Against the Odds (Fighting to Survive #2)(13)

An older man walks in first and is followed by a tall, dark-haired younger man. The younger man is in protector mode. I have seen this stance and look many times on Robert. His wife and daughter are behind him, although I can’t see either of them. He stops and his wife stands to his side. I recognize her from the bookstore. They look around the room and I know they are looking for their daughter, our Jamie. My stomach does another flip at the thought. Surely the hospital would have informed them of Jamie’s death. She is holding a gift in her hands. A little girl with hair, black as night, peers around from behind the man. She is holding his hand with both of hers. Robert squeezes my hand and I know he is looking at her, too. She is the same little girl who was in the bookstore a few weeks ago. I didn’t notice it then, but I see it now. She looks like Robert and me. She has olive-color skin, deep-set dark eyes, and black hair. She looks frightened as she looks around the room. Her eyes lock on mine and she give me a slight smile and small wave. She remembers me from the bookstore. I smile slightly and wave back cautiously.

Robert leans into me and asks, “Do you know her?”

“No, but they frequent the shop,” I whisper. “One book they bought was The Animal Family by Randall Jarrell with illustrations by Maurice Sendak. One of its themes is that you don’t need to be biologically related to be family; you can make your own family out of the people — and animals, and in the book, a mermaid — around you.”

“You can remember the book they bought?”

“It’s a gift I have; I remember which books people buy or look at,” I say, without taking my eyes off of the little girl.

Robert

I stare at the little girl and I am amazed that she looks so much like me and Leah. Someone instructs all of us to sit down at the table and we do.

We are introduced to Drake and Chelsea Sinclair and their daughter, Madison. Leah keeps one of her hands placed on her belly and holds my hand with her other one.


“We understood that both girls would be present here today,” Drake says.

“We sent you several certified letters explaining and they were all returned,” an older man says as he holds up several manila envelopes.

“Explaining what?” Chelsea asks.

I watch as the guys at the table look at each other. Leah speaks up softly and says, “I’m sorry, but there was an accident….”

“Oh, God, no,” Chelsea cries.

I wrap my arms securely around Leah’s shoulder and tuck her firmly to me. I’m anticipating harsh words and anger coming from Drake. I can see a twitch in his jaw, a sure sign that a man is upset. I watch as Drake tries to console his wife, but it doesn’t work. The attorney for the Sinclairs says, “We spoke about this meeting and not ONE person said ANYTHING about a DECEASED CHILD!”

Leah jumps at his raised tone, as do Chelsea and Madison. Drake scoots closer to Madison and places his arm securely over her chair. Chelsea wipes away her tears with a monogrammed Kleenex she retrieved from her purse. I look at the three men in suits as they search through some papers, which are now scattered across the table.

Finally, one of the men clears his throat and says, “It looks like this was an oversight on our part. Please accept our apologies.”

“AN OVERSIGHT! NOT TELLING US THAT OUR DAUGHTER IS DEAD WAS AN OVERSIGHT!” Drake yells. He slams his fist on the table and the table rattles. Leah jumps again, as do Madison and Chelsea. His temper is pissing me off and I hate to see my daughter sitting at his side — she jumps from fear.

I lean forward to say something to him when Leah grabs my arm. I look back at her and she looks scared. “Are you all right, Sweets?” She shakes her head no. “What is it?”

“My water…,” she begins to say and then stops. I hand her the bottle of water sitting on the table and she doesn’t take it. I can hear some arguing going on at the table, but my focus and attention is now on Leah. “My water broke,” she whispers.

I look over at Bruce and he says, “We are already at a hospital, but do you need an ambulance to take her to a different one?”

“I don’t want her to deliver here,” I say. This is where this nightmare began. I don’t wish to worry about a baby swap happening again.

Leah squeezes my hand until her knuckles turn white. She still doesn’t say anything. “We may not have a choice,” Bruce says. “Can we get a wheelchair brought in?” Bruce asks as he stands up from his chair. “Leah’s in pre-term labor.”

The room quiets and I can hear movement. “Leah, are you all right?” I ask, hoping she can answer me.

“The contraction is over,” she whispers. She lessens her hold on me and I continue to hold her hand. “It’s too early for the baby to come,” she cries. She stiffens as another contraction begins.

“Don’t cry, Leah.”

Bruce bends down and says, “They are bringing in a gurney for you. How are your contractions?”

“They hurt,” Leah says through gritted teeth.

I look around the room for the gurney, a wheelchair, or something, and I don’t see anything. Leah squeezes my hand and I know she is in pain. “Hold on, Leah.” It’s the only thing I can think of to say.

A soft voice says, “May I help?” I look over and Chelsea is standing there. I move over and make room for her so she can be closer to Leah.