Return (6 page)

“Thank you.” His dad’s businesslike tone bordered on angry.

Luke took the seat opposite his father in the living room and clasped his hands. “What brings you?”

“Lori.” His father said the word so fast, it hit him like a sucker punch.

Luke’s answer was equally quick. “She’s not here.” His dad had probably grown tired of waiting for Luke to come around, so now he was going to insist on it, have a chat with Lori, and explain that Luke had played at her house long enough. It was time to come home. He was about to tell his father how ridiculous that was when his dad leveled a gaze at him so intense it hurt.

“I know where she is.” Disgust played across his dad’s features. “I just came from there.” He gave a sharp huff through his nose. “What I can’t figure is what you’re doing
here?”

Luke narrowed his eyes. What was his father talking about? How could he have just come from being with Lori? “Lori’s still at school, Dad. I doubt you’ve seen her.”

It took half a minute, but gradually, like the morning sun rising over the farms of Bloomington, a look of understanding dawned on his father’s face. “You…don’t know?”

“Know what?”

“How sick she is.”

A laugh managed to slip from Luke’s throat, but it was void of any humor. “What’re you talking about?”

“Son, Lori…” He stood and paced a few steps away from Luke and then back again. “She’s in the hospital, Son. She’s very, very sick.”

“She’s not sick.” His father had to be mistaken. “She was fine last night. You must have her mixed up with someone else.”

His dad sat back down and stared at him. His eyes were as angry as Luke had ever seen them. “You think you know so much, big Luke Baxter, all grown-up and ready to make your own choices.” His father paused. “Just so you know, a girl can get infected after an abortion.”

Luke’s mouth hung open and his heart pounded in his throat. An
abortion?
After an abortion? Was that what his father had said? “I…what do you mean?”

“It doesn’t happen all the time.” His father waved his hand in the air above him. “But once in a while the infection gets so bad…we lose the young woman.”

Luke’s teeth felt dry and pasty. “An abortion?” He licked his tongue across his lips. “Lori didn’t have an abortion.” It was all he could do to stay seated. “It…it must’ve been some other girl.”

“Lori Callahan.” His father’s voice was loud and full of accusation. “Isn’t that her name?”

“No…I mean, yes. I mean…” Luke got up and took four long strides toward the window. When he spoke next, he kept his back to his father. “That’s her name but, Dad, it isn’t her.” He glanced over his shoulder. “She’s at school.”

The dawning on his father’s face became full-fledged and the anger left his eyes. “She didn’t tell you.” The statement sounded as though it was as much for his own benefit as for Luke’s. “I can’t believe she didn’t tell you.” John blinked and when he spoke again, his tone was quieter, resigned. “Her chart had your address, Son.”

Deep in Luke’s gut, fear and anger battled for position, and the ensuing fight left him speechless. What right did his father have to come here like this? Was Luke a child, a bad boy who’d broken curfew or violated some other Baxter rule?

John stood and came closer, disappointment screaming from his eyes. “She could die, Luke.”

No words came in response. Luke turned from the window, fell back against the frame, and hung his head. The depth of the situation was getting through. He’d gotten Lori pregnant, and she’d had an abortion. Was that why she’d been at the doctor the other day? why she hadn’t told him? Yes, abortion was a woman’s choice—at least that’s what he’d come to understand in the past few months. But shouldn’t he have had a say, too? He was the father, after all.

His dad was inches from him now, and he crossed his arms. “You need to get down there, Luke.”

Luke jerked his head up. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

“Actually, Son, I believe I will.” His father’s eyes narrowed, and the sympathy faded. “I’ve sat back and watched while you’ve self-destructed. You’ve turned your back on everything that used to matter. God, then me, then the rest of our family.” He worked the muscles in his jaw. “You’ve been rude and callous, and the few times you’ve talked to your mother you seemed to think you’re the only one with any real understanding of the world.” He paused long enough to grab a breath. “And right now I don’t care what you think about me, Luke. I’m going to tell you the truth, the thing I should’ve told you months ago. You’re running, Son…running from—”

“Wait!” The shouted word stopped his father midsentence, and Luke held up a hand. “You have no right to—”

“No!” John grabbed Luke’s shoulder and gave him a shake.
“You
wait, young man. I’m still your father, and you’ll listen to me even if you hate me for what I have to say.”

Shock rippled through Luke’s body. His father hadn’t laid a hand on him since he was a young boy. Here, now, when Luke was a man making his own choices, he could hardly believe this was happening. He stayed frozen in place, his mouth open.

“Look—” his dad loosened his grip, but didn’t remove his hand—“September eleventh didn’t just happen to you, Luke. It happened to all of us. But here you are, acting like an insolent brat, pretending you believe that…that self-enlightenment garbage. As though you could use a class project to disprove God, or that spending your time with the academic elite somehow changes God’s truth.” Control was back in his father’s voice. “It doesn’t take much enlightenment to get a girl pregnant, Son.”

Luke’s entire body went stiff, and he spoke through gritted teeth. “Get out!”

“No.” His father dropped his hand but held his ground. “You’re scared and you’re running, because all your life you had everything figured out, Luke. Kari was wrong for marrying Tim…Ashley was a disgrace for going off to Paris and getting pregnant. But not you, Luke. No, you had it all together. You were better than—”

“I don’t need to hear this.” Luke spun around his father, stormed across the apartment, and flung open the front door. “I said go!”

His father turned and headed toward him.

John Baxter was a gentle man, someone who lived out his convictions and whose strength was not illustrated with loud displays or confrontations. But Luke suddenly wondered if his father might throw him to the ground. His dad’s face was red, and the veins near his temple stood out. When he was face-to-face with Luke, he stopped and locked eyes with him. “I know what you’re running from, Luke. And until you figure it out, you don’t need to worry about ordering me out of your life. I’ll stay gone.” His father took a step toward the door. “You’ve lost so much, Luke. Now you’ve lost a child. And you may lose Lori.”

“I’m not running!” Luke hated the feelings fighting within him. Part of him wanted to stop his father before he left, fall into his arms and beg for forgiveness. But a greater part wanted nothing to do with him. “I’m a grown man. I don’t need you telling me what to think.”

“I won’t.” His dad took another few steps, never taking his eyes from Luke’s. “When you’re ready to admit what your choices have done to all of us, then we’ll have something to talk about. Until then, you won’t hear from me.”

“Fine.” Luke spat the word and then bit his lip. For a moment, both of them seemed frozen in place. Luke’s very bones ached from the finality of the moment, but his heart refused to engage.

“Good-bye, Son.” His dad leaned back on his heels, the fight gone from his voice. “No matter how long you stay gone, remember I love you. I’ve always loved you, and nothing—nothing—you do could make me stop loving you.” His voice trembled. “When you’re ready to come back, I’ll be waiting.”

Luke clenched his teeth and let his gaze fall to the floor. When it was clear he wasn’t going to say anything, his father turned and headed down the hallway to the stairs. Luke waited, listening as his dad took the steps and headed into the parking lot. He stayed there as he heard his father’s car start up and pull away.

The whole time, Luke didn’t move a muscle. He reminded himself to breathe. Life would be better with his father out of the picture, less complicated. Besides, if the news was true, he had bigger issues to deal with. When he could no longer hear the sound of his father’s car, Luke went inside, slipped his tennis shoes and sweatshirt on, grabbed his car keys, and headed for the hospital.

He
had
to think about something besides what just happened between him and his father. If Lori had gotten pregnant, why hadn’t she told him? Besides, they’d used birth control every time, hadn’t they? And how could she get an abortion without asking him? Not that he wanted a baby now, when he still had an entire year of college left. But didn’t he have a say in the matter? And how could she be fighting for her life in the hospital without his even knowing about it?

Fifteen minutes later, Luke found her, just as his dad said. He stayed by her side but was unmoved by the sight of her.

“It’ll be okay, Lori.” Even as he whispered the words, he kept wondering why he’d moved in with her in the first place. How could he lie to her, saying he loved her when she was merely someone who helped open his mind and pass the time?

At nine o’clock a nurse came to check on Lori and announced her fever had broken. An hour later Lori’s doctor declared her officially on the road to recovery. Sometime before eleven, Lori woke up and peered around the room until she found Luke.

“Hi.” She smacked her swollen lips and reached for the ice water near her bed. “I guess—” she took a long sip—“you know why I’m here.”

“Yeah.” Luke moved closer. “How come you didn’t tell me?”

Even in her weakened condition, Lori bristled. “I don’t…have to tell anybody what I do.” She took another swig of water. “It’s my body.”

“Yeah, but it was my baby.”

For several seconds she said nothing. Then she sat up some and winced as she shifted. “No.” She locked eyes with Luke and shook her head. “It wasn’t.”

Of all the things that had happened that day, this was the one that took Luke’s breath away. She must’ve been delirious from the infection, dazed by the pain medication. She couldn’t possibly have just said what he thought she’d said. He slid his chair closer to her bed. “What?”

“The baby wasn’t yours, Luke.” She released an exaggerated sigh and gripped the bed’s side rails. “A couple months ago I was out late after the club meeting, remember?”

Luke searched his mind. He had no idea what she was talking about, but he couldn’t make his mouth work well enough to speak.

“Anyway—” Lori sounded bored—“it meant nothing. The group had a guest speaker, and the two of us went back to his apartment afterward for more discussion. We shared a few hours in bed, nothing more. Neither of us had protection, and I got pregnant.” She blew a wisp of bangs off her forehead. “My fault, my body, my solution.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.” She managed a weak smile. “But thanks for caring enough to come.”

Luke grabbed his knees and tried to keep from vomiting. She couldn’t possibly be serious. Lori had shared a few hours in bed with a stranger? And neither of them had used protection. “What if he had a disease, huh? Have you thought about that?”

“He told me he didn’t, and I believe him. His whole talk that night was on honesty and how freethinkers are released to be honest with others. I hardly think he would’ve lied to me.” Lori rolled her eyes and settled back into the pillow. “Besides, you always use something, so it’s not like you have to worry.”

“My girlfriend’s sleeping with some stranger, and it’s not like I have to worry?” Luke’s voice rose, and he had to stop himself from losing control.

“Stop, Luke.” She was awake now, composed and unashamed. “We agreed not to be exclusive, didn’t we?”

Luke slammed himself against the chair, closed his eyes, and let his head fall back. Not like he had to worry? What was she thinking? They might not have been married or even engaged, but they were living together. Didn’t that mean anything? And if she’d slept with this…this stranger so easily, who else had she been with?

“I can’t talk about it.” Luke stood and walked out of the room. Somehow he managed to find his car and drive back to the apartment, but all the while he couldn’t stop rehearsing the facts. First the argument with his father, and now this.

How could he stay with Lori if she was sleeping with other men? And why had he thought her ideas so grand in the first place? You couldn’t use freethinking as a cover-up for cheating on someone. Suddenly his future with Lori was precarious and uncertain. In fact, everything about his life felt that way, with the exception of one thing. Whatever his tomorrows might include, there was one thing they would never hold again.

Contact with his father, the man who until a year ago had been his closest friend.

R
EAGAN
D
ECKER FELT STRANGE
from the moment she woke up.

Her stomach hurt, but not with the tight feeling she got whenever she had light contractions. This was different, lower and more pronounced. And her lower back hurt, even though she couldn’t remember doing a thing to it.

Labor was an obvious possibility. It was the first of June, three weeks before her due date, but the doctor had said it could be anytime. Still, she’d talked with her mother about it after breakfast and she didn’t seem worried.

“You’ll know when it’s time.” Her mother had reached across the kitchen table and patted her hand. “True contractions can’t be mistaken for anything else.”

But the pain in her abdomen and the uneasiness that went along with it continued through the day and after dinner. Now it was seven o’clock, and the women from her mother’s bunco group were arriving. Most of them were church friends, well-off women in their late forties who Reagan had thought would be harsh and judgmental about her pregnancy. Instead the group embraced her, offered to take her to appointments if her mother was busy, and a week ago they’d held a baby shower for her.

“Love is about honor,” one of the women told her. “You’ve made a hard decision—a right decision. And by doing that you’ve honored your baby, your family, yourself, God. All of us, really.”

Reagan moved into the kitchen and mixed a pitcher of sweet tea. As the months passed, she realized what the women meant by
honor
. Though she and Luke had been wrong to give in to temptation, having the baby was the right decision. And anytime someone did the right thing, God was honored. Not just God, but everyone involved.

“It’s a benchmark of any relationship,” her mother explained. “Showing honor to others.” Tears had glistened in her eyes. “Your father treated me that way, always appreciating the good about me, taking time to make me feel special and wanted. It’s something we tried to do for you and your brother, and now…you can show that same honor to your baby.”

Reagan stirred the tea. A few scoops of ice and it would be ready. Those discussions about honor convinced Reagan to finally call Luke. If honor was truly the benchmark of any relationship, then she’d done a poor job with Luke. Running from him, ignoring his phone calls, pretending these past months that he didn’t exist…it all had been anything but honoring.

Since hearing about how he’d changed, Reagan could only wonder. Was it her fault? Had he become disillusioned about God, tossed out his beliefs and convictions, and wound up living with another woman because she hadn’t honored him? It was possible. No excuse existed for the way she’d behaved.

The voices in the next room were cheerful, and the conversation picked up. Reagan should join them, bring the tea and some glasses and pull up a chair the way she usually did when they played bunco. But the pain in her abdomen was worse, and she couldn’t take a full breath. She scooped the ice into the pitcher of tea, stirred it, and leaned against the counter.

Her head swam, and the walls swayed like flags in a summer breeze. She grabbed the kitchen sink. The porcelain was cold and the feel of it settled her.

Maybe she needed a glass of tea or water. Yes, water was bound to help. Dehydration could cause light-headedness and stomach pains, couldn’t it? What was it her doctor had said? Keep hydrated, drink lots of water in the weeks leading up to her delivery, right?

As she turned and reached up to take a glass from the cupboard, a pain ripped from her lower-right side, beneath her swollen abdomen. Then the pain doubled in intensity. Reagan cried out as she fell to the floor. “Mom! Help…me.”

Her energy faded, and she felt something warm and wet between her legs. Had her water broken? If so, what was the horrible pain sending shock waves through her body and down her legs? Was this a contraction? She forced herself to scream.
“Mom, come here!”

The kitchen door burst open. Her mother raced to her side, the other women close behind, all of them wide-eyed as they took in the sight of Reagan on the floor. “Reagan, dear, what happened?”

“I…don’t know.” Reagan curled into a ball and tried to breathe through the pain. If this was a contraction, shouldn’t the pain be easing? Instead the searing burning near her pelvic bone was getting worse. She squinted at her mother and shook her head. “I can’t…stand it.”

Before her mother could answer, one of the other women tugged on her arm and whispered something. Reagan couldn’t hear much over the pain screaming within her, but she caught a few words:
bleeding…emergency…ambulance.
The entire group of women sprang into action.

Someone found the kitchen telephone and called for help, while two of the women ran from the room and returned with a stack of linens. Reagan’s mother took a towel and laid it beneath her head; another one she pressed hard between Reagan’s legs at the place where she’d felt the warm liquid.

Nausea suffocated her, and dark spots flashed before her eyes. What was wrong? Why wasn’t the pain going away? “God, help me!” Reagan’s words were weak. She couldn’t have said them louder or with any more strength if she’d wanted to. Her energy was fading with every beat of her heart, and her next words were uttered without sound, in the most desperate part of her soul.
God…help. Don’t let anything happen to my baby.

The pain was terrible, and Reagan forced herself to think back. She’d attended childbirth classes with her mother, searched the Internet, and read everything she could find about having a baby. But nothing in all the literature she’d scoured had ever mentioned pain like this. And if she was bleeding…something must be terribly wrong, something that could mean trouble for her and her unborn son.

The black spots were coming together, making it hard to see, and the noises around her began to fade. “Mom…” Her voice was scratchy and low, too weak to do more than express the panic that had a grip on her throat.

Her mother squeezed her hand and leaned over her. Reagan could feel her presence, but she couldn’t see her, could barely hear her. “Pray, Reagan. Everything’s going to be okay.”

She wanted to nod, wanted to believe that somehow, yes, everything would be fine. But the pain was beyond bearable, and she began to fall into a soft, fuzzy hole with no sides and nothing to grab on to. No way out. Everything in her cried to let go, to give in and let herself fall, and finally she couldn’t fight the feeling. She closed her eyes and almost at the same time the pain eased.

Somewhere in the distance she heard sirens, but then, this was New York City. Manhattan. Sirens were always sounding somewhere. They couldn’t be for her because she was only taking a nap, lying on her bed in the midst of a most unusual sleep. And she must’ve been dreaming, because the voices surrounding her were not clear-cut but muted, blurred together, not quite understandable. Sounds that sometimes accompanied dreams.

Reagan heard her mother speaking, but the words didn’t quite make sense. Something about too much blood, and losing the baby or losing Reagan. The panic in her mom’s voice was so real Reagan decided maybe she should wake up, brush off the dream, and let her mother know that everything was okay.

But no matter how hard she tried, Reagan couldn’t lift her head, couldn’t even open her eyes. She frowned. Maybe she wasn’t dreaming; maybe she was in trouble. She wanted to pray but her mouth wouldn’t work, and she couldn’t remember the right words.

Quieter. Darker. More distant.

Reagan felt herself slipping further away from the sirens and voices and people gathered around her. The last thought she had was of Luke. He’d been her everything. The one she’d known she would marry. But somehow it had all gone wrong, and now she’d never see him again, never hold his hand or look into his eyes and tell him they had a son.

Worst of all she would never get to apologize for taking what had been so wonderful and somehow destroying it for both of them.

Landon Blake was at the station supper table when the call came in.

Pregnant woman hemorrhaging, one engine company, one paramedic team needed to an apartment complex east of Fifth Avenue. Another station was closer to the location, but those units were at a fire near one of the theaters. The call was a common one. Get to the scene, aid paramedics in the assessment and transport of the patient, and make the report.

Landon slipped into his turnouts and shouted across the station at his partner, Doug Phillips. Doug drove on-calls when the captain didn’t come. “Make time, will ya, Phillips. We’re ten blocks away, easy.”

Five of them rode the engine to the call, and little conversation took place as they sped toward the apartment. Minutes later they burst through the door and were greeted by a group of middle-aged women, each of them pale-faced and frantic. According to radio reports, the ambulance was at least a full minute behind.

Most firefighters were trained as EMTs, emergency medical technicians, and on this call Landon’s partner would get the nod. He was a medic, capable of handling any rescue.

“Where’s the ambulance? Are you with the ambulance?” A heavyset woman in a red sweater stepped forward. “She needs a doctor.”

“An ambulance is on the way.” Landon was first in the line of firefighters who had entered the apartment. “Take us to the victim.”

“This way.” The woman led them into the kitchen. More women were gathered there, squatted on the floor in a circle around a young blonde woman lying in a pool of blood.

Landon made a quick assessment. First, the woman was very pregnant and very young, not much older than a teenager. And second, she’d already lost too much blood. He directed the women away from the girl, clearing enough room for them to work.

At the same time, another woman stood and faced them. She was crying and her teeth chattered as she spoke. “I’m her mother.” Her words ran fast together. “She’s…she’s three weeks from her due date. Her stomach hurt today, but we didn’t think it was anything, and then she was making tea and she collapsed here on the floor and started bleeding, and…”

Landon’s partner took his position near the victim’s side and felt her pulse. “Weak and thready.” His words were too low for most of the people in the room to hear. But the urgency there was undeniable. “Possible ruptured uterus. We need to stop the blood.”

A pile of towels lay nearby, two of which were already soaked red. Landon grabbed a clean one and pressed it between the woman’s legs. It was then that he focused on her face, and the shock hit him dead center and almost knocked him back.

The victim looked like Reagan Decker, Luke Baxter’s girlfriend. The girl who had ridden the bus to Manhattan with Landon in the hours after the terrorist attacks. He narrowed his eyes. It couldn’t be her, could it? For one thing, Reagan wouldn’t be pregnant. Landon tried to remember what Ashley had said about her brother. He was struggling…hadn’t talked to Reagan, and something about his moving in with some wacky girl from school. Luke hadn’t talked to Reagan once since she moved back to New York.

Then maybe it wasn’t her; maybe it was a different tall blonde, one who looked like Reagan. He was about to ask her mother when his partner looked over his shoulder. “What’s the victim’s name, ma’am?”

The girl’s mother was shaking harder now, looking like she might pass out. “Reagan. Reagan Decker. She’s…she’s twenty years old.”

“Is there a husband, someone who should be called?”

“No.” The answer was quick—too quick. “There’s no one.”

Landon pushed the towel harder against Reagan, and his stomach lurched. The dates were coming together. If she was almost nine months pregnant, then she got pregnant before September 11. Either that or immediately afterward, and Landon doubted that was possible. Which meant that maybe—just maybe—the baby Reagan was carrying was Luke’s.

And Luke knew nothing about it.

Before Landon could give the matter another moment’s thought, paramedics burst into the room and took over. An immediate determination was made that Reagan was critical, perhaps fatally so. She’d lost too much blood, and despite their efforts she was still bleeding.

Landon stepped back and watched them lift her limp, pregnant body onto the stretcher and carry her from the apartment. Her mother stayed close behind, her voice tight and pinched as she rambled on about Reagan’s stomachache. “Because she had nothing wrong with her yesterday, and if something had been wrong yesterday, we would’ve taken her in right away. I mean, even with the blood this whole thing is strange because the doctor saw her a few days ago and told her she wasn’t dilated at all and…she’s going to be okay, right? I mean you can save the baby, right? Because…”

The group headed into the hall, leaving the firefighters, half a dozen women, and the terrible silence that always came in the wake of an emergency. Landon helped his partner pack up their equipment while the others from their engine company interviewed the women about what led up to Reagan’s collapse. Any information would be included in the final report.

Landon walked through the next five minutes without registering any of what was being said. His mind was on Reagan—and the fact that unless God breathed a miracle into her, odds were against her surviving. The baby had almost no chance at all. And what about Luke? If he was indeed the baby’s father, didn’t he have a right to know what was happening?