Vital Signs (3 page)

Her stomach rumbled, and she remembered she hadn't eaten since lunch, and then it had been a tuna sandwich gulped on the run.

“Look, Mom, can I call you in the morning? I've
just come home and I need to make some dinner. I'm starving.”

“You're always starving. God knows where you put it, although you could stand to gain a few pounds. In the right places, of course. You will give Laura a call, won't you?” Jean was nothing if not persistent. And
con
sistent. She'd been on about Hailey's weight, or lack of it, for years, as if the proper diet would pump up her boobs to a 36C and shorten her nose.

A wave of irritation washed over Hailey. She could probably tell her mother she was dying, and Jean would wonder what effect it was going to have on Laura. It had always
been
Laura, but then, in all fairness, Laura was the daughter who looked like Jean, whose values coincided with her own. They actually had serious discussions about things like leg waxing and facials and anti-aging cream.

Hailey wondered sometimes if the balance of attention would have been more even if her father had lived, but Ed Bergstrom had thoughtlessly died of a heart attack when she was eleven, leaving her alone with an alien species.

“I'm worried, Hailey. Do you think maybe she's sick or something and just doesn't want to tell us?”

“She's fine, Mom.” Hailey heaved an exasperated sigh. “She'd tell you if anything was wrong with her.”

But Hailey wasn't fine. She was starving, and her mother wasn't giving up. God, anything for a little peace and some food.

“Look, Mom, I'll call her. Not tonight, but soon.
And yes, I'll try to get her to talk to me about what's bothering her.”

She hung up and muttered in a sarcastic tone, “And how are
you,
Hailey? What's going on in
your
life? Any news about that adoption thing yet?”

The truth was, not much new was going on in her life, so maybe it was a good thing Jean didn't care enough to ask.

She didn't really believe that, Hailey admitted as she put water on to boil for pasta and found some fresh garlic and the jar of sun-dried tomatoes in the fridge, but it was some comfort.

It was better not to have Jean prying into her life, she told herself as she pulled wilted spinach out of the vegetable bin and tore it up for salad. What if she got on that kick again about finding Hailey a nice guy and getting her married off? Jean had driven her nuts about it there for a while two or three years ago. She'd tried to line Hailey up with the least likely candidates: loser sons of the people who worked with Jean in the doctor's office; patients, for God's sake; even a dentist Jean had gone to for a root canal. The dentist hadn't been bad in bed, but after a while Hailey got sick of hearing about molars and incisors and bicuspids, especially right after sex.

Thankfully Jean had given up.

Not that Hailey had done any better on her own. Her last date had been…when? She calculated in her head. It would be about six months ago now, and even at the time, she knew Norman Patino wasn't anybody's idea of an eligible bachelor. But he was
male and alive and breathing, and he'd shown some interest in her.

But then she'd gotten to know him better. Or worse. It was one thing for a guy to be overweight and balding—that she could overlook. After all, she was no beauty queen herself. But for him to also be arrogant, self-centered and downright cheap was too much even for somebody who was desperate.

And she
had
been desperate when she dated Norman, Hailey thought as she assembled her meal and sat down at the kitchen table to eat it. She'd been going through a spell when she wanted to get married and have a family so badly she was willing to compromise in all sorts of ways. But even she had limits. Norman bored her cross-eyed and expected her to pay for dinner once too often, and she'd finally realized she was worth more than the compromises she'd been making. It had been satisfying to dump him, and both maddening and sad to hear him blame the failure of their relationship totally on her. He'd accused her of being fussy, which would have been funny if it wasn't so damned sad.

The pasta was good, and she ate her way through a heaping bowlful and then a second. After she put the dishes in the sink, she checked her telephone messages. There was only one, and it made her smile with delight. It was from her paternal grandmother, Ingrid Bergstrom.

I
NGRID DIDN'T WASTE
time saying all the usual things like hello, how are you, even in a phone message. She simply started off where their last conversation had ended.

“So I went to the community center like I said I was going to, to register for that French course, but the lineup was a mile long, and there was another course being offered in belly dancing, so I signed up for that, instead. It's still multicultural, don't you think?” Ingrid giggled, the wicked, wild giggle that Hailey loved.

“Sam loves the idea,” Ingrid went on, “so now I'm going to buy myself some silk shawls and those things you use with your fingers—zills, I think they're called. Phone me when you get a chance. Maybe you could come for brunch tomorrow if you're still on that one-to-nine shift. Don't worry if it's late when you call. I've told Sam I'm staying up to read that last murder mystery you loaned me. Man, that woman can write.”

Among other things, Hailey had inherited Ingrid's voice. As she listened to her gran's husky tones move from one octave to another, she remembered once in school hearing her own voice on a tape re
corder and being astounded and thrilled because it was exactly like Gran's. It was the first time she'd ever liked anything about herself.

Hailey dialed the familiar number and Ingrid answered immediately.

“Hey, Haileybop, tell me what's going on over at St. Joe's. Any new patients?”

Ingrid loved hearing about Hailey's work. For several years now she'd been one of the volunteers who came to the newborn section to rock and cuddle babies.

Hailey gave her a rundown on the kids Ingrid already knew about, and then she told her about David.

“He's such a darling, Gran. Big blue eyes, black curly hair. He has a filthy stuffed dog he hangs on to for dear life.”

“I'll add him to my prayers, and when I'm at St. Joe's, I'll come up and visit him if you're on.”

“That would be great. How's Sam?” Hailey adored her step grandpa, who openly admitted he had trouble keeping up with his madcap wife. He was sixty-three, Ingrid seventy-two. They'd married five years before, to the utter horror of Sam's grown family, who considered Ingrid totally unsuitable.

“He's sound asleep. He just finished a catalog shoot for one of those hoity-toity men's stores. He says it was exhausting holding his gut in for so long, so finally he's joining my gym. I told him a long time ago he should. Lifting weights counteracts the force of gravity. It's helped keep my boobs firm,
what there is of them, and that's a not-so-minor miracle.”

Hailey giggled. Sam and Ingrid were her favorite people. They were also one of the few married couples she knew who were deliriously happy and had fun together every single day. She also strongly suspected they had sex every single day.

“I wanna be you when I grow up, Gran.”

“Just be yourself, darlin'. You're perfect just the way you are.”

It was a litany Ingrid had repeated to Hailey ever since she was a little girl. It had helped deflect Jean's disappointment in a daughter who lacked the physical beauty and graces that Jean believed were essential to a woman's success.

“So how's about brunch tomorrow? Can you make it?”

“I'd love to.”

“Come over when you get up. I want to try this new recipe for soy muffins.”

“You sure you don't want to go out somewhere? My treat.” Ingrid wasn't the world's best cook. In fact, she just might be the worlds worst. No one had died from her cooking yet, but sometimes Hailey thought it was a strong possibility.

“Nope. There's way too much sugar and fat in restaurant food.”

There was, but it was also edible.

“Okay, Gran, I'll be there about ten-thirty. Can I bring anything?” She added in a hopeful tone, “I can stop and get some of those cinnamon rolls from that little bakery on Fourth.”

“Nope, just bring your appetite. I'll make everything. See you in the morning. Sleep well, honey.”

“You too, Gran.” Hailey hung up. Talking to Ingrid made her feel as though everything was right with the world, and the feeling persisted as she showered in her decrepit bathroom and climbed into bed.

Her last thought was always for the children in her care at work, and she sent up a prayer for each and every one before she slipped into sleep, adding a special PS for David.

 

T
HE FOLLOWING MORNING
Hailey took one bite of Ingrid's soy muffins and tried her best to swallow, but it was a challenge. It was truly awful. Across the breakfast table she saw Sam smoothly transferring his own mouthful into his napkin. He raised an eyebrow and crossed his eyes when Ingrid wasn't looking, and Hailey had to stifle a giggle.

“Take another muffin and put some jam on it,” Ingrid suggested. “Maybe they need a bit of sweetening.”

Nothing was going to improve those babies, Hailey thought. “I'll just have more of the fruit salad, thanks, Gran.” She loaded her bowl.

“So what's going to happen to this little David, then? Will he go into foster care?” Ingrid took a bite of her own muffin, chewed doggedly for several moments, swallowed with difficulty, then went to the cupboard and found a box of crackers.

“Maybe I should have put the eggs in,” she mused. “I figured the muffins would turn out just as
good without, but they're a bit on the heavy side.” She offered the crackers to Sam and Hailey. “I cut down on the butter, too. That's probably what did it.”

“So what did you leave in, sweetheart?” Sam kept a straight face, but his brown eyes were dancing. His thick, white hair shone, his strong, craggy features were tanned a golden brown, and if he had a paunch, it certainly wasn't evident beneath his navy tracksuit. It was easy to see why he was so much in demand as a mature male model.

“The soy flour, of course. I told you, they're soy muffins.”

Hailey and Sam burst into laughter. Ingrid was infamous for changing recipes, and her experiments were always disastrous, but she never gave up. The wonderful thing about her was that she could laugh at herself, as she was doing now.

When Hailey looked at her grandmother, she saw her own face as it would be when she was seventy-two, filled with laugh lines and character. Ingrid was a handsome woman, and Hailey had inherited her tall, lanky body, her square face, even her red hair. Ingrid's was nearly all white now, and what was left of the red had turned rusty, but it still stood out around her head in an incongruous halo of springy, incorrigible curls. The only features Hailey had inherited from her mother's side were what she called her canine eyes.

Ingrid's were a deep green, while Hailey had Jean's toffee color.

“So forget the muffins. I'll get it right the next
time. What about this latest patient of yours, that little David you told me about?”

Sam and Ingrid listened closely as Hailey told them everything she knew about him, which wasn't much. “The Department of Social Services and the courts will decide what eventually happens to him,” she explained. “He'll probably go into foster care as soon as he's released from St. Joe's, unless some relative comes forward and offers to care for him.”

“And we all know that's not very likely,” Ingrid said with a sigh. “There's so many babies around that nobody seems to want I can't see why they're taking so long to find one for you, honey.”

Ingrid and Sam had eagerly offered to baby-sit their great-grandchild when Hailey finally became a mother. Like Hailey, Ingrid had had little opportunity to get to know Laura's kids, and Hailey figured it probably had a lot to do with her mother. Jean was proprietary about Christopher and Samantha, and because she and Ingrid had never gotten along, it was a safe bet Jean would do her best to keep her beloved grandchildren out of the clutches of the person she'd long ago labeled her dipstick of a mother-in-law. It was easy to see why Frank and Jean got along so well, with vocabularies that contained labels like dipstick and whacko.

Although Sam had three grandchildren, there were problems in his family, too. His son and daughter had united in doing everything they could to keep him from marrying Ingrid, and they still hadn't quite forgiven him for not bowing to their wishes.

He'd married his first wife in his early twenties.
She died when he was fifty-five, and six months later he quit his job as an engineer and began a new career as a model, something he'd always wanted to try. When he began dating Ingrid, his children were aghast; she was the total opposite of what their mother had been.

“I could have a child immediately if I agreed to take one with severe mental or physical handicaps,” Hailey said. “I've really considered it, but I see kids like that at work and I know how much time, energy and money it takes to deal with their special needs. I've thought it over carefully, and I just don't think I could manage alone.”

Ingrid nodded. “I think you're wise to give it a lot of thought. A child isn't something you can return to the store for a refund if it doesn't work out.”

Sam reached across and put his hand over Hailey's, his brown eyes brimming with kindness and affection. “When the time is right, exactly the right little girl or boy will be there for you.”

“And the right guy, too,” Ingrid said in a decisive voice. “Just remember, they take long enough to show up sometimes. After your grandfather died, I never dreamed I'd meet anyone I wanted to live with again. I certainly didn't go out looking, but Sam came along, anyway. You recall, Hailey, I wouldn't even let him get to first base for the longest time.”

Sam rolled his eyes and Hailey hooted. She happened to know that Ingrid had gone to bed with Sam on their third date.

“But eventually you caved,” Sam said. “Stubborn bloody woman. I knew from the first time I
laid eyes on you that we were meant for each other, but would you listen?” His voice was gruff and tender, and he gave Ingrid a look that made Hailey feel lonely, but also reconfirmed that there were people who truly cared for one another.

As she drove to work that day, Hailey thought about Ingrid and Sam. Was love preordained? Did two people really come together at a certain point in their lives in spite of their own plans, in spite of themselves?

An old, deep longing made her chest ache. She'd pretty much managed to convince herself that the relationships in her life weren't likely to be the male-female variety. It wasn't that she believed any longer that she was ugly, the way she had as a teenager. In her twenties she'd come to terms with the way she looked, and she'd had her share of dates, but she'd also come to understand that her feeling of alienation from men went much deeper than physical appearance.

Maybe it came from growing up in an all-female household, with a mother who put all her emphasis on beauty and wasn't able to conceal her disappointment at having a daughter who didn't look the way she wanted her to look. Or maybe it had to do with losing her father and not trusting any guy to stay around for the long haul.

Hailey had no illusions as to why she'd chosen pediatric nursing as a career. With children, there were no expectations. With them she could let loose the full force of her madcap personality, truly be the person she was usually too self-conscious to reveal
around adults. And pediatric nursing, more than any other career choice, offered the opportunity to hold children close, to care for them, to love them, to make them feel better in any and every way she could devise.

She loved her work. There were times when it was painful, when children couldn't get well and her job was simply to help them die. There were times when she was physically sick from the emotional strain of letting go and saying goodbye. But even then, she never thought for one moment of doing anything else.

But—and it was a but that she managed not to think about most of the time—there was still the dream that every woman had. She wanted the kind of love that Ingrid had found with Sam, and because she was young, Hailey wanted even more. She wanted to know how it felt to carry a living being inside her, to give birth to a baby conceived in passion, to watch and listen to that precious soul as it grew. She wanted to share that experience with a man who felt the way she felt, who wanted what she wanted.

During the past year she'd decided it was time to give up that dream. It was time to compromise. There were children who desperately needed a mother, and she could do that. She'd considered going to a donor bank and having a baby, but she'd come to the conclusion that she had the capacity to love any child. It seemed a waste to grow one of her own when there were babies out there ready-made
whose parents didn't want them or couldn't care for them.

She made her way up to the ward. Ordinarily she worked a twelve-hour, seven-to-seven shift, but this week she was filling in on her days off so a friend could go to Mexico. The eight-hour shift gave her a little break from routine.

The first thing Hailey did was check the charts to see how her patients had fared since she'd last seen them.

David had cried off and on all night, but today he was drinking a little more of the clear fluids he needed. A quick survey of his room showed Hailey he was sleeping.

Brittany Whitcomb had had chemo that morning, and Hailey went to check on her next. She was curled into a ball on her bed with the sheet and blanket pulled over her head, and Hailey could tell she was crying.

“Hey, sweetie, how goes it? You feeling crappy?”

There was a tiny nod from under the covers.

“Let's try to figure out what would help. There's ginger ale here—want a sip?”

Negative shake.

Hailey checked the chart. “You've had your anti-nausea meds, so can't offer you any more of that junk. How about if I sing to you?”

Negative shake.

“Darn, I keep hoping one of you guys will miss the fact that I can't carry a tune to save my life.” Rhythmically and tenderly she rubbed Brittany's
small, thin back through the covers. “So how about a story?”