She can’t be the fucking baby nurse.
“Hi,” she says in barely a whisper. “I’m Sam.”
She extends her right hand and I grab hold of it. Her cool, soft hand closes slowly around mine and she pumps up and down.
“Hi, Sam. I’m Garrett.” I’m lost in her eyes and I can’t stop shaking her hand. She blinks hard as if trying to snap me out of my temporary paralysis, and she snatches her hand away from mine.
“Let’s go someplace where we can talk,” she says as she brushes past me again. Her vanilla scent leads me. The only thing I want to do right now is pull her into my bedroom down the hall. Completely inappropriate response.
She walks past my room and down the front staircase. I suddenly forget about Peggy and the baby, and I pick up speed, bounding down the stairs two at a time.
She disappears into the library where I join her. She closes the door behind me and sits on the large leather sectional.
“I’m sure you have a lot of questions for me. Now is your chance before things get really—hectic,” she says and crosses her legs. I notice she’s wearing tight yoga pants that are rolled at her hips. She has tiger-striped ankle socks on and a loose fitting V-neck tee-shirt. Her brown hair is long, past her shoulders and curly. Very curly.
“What?” I ask.
A look of disgust snaps me out of the fantasy I’m about to let play out in my mind.
“Questions. Now’s the time to ask because he won’t be asleep much longer.”
“I don’t think I have any,” I say and smile.
“Okay, so I guess I’ll start.”
She shifts on the couch, moving her legs so she’s sitting cross-legged.
“I’m Samantha Weston, Peggy’s niece. I’m a neonatal intensive care nurse, and I’ve seen all kinds of sick babies in my career. I’ve only been a practicing nurse for about two and a half years, but I’ve gained a ton of experience in that time. Your son, Kai, has Neonatal Abstinence Syndrome. As you know, he was exposed to a variety of illegal drugs and narcotic substances. The withdrawal from these drugs is causing him great distress.” She looks into my eyes and nods.
I nod back, letting her know that I’m listening. Reality is setting in as this gorgeous woman tells me all about my very sick son. I hear all of the words she’s saying very crisply, but her lips seem to move in slow motion. A weight begins to pull in my chest, and I lean back in the wing chair that I’m currently sitting in.
“Stop,” I say, and she looks confused. “I don’t think I can hear any more of this.”
“Mr. Armstrong, you have to hear it. Because you’re about to live it.”
She tells me all about his feeding and other issues that he has. His high-pitched crying is mentioned again, and I don’t understand why this is so important that both she and Peggy have mentioned it multiple times. She explains that the best care for him right now is tactile care. We need to be very hands-on and let him know that someone is always close. Swaddling him tight is also important so he feels safe. What’s swaddling?
When Peggy talked me into this situation, I didn’t expect that I’d need to be hands-on. Why did I hire Sam to begin with if she’s going to expect me to be involved?
“I think there’s some mistake,” I interrupt her again, and she shoots me the same disgusted look she did just minutes ago.
“I’m sorry?” she asks.
“When I agreed to do this, Peggy assured me that you would have everything under control. I wasn’t expecting to be too involved.”
I’m glad I got that off my chest. I hope this clears the air.
She stands up and walks toward me. “Are you kidding me?” She scowls and now I can see the resemblance to Peggy. She smirks and says, “Let me get this straight. You thought that Peggy agreed to let me do everything while you ignored the fact that you have a son upstairs who needs his father?” Her arms are folded across her chest.
“Well, the way you say it makes me sound like an ass. But yeah, I didn’t expect that I’d be involved in Kai’s rehabilitation. I just found out about him the other day. I’m no more of a father than you are a mother.”
Wow, now I sound like a complete asshole.
Her face contorts and her cheeks turn bright red. “Mr. Armstrong, I swear to God, you’re lucky that I love my aunt more than life itself because—”
A piercing scream comes from behind her, and she turns quickly to grab what looks like a walkie-talkie from the couch. She turns the volume down, but the screams are high-pitched, sharp and shallow.
“What the hell is that?” I ask as dread sets in.
“That’s your son, Kai.” She opens the library door and darts up the stairs.
I remain glued to my seat as his cries travel down the stairs and pierce through my heart. He sounds like he’s in so much pain, like he’s being stabbed over and over again. It’s the most awful sound I’ve ever heard. Worse than hearing my own mother cry.
My son is crying and I’m powerless.
Sam
Past
Villanova, Pennsylvania
Age 15
“SAM, WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?” Cassie’s voice rattles through my head as I pull the phone away from my ear.
“My Dad is going to take me to the party after dinner.” I pause and wonder what the important discussion they need to have with me is all about. When I got home from school today, there was a note on the board from my mother.
Don’t go anywhere tonight until your father and I
have had the chance to talk to you.
No worries – it’s all good! See you for dinner!
X’s & O’s
~ Mom~
“What time will you be done?” she whines, and I know she’s excited about tonight. Brad Mitchell is going to be there and Cassie has a huge crush on him. “What are you wearing?”
“Dinner should be ready in about five minutes, and I’m wearing a bathing suit, you dope. It’s a pool party.” I shake my head as I hold up the striped bikini that my mother says reminds her of some chewing gum she loved when she was younger. Fruit Stripes, I think.
“What are you wearing over your bathing suit? I need help accessorizing! Ugh!” She’s frantic, and I know what my closet would look like if she were actually here getting ready with me.
“My white pullover and platform Steve Maddens.”
“No! Absolutely not! The last time you wore those shoes, you wound up falling flat on your face in the mall. I cannot let you take your life into your hands like this. Please just wear flip-flops, or better yet, sneakers. You’re a klutz, Sam.”
I giggle and dismiss her worry. “Just stop. You know I only wear sneakers for gym.”
“It’s your funeral, sister. Now hurry up and eat and I’ll meet you there by eight!” She hangs up and I rush to get dressed. After putting on my bikini, I slip the white cover-up-dress over my head. It falls about mid-thigh, and once I step into my Steve Maddens, I’m almost as tall as my father. I arrange my curls to cascade around my face and grab my Chapstick. It drives Cassie nuts that I never wear makeup. I usually only use Chapstick and sometimes mascara for a special occasion.
“Sam, dinner’s ready!” Mom calls from the bottom of the stairs. I start to move toward the door when I slip and almost turn my ankle. I chuckle out loud and slide out of my shoes, bending down to swipe them from the floor.