The Weight of Small Things (32 page)

A few minutes later, Corrie stared up into Daniel’s eyes. His head and mouth were covered. He wore a blue robe and white gloves. But his eyes found hers and smiled.

“I’m here, Corrie-Andy. I’m here and it’s going to be all right.”

He took her hand and squeezed it hard. “You’re going to be fine.”

“The baby,” she whispered.

“The baby will be fine, too. I promise, Corrie-Andy, it’s going to be okay.”

Soon, they heard a thin sound, a small mew, like a tiny kitten.

“It’s a girl!” Dr. Ping’s voice came from behind the curtain.

“Is she okay?” Daniel asked, holding tightly to Corrie’s hand.

“She’s small,” Dr. Ping said, “But she’s beautiful.”

A nurse appeared, holding the tiniest bundle Corrie had ever seen. For a brief instant, she took in a forehead, a tiny nose, and a wide-open mouth. Then, the baby was gone.

“Where are they taking her?” Corrie’s voice shook.

“NICU,” the nurse standing beside her said. “It’s standard for preemies.”

“But she’s going to be okay, right?” Daniel held Corrie’s hand so tightly it hurt.

“She’s got a good, fighting chance,” Dr. Ping said. “You did it, Corrie. You brought her safely into the world. Now just relax. It’s going to be okay.”

 

In the lobby, Bryn dialed Bob’s number again. “Bob, it’s me again. Corrie’s having the baby. Please call me back.”

She put the phone back into her purse, looked up, and saw Bob striding toward her.

She fell into his embrace. “It’s too early for the baby to be born. I was watching the monitor and it just went crazy. It’s too early, Bob.”

He held her close, murmuring into her hair. “It’s okay. She’s in good hands. She’ll be fine.”

“But the baby . . .” Bryn looked up at him and finally allowed the tears she’d been fighting to fall unchecked.

“Lots of babies are born early,” he said, stroking her hair. “Even earlier than this. I know it’s scary, but you have to have faith.”

“Hey.”

They both looked up at Daniel.

“She’s here, she’s born.”

“Is she okay?” Bryn took his hand. “Is the baby okay?”

“She’s in the NICU,” he said. “They said she has a good chance.”

“How’s Corrie?”

He paused. “She’s a mess. I don’t know how to help her.”

“Just your being here helps her,” Bob said. “What can we do?”

“Pray,” Daniel said, gripping Bob’s hand. “Please just pray.”

63

“C
an I see her?” Corrie held Daniel’s hand tightly.

“Soon,” the nurse promised. “Let me just get your vitals.”

She attached a blood-pressure cuff to Corrie’s arm and squeezed the rubber bulb. Then she watched the numbers on the monitor.

“All right,” she said, smiling. “Let’s get you up.”

She stood on one side, Daniel on the other, and they lifted her.

Corrie gasped at the pain, but gritted her teeth and squeezed Daniel’s arm as they helped her into the wheelchair.

“Okay?” The nurse was watching her carefully.

“I’m fine,” Corrie said through clenched teeth. “Let’s go.”

The nurse wheeled her into a brightly lit room filled with tiny glass bubbles. In each, an incredibly small baby lay, blindfolded and hooked to what seemed like a million monitors.

“It’s okay,” Daniel whispered. “She’s up here, and she’s beautiful.”

The nurse stopped beside an isolette. “This is your daughter,” she said.

Corrie stared through the bubble at the tiny infant inside.

“Can I hold her?”

“No, honey, not yet. But you can touch her. Here . . .” She guided Corrie’s hand into what looked like a huge rubber glove.

Corrie reached out one finger and touched the baby’s stomach, which was rising and falling rapidly.

“Is she breathing too fast?” She looked up at the nurse, begging for the right answer.

“She’s fine,” the nurse said. “They all breathe fast like that.”

“She’s so small.”

“But she’s perfect.” Daniel kissed Corrie’s forehead. “Our Emmaline Marie is absolutely perfect.”

Corrie leaned into him and cried, cried so hard she felt nauseated.

“Okay,” the nurse said briskly. “That’s enough for today.”

Two days later, Corrie was released from the hospital. Daniel drove her back home as she wept in the passenger seat.

 

“Eat, honey.” Bryn rested a plate of stew on the arm of the couch, where Corrie sat, staring into the dark of the fireplace.

“I’m not hungry.”

“You have to eat.”

Corrie stared at Bryn’s pregnant belly, then turned her head and cried.

“It’s okay,” Daniel said, his arm around Corrie’s shoulders. “You don’t have to eat if you’re not hungry.”

Bryn stood a minute, watching them. Corrie had been home for four days, but she’d hardly been home at all. In the morning, early, Daniel drove her to the hospital. In the evening he brought her home. They both looked like hell.

Bryn glanced into the dining room, where Bob and the boys were quietly eating stew. Then she put her hands on her hips and said firmly, “Coriander Bliss! Eat your damned dinner! How the hell are you going to take care of your baby if you get sick?”

Corrie stared at her, then dropped her eyes.

“I mean it!” Bryn was shouting now. “If I have to force-feed you this stew, I will. You have to eat!”

Corrie sighed heavily, then felt a small body crawl into her lap.

“Aunt Corrie?”

She opened her eyes and saw Cody staring at her, his eyes wide.

“Hey, Cody,” she said faintly.

“Don’t you want to live?”

Corrie sat a moment, looking into his eyes, his upturned face.

“Honey, of course I want to live,” she said. “I’m okay. I’m just not hungry.”

“No.” The child shook his head in a way that reminded Corrie of Bryn. “You’re not okay. You have to eat dinner or you’ll get sick. Bryn said so.”

Corrie kissed his forehead. “All right,” she said finally, “I’ll eat dinner.”

“Good,” Cody said, sliding out of her lap. “Because you have to take care of Emmaline. ’Cause she’s kind of like my little sister.”

Corrie’s eyes filled with tears, and she ate her stew.

 

“How are you doing?”

Bob massaged Bryn’s shoulders in the kitchen.

“I’m okay,” she said. “Just . . .”

“You’re exhausted. You need to rest.”

“I’m really worried about her.” Bryn’s eyes drifted to the closed door of Corrie’s bedroom. In the living room, Daniel sat staring vacantly at the television, blaring cartoons for the boys.

“And I’m worried about you.”

Bryn turned and leaned into his chest.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Ditto.”

They loaded the dishwasher and sat at the dining room table with tea.

“I talked to the insurance guy today.”

“Are they finally going to issue a check?”

“Yeah.” Bob smiled. “It’s a good check.”

“Well, it’s about time!”

“We’ll get the roof fixed and new windows.”

“Good.”

“And . . .”

“And what?”

“There’s enough to finish the attic.” He paused, watching her face.

“I’m going to have the attic finished, so you can have a studio.”

She stared at him.

“Seriously, Bryn, it will be a great space for you to work.”

“You don’t need to . . .”

“Bryn.” Bob stood and walked around the table, knelt by her chair. “When everything is settled, I want you to come back.”

“I can’t leave Corrie,” she said.

“I said, when everything is settled. I can wait.”

“But what about the boys?”

“They want you back, too.”

Bryn smiled and shook her head. “I can’t just freeload off you, Bob. I mean, I love you and I love the boys. But . . .”

“I’m not talking about you staying in the guest room!” Bob’s voice rose. His cheeks reddened. “When things have settled down, when Corrie and Emmaline are okay, I want you to live with me.”

Bryn stared at him again.

“What I’m saying is, marry me, Bryn.”

Still she stared.

“You don’t have to answer now. Just don’t say no. I love you. The boys love you. I want us to be together. Just think about it, okay?”

Bryn leaned forward, wrapped her arms around him, and said softly, “You stupid, stupid man! I don’t need to think about it. Yes! Yes! Yes, I will marry you!”

64

C
orrie donned the blue gown and mask at the nurses’ station, then pushed open the door to the NICU. She blinked twice, adjusting her eyes to the bright lights, then blinked again.

“She looks less jaundiced today, doesn’t she?” She reached into the incubator to stroke Emmaline’s cheek.

“She’s making good progress.” The nurse standing beside her smiled. “In fact, the doctor said this morning that you can hold her.”

Corrie’s eyes opened wide.

“I can hold her? You mean now?”

The nurse nodded.

“Here, sit down and I’ll get her out. You have to be careful with the monitors and feeding tube.”

Corrie sat in the rocker she spent every day in and watched the nurse carefully extract the baby from the incubator. And then Emmaline was in her arms for the first time.

“Oh baby,” she whispered. “My Emmaline, my precious little girl.”

Daniel knelt by the chair and touched the baby’s head with one finger.

“She’s so beautiful.” His voice cracked.

Corrie looked at him, startled to see tears streaming down his face.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“I’m better than okay.” He smiled at her. “I’m just really . . . happy.”

“Me too.”

The baby let out a small mew.

“Looks like she’s happy, too,” Daniel said.

He pulled out his cell phone. “Let me take a picture,” he said. “The first time you get to hold your daughter.”

He snapped several pictures, then sent one in a text to Bryn, Bob, Maya, and his mother.

“Hey, baby,” Corrie crooned. “Hey, Emmaline. I’m your mommy. That’s your daddy.” She pointed to Daniel, who grinned widely. “We both love you so much.”

“That’s one lucky little girl!”

Corrie looked up in surprise. Sarah stood behind Daniel, holding a large box wrapped in pink and green.

“Hey, you!” Sarah leaned over and kissed Corrie’s forehead.

“Hi,” Corrie said, smiling. “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

“And miss out on meeting my niece? Fat chance!”

“You remember Daniel?” Corrie looked from Sarah to Daniel, smiling anxiously.

“Hi, Daniel,” Sarah said, smiling briefly at him. “Nice to see you again.”

“You too,” he said. Then he took a step back. “I’m going to get some coffee. Do you need anything?”

“No,” Corrie said. “I’m fine.”

He left and Sarah crouched down beside the rocker where Corrie sat holding the baby.

“Hello, little one,” Sarah cooed, touching Emmaline’s forehead. “She’s just amazing.”

“She is,” Corrie agreed.

“I’m so glad she’s okay. I was worried sick when I heard she came so early.”

“Thanks,” Corrie said. “Thanks for coming.”

Sarah sat down on the floor and took Corrie’s hand.

“I know I haven’t been around much . . .” she began.

“Don’t worry,” Corrie said. “I know it’s kind of awkward.”

“Yeah.” Sarah nodded. “But you are still my best friend, Corrie. I love you and I want you to be happy. And I want Ian and Laurel and Grace to know their cousin . . . even if she isn’t officially their cousin. I want them to know her and to love her.”

“I’d like that, too.” Corrie felt tears fill her eyes. “I’ve really missed you.”

 

That evening, Corrie ate the first full meal she’d had since the baby’s birth. Suddenly, she was starving. Bryn watched in amazement as she downed three pieces of chicken, two huge helpings of potatoes, and several slices of bread.

“God,” she said happily, “you’re eating the way I do.”

Corrie smiled. “I know I’ve been a witch the last week. I’m sorry. I’ve just been so worried.”

“Don’t apologize,” Bryn said. “I completely understand.”

“What time is Bob coming?”

“He should be here any minute. I can’t believe he’s going to be my birthing coach.”

“I’m sorry I had to bail out on you.”

“It’s fine. Bob’s actually really good at it, since he’s done it before.”

“Plus, he can get up off the ground to help you up!”

They both laughed, remembering the first class, when neither of them could get up from the floor.

“I’m sorry you didn’t get to do the whole natural birth thing.”

“It’s okay,” Corrie said. “The point wasn’t to give birth, it was to have a baby.”

“I’m so glad she’s doing better.”

“The nurse said they will probably take her off the respirator in a couple days.”

“Yay!” Bryn grinned. “Any estimate yet on when you can bring her home?”

“Probably not for another couple weeks.”

“So maybe we’ll bring our babies home at the same time!”

The doorbell rang. Bryn waddled to the door and opened it.

“Oh,” she said. “Um, hi, Mark.”

“Hey, Bryn, how are you?”

“I’m fine.”

“Is Corrie in?”

Bryn turned to look at Corrie, sitting on the couch, her mouth open.

“Yes, she’s here. Come in.” Bryn opened the door wider and Mark walked into the room.

“Hi,” he said, smiling at Corrie.

“Hi.”

Bryn had just closed the door when the bell rang again. This time it was Bob, carrying two pillows and a candy bar.

“This,” he said, grinning and holding the candy above his head, “is for after class, and only if you actually do the breathing this week, instead of just giggling hysterically.

“Hey, Mark, I didn’t see you there. How are you?”

“I’m good,” Mark said. He stood just inside the living room.

“We’d better get going.” Bryn picked up her purse and jacket. “You okay?” she asked Corrie.

“I’m fine,” Corrie said. “Go, learn, have fun.”

They left, Bryn giggling already.

“Sit down,” Corrie said.

He sat on the recliner opposite her.

“How are you?” he asked.

“I’m good,” she said.

“You look great.”

“Thanks.”

They sat a moment, awkwardly silent. Then Mark said, “The divorce was finalized today.”

“I know,” she said. “My lawyer called.”

“It’s stupid, but I just wanted to come see you.”

“It’s okay.”

Mark rose and began pacing around the small living room.

“This is a nice little place,” he said.

“
Little
being the operative word.”

He laughed. “It’s a lot smaller than our house was.”

“And a lot less expensive,” she said.

Another long silence. Mark sat down, rose again, then sat back down.

“Look, Corrie, I know I’ve been a jerk . . . a real jerk. I was hurt and angry. God, I was so angry. It feels like the last few months have just been a nightmare.”

Corrie said nothing.

“When the tornado hit, all I could think about was you, where you were, if you were hurt. Then Sarah called and said you were in the hospital, and I thought maybe I’d lost you forever. It scared me, Corrie. It scared the hell out of me.”

He sat down on the couch beside her and took her hand.

“Then today my lawyer called and said it was over, we’re divorced. I don’t know what I thought I’d feel, but man, it hit me hard. I cried for about an hour straight. And I realized I didn’t want to be divorced. I didn’t want to lose you forever.”

“Mark . . .”

“No, let me finish, okay? Just let me get through this.”

She stared at him.

“I still love you, Corrie. I didn’t want to. I wanted to just hate you. But I can’t. I don’t like living alone. I don’t like being alone. And . . . and I’m wondering if there’s any chance at all that maybe we could try . . . I don’t know, just try dating? We can take it as slowly as you want. We can go to counseling, if you want. We can . . . can we just try?”

Corrie sat a long moment in silence, then said softly, “You haven’t even asked about the baby.”

“What? I’m sorry. I . . . How’s the baby?”

“She’s tiny. She came almost eight weeks early. She’s in the intensive care unit with a respirator and a feeding tube. I only got to hold her for the first time today.”

“But she’ll be okay, right? I mean, lots of babies are born early. The doctors can do all kinds of things now, right?”

“She’s getting stronger every day.”

“Good, I’m glad.”

“Her name is Emmaline.”

“That’s pretty.”

“She is my life. From the first time I felt her move, she has been my life. She is everything in the world. And you didn’t even ask about her.”

“God, Corrie! I’m sorry. I’m trying, but it’s all so new for me.”

“Mark.” Corrie’s voice was soft, gentle. “I’m so sorry I hurt you. I’m so sorry you’re sad. I’m so sorry everything is a mess. But I’m not sorry about Emmaline. I’m not sorry I have her. I’m not sorry that she’s my daughter. And . . .”

She took a deep breath and said out loud what she’d known since Emmaline’s birth. “And I’m not sorry that Daniel is her father.”

Mark let go of her hands, his cheeks a dull red.

“So you guys are . . . together?”

Corrie shook her head. “No. I mean, I don’t know. He has a whole life in California. And I’m not leaving Middlebrook. So probably not. But . . . but he’s Emmy’s father, and he loves her so much, and he’s been nothing but good since he found out about her. And I’m really grateful that he’s been here.”

“And I haven’t been.”

“No, you haven’t been. I understand why you haven’t been. I hurt you, I cheated on you. You had every right to be mad. I get that.”

“But now . . .”

“Now,” she said firmly, “I have a daughter and great friends and a life I’m happy with. And . . . and I’m sorry, but that life is without you. At first that was just so hard, but now, well, now I’ve gotten used to it. It doesn’t hurt anymore. I don’t think we can go back to before. I don’t think I would want to, even if we could. We can only move forward, Mark.”

“But we could go forward together.”

“No,” she said softly. “We can’t.”

“I . . . I guess I should go then.”

He rose and walked to the front door.

“I hope you’re happy, Corrie.”

“I hope you’re happy, too, Mark.”

The door closed behind him and Corrie sat for a long time, staring at the fireplace. And then she called Daniel.