The Baby Connection

Maybe she would send a quick get-well text. She’d tried when she first saw the news, but hadn’t been able to get through.

Shifting the baby slightly, she reached her purse, then her phone. She had to turn it on, since she’d had it off in the hospital. She was startled to see she’d received a text from Noah.

Hope soaring, she clicked it.

Nt sure whr I’ll end up. I kno ull do great. I wish u evry happiness. N.

That was his response to the baby? I’m in the wind.

Good luck, be happy.

She felt…abandoned…alone…lost…and so very hurt.

Get a grip, chica. What did she expect? She’d said she didn’t want anything from him, so he’d only stated the obvious. They were both getting on with their lives. They wished each other well.

But how it hurt. Waves of lonely pain washed through her. She wanted him to care. She wanted him to come. She wanted him to wrap his arms around her and tell her it would be okay.

She scrunched up her face to keep from bursting into foolish tears. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Had to be a postpartum hormone dump, right? Mel was a sensible, sturdy and self-reliant woman, dammit. She and her mother and Daniel were plenty enough to make a wonderful family and an amazing life.

She looked at her sleeping boy to remind herself it was true. He had a mass of curly hair and a tiny dimple in his left cheek. Above one ear was a pale, but unmistakable beauty mark. Just like Noah. She had to laugh.

The bittersweet truth was that even if she never saw the man again, Noah would be with her every day of Daniel’s life.

One year later

Albuquerque, New Mexico

“I’LL BE THERE AS SOON AS I can, Eleanor. Don’t worry,” Noah told his mother over the phone, running a towel across the battered bar of Jake’s Hut. A patron entered, backlit, so Noah couldn’t tell if it was a man or woman. Either one would want a drink. “Got to work now. Enjoy your trip. I’ll handle Grandma fine.”

He hung up and sighed, shifting his weight to ease the strain on his bad leg. He’d told his mother he’d go to Phoenix to help his grandmother transition to an assisted-living place and empty out her home for the new buyers. His mother could have canceled her cruise and done it herself, but she and her mother fought like cats and dogs, so Noah’s help was a good solution.

Nothing held him in New Mexico. Or anywhere else, for that matter.

He would get a job in Phoenix, since he was cash-strapped. He hoped to start reporting soon. He’d only recently been able to read an entire newspaper without losing focus. And he was still having nightmares and migraines.

“Noah? Jesus. What are you doing here?”

Instantly, Noah recognized the voice behind him. The backlit customer was none other than his friend Paul Stockton. Dread sank in him like a boulder in a lake. He figured he’d see the guy in Phoenix, but he’d have time to get his story nailed down. He forced a smile, then turned to face his friend. “Serving you a drink, looks like. What’ll it be?”

“Draft… Whatever’s on tap…” Paul sounded stunned.

“You got it.” While he filled the glass, Noah steadied himself, so that when he pushed the beer forward, his smile was decent. “So what brings you to Jake’s Hut?” The ancient bar was well off the beaten track.

“I’m speaking at a seminar at the college. Someone recommended this place. How did you end up here? You dropped off the map. I called National Record and they said you’d quit.”

“They wouldn’t run my story.” Despite his brain’s deficits, he’d pecked out an apology about his foolhardy quest for bloody headlines, damn the human cost. Hank called it self-indulgent moralizing and refused to print it.

He’d probably been right.

“Truth is, the head injury made it hard to think or write. I was deadweight.” The first months his speech had been so faulty, he couldn’t deal with the phone. Email gave him time to look up words, but wore him out. Mostly, he preferred to be alone.

“You’re better now?”

“Getting there.”

“You broke bones, too, right?”

“All healed up.” His arm and leg were still stiff in the morning, coughing hurt his ribs and he would always limp. But he was alive and kicking, unlike Reggie Fuller.

“Well, you look good,” Paul said, clearly lying.

“I look like shit. It’s a hangover,” he said, not wanting to get into the truth—he’d had a flashback the night before, waking up crouched beside the bed, trembling and sweating, the echoes of gunfire in his head, the smell of motor oil and blood in his nose. He’d numbed himself to sleep with tequila, so he was hungover on top of that.

The flashbacks weren’t as bad as the nightmare—he remembered every detail of the nightmare. In it, he was carrying a wounded man to safety, while soldier after soldier got shot between the eyes, dropping dead so that he stumbled over their bodies, until he looked down and saw he held a machine gun, realizing to his horror, that he’d been the one mowing down the men. Every time he had the nightmare, the horror hit just as hard.

The flashbacks happened less often. At first, he’d had them even in the daytime, triggered by sudden noises or quick movements—even smells. In crowds, he’d start sweating and shaking, his heart beating so fast he thought he might black out.

The doctor he’d seen when his leg flared had prescribed an anti-anxiety med, but Noah wasn’t willing to fog his brain any more than it already was. He coped day-to-day. Small spaces and dark rooms still sent his pulse pounding, but he could fight it off better every day that passed.

“So you’re bartending now?” Paul was clearly trying to hide his bafflement.

“Here, yeah. In Denver, I sold newspaper ads. I washed cars in Sacramento, parked them in Vegas. Whatever got me grocery money.”

“But no reporting?”

“Soon, I hope.” Besides, needing time for his brain to heal, he’d needed some soul-searching about the grievous harm his single-minded drive for copy-inches had caused. The thought sent a wash of shame through him. It always would. Steady, man. “How’s the family?” He dispensed seltzer over ice from the gun to wet his dry throat.

“Great. Cindi’s pregnant again. Surprise! Never take birth control for granted, bro.” He gave a sheepish smile. “It’s wild this time. She’s had morning sickness from day one and Princess Emma, three-and-a-half going on fifteen, has started acting out big-time.”

“Of course. Her kingdom’s under siege.” Jesus. Another kid to raise and worry about and send to college. “But you two were born to be parents.”

“No one is, trust me. It’s on-the-job training. Day one, they let you walk out of the hospital with this innocent being who depends on you for everything. You’ll see.”

“You know me better than that.” He couldn’t imagine a less-likely fate.

“One day, you’ll get your gills caught in some poor girl’s net and she won’t have the sense to toss you back.” He was joking like the old days, but his tone was faint. He was clearly disturbed by Noah’s condition, which made Noah realize he maybe wasn’t as improved as he’d imagined.

“You’re catching me on a bad day. I’m in good shape. In fact, I’m headed to Phoenix to help my grandmother get moved. I need a job if you know of anything.”

“Yeah? I bet I could get you on as an adjunct professor.”

“I’m the last person you want teaching J school.”

“It would be a coup to have you.” Paul stopped as though sensing Noah’s resistance, and because he was a good friend, letting it go. “Public affairs needs writers for the web, I think. I’ll check the in-house postings. Where will you stay?”

“Camping at my grandmother’s place out in Apache Junction until I get it emptied out, then renting somewhere, I guess.”

“That’s way the hell out there. Why don’t you stay in our guesthouse?”