Two Weeks (The Baxter Family #5)(28)

The most genuine smile took over Brooke’s face. “She talks a little slower than you and me, but Hayley is perfect. She is cognitively aware of all things. She can even ride a bike. Something my dad prayed for every day.”

“Wow.” Lucy sat back and folded her arms. “I had no idea.” She felt herself opening up a little more. If Brooke could talk like this, she could, too. “I was sitting here thinking how I hate talking about our infertility. How it makes something so intimate between Aaron and me feel like a science experiment. And how it makes me feel inadequate as a mother. Like there’s something wrong with me.”

Brooke allowed a single nod, her eyes never leaving Lucy’s. “I thought you might be feeling that way. You’ve been different this past week. Quieter.” She took hold of her cup with both hands and sipped her drink. “Everyone has a story. Peter and I, we nearly lost our marriage over what happened to Hayley. But we clung to God and fought through.” She smiled again. “Next week is our anniversary.”

Lucy never dreamed they’d have so much in common, such hurt and insecurity about raising a family. She needed to be even more transparent. “A few weeks ago Aaron and I decided . . . we decided to stop trying.” The words sounded strange. Lucy set her elbows on the table and linked her fingers. “We’ll still be intimate. Of course. But no more ovulation tests and cutting out sugar and chasing after in vitro fertilization. I’m exhausted.”

“I get that.” Brooke waited, like she was being careful in choosing her words. “Aaron said the two of you . . . have been asking God for a baby for a long time.”

A sigh slipped silently through Lucy’s lips. She didn’t want to talk about this piece of it. How God impacted their situation. Or how He didn’t. “If God’s a part of all this, then He doesn’t want us having kids.” Lucy tried to cover up her anger, but her efforts didn’t work. “We’ve talked to Him a thousand times, and His answer is always the same. If He’s even listening.”

Brooke’s smile faded, but her expression filled with understanding. “I’ve been there.” She looked out the window for a long moment and then back at Lucy. “I used to stand by Hayley’s bed and beg God for her to come back. That I’d hear her little voice and laugh and see those eyes. Fully there. Fully my little girl.”

Tears blurred Lucy’s vision. She didn’t say anything. What could she say?

“Eventually God did bring her back to me. Different, but still my little girl.” A lightness lifted Brooke’s sorrow. “God heard me. He was there. He carried us through those times, I have no doubt.”

Sad as Brooke’s story was, Lucy had heard this sort of talk about God before. Someone else’s experience wasn’t about to push her to believing God cared. Or even that He was real.

Their break was just about up. Brooke stood and Lucy did the same. They tossed their empty cups in the trash and walked to the elevator. “I’m glad you and Aaron agree, about taking time off from trying.”

“Yes.” Lucy still didn’t like talking about it. But she enjoyed Brooke’s friendship more than she’d known before this afternoon. “It’s only February. Six months from now we might feel differently. I just need a rest. So Aaron and I can be us again.”

Brooke smiled as she pushed the elevator button for labor and delivery. “Sounds like a good plan.”

When they reached the nursery, they both cleaned their hands. Then Brooke made her rounds and Lucy checked on each infant in the ward. They were all well. Warm and getting whatever they needed while they were here. For the most part, healthy babies waiting to be reunited with their mothers.

This section of the nursery was the holding area for newborns who needed a little extra heat or light or medical care. Most of them stayed here less than twenty-four hours. Then they would join their moms in a regular maternity ward hospital room—at the other end of the sixth floor adjacent to labor and delivery.

But since the maternity ward also had a neonatal intensive care unit, Lucy and her peers spent most of their time with very sick babies. The NICU, as they called it, was for infants like Nathan. Children born addicted to drugs or premature or with some other sort of medical condition.

Lucy made her way to check on Nathan. His bassinet was near the front. Two other babies with difficulty breathing were in oxygen tents. But because of his gestational age, Nathan was the most critical infant in the ward.

For a few minutes Lucy put her hand on the edge of his bed and just watched him. True, his lungs were strong. But they still labored with a series of machines for every inhale. The thing with this preemie was his will to keep taking that next breath. Like he was aware of what was happening and he was determined to grab on to life. Never let go.

She would love to know who this little one was going to be when he grew up. Probably climb mountains or cure cancer or run for president. If he could get through this, he could get through anything.

Brooke’s story came back to her. All this time she’d been thinking she wasn’t enough, that she was incomplete because she couldn’t get pregnant. And here Brooke Baxter West was carrying around the reality of her daughter’s drowning. Everyone was dealing with something. Brooke was right. Everyone had a story.

But that didn’t make Lucy’s story with Aaron any less sad. No one had tried more to have a child than they had. She took the rocking chair next to Nathan’s small bed. A dozen monitors told them whether his heart rate was at a safe level and his blood pressure was enough to sustain life. Whether he was keeping up the fight.