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  When she’s gone, I reach around for my phone and dial. My father picks up before it has even rung on my end. He whispers, “I was about to come see you. Everything is fine, Laurel. Your daughter is doing great!”

  My chin trembles. “She is?”

  “I’ve been with her most of the night, except for the few times I came to check on you. She’s holding my finger right now.”

  “Really?” My eyes well.

  “She’s got a good strong grasp, too.” He continues. “They have her on oxygen and some fluids, but she’s breathing on her own. And there’s no sign of any problems.”

  “I want to see her.” I wipe at the tears streaming down my face.

  “I know. You’ll be able to see her soon enough. Dr. Adler said you need to continue to rest until you stabilize. In the meantime, check your messages, and I’ll be there shortly.”

  I hang up and see my father has sent me twenty different texts throughout the night, each containing a single picture of my daughter from the moment she entered the NICU until now.

  The last one is the sweetest. She’s sound asleep, clutching his pinky. And though she’s small and has a couple tubes coming out of her, she looks okay. I kiss the picture and hold it against my heart.

  Chapter Forty-seven

  If there was ever a day to challenge my strength and patience, it was today. I had to wait twenty-three hours, twelve vials of blood and forty-two blood pressure readings to finally be considered well enough to go to the NICU and hold my daughter. The nurses don’t waste any time once I arrive. They move me to a rocking chair and begin what they call Kangaroo Care immediately.

  With my hospital gown open to the front, they bring her to me in only a diaper and a hat, place her against my chest, and then wrap us together in a sort of sling – like a kangaroo’s pouch – and drape a blanket over us. The skin to skin contact is supposed to help her learn to regulate her body temperature, a nurse explains.

  I take in her baby scent and the warmth of her little body. It’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before. Soon, they encourage me to try and nurse, and with some help from a lactation specialist, she is able to. Finally things are moving in a positive direction.

  The late afternoon whittles into the evening while I care for her as best I can with the IVs and the blood pressure cuff still on my arm.

  When my father comes back from a much-needed nap and shower at a hotel, he joins me while I rock and stroke her sweet little body. He watches us with thoughtful eyes, and after sitting in silence for a while, he asks, “So does this baby have a name?”

  “Carolyn.” I steal a glimpse at his face to register his reaction. “Carolyn Ramsey Harris.”

  He is unresponsive at first. But then I notice tears starting in slow streams down his face. He wipes them away without sound. “It’s a good name.”

  “It is.” I rub my cheek across the top of her fuzzy head. Her eyes are open, bright and alert.

  He clears his throat. “I’ve been a poor father to you.” His voice cracks.

  “Dad…”

  “Let me talk.” He takes a deep breath. “When your mother died, I panicked. She was an amazing woman. Not only was she my best friend, a good mother, a hard worker. Truth is, the law firm never would have gotten off the ground without her. She was the go-getter, not me. So when I found myself alone with my ten-year-old daughter and a huge mortgage, I thought, I can’t screw this up. It seemed the best thing I could do was throw myself into work so I could provide for you and give you everything you’d need.”

  “But, Dad…”

  He holds his hand up. “That seemed to be okay for a while when you were ten, eleven – even twelve. Your grandparents were always willing to help. But after Ellis and Mae died, as you got older…you needed emotional support, and I just didn’t know how to give it to you. I think I thought I was trying, but I wasn’t. I was hiding behind my career. And as you became more vocal about what was missing in your life, I couldn’t believe that you weren’t satisfied.”

  I watch him carefully. His face is controlled, but his eyes are full of grief, and his voice is weak.

  “You didn’t parent, you managed.”

  “Guilty as charged.” He brushes a hand across his forehead. “I’ve driven a wedge between us, and I never meant to. I can’t believe my own daughter didn’t feel she could come to me with…this.” He motions to Carolyn.

  “I wanted to. I tried…but not hard enough.” I sigh. “I know I should have. I was hiding too…from you, from the baby’s father, from everyone.”

  “You haven’t told the baby’s father?” He sits ups, his voice stronger now.

  “No.”

  “He must have noticed you were pregnant, walking around campus?”

  “I got pregnant on Shelter Island last summer. He doesn’t go to Colman.”

  His eyes widen. Immediate recognition. And I watch as they transition from curious to astonished. “Why haven’t you told him?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve felt guilty about it all year. I guess I didn’t want the added stress of him being involved. I don’t expect you to understand.”

  “You’d be surprised.”

  I look up at him. “Why?”

  “Do you know how your mother and I came to be…well, a couple?” His tone’s uncertain, like he’s not sure he should proceed.

  I shrug. “You started going out the end of your sophomore year; at least that’s what Gram told me.”

  “We did. Before that we were good friends. I always had a thing for her, but she was serious with Ray. They were high school sweethearts, for lack of a better way to say it. And they came to Colman together from a small farm town in upstate New York with big dreams of breaking out of that mold. They were going to take on the world together, at least that was their plan…until she got pregnant.”

  “What?” My eyes pop.

  “Fall term of sophomore year.”

  “Pregnant?”

  “Yes. And it was a big mess.”

  “What happened?”

  “Well, Ray wanted her to have the baby. He was willing to quit school, get a job, do whatever it took. He loved your mom. But she wanted a different life. She didn’t want to be one more statistic: another pregnant teenager from a rural town. So… she decided there was only one thing she could do about it.”

  I realize I’m holding my breath, and I let it out. “Mom had an abortion?”

  He nods. “Ray took it hard, too. He wouldn’t even bring her to the clinic. I drove her. And afterwards, though I think they both tried to pretend things were okay between them, in the end it was too much. For your mom, he was a constant reminder of the most difficult decision she’d ever made. And I think he thought she had been selfish.”

  “That’s when they broke up?”

  “They didn’t make it to spring term. Not long after, she and I started spending more time together. I don’t know that Ray ever fully got over it, back then at least.”

  “Weird he delivers babies for a living now, don’t you think?”

  My dad shrugs. “I don’t know. I can’t answer for what motivates Ray. The point is I do understand what you’ve been going through. If your mom could have done things over, she might never have told him. The added pressure and the guilt only surmounted the weight of it all. It was a very difficult time for her.”

  “I get that.” I shift and try to readjust Carolyn in the sling, my abdomen throbbing. She is sound asleep now and doesn’t stir.

  “It’s kind of ironic when you think about it,” I say, once I’ve repositioned us.

  “What is?”

  “Well, now here I am, a teen mom about to go live on the rural farm where she grew up. I’m more or less the statistic she didn’t want to be.”

  He contemplates this for a moment. “I guess life comes full circle sometimes.”

  Dad checks his watch. He has to pick Sheryl up at the airport. She’s been chomping at the bit to get here since the news broke. He stands, kissing
the top of my head, then Carolyn’s. “We’ll be back before visiting hours are over.”

  And I’m left with a few more precious hours with my girl.

  ***

  When Nancy comes to get me, I’m surprised to see her. “You’re working again?” I ask.

  “Five twelve-hour shifts this week. Great overtime.” I expect her to put me in a wheelchair, but she offers her arm instead. “Time to get you walking.”

  As I limp back to my room, Nancy’s mouth curls up. “I heard you hit a nurse.”

  “Not on purpose.”

  “I think you scared all the others because they keep putting me on Laurel duty.”

  “Hope you don’t mind.”

  “As long as you keep your hands to yourself.”

  When Sheryl and Dad pop in just before nine, I’m already dozing off.

  “Carolyn is beautiful,” Sheryl smiles. “Congratulations.”

  “Thanks,” I murmur from somewhere on the trail to sleep, feeling the most calm I have all year.

  Epilogue

  Thirty Pounds Down

  I watch as the ferry in front of me fills with cars. It took three hours of battling summer traffic on Long Island to get to Greenport, then another half hour of waiting in a long line of automobiles, pedestrians and people with bicycles to get this far. Carolyn has thankfully slept for most of the trip, but she is stirring now. When we’re on the boat, I can get her out of the car seat and feed her. One more and it’s my turn.

  The journey from that hospital in Rochester to here was a bit bumpy with my dad, Sheryl and I ultimately deciding it was best for us to return with them to New York for a couple months to heal before isolating ourselves in a house upstate. I dreaded it at first, but it hasn’t been so bad. Tara’s been over almost every day and threw me an over-the-top baby shower that provided me with most of the items on my registry. Audrey even came down for it after I called her to apologize for the way I behaved in the hospital. She told me that Bill took a job in Syracuse so she’ll only be an hour from Dresden. We’re planning to get our girls together in the fall.

  Sheryl’s been helpful too – although not so much now that she’s due in a couple weeks. We’ve hired a contractor to work on my grandparents’ house while I’m here. When I return in August, there will be a new kitchen and a new roof, an internet connection and at long last…a television.

  Prof. Stoker was able to convince my other instructors to change my grades to pass/fail to avoid incompletes. Thankfully, most of them passed me though I do have to write a thirty page paper for my seminar that’s due next month. I’m not looking forward to the research but at least it allows me to finish freshman year. I doubt I’ll be looking at Magna Cum Laude at graduation with my GPA, but that’s okay. I got through.

  As for Mike…between helping me move out of the dorm, making small talk with my dad and Sheryl to distract them from the fact practically everyone on the hill was gawking at the sight of me, baby in tow, clearing my stuff out a week before finals, to showing me how to improve my diaper changing skills…it’s clear, he’s a keeper. But just a friend for now.

  The ferry captain signals me onto the loading ramp. My recently purchased Rav-4 is the last of eleven cars to be loaded on the flat-bedded boat. As soon as he has locked the gate behind me, I jump into the back seat. Carolyn is wide awake, mesmerized by her ability to clasp and unclasp her hands together. It’s her latest talent. “Hi.” I smile. “Are you hungry?”

  The trip across the Peconic is fast, but since I was the last car on, I’ll be the last off. No need to rush. Carolyn is a good little eater. She’s managed to more than double her birth weight in just a few months, and she’s now almost eleven pounds. As we pull into Dering Harbor, I burp her and return her to the car seat. She lets out a loud cry of discontent.

  “It’s just for a while longer, I promise.”

  Soon I am waved off the boat, but instead of following the cars up North Ferry Road, I take the other one that hugs the shoreline and pull into the parking lot of the marina.

  An easterly breeze is blowing off the water, putting some mist in the air and cooling the warm summer sun. I change Carolyn and then move her to the stroller, put on her sun hat, and we head down to the docks that are now filled to capacity with the boats of Shelter Island’s summer residents.

  We wander around the boatyard until we reach the office at its far end. His fishing boat is moored in its usual spot in the middle of the harbor, and his car is in the lot, so I know he’s here. Where else would he be this time of year? When we edge around the side of the building, I spot him talking to a boat owner, a clipboard in his hand. He’s got his usual dark summer tan, and his shoulder-length hair is pulled into a ponytail.

  I hesitate before proceeding forward, waiting for him to finish. My stomach is in knots.

  “Danny,” I call when it seems they’re done talking. He glances at me, and it takes him a second to process who he’s even looking at. But then his eyes light up and he smiles so genuinely, I know he’s happy to see me. Maybe this will be okay after all.

  I move to close the distance between us. As I get nearer to where he’s standing, sea water laps against the pilings, and the sound reminds me of all those nights we used to spend here together after we got off work, our legs dangling off the dock, talking about who knows what until he had to catch the last ferry. Danny’s eyes move from mine to Carolyn’s stroller and I take a deep breath.

  Here we go.

  <<<<>>>>

  Acknowledgments

  I’ve decided it takes a small village to write a novel, especially when it’s your first and there’s a family, a job, and a whole lot of other commitments involved. So it goes without saying - but I’ll say it anyway - thank you Paul, Maggie, and Brian for allowing me the time to steal away and write. I could not have done this without your support. You are my world.

  For your time and thoughtful critiques, beta readers, I am ever indebted. Thanks to Ted Allen, Katie Bartlett, Sherry Berrett, Benjamin Cummings, Samantha Cummis, Laura Donovan, Rae Padulo, and Caryn Tomljanovich. And, for the “just do it” encouragement from Rod Learmonth, thank you. Without it, my novel would still be collecting laptop dust.

  To the ever-talented ladies of New Jersey’s brilliant Westfield Critique Group and all those Saturday mornings spent in the comfy chairs at the library discussing character development, plot, pacing, and paths to publishing: Katie Bartlett, Tami Charles, Candice Davenport and Deborah Amadei; I’m glad we found each other.

  For the in-depth insight into 21st century campus life and for answering the question “What if?” thank you Kate Bucklein, Ramona Dunning, Heather Kaczynski and Kerry Rogers. You helped me more than you realize. And a special thanks to my old college roomie-turned-biology-professor, Dr. Jennifer Waldo…because of you, I’ve learned more about plant DNA writing this book then I ever would have in college!

  And lastly, but not least, thank you to editor and one-woman rock star Meredith Rich for inviting me to embark on this journey with Bloomsbury Spark. I am thrilled to be along for the ride!

  <<<<>>>>

  About the Author

  Christine Duval has been writing creatively since the fourth grade when she penned her first short story entitled “London Terror,” about the murder of a cat in London. She grew up on Long Island and lived in Italy twice as a teenager. Her parents wondered if she’d ever come back! College was spent in the Finger Lakes: the inspiration for Colman, Milton, and Kashong Lake. Life eventually took her to New York’s Upper West Side and then to New Jersey, where she resides with her guitar-playing husband and two awesome kids.

  Bloomsbury Publishing, London, New Delhi, New York and Sydney

  Copyright © 2013 by Christine Duval

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  All rights reserved. You may not copy, distribute, transmit, reproduce, or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means, (including without limitatio
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  First published in December 2013

  by Bloomsbury Spark, an imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing, Inc.

  www.bloomsbury.com

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  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data available upon request

  ISBN 978-1-61963-465-7

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