Babies in the Bargain (3 page)

Tears prickled his eyes. He sniffed to suppress them. Carlos was waiting for him, lying on a cold table, in a cold room. Ice-cold like Marc’s heart.

Marc bottled up his pain and stiffened his back. His shoulders straight, his mind numb, he walked out of OR. He had to see his brother, to check him. The baby needed his loving father. A father who understood love and commitment.

Maybe Carlos was in a coma
.
Maybe there had been a mistake
.

CHAPTER TWO

In the silence of the morgue, Marc moved the stethoscope over his brother’s chest hoping against all hope, listening for a heartbeat, a pulse...any sound. Nothing.

Grabbing Carlos’s shoulders, he shook him. “Answer me, man,” he shouted.

It was useless. Carlos was gone forever.

Marc gently laid him back on the table. He reached out and held Carlos’s hand, not as a doctor, but as a brother. “
Vaya con Dios, Carlito
,” he groaned as he stroked Carlos’s face with his other hand, memorizing his brother’s features. His head bowed, he mumbled a prayer.

A screeching noise jerked him back to harsh reality. “Take your time, sir. I’ll be back later.” The custodian wheeled in a stretcher with Lydia’s shrouded body and arranged it parallel to the steel table. Marc nodded, appreciating the man’s discretion.

Unable to sort out his feelings, unable to accept the cruel evidence, Marc uncovered his sister-in-law’s face. She was beautiful and peaceful, taking a last trip with the man she loved. Marc swallowed a sob. On a sudden impulse, he brought the stretcher next to the steel table, and joined Carlos and Lydia’s hands.

“Marc.”

He stilled and raised his head. Holly stood in the doorway, in her green scrubs. “What are you doing here?” His voice sounded harsh and metallic in the silent place.

Holly blinked. “I’m so sorry.”

He didn’t want sympathy or support. He needed time alone with
them
. Alone in his sorrow. He dealt with death on a daily basis but this was different. These two deaths had broken his heart. “Thank you.”

“Dr. Halsdale said you were here. I know how hard it is for you. You don’t have to face it alone.”

His heart thundering, he stepped forward to block her view of the dead bodies. He didn’t want her to witness what he’d done in a moment of weakness. Joining two lovers’ hands for eternity. “I’m fine.”

He met a gaze full of compassion. Her eyes were wet, her eyelids swollen. Although Holly had been trained to cope with death, Marc felt the need to protect her. “Let’s get out of here.” His hand on her back, he urged her out of the morgue, then he stopped in the doorway and turned around for one last look.

“Have you signed all the papers?” she said, in a voice calmer than he’d expected.

“I have them. I’ll do it in my office.” His appalling task wasn’t done yet, but he’d spare her the details. He realized she was grieving too. She’d reassured his sister-in-law and helped her cope with the difficult pregnancy. Lydia had been more than a usual patient for Holly in the last month.

And seven years ago, Holly had occupied a special place in Marc’s heart. He sucked in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. She still did. “Come with me. We can both use a cup of coffee.”

They rode the elevator in silence. He was grateful she respected his pain. Even though he saw the sorrow in her eyes, he took comfort just having her near him. He unlocked his office.

She paused at the door. “Can I get you something to eat from the coffee shop?”

“No thanks. I’m not hungry.” He hadn’t eaten dinner but couldn’t swallow anything. “Why don’t you go and get something?”

She shook her head and stepped inside. “I’m not hungry either.” Her gaze flickered from the diplomas hanging on the wall to the framed photos crowding a side of his desk.

“I’ve been told all the offices at WCH look alike,” he said, trying to get his mind off the nightmare of the last few hours.

“Yeah, the furniture is similar to that in my fellows’ room.” She seemed to understand and played along, enumerating as she scanned his office. “A desk with a computer, credenza, chair, and couch.” Standing close to the desk cluttered with pictures, she took a frame and examined the photograph. “But this place feels cozy and warm. You’ve put your personal touch on it.”

“I like to see the kids around me.” Marc pointed to the many pictures where he posed surrounded by nephews and nieces.
Dios
, he was here with Holly making small talk. When his world had just imploded. When he felt like smashing a chair against the wall.

Holly reached for another photo. “Your grandma?”

“Yes. Abuelita couldn’t come for my med school graduation. I took the gown and cap with me to San Juan. She calls this picture a souvenir of a lifetime achievement. Her achievement,” he said with bittersweet sadness. He closed his eyes tightly, breathing hard. “She’ll never see Carlos with a doctorate cap and gown.”

He raised his head and contemplated a photo of Carlos and Lydia. A lump formed in his throat as he grabbed the frame. Staring at his brother’s proud expression and his sister-in-law’s lively smile, he blinked, fighting tears. “
Maldición
, what a waste. So much love, so many hopes.”

He slammed the picture upside down on the desk, shattering the glass. Holly gasped, a little sound of pity that grazed on his nerves. He gruffly wiped the broken pieces into the wastebasket and swallowed a sob.

“It’s okay, Marc. You can cry.”

What irony. He turned his head away and clenched his fists.

She’d done her best to ignore him ever since he took the attending anesthesiologist position, and now she was treating him with the unwavering care she bestowed on her patients.

His jaw tightened as her soft hand gently wrapped around his fist. With a brusque flip, he enfolded it in his palm. “My father always said, a man should never cry,” he mumbled, staring at the picture of his parents. “At my mother’s grave, I hid my sobs behind my hand. My father told me to behave like a man.”
Dios
, he couldn’t believe he was confessing these things to her now, but he couldn’t stop the words.

Her hand still enclosed in his, Holly leaned against the desk, seeking his gaze. “I’m sorry, Marc. Your father was wrong.”

Yes, his father had been wrong.
Terribly wrong
. But Marc had tried to avoid his Papa’s mistakes. He snorted, anger and hurt uncoiling in his chest. “I can’t understand. They were happy, full of love. Why are they gone? Why now? Why so suddenly?” His voice rose as he pounded his fist on his desk. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“I wish I had an answer. Accidents never make sense. If only I’d told Lydia to stay home for their anniversary.” She pulled her hand out of his grip, her eyes squinting with pain, and he suddenly realized he’d been squeezing her fingers too hard, hurting her.

“Don’t blame yourself.” He reached for a tissue from a box on the desk and dabbed her wet cheeks. “Lydia had her heart set on dining out. Carlos loved her too much to deny her anything. He was my only brother. My best friend.”

“Marc, I lost my baby brother when I was ten. I understand your grief. I was...” She gripped his arm. “Let your emotions out.”

 “I don’t have any.” He swiveled his head away, his thoughts back in the morgue with the two people he’d loved.

“Oh, Marc,” she whispered, “I wish I could help you.” She wrapped her arms around his shoulders in a tender hug and dropped her forehead against his collarbone.

A fragrance of jasmine perfume lingered on her skin. He closed his eyes and inhaled. She smelled so good. A refreshing scent to erase the stench of death. Against his will, his fingers skimmed her throat in a soft caress and rested on the pulse fluttering at the base of her neck. It was alive and joyful, a healing touch for his aching heart.

“Holly,” he rasped against her hair as he tightened his hold. Her faint moan sent him crashing against reality and his present nightmare.

Straightening, he cradled her flushed face between his palms and shook his head to clear it. Awkwardness danced between them, as if the ghost of the past hovered nearby. His eyebrows knitted in a frown, he captured her gaze. “Oh, Holly, you’re too sweet for your own good.” A cad would have taken advantage of her kindness. Even he, years ago.

But he didn’t need her soothing kindness. He didn’t want sympathy. He’d combust into a raging inferno before she breathed another word. At the wrong time.

He let go of her and went to the credenza to set up the coffeemaker. He needed space to put a rein on his emotions. She sat on the edge of the couch, her foot tapping against the carpeted floor. Pulling on a long curl of her hair, she twirled it around her finger.

To fill the silence, he said, “I have so many things to do now.” He enumerated on his fingers, “Order the caskets; organize the wake; collect my brother’s pictures and memorabilia; terminate the lease on his house; book the tickets for San Juan and...”

And deal with a brand new baby.

But he wasn’t ready to brainstorm personal matters with her. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafted through the small room. He turned back to the coffee maker and filled two Styrofoam cups. “I have no cream. Sugar?”

 “No thank you. Black.” She reached for the cup he held out. “I can make the plane reservations for you,” she said, while sipping her coffee.

“Thanks, but you don’t need to worry about it. I’ll deal with it later.”

Her eyebrows arched. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“You already did,” he said, with a half smile.

“Oh.” Pink colored her cheeks.

Her presence wasn’t helping. In fact, he found it damn difficult to concentrate on his decisions with her so close. A part of his body didn’t seem to understand the word bereavement. “You’ll start your day shift in a couple of hours. Why don’t you go and rest?”

She finished her coffee and threw the cup into the wastebasket with more strength than needed. The last droplets splashed the wall in dark brown dots.

“Sorry.” She bent to blot them with a napkin and crumpled the paper in her hand. “I have a question, before I go back to the NICU.” Her gaze sprang to meet his. “What about...” She hesitated, her eyelids lowered, hiding the beautiful blue eyes and the emotion simmering there.

“The funerals?” he said, tensing at the word.

“Yes.”

“I’ll arrange for a wake at a funeral home here in D.C. for this evening. Then I’ll fly to San Juan with the bod...with them.” He swallowed.

 “And the baby?” She raised her eyebrows, looking at him in earnest.

Pain gnawed at his insides. Carlos and Lydia were gone, and their baby needed him.

The baby.
Focus on the baby
.

Easier said than done.

What was he going to do with a baby?

Abuelita would probably order Marc to bring Carlo’s baby to be raised in Puerto Rico with his brood of cousins, as soon as the preemie could travel. It was a simple way to solve the problem, except their grandmother didn’t know Carlos wanted his kids to be raised in America. Marc owed it to his brother to fulfill his wishes.

But...could he do it? Here in Washington, D.C., as Carlos wanted? On his own?

A confirmed bachelor, Marc lavished his eleven nephews and nieces with gifts and toys. Unfortunately, his parenting experience stopped there. To keep the baby, he’d have to learn to feed him, and change him, and whatever else came with the package. He’d just started a new job at WCH and barely begun his research. How would he fit a baby into his hectic schedule? How could he do his brother’s baby justice when he had so little time to offer?

He did have plenty of love. Was it enough?

Marc scowled, ashamed of his doubts. Of course, he wanted to raise Carlos’s son. No question about it.

“Can I leave him with you until I come back?”

“Of course.” Holly smiled at him reassuringly. “Don’t worry. He’ll be in NICU. In a few weeks, he should be ready to be discharged. And...”

And Marc’s whole life would change forever.

Dios
, why did it have to happen? The accident, the tragedy, the deaths.

He gritted his teeth so hard his jaws hurt. Averting his eyes, he focused on the dark stain coloring his now empty cup. Empty and dark like his future. He clasped the Styrofoam cup, crushing it.

At least he’d have the baby to love and nurture. A precious gift from his brother, and a responsibility he’d have to adjust to. Duty called, and Marc always fulfilled his duty.

* * *

Holly had never seen so much pain etched on a man’s face. Yet Marc hadn’t shed a single tear. She hadn’t expected a typical reaction from the daring doctor who usually grabbed life with both hands. Still, when he agonized, this hard-as-granite attitude wasn’t helping him heal.

She sighed, understanding he didn’t want her around and stepped toward the door. “I’ll see you later.”

“I don’t know what will happen in the next few weeks.” He settled at his desk then turned toward her. Grim suffering creased thin lines around his tired eyelids, but his dark eyes remained as impenetrable as a stormy night. “Thank you,” he said, a little muscle working in his cheek.