50 Harbor Street - Debbie Macomber [106]
But she stopped smiling as the pain overcame her. She lay back on the pillow and closed her eyes, trying hard to let her body flow with the contraction instead of fighting it. Cathy started counting off the seconds in a slow, even tone.
With Allison, Cecilia had labored for nearly fifteen hours in a room by herself, with only a nurse to check on her from time to time. When Allison was born, her cry had been weak and barely audible.
By contrast, Aaron Jacob Randall made his appearance ten hours after Cecilia had entered the hospital. He gave a loud, lusty squall as he was born, pink and perfect. He didn’t like the bright lights and made sure everyone in the room heard about it. Nor did he appreciate having a suction tube stuck up his nose.
“He’s certainly got a good set of lungs,” Cathy said, squeezing Cecilia’s hand. Tears streamed down her face and Cecilia’s, too—tears of joy. She strained to see her son.
“What about his heart?” she pleaded. “Is his heart okay?”
The attending physician smiled over at her. “He looks just fine, but we’ll run all the tests and let you know right away.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, exhausted.
“You did so well,” Cathy said, brushing the wet tendrils from Cecilia’s forehead. “You were incredible—no epidural or anything.”
“I’m exhausted.”
“Sleep,” Cathy urged. “I’ll take care of letting everyone at your office know. Plus Carol and Rachel.”
“Thanks. Sleeping certainly won’t be a problem.” Already her eyes were drifting shut. After a few minutes, Cecilia was hardly aware of the activity going on around her. She knew Aaron had been placed in a tiny bed in her room and was sleeping at her side, swaddled in a pale blue blanket with a blue knit cap on his head.
Cecilia wasn’t sure what time it was when she woke. Her first thought was that she’d given birth to her son. She’d so badly wanted Ian with her, but that hadn’t been possible. Slowly she opened her eyes and discovered that her son’s tiny crib was empty. Half-raising herself, braced on one elbow, she saw her husband sitting beside the bed, cradling Aaron in his arms.
Cecilia blinked, afraid her imagination and desire had conjured him up. “Ian?” she tried tentatively.
He glanced at her and Cecilia saw that his eyes were bright with tears.
“It is you. Oh, Ian, Ian, I can’t believe you’re here. How…when?” Her tongue kept tripping over itself in her happiness.
Her husband gave her the brightest smile she’d ever seen. “The George Washington had a transport that was headed home. The chaplain talked to my CO after I learned you’d gone into labor. I don’t know what he said or did, but he got me on that transport.”
One day Cecilia would personally thank him.
“So this is our son,” Ian said, gazing at Aaron. The baby wrapped his tiny hand around Ian’s finger and held on. “He’s perfect,” Ian whispered, nearly overcome with emotion. “I talked to the pediatrician and she put Aaron through a test they do on newborns—the Apgar, it’s called—and he scored a ten.”
Cecilia sighed, relieved and grateful.
“I’m holding our baby,” her husband said in awe. “Our Aaron.”
Ian had never gotten the opportunity to hold Allison. “I’m so sorry I didn’t make it for the labor,” he told her.
“Next time,” she assured him.
Ian’s head came up. “Next time?” he repeated.
“Aaron needs a little sister, but we’ll talk about that later.”
Her husband grinned. “Aye, aye, Captain. At your service.”
Forty-Three
It was Saturday afternoon. Allison Cox walked out of the JCPenney store in the Silverdale Mall with two of her best friends, Kaci and Alicia. The St. Patrick’s Day displays were still up and the entire mall was decorated with an Irish theme. She was joking and laughing with her friends, having a good time, when she heard her name.
“Hey, Allison.”
She stopped abruptly when she saw Anson, shocked that he’d spoken to her. He wore the same long black coat, noticeably shabbier now. His hair was messy and his boots untied. He didn’t look good. And normally