Giftchild (28 page)

My heart sank. That should be a good thing—protecting the ones you love. But in our case that meant Athena was part of our sick, twisted dance. Not the outside observer, but one of the principal players.

How could I not have known that before?

When Mom and Dad left, Athena sat down next to me. "I'll stay if you need me to," she said, "but I think I've done enough damage."

"It's fine," I said. "Don't apologize. I should have said those things to her a long time ago."
Before
I got pregnant, really. I shouldn't have made Athena back me into it, but those were my steps, and I knew them well. What would happen if I took different ones? Things would change, for certain.

But would they get better, or worse?

Athena squeezed my arm. "You want me to stay?" she asked.

I couldn't watch Athena continue to manipulate our parents on my behalf. Not now that I could see that was part of the problem. "No," I said. "Go sleep."

"I'll come back tomorrow," she said. And then she slipped out the door.

Rodney and I sat, alone. He hadn't left once since he'd arrived. I looked over at him. I had to try, one more time, for his sake. "You really can go home," I said. "You must have been miserable sitting here with my mother."

Rodney looked at me like that was the dumbest thing I'd ever said in my life, which, considering our history, must have made this a real winner. "Penny," he said finally. "You're in the
hospital
. Stop trying to make everyone else okay."

I turned my face away. I
should
stop. But maybe I didn't know how. Already I was trying to find the right words to make him feel like he was doing a good thing, here. To tell him that I needed him, and I was glad he'd stayed, without making it sound like I was pushing him for more. I dug my fingernails into my palms; he'd
just
asked me to stop that.

But what else should I do? Just let everyone be miserable? How would
that
be better?

I leaned back against my pillow when I felt something shift inside me—a tiny flutter against my belly button, like a butterfly flapping its wings. I pressed my hand to my skin, but it was gone. Had I imagined it? Had it just been my stomach settling? Was it the bleeding? I couldn't be sure, but I kept my hand there, in case the fluttering came back.

Rodney inched closer to me. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," I said. "I think maybe I just felt the baby move."

His eyebrows shot up. "Really? That's a good sign, right?"

The tiny flapping returned, like someone tickling my belly button with a feather from the inside. It was too soft to feel with my hand, but the internal sensation was definitely there.

Rodney hesitated, his hands hovering above the couch arm, like they were trying to decide where to land.

"I don't think you could feel it from the outside," I said.

And he nodded, but even so he stood, moving closer, and settling back in the chair next to me. He hesitated a moment longer, and then he took my free hand in his, like that's where he'd wanted it to be all along.

I didn't move; I didn't twitch; I didn't breathe. I couldn't do anything to let him know how badly I wanted him to hold on. Rodney lifted my hand in his, closing his eyes and pressing my fingers to his forehead. My whole arm tingled. This wasn't a just friend's move. He had to know that we'd never be that. And he was still here, despite my protests.

What had I done to deserve that?

My stomach sank. I didn't deserve it. I couldn't.

After a moment, Rodney let go of my hand and stretched his arm, like he didn't know what to do with it if it wasn't connected to mine.

Just then the door opened, and a new nurse came in. I resettled on the bed. We must have passed the shift change.

She eyed Rodney. "Are you family?" she asked.

My heart beat faster. If he wasn't, would she send him away?

Gah. Wasn't that what I was supposed to want? For him to go home and get some rest and not suffer here with me?

Rodney sat up straight, and shook his head.

His words from earlier rang in my ears:
the evidence states otherwise
. My heart pounded harder, and as he opened his mouth to say no, I interrupted him.

"Yes," I said. "He's the baby's father."

The nurse checked the monitor and repositioned my sensor belt. She seemed to be totally oblivious to the look of shock on Rodney's face.

For a terrifying moment, I was sure that I'd said the wrong thing. It would be painful for him to attach to a child that wouldn't be his, and I'd gone and pushed him into it. But then his mouth softened into a smile, just barely, and he leaned back into the couch.

The nurse fussed over me for so long, I was sure that my mother was going to come back in before she left. But at last she straightened my sheet, pointed out my call button, and bustled out the door.

I held my breath, looking over at Rodney. I found him watching me. Our eyes met.

"Thank you," he said.

My mouth went dry, so rather than speaking, I nodded. And a realization buzzed through me—this was what Rodney wanted from me all along. Not to be free from responsibility. Not my endless string of apologies. Not to take the baby. Maybe not even to marry me.

He wanted me to recognize his part in all this. He wanted me to quit making excuses, and just say the truth out loud. He was the baby's father. He was involved, whether any of us wanted him to be or not.

And even if it took me forever, at least I'd gotten that one thing right.

Chapter Twenty-one

Week Seventeen

Right after my parents returned, the cramps came back with a vengeance. I arched my back against the mattress as the pain shot up my spine. Rodney's grip tightened on my hand as I shut my eyes. Even beneath my lids, they filled with white spots. My skin went clammy all over, and my feet turned to ice.

I heard Rodney calling my name, and the door opening and my dad's voice shouting down the hall.
There's a call button
, I thought, but I couldn't open my mouth to tell him. A roar in my ears drowned out all sound, and for a long queasy moment, I prayed to lose consciousness.

When my mind finally cleared, I opened my eyes. A nurse was jabbing an IV into my left arm, and Rodney still had hold of my right. My parents stood crowding around the foot of the bed. The door opened again, and Doctor Kauffman came in.

He motioned for my parents to step aside, and they reluctantly did, though Mom never took her eyes off my face. The doctor asked the nurse a question, and she hung a bag of fluid above my bed, attached to my IV. My head started to clear, and I tried to sit up, only to wilt back into the sheets.

"Penny," Dr. Kauffman said, "how are you feeling?"

My voice came out scratchy and weak. "Crappy. Am I okay?"

He shook his head. "Your blood pressure is dropping."

Another wave of nausea washed over me. "That's bad, right?"

"Yes," Dr. Kauffman said. "We're going to need to deliver. Now."

I clawed at the mattress. "No!" The word came out so loud that everyone in the room, nurse included, stared at me. "I mean," I said, "can't we wait longer? Can't we see if it gets better?"

Doctor Kauffman leaned over me. "It's getting worse," he said. "You're bleeding too much. If we don't deliver, you could end up in emergency surgery. You could die."

Rodney's hand clamped down on my arm, like he could anchor me here.

But I shook my head, my hair knotting against the pillow. "If you deliver, the baby
will
die."

"That's right," Dr. Kauffman said. "I'm sorry."

I squeezed my eyes shut. If I didn't give permission, would they go ahead and do it anyway? If Mom insisted, they probably could. I looked up to find her standing at the foot of my bed, looking me in the face at last.

"Mom," I said. "We can't do that. This is your baby we're talking about."

Mom spoke firmly, like there was no doubt in her mind about what should be done. "Penny," Mom said. "I'm looking at my baby, okay? And I don't want your life in danger. Not for anything. Do you understand?"

That should have made me feel better. It should have made me feel like I was loved and wanted. But all I felt was a surge of anger, the strong, forceful kind that I didn't even know I was capable of.

"Not for
anything
?" I shouted. "Not for the child you made us all miserable for?"

"Penny," Dad said sharply. "Your mother is right." I recognized that tone. It was the one he used on Athena, when she went after Mom. My nerves caught on fire. I hadn't changed the dance; I'd just stepped into her shoes.

I glared at him. "Why does Mom always have to be right?" I yelled. "Why does the whole world have to revolve around
her
?"

Dad put a hand on Mom's arm. "She's hysterical," he said. "She doesn't know what she's—"

But Mom put up a hand, silencing him. She stared at me, but her eyes glazed over, like she wasn't really seeing me.

Or maybe she was seeing, not just me, but the last seven years of our lives. Finally. Clearly. For the very first time.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

I dropped my head onto the pillow, squeezing my eyes shut. I wished I could block them all out, ignore them, make the whole world go away. Everyone but Rodney, who blessedly still hadn't let go of my hand. I squeezed it, trying to draw strength from him. Strength I didn't deserve, after dragging him through hell for nothing.

"Okay," I said. "If there's nothing else we can do, then let's get it over with."

My ears rang. Get it over with? This was a baby.
My
baby. Whose heart was still beating, at least at the moment.

I fought to catch my breath.

But I knew from Mom's experience how quickly that could change. And she was right. I couldn't kill myself over this. The baby couldn't live without me, not for several more weeks. If I died, we both died. It didn't get much more senseless than that.

The muscles in my pelvis tightened, like menstrual cramps from hell. After everything I'd lost over this, here we were at another failure. It was supposed to be a good thing to sacrifice your own comfort for the people you loved. It was supposed to be the right thing to do, wasn't it? So why the hell didn't anything good come out of it? How did I end up here?

The doctor knelt so his face was level with mine. "Penny," he said. "I need you to listen carefully, okay? You need to make a choice here, and I need you to understand your options."

I spoke through my teeth. "I already told you I don't want to wait any more."

"I know. But you have two options for termination, and I need to talk about the possible risks with you." He waited.

I pried my eyes open. "Okay," I said. "I'm listening."

He nodded. "We can remove the baby surgically," he said. "It's called a D&C. But if we do that, you won't be able to hold your baby. You won't be able to see him, understand?"

I swallowed. It wasn't until that very second that I realized I could hold a seventeen-week-old baby. My arms ached. "Don't do that."

"Okay," Dr. Kauffman said. "The other option is to induce you. You'll have to go through labor—though we won't let you dilate as far as if you were full term. The contractions might help the bleeding some, or they might make it worse. If you continue to hemorrhage, we'll have to stop and do the surgery anyway."

I closed my eyes, waiting for my parents to cut in, to make my decision for me, but they didn't.

I swallowed. I'd already decided that Mom was right—my life came first. If I went ahead with the induction, was I just putting myself in more danger?

I glanced at Rodney, but he shook his head slightly. He wasn't going to decide this for me. Mom probably would, but I didn't want her to. This was my pregnancy. I could choose.

"Induce me," I said.

"Do you understand that you may still not get to hold him?" the doctor asked.

"I get it," I said. "But you can try."

Dr. Kauffman nodded. "We can."

I looked at Rodney again. "Then do it."

Rodney took a deep breath, and then nodded.

I waited for my parents to argue, but they didn't.

No one did.

The doctor stood up. "Do you want an epidural? The pitocin we use to induce labor produces strong contractions."

"Yes," I said. "Give me drugs." I didn't want to feel anymore. I didn't want to feel anything at all.

When Dr. Kauffman stepped away, Dad came over and put a hand on Rodney's shoulder. "Why don't you wait with me," he said.

It wasn't a question, but Rodney looked down at me for permission. My throat closed up. I clamped my fingers down on his hand. Dad said me, not us. The implication was clear. I wouldn't be alone in delivery—Mom would come. And I couldn't be alone with Mom when I lost my baby. I didn't want to look into the empty eyes of the person I would become.

"Please," I said to Rodney. "Don't leave."

"Penny," Dad said, "they're going to take you over to labor and delivery now. Your mother will go with you."

"
No
," I said. "I want Rodney to come instead."

Rodney squeezed my hand and looked up at Dad. And like the amazing person he was, he actually said, "I'm not leaving her if she doesn't want me to."

And a part of me reasoned that I should just tell him to go and make everything easier on him, and on Dad, and on everyone in the whole world who would be inconvenienced if I didn't just do as they asked. But that part of me was drowned out by a great tide that threatened to tow me under if Rodney let go, even for a moment. And screw it, in this one moment, I was going to have what I needed.

Rodney had steel in his eyes. "I mean it. I won't leave her."

"Tony," Mom said. "It's fine."

I looked up at her in surprise. She was still watching me, but her expression had turned strong and certain and in that moment, I believed her. In this one moment, I really was her baby. She'd give up what she wanted for what I needed. My tear ducts burned, and I hated that it came as a surprise.