White Lilies (A Mitchell Sisters Novel) (19 page)

Erin laughs at the awkwardness of the situation then proceeds to explain the surrogacy to Mr. Pearce.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a bit of commotion and then I watch Gavin run over to us looking happy yet completely panicked. “It’s time,” he says, looking from me to Erin.

Her eyes light up in understanding. “It’s time! Oh my gosh. It’s time!”

As Gavin gets Baylor to the hospital, we politely excuse ourselves from the party, Erin giving last-minute hugs and kisses to those she may never see again. Then Griffin, Erin and I hail a cab. The smile on Erin’s face says it all, and I’m so grateful this is happening now and not when she’s having one of her bad days. Who knows how many good days she has left?

Griffin and I sit in the waiting room, along with my parents and some friends. Baylor had Maddox pretty quickly, so nobody expects this to drag on for too long. The big question is, boy or girl? They refused to find out. As a result, they got a lot of yellow shit at their baby shower.

I look down at my barely-there belly and wonder again about the baby’s sex. Like Erin, I feel that it’s a boy. I’m not sure why. Maybe just because she wants it to be. As if on cue, the little bean flutters inside me and my hand instinctively goes to my stomach.

Griffin gasps beside me. I glimpse over to see his eyes go wide. “Is the baby moving? Can you feel it yet?”

I nod and smile. “Yeah. For about a week now.”

He looks around the waiting room and I follow his eyes. Everyone is busy chatting or reading a magazine. He looks back at my belly. “Do you think I could feel it? I mean, um . . . would you mind if I . . .?”

Griffin is adorable. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a man blush like this before. It looks like he’s completely mortified, asking this of me, yet I can tell how badly he wants to feel it. I grab his hand and place it on my belly. “I’m not sure you’ll be able to feel it. The book says it can take other people a lot longer to feel any movements.”

With his hand gently on my stomach, he looks up at me. “You’re reading the books?”

“I’m reading the books,” I say. I nod to my belly. “Did you feel that?”

He shakes his head and then holds still in intense concentration as if that will help him in his quest to feel the baby move.

All I can do is watch his face. I see the wonder on it. I see the fascination in his eyes. I wish I could will little Bean to give his hand a kick. I wonder if this gesture means anything. Is he simply trying to forge a connection with his child? Or is there more to it?

Griffin may not feel anything yet, but I’m more than aware of the sensations coursing through my body from the mere touch of his hand. I try to control my quickening breaths and I hope he can’t hear my pounding heartbeat that I’m sure must be audible through my chest wall. This is the first time he’s touched me since the day he drunk-kissed me. He’s been purposefully keeping his distance, despite Erin’s attempts to get us as close as she can. But the lines have become blurred and there always seems to be a question lurking about how to show respect for Erin while at the same time honor her dying wish.

Here in this moment, with his hand on my belly, I can almost picture us as a family. I can almost picture what it would be like when we’re the ones in the hospital about to give birth and the same people who are here now will be waiting to find out the sex of our baby.

Our baby.

It’s the first time I’ve thought of Bean as Griffin’s and mine. Could it be? Could we really do this? Or am I just fooling myself?

After another minute, Griffin withdraws his hand and I instantly mourn the loss of it on my body. Then, of course, I feel guilty for feeling that way when I think of Erin right down the hall. Would she approve of his hand on me? Or would she smile and pretend it’s what she truly wants when in reality, it’s killing her inside?

“I want to do an ultrasound for Erin,” I whisper to Griffin. “I want to have one of those 3-D ones so she can see as much detail as possible. I want her to know what sex the baby is.”

He nods. “Set it up and let me know when. It’s a great idea, Skylar. Thanks.”

I make a note in my phone to call the doctor’s office to make an appointment. In my phone, I see the reminder to reach out to Griffin’s dad. I turn to him. “Who called your dad? Was it one of Erin’s sisters? I tried to a few days ago, but all I could do was leave a message.”

“I did,” he says.

The look of surprise on my face makes him laugh. “You didn’t think I heard you that day in the hospital, did you?”

“I wondered,” I say.

“I did it for her. I’m not sure I ever would have done it otherwise. He was a jackass. A drunk. A loser. I mean, who checks out on their sick wife and fifteen-year-old son?”

“But you did it anyway.” I smile at him. “Whatever the reason, you did it and now the door is open. He seems like a really nice guy. Obviously he’s changed, Griffin. I can tell he wants a relationship with you. I know it must have been hard for you to reach out to him. You did the right thing. You’re going to make a great father.”

He eyes me speculatively. “I don’t know about that.” He motions to my belly. “I never wanted kids, you know. Erin spent years talking me into it. I did it for her.” He shakes his head as if something has dawned on him. “Everything I’ve done since high school has been for her.” The way he says it isn’t spiteful, just matter-of-fact.

“Well, maybe it’s time you do something for yourself then,” I say.

“Yeah, maybe. I just wish I had a goddamn clue about what that is.” He lowers his eyes to the ground and my heart sinks along with them.

Did he just admit he doesn’t want me? The baby?

As if hearing my silent questions, he looks back up at me. He puts his hand on top of mine. “Don’t read too much into that, Sky. I’m just trying to figure out which feelings I’m having are mine and which are Erin’s.”

Feelings? He’s having feelings?
I stare at his hand still resting on mine. I’m afraid if I move a muscle, he will withdraw it. And I really want it to stay where it is. I want to savor the feeling of the heat of his touch. The sensation of his large hand encompassing mine. The feeling that maybe he wants me, too. Even if only in some small way, tucked down deep under lock and key where it can’t hurt Erin.

A door opens and he jerks his hand away. We both look up with guilty eyes as we stare at Erin’s smiling face as she comes across the threshold. Gavin looks happy, but utterly frazzled, walking next to her. He turns to her and says, “Go ahead.”

She blurts out, “It’s a girl!”

Everyone jumps to their feet with cheers and congratulations. We all share hugs and tears as we listen to Gavin and Erin tell us about the birth of Jordan Christine McBride. Sometime during all the elation, I notice Griffin’s eyes trained on my belly. When I catch him staring, he smiles up at me and gives me a nod. I could swear he says more with that nod than he ever has with words. I could swear he’s just told me he’s willing to try this. That after hearing the story of another baby entering the world, he can’t imagine not being present for his. That he may even be willing to put up with someone like me if it means making his wife as happy as she is in this very minute.

Or maybe I’m just reading way too much into it.

chapter seventeen

The past three weeks have gone by fast. Too fast. It’s been a whirlwind of activity. So much has happened. A lifetime worth of experiences jammed into twenty-one days. Some days were better than others, and it amazes me what we were able to pull off with the help of friends, family and even strangers.

I sit here in Erin’s newly-appointed room on the main floor of their townhouse. A study that Griffin turned into her bedroom when she stopped being able to climb stairs last week.  We’ve tried to pretty it up with flowers. We’ve taped an endless stream of cards from her second-graders to the windows. We’ve put pictures of loved ones where she can see them. But you still have to call it what it is. It’s a makeshift hospital room. A place to succumb to her unrelenting disease. It’s where she’s going to die.

I’m practically living at their house now, at Erin’s request. I try to give her and Griffin plenty of alone time; however, it’s me she wants to spend most of her days with. I hope Griffin doesn’t hold it against me or somehow think I’m trying to monopolize her time. But it’s an unspoken rule that Erin gets whatever she wants, so when the medical delivery guys were setting up her new room, I set up mine in the guest room down the hall from Griffin’s.

It makes me wonder where we would live if we were to make a go of it. Could either one of us live in a house that bleeds Erin from every wall, decoration and tchotchke? I try not to think about it as I listen to Erin tell me stories of Griffin. It’s her favorite pastime these days. I think it’s her goal to tell me everything there is to know about her husband so I will know him as well as she does.

We reminisce about the past few weeks and the wonderful things we’ve done such as her Parisian Imax experience, the red-carpet premier of a blockbuster movie that Gavin got us into, the exotic elephant ride, even a skydiving experience. No, we didn’t go up in an airplane, but we did get to experience a simulated sky dive. It was more of a vertical wind tunnel with air pushing you upwards so that you have the sensation of flying. Her doctors weren’t thrilled about it, as they said there would still be air pressure issues that could cause increased swelling, but at that point, Erin had already started the final decline in her health and figured it couldn’t make things worse. Watching her experience something she never thought she’d get to do was one of the highlights of my life. I will never forget these things we’ve done together. Griffin will make sure of it. I think he must have taken a thousand pictures over the past few weeks.

Today she got a thank you note from the anonymous donation she made. Only the hospital knew who made the donation, so they were able to forward the note to her. Several weeks ago, when Baylor had little Jordan, there was a woman who was in labor with triplets. She was about to have a C-Section and we learned her husband had recently been laid off. Not only did Erin pay their hospital bills, she outfitted them well into their second year, paid for a year’s worth of diaper service, and set up a college fund for them. The pleasure I watched flow through her when she placed the phone calls to make it all happen is a memory I will keep with me forever. In typical Erin style, it was all about everyone but her. She didn’t want thanks, she didn’t seek acknowledgment. Just knowing she had made someone’s life better was all she needed. Little does she know, every day she’s around, she does that very thing.

Sherry, Erin’s hospice nurse, comes in to get Erin ready for our outing. Sherry has been here for the past few days. We all know what that means. They don’t bring in hospice unless they think you are going pretty soon. Between Sherry, Griffin and I, one of us is always by Erin’s side.

Erin has been confined to a wheelchair for the past few days. Her legs are too weak to hold her now-frail body. She can no longer control her bladder and her right hand stays curled up close to her body. Thank God she still has her mental faculties about her. Yes, she has moments of confusion and they do happen more and more, but for the most part, she’s still Erin. And she hasn’t detached from us yet so we’re making every second count. Sometimes she stares across the room, looking at nothing. She tires very easily and she keeps making mention of getting the baby’s room ready, something she completed last week. Griffin hired a decorator to cater to her every whim and it was touching to see all the effort she put into it.

Nobody will come out and say it, but we’re all aware that today will most likely be the last time Erin ever sets foot outside her house. We’re going to my obstetrician’s office to have a 3-D ultrasound. Erin doesn’t know about it yet, it’s a surprise. Today is the day we find out if Bean is a boy or a girl.

While Sherry gets Erin ready to go, I wander the walkout basement of the townhome. There’s a large sitting room next to the laundry area. It’s perfect for reading and I’ve spent a lot of time down here when I’m not with Erin. But the most interesting part of the lower level is Griffin’s photography studio. It’s truly remarkable. Lining the walls are numerous pictures he’s taken over the years; photos depicting animals in the Congo, architectural masterpieces, and famous bridges. The man is as talented as he is gorgeous. Conspicuously absent are pictures of models he has photographed. You won’t find any pictures of women lining these walls, not unless they are Erin.

Or apparently, me.

With my mouth hanging open, I walk towards a wall that displays the pictures he’s recently taken. They are held up by a massive system of clips, allowing him to see many at a time. I presume this is where he puts his work while he decides which pictures to use professionally. It’s one gigantic display board.

Hanging on the board are pictures from the picnic in Central Park. But what surprises me is the number of pictures he took of me. They are so intimate. I remember being exhausted after our shopping spree that morning and I had wandered off to lie on a grassy mound. Little did I know he had taken a picture of me, hand on my belly, looking up at the sky as if I didn’t have a care in the world. Another picture was shot when I was watching Erin talk with her favorite teacher. A third shows me standing with my eyes closed, absorbing the mid-afternoon sun on my face on the unseasonably-mild October day. I look over the dozens of others and realize in each picture I’m touching my baby bump. I didn’t even know I did that. And I certainly didn’t know anyone was noticing. I wonder what he was thinking when he took these.

“That one is my favorite.”

I jump at Griffin’s words. He must have snuck up behind me and I momentarily wonder how long he was standing there while I was mesmerized by his photos.

“They are wonderful, Griffin. I didn’t know you were taking them.”

He looks embarrassed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to spy on you that day. You just looked happy. It was a good day and I wanted us to remember all of it. I hope you don’t think I’m creepy.”