Center of Gravity (3 page)

It's not all roses, though. With baby Sam, our marriage is more difficult than I ever expected. Life's busier, more exhausting, juggling diapers and soccer games. We're both getting less sleep. But that's normal, right? Our date nights, which used to be weekly, are nonexistent. Making love during stolen lunch hours doesn't happen anymore. And instead of talking about the symphony or the latest bestseller, we discuss schedules.

I push the thoughts away. Everyone goes through a rough patch. I glance over at Mike instead and study the scar below his hairline.
Ten stitches from a nasty tumble near the creek bank when we were just children. He never cried.

“Jack will be okay, Ava. He's a tough kid,” Mike assures me, eyes on the road. His thick-knuckled hands rest on the wheel. Protect and serve. His mantra as long as I've known him. Even as a child, he knew he wanted to be a police officer. Mike has always been reliable, predictable, steady. A rock. Even on the worst days.

We pull up to the ER doors. Mike slams the cruiser into park. Police scanner static fills the air with letters and codes. “Hey, duty calls,” Mike says. “I'll get a tow truck over shortly. Go in there and find your boy.”

I scoop up Sam, unbuckle his seat.

Hold on, Jack.

CHAPTER 3

JACK

WEDNESDAY, MARCH 24

EMTs put me on a stretcher, shove me into an ambulance, and slam the thick, metal doors shut. The engine cranks up, spewing a cloud of exhaust, and we scream out of the parking lot, sirens going, all of the lights flashing.

If I were The Flash, we'd be there already, since he thinks and moves at superhuman speeds. No stopping for red lights or sticking to roads or speed limits. I'd never have to do this crazy roller-coaster ride to the hospital. I grip the sides of the stretcher as the driver turns like he's on two wheels. Everything, including me, leans to the right. We speed up, swerve to the left, and stop suddenly in front of the emergency room.

I squint at the bright sunshine as the back doors fly open. The EMTs pull me out of the ambulance, push me down a painfully bright hallway, and park me in the ER. The Flash would have just jetted through the walls using vibration. Problem solved. But since I'm in the ER, and not a science lab that'll be hit by lightning, the chances of me turning into the new Flash today aren't great. There's always next time, right?

I press my neck against the pillow, shifting to look around. Everything's white, shiny clean, and new. It's almost like a fancy
hotel, except for the machines and little buttons making robotic beeps. There's a gross antiseptic smell, too, but I decide it isn't so bad after a while. My jaw hurts a lot, though, and there's thick tape and a big bandage on my chin. A tall, silver IV pole and tubes sit next to the bed, but luckily no one's come in to stick me in the arm yet.

A few seconds later, a burly man in scrubs walks in and throws a salute my way.

“How's our favorite stunt man?” he booms. The floor almost shakes. His hand clasps my shoulder and squeezes. Make him golden orange and built from stone, he'd be exactly like Ben Grimm,
The Thing
of Fantastic Four.

“Hey, Dr. Max.”

Behind his thick glasses, one huge gray eye winks. He bends closer to get a better look at my chin. Dr. Max peels back the gauze and whistles out loud at the gash.

“Good job. Part of our frequent-flyer program now?”

“Frequent-what?” I tilt my head, and the paper behind my neck crackles.

“Never mind,” he laughs. “What's the latest count?”

I rattle off my list: “Um, one broken leg—tree house; two sprained ankles—soccer; three bruised ribs—swing set; a fractured wrist—monkey bars; sixteen stitches in my left arm—chain-link fence; seven more on my right hand—glass window.” I pause. “Did I miss anything?”

“I think you've got it covered.” Dr. Max glances at my chart and smiles at me. “Any more visits and we'll have to put a plaque on the wall with your name on it.”

The idea kind of makes my stomach churn. “Uh.” I think of when my mom died. It rained and everything smelled like dirt. Everyone was crying, except me. I made myself into a rock so I didn't have to feel anything.

I rub at my eyes, hard, and try to forget it. It doesn't work.

“Don't you do plaques like that for dead people?” I ask.

Dr. Max raises his eyebrow. “Ah, Jack.” He winks. “Don't worry about that. Your plaque would be of an honorary nature—a special award.”

“Oh.” I consider this and lean back against the fluffy pillow. “That sounds okay.”

Dr. Max scribbles something on a chart. “Keep that gauze on there now, the lidocaine will help numb the area. We'll give it a few more minutes to work.”

Dr. Max and I both look up as an office lady from my school pulls back the nubby curtain and steps inside. She smells like roses and baby powder, even from a few feet away.

“Anne dear, is someone from Jack's family on the way?” Dr. Max asks.

My memory snaps back. Of course. Miss Anne from school and Dr. Max are married.

She bobs her head and tugs at a thick rope of pearls. “Any moment now.” She looks worried and small, standing nearby in her navy blue dress.

My stomach lurches. “Who's coming?” I ask, pressing against the bed to sit up taller. “Please tell me you called my dad
.
It's kind of a rule. He likes to know everything first, even if he can't make it.”

“Um, sweetie,” she says. “The principal had some trouble getting in touch with your dad. But your mom will be right here.” Miss Anne stumbles. “Ava . . . I mean your stepmom.”

I grin. “Ava adopted me,” I say. “Well, we adopted each other. That's what she says. It was final and all last week. Dad took us out for a big dinner to celebrate.”

“Jack, I knew Ava when she was just a little girl in pigtails. She's a keeper.” The overhead pager crackles. “Listen, champ, I'll be back in a few minutes to put in those stitches.” Dr. Max salutes again and disappears into the hallway.

“I'm so happy for you all.” Miss Anne claps her hands. “Now, if she'd just come back to school . . .”

I roll my eyes. “Not gonna happen. My dad won't let—” I stop. A warning sign flashes bright red—TMI—too much information. “She's staying home with Sam.”

“Of course.” Miss Anne, who's staring at me, coughs into her hand. “Yes. Right. I'm sure your father knows what's best for her and the baby. We just miss her.”

I gulp and grip the sheet. For a second, I think about life without Ava.

“Yeah, I would too.”

CHAPTER 4

AVA

WEDNESDAY, MARCH 24

The Springhill ER lobby swarms with people, a busy hive of activity, with nurses buzzing from station to station and at least two dozen people waiting in the lobby. When I give my name to the woman behind the front desk, there's a swell of chatter from a family in the corner and a blare of music announcing the latest CNN headlines on the flat screen above our heads.

Sam begins to fuss, emitting the baby whimpers that immediately tell me he's overstimulated and exhausted. I hug him to my chest, bouncing him up and down, and begin humming “The Itsy-Bitsy Spider” in his ear.

Poor little guy. I get it. The noise and confusion, mixed with the scent of day-old coffee and sweat, is enough to push me over the edge.

I step back, trying to ease my way into a quieter corner, and promptly crush someone's toe with my shoe. “I'm so sorry.”

The man behind me flashes a brilliant smile. “My fault,” the stranger apologizes. “It's a zoo in here and I wasn't watching where I was going.”

Our gaze locks and I find myself temporarily mesmerized. His eyes are the most intense silver-gray I've ever seen, like a sliver of moonlight.

“Mrs. Carson?” The receptionist announces.

“Oh!” My body floods with relief, and I hug Sam and rush toward the exam rooms. As one of the ER workers leads us down a hallway, I glance over my shoulder to say good-bye, but the man with the silver eyes has disappeared.

We step into a bustling ER, maneuvering around nurses and doctors.

“Ava! Sam!” Jack calls out the moment he sees us.

I paste on a brave smile, taking in the streak of blood on his shirt, the purple bruise staining the side of his cheek, and the dirt in his hair. None of it matters. He's all right.

“Hey.” I kiss his forehead, inhaling the scent of fresh grass and earth. I bend my head to get a better look at Jack's chin. The skin gapes at the corners of the gash. “Oh my.”

I glance down at Sam, who's lodged a finger between his gums and is staring intently at his older brother. “Ja,” he says.

Dr. Max laughs and holds up his blue-gloved hands. “That's what I thought. You're just in time for the big show.”

I step back from the bed, casually, so as not to embarrass Jack, but inside I quiver with relief. I can't imagine a day, a minute, without Sam and Jack. Everything that defined my “before kids” life somehow seems irrelevant.

I stroke Sam's downy-soft head and drink in the scent of baby lotion. Before he was born, other moms always shared stories about the fierce love that surges in a woman the moment she gazes on her newborn's face. How childbirth pain disappears, replaced by an intense need to care for and protect this amazing creature at all costs. It's so true, but the remarkable thing is this: no one mentioned it could happen the other way around. The same bond can form—just as deeply, just as strongly—when a child without a mother finds you first. It happened with Jack, which makes me doubly blessed. A precious baby and an adorable son. How lucky can one woman get?
They're my world. Which is probably why Mitchell teases me relentlessly that he's neglected.

In fairness, I've pointed out several times that a spouse has to be
home
to get attention. His reply? He wasn't quite ready for baby number two. A fact he divulged right about the time morning sickness hit me full force.

A little. Too. Late.

I hold Sam a little tighter, melding his body to mine. I'm positive Mitchell will come around. Sam is his legacy. Just like Jack.

The sound of an ambulance siren reverberates outside the building. A ruckus of crash carts and moving bodies erupts in the hallway.

“Ready, champ?” Dr. Max nods at Jack while he leans him back on the table, then looks up at me. “He reminds me of you, Ava, back in high school. A little bit of a free spirit, eh?” He begins suturing Jack's chin.

“What happened?” Jack shifts his eyes to me. “Tell me!”

“Hold still, babe,” I mock-threaten, wagging a finger. “And Dr. Max, you're under a gag order. No spilling any secrets. It's been one of those days.”

Dr. Max raises an eyebrow as he stitches. “What happened?”

My neck prickles as I shrug. “Flat tire,” I say, curving my lips into a smile to hide the worry. “Thank goodness for Mike Kennedy.”

Dr. Max grins, snipping a piece of thread. “Police escort, eh? Nice. Not everyone gets one.”

“Ha-ha.” I wink as Jack smirks and rolls his eyes at me from the table.

“You made it here, didn't you?” Dr. Max looks at me, then back down, as he finishes another suture.

“More than I can say for Dad,” Jack mutters under his breath.

This stabs at my heart. “Jack,” I chide, then soften my voice. “I'm sure he's busy finishing up plans for the sports complex.” I glance down at his face. “Your dad's been working so hard getting it together.”

“That's what everyone says.”

Dr. Max straightens up and claps Jack on the shoulder. “Well, we're done. No coming back here for at least a year. And make that a social visit.”

“I'll try.” Jack jumps to the floor. “See, good as new!” He pretends to give Sam a high five. His brother claps in delight. “Dr. Max, can I play Friday? Last game of the season.”

“Bandage that chin up really well if you do,” Dr. Max says sternly. “There's a chance you could rip the sutures. However, I'll leave that decision up to Ava and your dad.”

“Thanks so much, Dr. Max.” I reach out to squeeze his huge, rough hand, then turn to buckle Sam into his car seat carrier.

“Anytime.” He rumples Jack's hair. “Look after Ava here, and your brother.”

Jack grabs his backpack and throws it over one shoulder. “No problem. I will.” In an unprecedented public show of affection, he interlaces his fingers with mine.

The floor gleams as we walk out. In the tiles, I see our wavy reflection. Sam cradled in my arms, me in the middle, Jack at my side. Connected.

Outside I take a deep breath of the warm spring breeze. The air, thick with honeysuckle, seems to welcome us.

“Let's see if we can grab a cab to the repair shop,” I suggest. “It's not far.”

“Sure, but what's Dad gonna say?” Jack frowns.

I pause. “About the Jeep or your chin?” I ask, readjusting Sam's carrier in the crook of my arm.

“My chin,” he replies. “I'll bet he'll be pissed.”

Stiffening, I frown. “Jack, don't say that word,” I say. “Upset, maybe. Annoyed, probably. He's under a lot of pressure at work, but he loves you. He'll get over it. He always does.”

“But why does he get so mad sometimes? It's not like I'm trying to get in trouble.” Jack stares at his feet as we start to walk again.

My chest tightens. “You know, I guess your dad wants everything to be perfect.” I wrap an arm around Jack and give him a quick squeeze. “And that's a tough assignment. Perfect.”

“He's not,” Jack shoots back, his face dark.

I put a finger to my lips. “It's true, but don't tell him that,” I say. “It'll be our little secret.”

Jack grimaces instead and kicks at the sidewalk. He stares into the cracks, traces the edge with the toe of his tennis shoe. In that moment, the frightened kid I met nearly three years ago reappears. Confused. Hurt. That Jack doesn't come around often these days.