Immediate Family (12 page)

Jay felt as if he were moving underwater. Nurses and orderlies floated by, the blatting of the PA system like the roaring of distant surf in his ears.
It’s got to be a mistake,
he told himself.
The doctor got her mixed up with another patient. Happens all the time.
When he got there, Vivienne would be sitting up in bed with their baby in her arms.

But when he reached her side, she was stretched on her back on a gurney staring up at the ceiling, looking like a casualty of war, her face waxen with bruised-looking hollows under her eyes. He spoke her name softly, and she turned toward him.

“It’s okay, Viv. I’m here.” He took her hand, squeezing it gently.

“Jay.” Her voice was a hoarse rasp. “I’ve been trying to tell them, but they won’t listen. They think I’m crazy.”

“Why would they think that?” he asked gently.

“I keep telling them it’s all a mistake. There’s nothing wrong with the baby,” she went on, as if he hadn’t spoken.

His heart constricted in his chest. “Viv…”

“Please.”
Her fingers tightened around his. “You’ve got to tell them. They’ll listen to you.”

“Shhh. You should get some rest,” he soothed, stroking her hair.

But she was too agitated. “I know he’s okay. I
know
it.” Her eyes shone with feverish brightness. “Jay. Please. Tell them to bring me my baby!
I want my baby!”

Jay stood there not knowing what to say as he struggled to maintain a grip on his emotions. But she must have seen it on his face, the hopelessness, for she began to weep, tears running down her temples and into her tangled hair. He tried to comfort her, but she pushed him away, batting weakly at him with her fists. The sounds emerging from her throat weren’t even human; they were those of a wounded animal. It was all Jay could do to remain strong, for her sake, and not collapse under the weight of his own grief.

“Viv…we’ll get through this. We still have each other,” he choked out.

“Bring me my baby!” she cried, her voice rising on a hysterical note.
“I want my baby!”
She struggled to get up off the gurney, lashing out at Jay when he tried to stop her.

A nurse came running, and together they managed to subdue her. Even after the resident on call had given her something to calm her, she continued to thrash and rail until the sedative took hold. “Please, Jay,” she pleaded in a cracked whisper, even as her eyelids grew heavy.

“Shhh. Get some sleep,” he whispered in her ear as he bent to kiss her on the cheek.

After Vivienne had drifted off at last, Jay looked up to find a pair of gentle brown eyes regarding him with compassion. The nurse, a tall, angular black woman with elaborately braided hair, reached over to touch his hand, asking gently, “Would you like to see him?”

Jay thought for a moment, then shook his head. “No. Not just yet.” Later, when Vivienne was herself again, they’d face it together.

As he retreated into the hallway, he was recalling the look on his wife’s face as she was being wheeled into surgery. Vivienne had appeared more stunned than scared: She’d done everything to ensure the perfect pregnancy. This wasn’t supposed to be happening to
her.

But all those measures, he realized now, were like amulets used to ward off evil spirits, merely serving to lull them into a false sense of security.

As he made his way back to the lounge, he could see Franny right where he’d left her, in her red dress that stood out like a beacon amid the drab hospital decor. He felt a wave of relief sweep over him. As if he were far out at sea, struggling to stay afloat, and had spied land.

“How’s she holding up?” Franny asked, eyeing him with concern. Right now, it was Jay who looked close to the breaking point.

“They gave her something to help her sleep,” he answered in a hollow voice.

“Do you need me to do anything?”

He shook his head. What was there to do? How could she possibly make this better? “This wasn’t supposed to happen,” he said.

“I know.” Franny swallowed against the lump in her throat.

“She was fine. Everything was fine.” He sank onto the sofa across from the vending machine, where a man about their age, possibly a new dad, was fumbling for change.

Franny sat down next to Jay, her throat tight with the tears she was holding back. “I lie awake at night sometimes, thinking of all the things that can go wrong, but you’re never prepared for something like this.”

“So what now?” He turned his ravaged gaze to her.

“You pick up the pieces. You move on.”

“I’m not sure I can.”

“I know it’s hard to believe right now, but you will. Trust me.” After her brother’s death, so soon after losing her mother, Franny had felt equally bereft. “You still have Vivienne. And me. I’ll be with you every step of the way.” Just as Jay had been for her, after Bobby died.

“Where would I be without you?” His red-rimmed eyes were filled with such gratitude and affection, it was all she could do not to crumble then and there.

“Exactly where I’d be without you—lost,” she said, reaching for his hand.

T
he saddest thing in the world had to be losing a child, Emerson thought, choking back tears as she watched the miniature coffin being lowered into the ground. If it were Ainsley…

She glanced over at Jay, flanked on either side by Vivienne and his parents. Over the past few days he seemed to have aged ten years. His face had a grayish cast and his shoulders were bowed, as if under a tremendous weight. In contrast, Vivienne appeared strangely remote, a ghostly projection of the vibrant woman she’d been, as if she might have drifted away like so much smoke had Jay not been supporting her with his arm. The only time Emerson had seen her react all day was at the church when Franny had gone to comfort her and she’d visibly stiffened, as if being around Franny, big with Jay’s child, was more than she could bear. Luckily, Franny hadn’t noticed; she’d been too distraught.

In fact, a passerby witnessing the scene at the gravesite might have taken her to be the grieving mother. Franny’s face was swollen and blotchy from weeping—she couldn’t cry without looking like she had the measles—and she swayed a bit on her feet.

Stevie, standing beside her, blinking back tears of her own, reached for Franny’s elbow, as if to steady her. In her plain black dress adorned only by a simple gold necklace, she looked uncharacteristically somber.

Emerson recognized the minister, a stocky, dark-haired man with thick glasses that kept sliding down his nose, as the one who’d officiated at Jay and Vivienne’s wedding, in happier times that seemed light years from today’s tragic proceedings. After the minister had spoken the final blessing, Jay stepped forward, grim-faced, to pitch the first shovelful of dirt into the grave. As it fell against the coffin with a hollow thud, Vivienne’s face contorted and she let out a low, anguished cry.

Emerson was relieved to see Vivienne’s father, a distinguished-looking man with thinning silver hair, step forward and put an arm around her waist, supporting her. He and Vivienne’s mother, a striking Lebanese woman who must have been a great beauty in her day, had flown in from Paris and were staying with Jay and Vivienne for the time being. But Emerson couldn’t help wondering how Vivienne would manage after they were gone.

Her gaze fell on Jay’s parents. Everett Gunderson was built like Jay, lean and rangy, with the same arresting blue eyes. In his Sunday suit, with his stiff iron hair slicked down, he looked ill at ease in this unfamiliar setting. Beside him stood Jay’s mother clutching a worn leather Bible, a trim, white-haired woman with her son’s fine features and fair complexion, whose prettiness had faded like something left out in the sun too long. They looked as if they wanted to do more, but didn’t know quite what was expected of them.

After the last prayer was read, everyone began drifting back toward the parking lot. The day was humid and overcast, the ground underfoot soggy from all the rain that had drenched the area over the past couple of weeks, making it difficult for Emerson to walk in her high heels. In place of a traditional wake, Jay had informed them earlier, it would be just family and close friends. He hadn’t said as much, but she guessed it was because he didn’t think Vivienne was up to anything more.

By the time Emerson arrived at their loft half an hour later, Vivienne was resting in the bedroom and Jay was occupied with both sets of parents. Emerson joined Franny and Stevie in the living room, where they sat sipping coffee and nibbling on the cookies that had been set out.

“I just wish there was something we could
do.”
Franny cast a forlorn look across the room at Jay, who stood talking to his dad and father-in-law while the two mothers busied themselves in the kitchen.

“Like what?” asked Stevie.

“Like, I don’t know, pack up the nursery or something,” Franny tossed out. “Can you imagine what it must be like for them every time they walk in and see all those baby things?”

Emerson felt a fresh wave of empathy at the thought—the crib all made up, the picture books and stuffed animals lining the shelves, the cute little outfits tucked away in drawers. Even so, she hesitated before replying, “We could always offer.”

“Friends don’t just offer. They roll up their sleeves,” Franny said with a note of impatience.

Emerson and Stevie exchanged a look. Emerson knew then that she wasn’t alone in thinking maybe this wasn’t the best time for Franny to be around Vivienne. It must seem a cruel irony to Jay’s wife, another woman bearing his child after she’d lost her own.

“Even friends need to know when to back off,” Stevie said gently.

Franny slumped back in her chair. Emerson knew it pained her to see Jay suffer so, when there was nothing she could do to make it better. But Franny was also smart enough to see the wisdom in what Stevie was saying, and after a moment she gave in with a sigh.

“What really sucks is that I can’t even get drunk,” she said.

“That doesn’t mean
we
can’t.” Stevie said, shooting a glance at Emerson.

Emerson shook her head. “Count me out. I’m going straight home after this.” It was the nanny’s night off and she’d have trouble getting a babysitter on such short notice. Besides, she didn’t feel like sitting around in some bar, growing more morose with each drink. “In fact, I should get going pretty soon,” she said, with a glance at her watch. “I promised Karen I’d be back no later than five.” To Franny, she added with a smile, “Don’t be fooled into thinking your nanny works for you. It’s actually the other way around.”

“In that case, it’s a good thing I won’t be needing one.” Franny explained that she was going to try to work from home, for the first year or two at least.

“Well, I hope you have better luck than I did.” Emerson had tried taking a year off after Ainsley was born, and within six months she’d been climbing the walls. Much as she loved her daughter, she’d been forced to admit she wasn’t cut out to be a full-time mom.

Stevie turned to Franny, wearing a mysterious look, as if she knew something Franny didn’t. “I can think of one person who wouldn’t mind sharing diaper duty with you.” Meaning Keith, of course.

A flush rose to Franny’s cheeks. “We’ll see,” she said with a shrug. She’d been disappointed in love too many times to wear her heart on her sleeve. “We’ve only known each other a few months.”

“For some people, that’s long enough.” Stevie looked sad, and Emerson wondered if she was thinking about Ryan.

“On the other hand, you could know someone all your life and still have it not work out,” Emerson said. She and Briggs had traveled in the same circle; their mothers had been in the same class at Chapin; they’d even helped out at several fund-raisers together before they started dating. Yet, in the end, they’d had little else in common.

“Right now, all I can think about is getting through the next few months,” said Franny, placing a hand on the mound of her belly. “If marriage is in the cards, it’ll have to wait.”

“It could be sooner than you think,” said Stevie.

Franny’s eyes narrowed. “Do you know something
I
don’t?”

“Nothing specific,” Stevie hastened to assure her. “But you don’t have to be a mind reader to know the guy’s crazy about you.”

Franny’s face lit up for a moment before giving way to a troubled look. Her gaze traveled once more to Jay. Emerson guessed she was thinking about the impact it would have on him, especially now, if she were to move to L.A. “Or maybe just plain crazy,” she quipped. “Can’t you just picture us on our honeymoon? The two of us taking turns walking the floor at night with a screaming infant.”

“From what I know of Keith, I don’t think he’d mind,” Stevie said. “He’s a good guy. He’ll make a good dad.”

The wistful note in her voice prompted Emerson to ask, “Speaking of which, how’s it going with Grant?”

Stevie’s gaze dropped to the coffee cup she was holding on her lap. “I don’t know. I haven’t been to see him in a while,” she answered quietly.

Emerson knew it had been a blow when the
Prime Time
interview aired. Lauren didn’t recall much of what had happened before she was shot. Her memories of that night were like strobe flashes in a dark room, she’d said. Only one image stood out clearly: a hand holding a gun pointed at her head. The rest was all jumbled together in her mind: an angry, shouting voice…the insignia of a rose twined around a crucifix…the sound of glass shattering. None of which proved anything, but as far as the public was concerned, Grant had been tried and found guilty. Stevie, though perhaps not as quick to rush to judgment, was nonetheless finding it more difficult to believe in his innocence.

Franny retrieved the cup and saucer now tilting precariously on Stevie’s lap and placed it on the coffee table in front of them. “Don’t you at least want to hear his side of the story?” she asked.

“What good would it do?” Stevie replied darkly.

“Maybe there’s more to it than you know,” Emerson said. In her line of work, unless you got it from a direct source, it was generally open to interpretation.

Stevie gave a helpless shrug. “Maybe, but whenever I broach the subject, he clams up.”

“So that’s it? You’re giving up on him?” Franny eyed Stevie in disbelief.

Stevie brought her head up, her expression a mixture of hope and despair. “I didn’t say that. I mean, he’s still my father.” She let out an audible breath. “I just needed to give it a rest, you know?” She looked anxiously from Franny to Emerson, as if seeking their permission.

Emerson patted her on the knee. “It’s okay. We’re with you no matter what.”

When it was time for them to go, Jay saw them to the door, hugging them each a little harder than normal, Franny hardest of all. “Thanks, guys,” he said, his voice hoarse with emotion. “I don’t know how I’d have gotten through these past few days without you.”

“Anything you need, all you have to do is pick up the phone,” Emerson told him.

Franny brought a hand to his cheek, her eyes searching his face. “Are you going to be okay?”

He nodded, as if he wasn’t too sure but wanted to put on a brave face. “Viv’s parents will be here until the end of next week, and mine aren’t leaving until Monday.” He darted a look at his parents, across the room talking to his in-laws, adding, as if he felt the need to explain, “Their neighbor’s looking after the farm. Dad doesn’t want to take advantage.”

“I’m sure they’d stay longer if they could,” Emerson said.

“If there’s anything I can do…” Franny started to say, but he was already shaking his head.

“Thanks,” he said, “but I think we need some time on our own to sort things out.” A look of despair crossed his face, as if he were wondering how he and Vivienne would ever put the pieces together again, then he mustered a small smile and said without much conviction, “We’ll be okay.”

Out on the street, the women said their good-byes and headed off in separate directions, Franny to her apartment and Stevie to her hotel, leaving Emerson to wonder in her car, on the way uptown, how she was going to keep from smothering Ainsley with kisses when she got home. For the thought uppermost in her mind all day was,
What if it were
my
child?

As it turned out, she didn’t have to face an evening of putting on a cheerful front for her daughter’s sake. When she arrived home, there was a message from Briggs on her answering machine asking if he could have Ainsley for the night. It seemed his parents were in town and wanted to take the whole family out to dinner. Normally Emerson would have objected—he wasn’t supposed to have Ainsley until the weekend, and besides, it was a school night—but she was so drained, she knew her daughter would be better off with Briggs, so she called him back and told him it was okay.

By the time he arrived, she’d changed out of the dress she’d worn to the funeral into an old terry robe. When they were married, she’d taken pains never to dress sloppily around Briggs—one of Marjorie’s most firmly held beliefs was that a wife must remain alluring to her husband at all times—which was no doubt what prompted him to remark with concern, “You’re not under the weather, I hope?”

“Do I look sick?” Emerson snapped.

Briggs drew back with a hurt look. “I was only asking.”

“I’m sorry. It’s been a rough day,” she said, with a sigh, pushing a hand through her hair.

Why was she such a bitch toward him? If anyone deserved to be bitter, it was Briggs. The divorce had been her idea, after all. At the time, he’d claimed to be perfectly happy in the marriage she’d found so stultifying. If she found him irritating, it was only because he made her feel like a rotten person for disliking someone so harmless.

The irony was that the very qualities that had made Briggs so annoying when they were married made for a compatible ex-husband. He had a stiff upper lip and a backbone that wilted at the mere hint of a confrontation—he’d cross the street to avoid an unpleasant exchange. Looking at him now, not yet forty and already grown stodgy, with his expanding waistline and brown hair carefully combed to cover his bald spot, she wondered what on earth she’d ever seen in him. A few years from now, he’d be wearing plaid golf pants and talking of buying a place in Palm Beach.

“Ainsley all set to go?” He peered down the hall.

“She’s getting her stuff together,” Emerson told him.

“How’s your mom?” he inquired politely, as he lowered himself into one of the matched pair of Hepplewhite chairs flanking the antique chest in the foyer.

“Not great, but we’ll know more after her next test results,” Emerson informed him. What she didn’t tell him was that Marjorie’s cancer was so advanced, any further treatment at this point was merely palliative.

Briggs made a sympathetic face. “Be sure to give her my best.”

“I’ll do that.”

There was a brief pause, then he cleared his throat to remark, “I understand you hired a new nurse. Ainsley seems to have taken quite a liking to him.”

Emerson felt herself grow warm at the mention of Reggie. “More importantly, my mother seems to like him, too.”

They exchanged a small, knowing smile. Briggs had always gotten along well with Marjorie, but he knew how difficult she could be.