” He then acknowledged Mel’s parents with a quick nod. “Mr. and Mrs. Summers. Well, I’ve had a chance to review your lab work since you’ve gotten here, Melissa.” He spoke directly to Mel, his demeanor all business now. “And you definitely have pretty severe pre-eclampsia, and I’m concerned you’re heading into something we call HELLP syndrome, maybe even DIC.”

He paused a beat and explained the medical mumbo-jumbo about bleeding, platelets, clotting factors, liver enzymes, whatever. My head was spinning and it all revolved around the fact that it sounded not good.

Definitely not good.

Dr. Foster leaned in and patted Mel’s hand. “I’m sorry, Melissa. I know you’re frightened. But we need to keep you safe. And right now, it’s about you.” He glanced around at her parents who appeared to be in silent shock. “The only cure is delivery, so I’m advising a c-section delivery of the baby tonight.”

Mel’s mom stepped forward and hugged Melissa as they both began to cry. “Oh, baby. It’ll be okay . . .”

“We have a wonderful NICU staff here,” Dr. Foster offered. “They will take excellent care of the baby. And even though it is very premature, with good care, outcomes can still be good with delivery even at 29 to 30 weeks. We can stabilize here in our Level II NICU, and if necessary, transfer the baby out for higher level care.”

My heart sank.

Mel’s gaze sought mine for reassurance over her mom’s embrace. I squeezed her hand. Call me selfish, but I hadn’t given much thought to the baby during this conversation. I was still stuck back on the doctor’s words about how sick Mel was, and how to save her, we had to do this. I just wanted her to get better.

I just wanted her.

“Do you have any questions?” the doctor asked.