Infinity. (Infinity Series) (20 page)

I reluctantly tell Colin goodbye when Brad saunters into the living room, and joins me on the couch with a flop.

The two of us polish off a bottle of wine, and we watch old reruns of
Sex and the City
, complaining about how terribly they’ve been edited for basic cable. Brad and I’ve watched them enough that we fill in the missing words, or quote the deleted scenes.

Apparently, my breastfeeding days are over. No pump, half a bottle of wine, yup… Breastfeeding is over. I made it almost nine months. I’d self-congratulate more if my heart weren’t so heavy.

Brad is staying in the guest room, or Colin’s former office/back to guest room. I hug him goodnight, and thank him for all of his help today. Literally, I couldn’t have survived without him. He’s amazing.

I walk upstairs to my daughter’s crib in the corner of my old bedroom where the red college chair used to reside. She’s sleeping so peacefully, on her back, head tilted to the side. Ainsley McKinney is a gorgeous child. I’m not just saying that because I’m her mother. She got the best of her daddy and me. I kiss two of my fingers, and touch them to her forehead. “Sleep tight, precious one.”

****

“Hello everyone.” I clear my throat and adjust the height of the microphone so I don’t have to stand on my tiptoes. “For those who don’t know me, I’m Doctor Caroline Collins-McKinney. I’m the second-oldest daughter, if you’re keeping score on the cards provided.” I attempt to make a joke. Fortunately, everyone is kind enough to at least chuckle.

Carmen asked me to speak at my father’s funeral. She wanted his eulogy to be meaningful, and reflect who he was. I reluctantly agreed. Wiping my sweaty palms on the black dress that Brad bought for me, I note how loose it’s fitting. I’ve got to start eating again, and scale back my runs before Colin notices.
Push that thought aside and focus on your notecards.

Clearing my throat, I continue. “Looking out at your faces in this packed church just confirms what a full life my father led. Some of you he knew through his practice, and can thank him for his healing touch. Others met Jack through us six girls. I see our tennis coach that taught all of us how to swing a racket. Then there’s the golfing gang that he played with a couple of times a week.” The guys that he was playing with when he collapsed are sitting together, and wearing their golfing attire. Their eyes are bloodshot, and their faces are grey. I can’t imagine how hard this must be on them. “Hello to my father’s business associates and neighbors.

“My point is that Doctor Jack Collins was everywhere. He was passionate about medicine and sports. He loved his community, and was involved wherever he thought he could make a difference. But, above all else, Jack cherished his wife, Carmen, and his girls.”

It was really hard for me to write that part last night. Finally, Colin looked at me and said, “Jack loved you the best way he knew how.” After reflecting on Colin’s words, I know that he was right. Was it shitty for him to leave his wife and four little girls for his pregnant nurse? Yes. Did he love Carmen the rest of his life, and my two half-sisters? Absolutely. I let the anger go, and feel ten pounds lighter.

“I was fortunate enough to work with my father at his medical practice. In fact, I recognize a lot of you here today. It would mean so much to Jack that his former patients attended his memorial service. Thank you, on behalf of our family.” I scan the audience and see Clay wiping a tear from his eye. My heart swells for the gentle giant, whose retirement from football brought me back into the arms of my husband. My eyes lock with Rachael, who’s sitting next to my mom, and Chelsea, blending in with my family as if her last name were also Collins. Next to Chelsea is Amy, and Aiden has his arm draped around her shoulder, comforting her.
Interesting
. Last, but not least, my eyes lock with my husband. He looks so dignified in his Armani charcoal-grey suit. The green tie that he’s wearing making his eyes sparkle. Right now, the love and devotion for me written on his face almost brings me to my knees.

I have to pause for a moment and collect myself.
I will not cry. I will not cry.
It’s my mantra for today. “When I was five, I proudly told my dad that I wanted to be a doctor, to follow in his footsteps. In typical Jack fashion, he asked me what it meant to be a doctor. I told him that I wanted to be just like him, and make people feel better. My dad decided that if I wanted to go into medicine, he’d do everything in his power to help me, but I got no pass for being the daughter of a doctor. Dad made sure he loved us enough every day so us girls would have successes and failures. He never propped us up using his money or influence. Instead, he gave us opportunities to help ourselves.

“Yes, he gave me a job in his practice. However, it was made clear to everyone who worked for him that just because I shared his last name didn’t mean that I should be granted any special privileges. It was through my first job in his practice that I met my husband. So, even when I was a bratty teenager, annoyed at the crummy car he gave me, and the minimum-wage job I had to drive two unpaid-hours to work at each way, I can say that I learned work ethic from him. I learned medicine. I found my husband, and I hope to take the life lessons he tried to instill in us girls, and pass them on to my daughter.”

Yes. I think that’s about as politically correct as I can say it. I take a deep breath and deliver my finishing remarks. “My trim, fit, healthy father was taken from us too soon. He was always too busy to get the heart scan that Carmen bugged him about. He felt that because he was a doctor, he was immune to such things as heart attacks. If I could turn back time, we’d all badger him until he had the quick procedure done. Who knows? We might have avoided this gathering today. Unfortunately, I can’t, so as a doctor, I tell you all to get your heart checked yearly.” I add a bit of humor by shaking my finger at the crowd.

“In conclusion, I’m going to share with you what I’ve written to my daughter about how I want her to remember her grandfather.” I pull out the sheet of notebook paper that I scratched some words to Ainsley on. Memories will fade, so I wanted to do this while they were still fresh. I plan to put the letter in an envelope, and place it in her baby book. One day, she’ll ask me about her grandfather, and I’ll share the words that I’ve written with her.

Unfolding the paper, I don’t dare look at the crowd. I know that I’ll not make it through this if I see my sisters crying.

“Dear Ainsley.” I pause, swallowing my tears one more time. “Today, your grandfather and my dad, Doctor Jack Collins, passed away. He died doing what he loved—playing golf. He wanted you to call him Poppy, which is about the craziest name that I could imagine for him. He wasn’t a Poppy. Maybe Doc would have suited him? Grandfather? But not Poppy. I’m sure that you would have chosen the perfect name to call him.

“He loved you so much, baby girl. The first time he held you, he got tears in his eyes. I asked him if he was disappointed that he didn’t get a grandson. You know what he said? Absolutely not. With a twinkle in his eye, he said, ‘I was made to be the dad and poppy of little girls.’

“You’ll miss out on visiting him at his doctor’s office. When I was little, he kept jellybeans in his desk. For you, it probably would have been unicorns and rainbows. You’ll miss out on him teaching you to play golf. Your grandfather was an excellent golfer, but an even better teacher.

“Most of all, you’ll miss out on his wise advice. He always knew what to say, even if it was hard, and it would make you cry. Your poppy, or whatever you would have named him, loved you. He was silly and fun when he visited you. He smothered you in kisses, and told you how much he loved every little hair on your precious head. He carried pictures of you in his wallet. I know he showed them to any poor soul who dared to ask about his first granddaughter.

“Never doubt that Doctor Jack Collins loved you like he loved nobody else. I’m sorry that you will not remember him, but don’t you worry. Your crazy aunts will make sure that you hear all the great stories.”

I fold up the letter, and whisper through my choked-up voice. “I love you, Daddy.”

I all but run back to my husband and his open arms. As soon as I’m seated, Colin pulls me to him, kissing my hair. “You’re my MVP, Doctor Collins. Well done.” I collapse into his side, feeling the air being sucked from my lungs. My shoulders fold into my chest. It’s over. Finally, I can grieve for my father.

Colin

It’s been five days since I kissed my daughter goodnight and made love to my wife. I had originally planned to leave Wednesday night after the funeral, but dammit if I could bring myself to call a town car to take me to the airport. One more night with Charlie. One more morning to give my sweet baby girl some tummy kisses.

Brad had fed Ainsley breakfast while I made love to my wife. In the shower… in the closet… on her too small bed… If it’s possible to store up sex like camels do water, then that’s what we were doing. Telling her goodbye when I saw the black town car arrive out front gutted me, because I didn’t know when I’d see her or Ainsley again. I still don’t.

Charlie is staying in Houston and working at her dad’s office until they can either hire more doctors, or they sell the practice. Apparently, Jack had not been as great with his money as Carmen had thought. He’d just taken out a second mortgage on the monstrosity house to fund the new rehabilitation equipment. That’s the equivalent to a financial ouch.

Miguel stayed in Houston to watch over my girls. There’s no room in her townhome, so I got him a hotel room near her place. He reports to me every day how they’re doing, and briefs me on any threats. The level of comfort this brings me is minimal, but it’s better than nothing. And the facts are clear, I’m far from over the almost kidnapping attempt when Ainsley was two-weeks-old.

Today was Charlie’s first day in the office. I sent her a dozen red roses with a note that says,
Keep your chin up, Infinity. Colin
. She knows that she’s lost the professional athlete patients. Her goal is to keep the active patients, and the practice going. I’m hoping that she finds another doctor soon, because this coming-home-to-an-empty-house is bullshit.

I roam through this place like the damn ghost of Christmases past. I feel like I’ve got a chain wrapped around me, making it hard to breathe. I’d thought coming home to a sleeping Charlie was miserable after my games, but coming home to an empty house is a million times worse. It’s just Pancho and me. He at least keeps me company by lying next to the bathtub while I soak. I flipped on the TV in the bathroom, and lay there watching
Sports Center
. I’d much rather be staring at my hot wife.

Jenny’s tried to cheer me up in her Jenny-like ways. She offered to take me to dinner. Who wants to eat? She rented a movie that we watched in the movie room. I couldn’t tell you what it was about. I felt like throwing a temper tantrum. “I. WANT. MY. WIFE. AND. KID. BACK!”

I check the clock on the oven in the kitchen. It’s almost seven o’clock. I have a computer date with my girls. It’s pathetic how excited this makes me. I let Pancho out fifteen minutes ago so he could do his business, ensuring that nothing interrupts my time with my loves.

This is the plan that Charlie came up with last night on the phone so I’m not so miserable. I’ll get to visit with Ainsley while Charlie gives her a bath, and gets her ready for bed. Then I’ll read her a bedtime story, before Charlie tucks her in. At least my daughter will be able to see me, and I’ll get to feel like I’m with my family. Or so Charlie says. Nothing replaces actually holding, touching, and kissing my girls.

At 6:59, Pancho and I are in the kitchen at the counter with my iPad, waiting to get the Facetime request. At thirty seconds to go, I grab a bottled-water out of the refrigerator. At 7:00 on the nose, I’m sliding on to the bar stool, drumming my fingers against the counter, waiting for the request ding. Inpatient? Yes. FIVE DAYS WITHOUT MY GIRLS!

At 7:10, I can’t wait any longer. I call Charlie. Brad answers, sounding slightly annoyed. “Hey, Brad. I’d like to talk to my ladies this evening.”
See, I’m being polite.

“Sorry about that. Ainsley made such a mess at dinnertime out of herself and Caroline that she just decided that the two of them would take a bath together. I’d bring her the phone, but well… you know.”

“Yeah… Yeah… I know. Please don’t bring her the phone,” I say, with a little too much angst in my voice. “Just tell her that I called.”

“Will do,” he says before the phone goes dead.

I drop my phone on the counter and rest my forehead against the granite, banging it a few times for good measure. This sucks. I’m not an asshole. I know that Charlie needs to be in Houston with her family. They all need her right now. Ainsley needs to be with her mom, but at this moment I don’t care about any of that. I didn’t get married and have a child to not be a part of their lives.

The silence of our home is deafening. There should be laughter, and baby giggles. Toys should be squeaked and rattled. Hell, at this point, I’m even willing to hear
Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star
on repeat. I miss the day-to-day routine that we’d fallen into. I’d even take tears as opposed to this silence.

Standing up, I turn around in a circle, looking at how pristinely clean everything is. There aren’t any baby bottles in the sink. No toys on the floor for me to trip over. Charlie’s medical journals aren’t littering the kitchen table. Our home feels like a show house, one of those places that my real estate agent took me to view already-built homes. I half-expect to see images of some random family in the picture frames that are lining the bookcase in the kitchen.

Picking up my water bottle, I throw it against the cabinet, feeling a little better as I watch the water race down the slick wood surface.
Model homes don’t have water-stained cabinets.

I grab Pancho’s leash, slip on my running shoes, and take us for a light jog around the neighborhood. Purposely, I leave my phone at home, hoping that Charlie will call—a bunch of times—and I will not answer. She needs to feel some of the misery, loneliness, and angst that I’m feeling right now.