The Plan (2 page)

“And, did we come for lunch when you called?” Patrick asked, breaking his thoughts long enough to focus on Nora's dream.

“I called your name and you turned and looked at me and smiled. Then you went back to pushing the baby on the swing. I looked toward Callum and I noticed a crowd of children standing near his swing. They'd all been playing before, but now they were just standing in front of him, frozen and silent. One of them pointed at Callum and said something. Then, another child started to laugh. I looked at you, but you didn't see me. You just kept pushing Callum back and forth on the swing.”

Patrick put his hand on Nora's leg and gently began to rub it. He knew he shouldn't take his hand off of the steering wheel in this weather, but he had a feeling what was about to follow was not going to be good.

“Then, as if the children had seen something terribly frightening when looking at Callum, they started to scream. The girls began to cry and the boys started to yell, and they all started to run away from the playground.” Nora became silent and Patrick could see, out of the corner of his eye, she had tears running down her face. “I started to run towards you and the baby, to see what was the matter. What was scaring these children? You didn't turn. You just kept pushing the swing, as all the children screamed, pointed at our child, and ran.”

There was silence in the car for a moment. Patrick was almost too frightened to ask what happened next, but he did.

“And what did you see, love?” he asked softly. “When you got to the swing, what did you see?”

Nora began to sob softly. “There was nothing there. The swing was empty. You were pushing an empty swing.”

Patrick hesitated. It didn't make any sense. “But, you said earlier you'd seen Callum in the swing.”

Nora continued to cry as she reached into her handbag to grab a handful of tissues.

“I know,” she said, tears streaming down her face. “I'd seen the back of his head as you pushed. But, when I got closer, there was no one in the swing. It was empty.”

They rode in silence for a moment longer, until another labour pain grabbed hold of Nora, and she began to cry harder. Patrick was no longer sure if she was crying from the pain, or from the dream, or if the two were intermingled. To be perfectly honest, he suddenly felt like crying, too.

Get ahold of yourself,
he thought.
This is ridiculous. It was a dream.

Only a dream.
The words echoed in his mind. Hadn't he said that
same exact thing to himself years earlier.
Only a dream.
It hadn't turned out to be only a dream then. Would it now?

Patrick shook his head, to regain his composure. He could not allow himself to fall apart now. His son was about to be born, and hopefully not on this cold, wet road. They'd almost reached the hospital. Nora's pain slowed, and she began to speak again. “What do you think it means, Patrick? What's going to be wrong with our baby?”

Patrick was relieved to see, through the dense fog and rain, the sign for the hospital straight ahead.

“Look, Nora. We're here. Just a minute more and you'll be out of this car and headed up to deliver our son.”

Patrick carefully guided the car into the driveway and pulled in front of the main entrance.

“Nora, love,” he said softly, as he turned back toward her. “Listen to me.” With very deliberate, yet loving words, he said, “Our son is a blessing from God. A blessing, me love. I don't know what we have in store for us tonight. I don't know if he's going to be perfectly healthy or have a bit of a problem. But what I do know is that he's ours. Yours and mine. And he's been given to us as a gift. I am going to love Callum from the moment he enters the world until the moment I exit it. And whatever God puts on our plate, I'm ready to face it, with you by my side, because there is a plan for our lives, for Callum's life. I might not know what it is, but I know it is real and true and good.”

Nora's eyes remained closed, but Patrick saw a new tear slip from the corner of one eye.

“I love you, Nora. No child has ever had a father who loved his mother more. Whatever lies in store for us, we're going to face it together. Do you hear me?”

Nora nodded slowly, opened her dark eyes and looked deep into Patrick's blue ones.

“Now, can we please go inside and have this baby?” Patrick asked.

A small giggle escaped Nora as she nodded and said, “Yes, and please, let's hurry.”

•  •  •

Patrick rolled Nora into the front door of the hospital in the wheelchair he'd found outside. As he completed the necessary paperwork, Nora was whisked into a hospital room, and by the time he found her again, she'd changed into a gown and was being tended to by a nurse.

“It won't be long now,” the woman said to Patrick. She was a large woman, with an even bigger smile. “Are you ready to become a dad?”

Patrick returned the smile. “I've been waiting for this moment all of my life.”

“Then let's get the doctor in here,” she said, as she left the room.

Patrick walked over to Nora's bedside and took her hand in his.

Nora smiled, then began to grimace as the pain grew.

The doctor entered the room, as the pain in Patrick's hand, from Nora's iron-tight grip, began to truly sting. Behind the doctor were two nurses.

“I hear we're going to have a baby in a wee bit,” the doctor said, smiling.

“We're looking forward to it,” Patrick said, as Nora's grip lessened.

The doctor examined Nora.

“Well, it looks like you're ready to begin pushing. What I want you to do, Nora, is do your best to relax, and when you feel the next pain, I want you to push as hard as you can.” Nora smiled weakly. “And, if you want to call ol' Patrick, here, some terrible names, that's fine by me, too. I won't tell a soul.”

As soon as the doctor said his last word, Nora's grip on his hand tightened again and she began to cry out.

“You're doing great, Nora. That was a magnificent push,” the doctor said. “I can see his crown. He has hair as black as yours. You can do it. Push again.”

Nora arched her back and made a sound like none Patrick had ever heard.

“That's it, Nora. One more push. I see his shoulder. One more push and he'll be out.” The doctor's supportive voice was reassuring to both Patrick and Nora. The baby would soon be here.

Nora squeezed Patrick's hand one final time, cried out in agonizing pain and pushed. As Nora's scream ceased, a new one began in the room. But this was a tiny cry. A gentle wail that made both Nora and Patrick smile. It was the first sound of their child, and it was beautiful.

Patrick kissed Nora on the forehead and whispered softly, “You did it, me love.” She smiled gently back at him.

Then Patrick stood up straight and looked toward the doctor, hoping to catch a glimpse of his newborn son.

The doctor and nurses were whispering softly. Patrick hadn't noticed how quiet the room had become once the delivery was over. But now that he was paying attention, he realized it was silent. Even the baby had stopped crying.

“Is everything okay?” Nora asked. She, too, had noticed the change in the room. “Is my baby okay?”

The doctor and nurses appeared not to hear her. One nurse hurried out of the room. Nervous, Patrick started to walk toward them, eager for a glimpse of their child, and as the doctor, who had Callum in his arms, turned, Patrick caught sight of the baby and the room began to spin.

Patrick grabbed hold of the instrument table, and it began to roll away from him. The other nurse, the one who'd smiled at Patrick earlier, ran toward him and grabbed his arm, just as a number of doctors and nurses rushed into the room.

“Come with me, Mr. Fitzgerald,” she said gently. “Let's go out and get you some fresh air.”

Patrick wanted to look at Nora, but he found he couldn't. He couldn't
bear to see her face. And he couldn't bear to have her see his.
Would she see it in his eyes?
Instead, he nodded at the nurse, and followed her out of the room. He could hear Nora crying behind him.

“What's happening?” she begged. “Patrick! What's wrong? What's wrong with my baby?”

Patrick hated himself for doing it, but he let the door close behind him, and then he sank to the floor.

The nurse squatted down next to him, her hand on his back.

“Can I get you some water?” she asked.

“It's a boy, isn't it?” Patrick said dully.

The nurse nodded.

“He's missing an arm,” Patrick said. He could barely get the words out. It couldn't be true. Of course, his son had two arms. They'd seen them on the scan—hadn't they? But Callum didn't have an arm. Patrick was certain of it. He'd only caught a glimpse of the baby, but he was sure he'd seen nothing more than a stub where the limb should have been.

“He was born without an arm, wasn't he?” Patrick asked the nurse, pleading with his eyes for her to correct him. Silently begging her to tell him he was mistaken.

The woman took a deep breath and sighed. It was never easy to tell a parent something was wrong with their baby and fortunately, over the span of her career, she'd only had to do it a few times. It was a heartbreaking part of her job, but it had never been like this before. Even she couldn't believe it.

“I'm sorry, Mr. Fitzgerald, your son
was
born without an arm.” She lowered her eyes, as if she could no longer bear to see his pain. And he understood this. Sometimes, the pain of others was physically tangible in their eyes. He remembered the agony in his mother's eyes after his brother had died. It had hurt his chest to look at his mum from that day on. He'd thought nothing could hurt more than that
sadness, but he'd been mistaken. No trouble Patrick had experienced before prepared him for the torment that was about to come.

“And, I'm sorry to tell you this, Mr. Fitzgerald, but your son was also born without either of his legs.”

The sound was primal. Patrick had never heard such a low and guttural noise and for a moment, wondered how it could have risen out of him. He curled up into a ball, against the wall, and began to sob, convulsing in a burning pain more scalding than any fire. He wondered how he was going to tell Nora. And then, as he heard the agonizing scream pierce the hall, he knew he wouldn't have to.

Florida, 2010

“I'd better find three little munchkins in their beds,” Claire called out, as she headed up the stairs toward her kids' rooms.

She reached the top and turned into Luke's room, depositing, on top of his dresser, all the goodies she'd collected on her way up the stairs. He and his sisters could sort them by owner and put them away tomorrow.

She glanced at his bed, noticing it was empty, and bent down to straighten his
Stars Wars
sheets. The ten-year-old was a
Star Wars
fanatic. Claire blamed Jack for that. Their first date in college had been to the dollar theater to see
The Empire Strikes Back.
If that hadn't been a clear sign of things to come, she wasn't sure what was. And now that she had Luke, she even participated in it, up to a point, buying him not just
Star Wars
bedding, but Luke Skywalker, Chewbacca or Darth Vader costumes she found on clearance the day after Halloween. At last count, she'd purchased her thirteenth light saber. Who knew that something designed to be so powerful would have such difficulty withstanding the battles of a ten-year-old boy? Yes, Luke was his daddy through and through. And, with soft brown eyes, a row of freckles on his nose and legs that seemed to go on for miles, he also looked like a mini-version of Jack.

Claire paused to glance at a photo, tacked to the bulletin board, of the two men in her life. It'd been taken last summer. They were standing
on a fishing dock, Luke proudly holding up his catch—the first fish he'd ever caught by himself. It was miniscule—not big enough to keep—but he had a grin from ear to ear which was almost as big as the one his daddy wore. Jack had been so proud of his boy.

“Did you see the way he reeled that baby in?” he'd asked her, for the twentieth time that night as she was dressing for bed. “He's a natural fisherman. Just like his dad. Just like his granddad.”

Claire smiled, brushing her hair and inspecting her reflection in the mirror. At thirty-five, she had to admit she looked good for her age. With her thick, brown hair in a ponytail, which it often was, she was commonly mistaken for a teenager. She never tired of seeing the looks on people's faces when she told them that, not only did she have three children, but the oldest of them was ten! If the expressions of shock didn't make a woman feel good about her appearance, she didn't know what would.

“All you have to do is look at him to know he's got your DNA running through him,” she said, walking over to the bed and pulling her nightgown over her head. “Sometimes I wonder if any of mine got in there.”

Jack laughed and pulled her down next to him. “Oh, he's got a part of you in him, too, babe,” he whispered into her neck.

“Yeah?” Claire asked. “Where is it? His feet?”

“No,” Jack said, hugging her closer to him. “His heart. He's got the sweetest heart I've ever seen in a little boy. He practically cried when I took the hook out of the fish's mouth, asking if I was hurting him. He's got a heart as pure and gentle as his mama's.”

Claire smiled now, remembering the comment. It'd been just the right thing to say. Jack always seemed to know the right thing to say to make her feel special.

“Hmmm,” Claire said loudly, remembering she was supposed to be playing an impromptu game of hide-and-seek with her kids. “I don't see Luke in his bed. Where is he? Maybe he's in the closet?”

Claire grabbed two of the clean shirts that were stacked on Luke's desk chair, folded them and put them away in his drawer.