At First Sight - Nicholas Sparks [107]
The baby who had killed his wife.
Instead of heading to the nursery, he collapsed into one of the chairs in the waiting room again. He didn’t want to feel this way about the baby, knew he shouldn’t feel this way, but . . . Lexie had died in childbirth. In the modern world, in a hospital, that just didn’t happen. Where were the miracle cures? The made-for-television moments? Where in God’s name was any semblance of reality in all this? He closed his eyes, convincing himself that if he concentrated hard enough, he could wake from the nightmare that his life had suddenly become.
Doris eventually found Jeremy. He hadn’t heard her enter the room, but at the touch of her hand on his shoulder, his eyes flew open, taking in the swollen, tear-streaked wreck of her face. Like Jeremy, she seemed to be on the verge of breaking apart.
“Have you called your parents?” she said, her voice ragged.
Jeremy shook his head. “I can’t. I know I should, but I just can’t do it right now.”
Her shoulders began to shudder. “Oh, Jeremy,” she gasped.
Jeremy rose and wrapped his arms around her. They cried together, holding on, as if trying to save each other. In time, Doris pulled back and swiped at her tears.
“Have you seen Claire?” she whispered.
The name brought all his feelings rushing back.
“No,” Jeremy said. “Not since I was in the delivery room.”
Doris gave a sad smile, one that nearly crushed what was left of his heart. “She looks exactly like Lexie.”
Jeremy turned away. He didn’t want to hear that, didn’t want to hear anything about the baby. Was he supposed to be happy about that? Would he ever be happy again?
He couldn’t imagine it. What was supposed to be the most joyous day of his life had suddenly become the worst, and nothing in life could prepare someone for that. And now? Not only was he supposed to survive the unimaginable, but he was supposed to take care of someone else? The little one who had killed his wife?
“She’s beautiful,” Doris said into the silence. “You should go see her.”
“I . . . uh . . . I can’t,” Jeremy mumbled. “Not yet. I don’t want to see her.”
He felt Doris watching him, as if reading him through the fog of her pain.
“She’s your daughter,” Doris said.
“I know,” Jeremy responded, but all he could feel was the dull anger pulsing beneath his skin.
“Lexie would want you to take care of her.” Doris reached out to take his hand. “If you can’t do it for yourself, then do it for your wife. She would want you to see your child, to hold your child. Yes, it’s hard, but you can’t say no. You can’t say no to Lexie, you can’t say no to me, and you can’t say no to Claire. Now come with me.”
Where Doris found the strength and composure to deal with him, he was never certain, but with that, she took his arm and marched him down the corridor toward the nursery. He was moving on autopilot, but with each step he felt his anxiety growing. He was frightened at the thought of meeting his daughter. While he knew that the anger he felt toward her was wrong, he was also afraid that he wouldn’t be angry when the time came, and that seemed wrong as well—as if somehow that meant he could forgive her for what happened to Lexie. All he knew for certain was that he wasn’t ready for either possibility.
But Doris wouldn’t be dissuaded. She pushed through a set of swinging doors, and in the rooms on either side, Jeremy saw pregnant women and new mothers, surrounded by their families. The hospital buzzed with activity, nurses moving purposefully around them. He passed the room where the embolism had occurred and had to put a hand to the wall to keep from falling.
They passed the nurses’ station and rounded the corner, toward the nursery. The gray-speckled tile was disorienting, and he felt dizzy. He wanted to break free from Doris’s grasp and escape; he wanted to call his mother and tell her what happened. He wanted to cry into the phone, to have an excuse to let go, to be released from this duty. . . .
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