Critical Care (31 page)

Weak links? Logan held his breath, uneasiness rising. "Sarah, I
know. I know how hard you-"

Sarah clutched his arm, stopping him. Tears streamed down her bruised face. "I'm sorry," she continued, her expression stricken
and childlike. "I've been so sad lately, and I couldn't sleep. I took
those sleeping pills; then I overslept. I drove as fast as I could to
get there so I wouldn't be very late. So I wouldn't . . ." She closed
her eyes for a moment as a mournful sob rose from deep in her
throat. When she looked up, Logan knew she was about to say
exactly what he didn't want to hear. "I did it all for you. Because
I know how much you count on me. But now I've let you down.
I'm so ... sorry."

"Ah, Sarah, hey. Don't ... don't." Logan leaned over the bedrail,
sliding his arms around Sarah as best he could without disturbing
the equipment or causing her any more pain. He stooped down
and carefully rested his chin against the top of her hair.

He stood for a long while, silently holding Sarah while she
cried. And completely frustrated by a confusing rush of feelingshating the pathetic part of him that wished he'd never turned his
motorcycle around, hoping he could think of some way to help
Sarah, and finally realizing that he'd stepped with both feet into
the very truth he'd come here to find. This time there would be
no easy escape.

Sarah pressed the button on the medication pump, and within
seconds a metered dose of morphine began to ease the searing pain
brought on by her sobs. Oh, Logan, don't look at me that way. He'd
pulled the chair close to the bed, and she could see his blue eyes
in the dim light that spilled through the open door. She shouldn't
have said anything about not being able to sleep.

"Why were you sad?" Logan asked, his voice low. His dark brows
drew together as if puzzling over a critical diagnosis. "You said you
took those pills when you hadn't been able to sleep because you've
been so sad. Why?"

Sarah closed her eyes, partly due to the floating effect of the
medication but mostly because she could see how tough that question was for Logan to ask. The man didn't do feelings, not out loud
anyway. He fixed things, got it done, all the while avoiding the
messy sinkhole of emotion. So for Logan to ask something that
personal ... Tears welled under Sarah's lashes. He was one of the
few people she had left who cared. I have nothing left to lose-he
deserves the truth. Sarah opened her eyes and took a deep breath.
Her throat squeezed around words she'd never said aloud before.
"Today is my baby's birthday."

"Your baby?" Logan blinked, confusion in his eyes.

"Emily ... Emily Grace would have been two today," Sarah
explained, the morphine making her voice sound as soft as angel
wings even to her own ears, making her daughter's name seem to
leave her lips and float overhead. Almost like that silver balloon
in her dream, the one that reflected all those candles. And she was
surprised that saying Emily's name felt good. Joyful even.

"Would have been two years old?" Logan asked.

"Yes. She died. When she was twelve weeks old. SIDS," she
added, feeling a familiar ache deep in her chest, pain that had
nothing to do with fractured ribs. "She was perfect. From the
moment I first saw her face. Healthy. I watched her so carefully."
She met Logan's eyes to be sure he understood that. "I tried hard
to do everything right. Then one morning, I had to wake her for a
feeding. Which was unusual, and then I saw that ..."

"And her father?" Logan asked, his voice husky and low. "Your
husband?"

Nothing left to lose. "Husband? No. He had other plans. I knew
him for only a few months. I'd barely graduated from nursing
school down in LA. First time living away from home. I made a
horrible, horrible mistake. So I took my broken heart back home.
When I found out I was pregnant ..."

Logan raised his brows as if he'd remembered something.
"That's the problem between you and your parents?"

"My mother threw me out."

"But you're close to your father. You told me you worked at his
body shop." He smiled. "And you always had his tools ready, knew
exactly what he wanted, just like you do for me in the ER."

Not anymore. Not after I messed things up so badly, caused an accident that injured people. Sarah's eyes filled with tears again. "I let him down, just like I did you. I did something completely unforgivable
and I paid the price. I'm still paying that price."

"No," Logan said, "I can't believe that after two years, after all
you went through, your parents would still-"

"Believe it," Sarah interrupted. Her breath stuck in her chest,
and she swallowed against a lump in her throat. "When I told my
mother about what happened to Emily, she said it was my fault.
That my baby was taken away because of my sin. And I would
never be forgiven. Ever."

Logan's eyes narrowed and he clenched his jaw. "Your father
feels that way too?"

Sarah recalled the strange and wonderful dream she'd had
about her father and the birthday party. Her father in the robe
with his hair way too long but with all that loving acceptance in
his eyes. "No. I've talked to him a few times, but it's hard for him
to go against my mother. And since she's the secretary at his shop,
she screens his calls there."

"But he knows you're here now," Logan said, nodding. "Your
father knows about the car accident, right?"

Sarah shook her head, feeling the gauze bandage brush against
her pillow. "I can't put him in that position. My mother's not going
to change her mind. I gave up hoping for that a long time ago. I
gave up praying for it ..." She paused, the dream image returning
even stronger than before. The candles, the sense of joy, seeing her
father after so long. "I've given up, that's all. I don't expect you to
understand."

"But I do," Logan said barely above a whisper. "I do understand."

Sarah turned her head to get a better look at Logan's face and saw an expression there she'd never seen before. Sadness and pain.
Then something that looked a lot like anger.

"Your mother abandoned you," he said, his tone flat. "I know
how that feels. Mine left when I was only a kid. I'll bet I could
match you prayer for prayer. Didn't work for me, either."

Sarah waited, unsure of what to say. The room was silent except
for the hum of the automatic blood pressure cuff as it inflated
around her arm and the bubbling of the water seal container
attached to her chest tube. "I'm sorry, Logan," she said finally.

He shrugged. "It was a long time ago. What matters now is
you. Getting you well. Helping you feel better about things. How
can I fix it?"

The lump rose in Sarah's throat again. "You can't. It's something I have to learn to live with. Emily was the most wonderful
thing that ever happened to me. I carried her under my heart for
all those months." She pressed her hand to her chest above the
bandages. "She's still here. I loved her and I wanted her from the
first moment I knew I was carrying her, even though everyone said
she should never have been." Sarah smiled through a blur of tears.
"I had my daughter for only a short time. But she was a miracle,
a joy. And to lose her . . ." She felt a tear slide down her cheek.
"If you had a baby, you could understand how it feels. How the
loss-" Sarah stopped as she saw the pained look on Logan's face.
"What's wrong?"

"My wife was pregnant," he said quietly. "She miscarried at five
months. A boy."

Claire hit the End button on her cell phone and disconnected from
her voice mail. No messages there or on the answering machine. Logan hadn't returned her call during the twenty minutes she'd
wandered around outside, calling for Smokey. She wondered if his
phone was still turned off, if she should try again. Claire glanced at
the clock. Nearly quarter to one in the morning. She wasn't going
to call him. And after the scene in his office this afternoon, there
was every reason to believe he'd turned his cell phone off so he
wouldn't have to talk with her.

She sank back against the couch. What was she going to say,
anyway? The message she left on his voice mail said it all: "Logan,
it's Claire. I don't feel good about how things ended with us today.
Will you call me?"

Ended with us. Ended. Had they? She glanced at the daffodils
sitting on the coffee table in front of her. Hope in a glass vase. It
was funny how the sight of those yellow flowers had made her feel
hope. Stretching up, lifting their petals to the sun, and swaying in
the breeze, they'd seemed like a miracle after so much darkness.

The daffodils made her feel hopeful for the first time in so
long. It had scared her because she couldn't imagine it, couldn't
trust her heart to ever feel anything more than grief and pain. And
she didn't believe anything could fill the void left after Kevin's
death. So she'd thrown her old vase of dusty silk daffodils away
to keep herself from remembering that brief glimmer of hope at
Daffodil Hill. Logan replaced them with this bouquet of real ones.
Then kissed her, made her laugh, and asked if she could fit him
into her life ... helping her feel better than she had in so long.
Until today. When she destroyed all that by letting doubts crowd
in about Logan's compassion.

Claire's gaze dropped to the stack of flyers on the table next to
the daffodils. The photo of Smokey, who'd finally ventured outside
with the raccoons and was gone now. Lost. Or worse. Claire shook her head. They were in the same boat, she and Kevin's one-eared
cat. Both gathering shreds of courage to square off with what they
feared most and ending up lost. She looked across the room to the
framed photos on the fireplace mantel. "Kevin, your cat's in the
woods and your sister's wandering aimlessly." If ever she'd needed
his advice, it was now.

She stared at the hammered tin frame next to Gayle's crossstitched Scripture and the leather-strung pewter cross draped once
more across the photo. Kevin's cross. She smiled, her heart tugging as if she'd felt her brother's big hand lovingly ruffle her hair.
Almost as if she'd heard him say what he'd told her a thousand
times: "Give it to God, Sis."

Claire sat upright on the couch, bowed her head, and prayed for
Smokey to come home, for Sarah to be healed, for Logan to find his
heart and his faith, and finally for herself. She peeked at the vase of
daffodils. Let me find room for hope in my master plan. Amen.

Logan regretted saying the words the moment they left his
mouth.

"You lost a baby too?" Sarah asked, her hand hovering over
her heart again.

Logan glanced toward the door, wishing he were outside it and
already past the nurses' desk and all those curious faces watching
his every move. He turned back to Sarah and saw the sympathetic
look on her bruised face. "A miscarriage. Not at all what you went
through. I'm sorry. I don't know why I brought it up."

Sarah smiled gently, her face reminding Logan of a broken
doll. "Because you understand how it feels to lose your baby. And
because you and ... What was your wife's name?"