Branching Out (15 page)

C
HAPTER
22

R
yan woke with heavy eyes, a stiff back, and the returning awareness that he was in the hospital. He squinted against a narrow beam of light that filtered in from a broken bend in the closed venetian blinds. He turned away from the light and sat up, stretching out the ache in his back and being careful not to wake Shelby. In addition to having to face the deep sadness of what had happened, she would also be recovering from the physical pain and injury she had endured during childbirth. She had much more to overcome than he did.

Aside from the morning light breaking through the slits in the closed blinds, the room was dark and still. Ryan walked around the end of Shelby's bed, being careful not to wake her. He stopped to rub the sleep from his eyes and then looked at the pillows and rumpled blankets that lay atop his wife. As his eyes focused and adjusted to the dim light, he realized that the bedding was not covering her at all. The bed was empty.

He turned to the closed bathroom door. “Shelby? Everything okay?”

As Ryan walked toward the bathroom he stepped on something sharp. The pain of it caused him to jerk back his foot. He bent down to pick up Shelby's keys. Turning them over in his hand, he called out to her, “Shel?” He moved to the door and knocked, but still there was no reply. Ryan tried the handle and was a bit surprised when the door opened easily.

He rushed back to flip on the light switch beside her empty bed and, standing alone in the bright room, Ryan realized the open closet door revealed empty hangers. Her boots, purse, everything. Gone.

In a panic, he pulled the cord next to the light switch to alert the on-call nurses before rushing about the room to find something, anything, that would explain his wife's sudden disappearance.

He was about to put on his shoes, thinking he would probably find her walking the halls of the hospital, when he discovered a hastily scrawled note.

“No!” Ryan shouted, throwing the keys across the room in a moment of panic. Fear. Disbelief.

“Mr. Chambers?”

He wasn't sure that he actually heard someone speak, as his thoughts were ablaze in disbelief, already trying to sort through his next steps. His wife? Their baby? What was he supposed to do?

“Is this a bad time?” the woman's voice asked again. He turned toward the room's entrance, where a gentle-faced nurse stood, holding a Moses basket in her arms. He could see that a blue blanket was carefully tucked around its precious contents.

“Mr. Chambers, I thought you and your wife would like to spend some quiet time with your son.”

“She's gone!”
Hold it together,
Ryan demanded of himself as he rushed around the room gathering his things. He needed to find her. They would greet their child together as parents do. She couldn't have gone far.

“I know this is a difficult time, Mr. Chambers—”

“No—my wife—I think she left the hospital,” he said quickly while slipping on his shoes. “Call Security!”

It took what little strength he had at that moment to pass the basket without touching his son and looking at his newborn face, but Ryan needed Shelby beside him. The life of one loved one had already been stolen from Ryan. He wasn't about to lose two.

 

Hours had passed and Ryan felt utterly helpless. There were apologies and talks of a security breach, surveillance tapes, and police bulletins. For reasons he couldn't fathom—and might never understand—his wife had left him alone in the hospital to face a mountain of emotions. The grief over the death of their child was unbearable. Compounding it with an overwhelming fear for Shelby's safety left Ryan emotionally drained.

He passed the time sitting alone in the corner of her hospital room, rocking in a chair meant for a nursing mother rather than a distraught father. His son was in Ryan's arms, still and swaddled in a blue blanket, held close to his heart. He looked in his son's perfect face and rocked, back and forth, oblivious of how much time was passing by. Ryan imagined that each click of the rocking chair was another day of life, a moment, a year—time that he and his son wouldn't have. He didn't want to look away, for this would be their lifetime together. This was all they had.

People came in and out of the room. Ryan could hear rapid padding of feet that rushed down the corridor, only to stop while the person gained composure before entering Ryan's room. The room that had a sign with a butterfly tied to the doorknob. The sign that let the staff know that a child had not survived. No flowers would be delivered. There was no need for a lactation consultation. No warm baths with gentle bubbles and nervous laughs of two parents who had no idea how they would manage on their own, once they took their baby home.

Instead, each visitor entered quietly, respectfully. They spoke with concern in their voices and compassion in their eyes.

“Grief will come in waves,” said the woman in the navy-blue dress with the sign of the cross on her lapel.

“We spotted her on our surveillance cameras. She appeared distraught when she left the hospital at three o'clock this morning,” said a hospital official whose every word and action was an effort to avoid liability.

“The nurses would like to create a plaster print of your son's hands and feet. Something to take home,” said the head nurse with the teddy bear print smock.

Ryan's parents had come and gone, giving their deep condolences and offering to speak with authorities to help find Shelby.

Ryan had spoken with Ginny, who of course wanted desperately to travel to Chicago. Ryan explained that the police were still looking for the taxicab that Shelby had left in, but that it was an unmarked cab and its license plate numbers were illegible due to the accumulated snow. Before they ended their call, Ginny asked, “What have you named him?”

Ryan was ashamed to admit that he and Shelby had yet to name their son.

“We haven't,” he said quietly, looking out the frosted window, wondering where she could be. Hoping she was safe. “I guess I was waiting for them to find Shelby, so we could do it together.”

“I remember talking to her on the phone, a few months ago. Anyway, she told me that you two had already settled on a name, dear,” Ginny said. “She seemed delighted. I recall that she wanted it to be a surprise, but said it was the perfect name.”

“It was,” he remembered, looking at his son once more and smiling for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

“So, in a way, you did name him together. During a happier time.”

He thought back to that day. It was in October—one of those days when the foliage transformed into a stunning display of color, the air was fresh and cool, and the sun seemed to warm you from the inside, like a steaming cup of honey-sweetened tea. They were walking across a footbridge that crossed the Chicago River when they paused to lean on the iron railing and look down at a few kayakers gliding across the calm water and passing beneath where they stood.

“I think I've come up with the perfect name for this baby,” Shelby announced, looking up at Ryan with a smile that brightened her entire face.

“Is that so?” he asked, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and holding her close. “Tell me. What is this perfect name?”

“Try to guess.”

“Norton.”

“No.”

“Newton. Norman. Nelson.”

“Not even close.” She laughed. “Come on. It's an obvious name.”

“Not William, I hope,” he groaned. “I don't think the world needs
another
William Chambers.”

“Not William,” she said, shaking her head. “Now think about it. If you could be named anything other than your given name, what would you want to be called?”

It only took a minute before he was nodding in agreement. “It's perfect.”

“It is, isn't it?”

Early in their relationship, Ryan had told Shelby that at times, particularly when he traveled, he used an alias. There were many, but his favorite was one he came up with at a very young age. When he was a child, Ryan had been captivated by the story of a boy named Charlie Bucket who discovered a rare golden ticket tucked within a foil-wrapped Willy Wonka chocolate bar. Ryan wasn't as interested in the ending of the story, when Charlie's good behavior led to good fortune for his family—it was the beginning that intrigued him most. He had always thought it would be wonderful to be tucked away in a tiny room, covered protectively in warm blankets, surrounded by parents and grandparents who loved him unconditionally.

“Charlie,” he said, liking the name immediately.

“Charles William Chambers,” she said, hearing the sound of it bounce off the waves and follow the kayakers under the bridge.

“What about Charlie Meyers Chambers?”

By the end of Ryan's call with Ginny, she had reluctantly agreed to stay in Bayfield, as they both knew it was likely Shelby would try to reach her there. The distress in Ginny's voice broke his heart when she said good-bye. Ginny knew more than anyone how dire the situation was. Shelby's actions were so out of character. She had her faults, like anyone else, but one thing they knew and loved about Shelby was that she would never abandon her family.

Finally, after the papers were signed, the blessings were given, and all of the necessary arrangements were settled, it was Ryan's turn to say good-bye.

Evening had fallen and the hospital room was dark again when he carried Charlie to the bed where the basket had been placed. Ryan lowered his face to Charlie's. “I love you,” he said aloud. This time, the tears came freely and fell upon his son's cool complexion. Ryan kissed him again—his cheeks, forehead, nose—trying to use every sense he had to capture Charlie's face to memory. Already terrified that he would forget.

He set his son tenderly into the basket and took great care in tucking the blanket around his body, so that Charlie would be snug and safe and out of harm's way. He ran his hands over the blanket, smoothing out each little crease. If this was the only thing he was to do for his son, he would do it perfectly.

“Good-bye, my sweet baby boy,” Ryan finally said when the nurse returned to the room. “I will always love you.”

Ryan carried the memory of his last kiss on his son's lips as he walked alone down the brightly lit corridor. He had declined an escort, as he could no longer bear the looks of the staff. Those who knew his story offered sympathetic smiles or cast down their eyes. He couldn't help but wonder if, in some way, they were secretly glad to see him leave. The maternity floor was a special wing of the hospital—a place where miracles happen daily and are the cause for celebration and where cries of pain usually end with tears of joy.

He was a few steps from the ward's exit when one of the double-wide doors was pushed open. A child, no more than four, raced toward Ryan and in his haste ran right into his legs. Ryan instinctively put out his hands to prevent the child from falling down. When the boy looked up, Ryan felt weak. The sparkle in his eyes, the blush in his full cheeks, the shine of the boy's hair. It intensified the reality of Ryan's loss. Standing in front of the child in the brightly lit hallway, his eyes brimming with tears, Ryan felt emotionally exposed.

He cleared his throat and quickly wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “I'm sorry,” he said as the boy stared up at him.

“It's okay,” the boy said, shrugging his shoulders. “Don't cry.”

“Simon!” a man's voice called out as the door opened again. “Simon, wait for me now.”

Ryan heard a giggle and then the sound of small shoes scuttling away from him, continuing toward the maternity rooms.

Ryan shoved his hands into his coat pockets as the man approached. “Sorry about that,” he offered, pausing briefly to greet Ryan but keeping his eye on the child. “He's a bit excited tonight. You know, new baby and all that.”

“No, it's fine,” Ryan said. “He's fine.”

“Hard to imagine that little guy is now a big brother,” the man said with a broad smile and a shake of his head. “To twin sisters no less!”

Ryan forced a smile. “Congratulations.”

“Is your wife also . . .”

“We had a son,” Ryan said without pause.
We had a son,
he repeated in his own head, enjoying the sound of it while also feeling the pain sweep over him again.