Hell Bent (15 page)

I
see
Milly waiting on the bench in the lobby. Her face is paler than usual, and I swear I can see her knees shaking. My heart is breaking, and after my visit with Dad, I’m not sure how much more emotion I can take.

“Hey, Milly, you look great!” I say, hugging her.

“I don’t feel great,” she responds. “I’m sick all the time, and it’s scaring me.”

“You ninny! That’s morning sickness, and you know it’s perfectly natural. I’ve got it, too.” I pull her toward the doctor’s offices, and we walk arm and arm.

“I’m scared, Susie,” she begins.

“Look,” I say, stopping in the hallway and facing her full on. “Whatever happens, I’m here, and you know what that means, right? You’ve already won one battle: we were all afraid that you might be infertile, and you’re clearly not. Maybe your luck has turned?”

She is just looking at me, huge tears in her eyes.

“Right?” I repeat, shaking her shoulders with both my hands a little.

She nods. “Okay, then let’s get this over with and go find some lunch before we’re queasy again. Deal?” She nods again.

The best test for Milly to have is a PET/CT scan, but since she is pregnant, that’s out of the question. The doctor tells us that they will run a bunch of blood work and do several ultrasounds to check her lymph nodes. That should give them a good idea, and once the baby is born, a few months down the road, Milly will have the definitive PET/CT, but the oncologist thinks she should have a good idea of her recurrence chances even with the limited tests today.

He reassures her that because it’s been almost eight years since her diagnosis, the likelihood of a recurrence is slim. I hold my tongue, trying not to scream that Milly’s mother has had her tested already, and the prognosis is not good. But could her old tests be mistaken? I know the doctor is right, the longer the patient lives without the recurrence, the higher are the chances that the cancer is completely gone. I guess we’ll know soon, but I have a horrible feeling about all this.

Milly is walking into her worst nightmare, and I am absolutely, completely and utterly unable to save her from it.

I
’m worried
about the cream-puff. She told me about the conversation with her dad, and I think it will take some time for her to get used to the idea that he isn’t one of the bad guys. I am really glad I was able to track him down using the database at work. God knows they could have me locked away for that, but it was worth it.

Susie is smiling, but not a good smile. She is faking it, and I know her well enough to see it. Her father is here, as are Cam and Milly. She invited them all for an early dinner and then we’ll watch a movie or something. The atmosphere is charged…so much emotion…so much to think about for the women in this room.

Susie and I have our plan ready. We will be supportive for both Cam and Milly at the same time, and there is likely to be some fallout from their parents as well, since they were hiding the truth. I have been spending time laying the groundwork for the new business, and as soon as things settle more or less, we’re ready to get started. I will see to it that what time Cam and Milly have left together is filled with laughter and love.

I look at the cream-puff, and I can tell she isn’t feeling all that well. The expression on her face goes from smile to queasy misery, and I wish I can take that away from her. Women are tougher than they look…at least mine is.

Mrs. Hansen has put together a wonderful meal. There are lighter items for the girls—and then platters of ‘man food’, as I think of it. Strange that Milly and the cream-puff timed these babies almost together…or then again, maybe that is supposed to be the way it works out. They are always there for each other.

We discuss what kind of movie to see after we eat, and the girls are voting for a chick flick, as expected. Cam and I would far prefer to see something on a battlefield, but out of compassion for tipsy tummies, we will sit through the chick flick and pretend to enjoy it. I only hope I can stay awake to laugh or frown at the appropriate places.

The girls are chatting between themselves about baby clothes. Susie is looking green, and her plate is untouched. Milly is chattering noisily, as is her custom. Her phone buzzes, and she answers it at the table after looking at it. We all knew the phone call was coming, yet it startles everyone around.

She is listening to the conversation, responding with single words, when her hand starts shaking. I know this is it—the moment Susie and I are dreading. I am trying to flag Mrs. Hansen to get us a bottle of brandy; odd that in times of crisis, we men can only think of having a drink.

“Oh my God!” Milly is crying. Shit. Damn, damn, damn. “Oh my God!” she repeats and throws herself against Cam’s chest.

This is bad. I look at Susie in helplessness, and she is doing the same. What the hell do we do?

“I’m fine, fine, fine!!!!” Milly is shouting. “Everything checked out good! The doc thinks my chances of recurrence are almost zero!” She is crying and screaming and leaping around the room like a young child.

Susie’s mouth is open, and she looks at me. How can this be? Milly’s mother indicated she was at a high risk for recurrence. Susie’s expression morphs from horror to elation to puzzlement, and I’m fairly sure mine looks the same.

Milly and Cam are dancing, and Mrs. Hansen smiles as she enters the dining room with the tray of bottle and snifters.

I stand up and go over to Susie, taking her against my chest as she rises. I whisper into her ear, “What the hell?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know, and I sure as hell don’t care,” she says in return. “Look at her, Bryce. She’s fine…the ninny is fine!” She breaks into sobs and buries her face into my chest.

I can feel her shaking with relief, and I second the feeling. Cam and Milly are kissing, heading off to the next room to be alone for a while. I sit Susie down. Her dad is stroking her shoulder too, trying to calm her as much as it is possible in the situation.

I begin. “The senator said…”

“Fuck Sabrina!” comes her salty reply. “May she rot in Hell. I don’t know if she ever had her tested or just wished her to be sick so she could be rid of her. It doesn’t matter. Milly belongs to Cam now, and to that baby…and to us.” She smiles at me, tears wet upon her cheeks. “We are family and we have each other’s backs,” she breathes.

“Indeed we do,” I agree. “Indeed we do.”

J
ust as it
could be imagined, Milly and Susie are in labor at the same time—Susie went a little early, but it should all be okay according to our obstetrician. The two girls are inseparable. They even opt for a double pre-labor room where they can lie in adjoining beds, screaming and encouraging one another in rotation. Cam and I are pretty much useless in this regard. We find a coffee machine in the waiting room, and unless called for, we’re sticking here, watching marathon reruns of
Friends
until the time is closer.

Both girls opt for natural childbirth, not even an epidural. I think it’s a source of pride for them—both nurses and both having witnessed this miracle of childbirth before. They want to take the whole event on with their own terms. They are not afraid, and I am very proud of them both.

Cam’s and Milly’s parents, overjoyed at the outcome of Milly’s testing—and pretending like they didn’t know anything before—have set them up in a new home not far from ours, and I am realizing how all this was probably meant to be. The girls visit back and forth, getting the nurseries ready and planning their after-birth wardrobes. As of now, Cam and I are planning our business—establishing contacts and finding office space not too far from home. We both want to be active dads.

Cam is being paged, and he looks at me, leaps to his feet, and heads down the corridor toward the delivery suite. I follow him to the doorway and can see the nurse guiding him to the sink, pulling a sterile robe over his clothes, tugging paper slippers over his shoes, and instructing him how to scrub up and wear a mask, before he can enter the delivery room. My turn is next.

My stomach is churning, and I toss the remainder of the horrible coffee into a nearby bin. I watch the television, but don’t really see it. All I can think of is Susie, and it’s then that I realize she’s now all alone. I press the buzzer next to the door and a nurse’s voice asks what I want. “I want to be with my wife,” I say and the door clicks to allow entry.

I wash up and head for her labor room. She is lying there, perspiration soaking her hair and face.

“Thank God you’re here,” she says, and I wonder why she didn’t call for me. Of course not…she is Susie…Susie the strong and the powerful, not afraid of anything, but she is still screaming and cursing as her knees are parted and an exam is conducted.

“Ten centimeters,” is the pronouncement, and the doctor is called, and I’m asked to step back.

Milly has been moved to the surgery as a precaution due to the baby’s size. Susie, however, is going to deliver…right here…right now…right in front of me. Whoa! I’m feeling dizzy. What the hell? I’m not supposed to have this kind of reaction. I’m battle-hardened. What is this shit?

I look around frantically and see Cam’s face at the small window in the door. He is smiling and gives me a “thumbs up”, followed by a bird finger. This is our pre-arranged signal that it’s a boy—even though we knew that they were going to have a boy—and I wave in return and give him a “thumbs up” as well.

I hear words being screamed behind me that remind me of Linda Blair in
The Exorcist
and realize with amusement that it is none other than my spunky, sassy wife. She is obviously tired of labor and doing everything she can to eject our child into the world. I move to stand next to her bed, taking her hand. She enters another round of pain and squeezes my hand so hard, the wedding ring cuts into my flesh.

“Whoa, cream-puff! Don’t kill me now. You’re going to need me for those 3 AM feedings!” I tease, hoping to lure her into a more positive frame of mind.

She, on the other hand, calls me a name and glares at me. This is the woman I love.

Roughly five minutes later, a kicking, screaming, determined young lady pushes her way into our world. I feel tears in my eyes, and as the baby is laid upon Susie’s bare tummy, I know my world is complete. It would be impossible to be more in love with two women than I am at this moment.

Susie, her pain considerably lessened now, smiles and winks at me. The nurse removes the baby long enough to clean and wrap her and then presses her into Susie’s waiting arms.

“Milly?” she asks in a single word.

“A boy,” I relieve her mind and nod. “Everything is fine.”

She nods in return and looks at our daughter, parting the blanket to reveal a shriveled countenance with a screaming, open mouth.

“I think this one belongs to us,” she says, teasing.

“She’s just like you,” I agree, smiling, and I hug them both at once.

The nurse asks us if we have a name picked out.

“Katie,” my wife says. “Like my Mom.”

T
wo people are sitting
in the lobby of the hospital, side by side, although they do not know one another. The woman is in an expensive business suit, the man—in jeans and a baggy sweater. Neither can seem to keep the attention on the magazines they’re holding.

The man speaks up. “You waiting for someone?” he asks.

“Daughter…” answers the woman.

The man nods. “Me, too.” He points upward. “She’s up there having a baby,” he adds.

“Mine, too,” says the woman. “She doesn’t know I’m here, though. Bit of a disagreement between us.”

“Mine does,” says the man, and smiles. “Indeed, she knows I will always be here.”

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