Part 25 (1/2)
”Time of death isn't that accurate.”
It didn't have to be. Just knowing Danny could have died waiting for her to come savaged her inside. ”But if I'd woken up, checked on him . . . I might have been able to do CPR, bring him back-”
Patty took the sheet from her hand. ”I'm a nurse. I know al about the futility of coulda-woulda-shoulda.”
Kathy couldn't look up. ”He depended on me.”
Patty squeezed her hand. ”Wait here.”
She was back in a minute. In her hand she held a booklet. She laid it on the sheet in Kathy's line of sight. The words ”SIDS: understanding and accepting the sudden loss of a child” jumped out at her.
She pushed it away. She'd read al there was to read on SIDS. Patty pushed it right back. ”You've already lost your son. Do you real y want to lose your husband, too?”
”No.” Oh, G.o.d. No.
”Then you might want to keep that. You also might want to attend a meeting. This is a support group for people who've been where you are. They're meeting in a half hour downstairs. You should attend.”
”Why?”
”You said you wanted to know everything about your son's death? Wel ”-she tapped the page-”this is part of it, too.”
Kathy crumpled the pamphlet in her hand.
CHAPTER SIX.
Kathy hesitated at the front door of the house, unsure whether to knock. She knew Walt was home. She'd cal ed the station to check on his s.h.i.+ft and his car was in the drive.
Stil , maybe he wouldn't want to see her. It'd been two weeks since she'd left the hospital. Two weeks in which she'd refused to see him. Two weeks in which she'd fought with herself. Two weeks in which she'd attended support groups, met with a grief counselor, started working through the pain.
This never stopped being your home, Kathy.
The statement wrapped around her with the comfort of a hug. And Walt had never stopped being her husband, yet she'd come so close to pus.h.i.+ng him away. Maybe she final y had. The last two weeks had been the hardest of her life, and while she'd ached for him, she hadn't dared see him until she was sure she had herself under control.
She entered the house. He wasn't in the living room or the kitchen. Looking through the patio doors, she didn't see him in the backyard.
From down the hal , she heard a male voice. Walt, and he obviously wasn't alone. What if he had a woman with him? Her heart sank to her toes, but she held her ground. If Walt was trying to move on, she'd deal with that, too, but she was done running.
Her sneakers made no sound on the thick carpet. The words got more distinct as she reached the end of the hal .
He was in Danny's bedroom.
”This was his favorite bal . He had a thing for bal s. A lot like you.”
She peeked around the corner. Walt was sitting on the floor, beside the crib, Sebastian lay beside him. Walt was showing the dog the soft rubber bal that had been Danny's favorite toy. Sebastian, who was looking much better with the infection gone and his hair growing back, gave it a sniff, tucked it in his mouth, and then put his head back on Walt's leg.
”We used to talk about getting him a dog just like you in a couple years. Someone he could grow up with, play bal with, talk to.”
Walt rubbed that special spot behind Sebastian's ear.
The dog tilted his head and moaned, but he never let go of the bal . Walt gave it a little tug. Sebastian tugged back. A sad, somehow tender smile played about Walt's lips. She knew what he was remembering. Danny didn't like to give knew what he was remembering. Danny didn't like to give the bal back either.
He ruffled the dog's head. ”You would have liked Danny.
He had a way of laughing that made everyone around him happy.” He stopped rubbing and took a breath. ”Just like his mother.”
Kathy hadn't laughed in what felt like forever. Hadn't cried, hadn't lived, hadn't done anything worthwhile in more than six months. She'd just shut down, leaving her husband to fend for himself while she punished herself.
”Today's his birthday.” He reached beside the dog and picked up a book of matches. ”He would have been one.”
Tears poured down her cheeks. So Walt was here, in their son's room with a dog they'd talked about getting, celebrating alone. That was so wrong. The match flared. He leaned forward.
She couldn't bear it. ”Don't.”
He stopped, Sebastian woofed. Very careful y, Walt stood and turned. In front of him she could see a corner of the brightly decorated racing car birthday cake he'd bought.
”It's his birthday, Kathy. I can't pretend he didn't exist, that this day isn't special.”
Neither could she. She took a step into the room. Then another, feeling the pain rise up, keeping her gaze locked on Walt's so it wouldn't overwhelm her. She stopped right in front of him, unable to read his expression. She didn't know what to say, except, ”I loved him, too.”
It was as if she'd given him the world. He shook out the match. His arms came around her, strong and secure the way they always had. ”I know.”
And standing in them, she let herself feel the love he always had for her, clinging to it as tightly as she clung to his arms while she confessed, ”I didn't mean to sleep through his feeding time. I swear I didn't.”
His grip tightened. ”Kathy, you can't think like that. It wasn't your fault.”
”But if I'd woken up I might have-”
His finger caught under her chin, lifting. ”If you hear nothing else, hear this. The only person I've ever blamed for Danny's death was myself.”
”How could you possibly blame yourself? You weren't even there.”
”Exactly. I wasn't there. Not before, during, or after.” His thumb tucked into the corner of her mouth with the haunting softness of a kiss. ”But you were, and you were hurting and there wasn't a d.a.m.n thing I could do to make it better. No matter what I tried I only made it worse, until final y, you left.”
”I didn't leave.”
”What the hel would you cal it?”
It sounded so stupid. ”Sparing myself the humiliation of you kicking me out.”
His grip on her chin tightened to the point of pain, and then he let go, but only to wrap his arms around her and hold her so tightly her ribs hurt. Beneath her ear was the beat of his heart, around her the strength of his arms. And somehow her arms were around his waist, too, holding him just as tightly. It wasn't close enough.
His cheek settled on her head. ”I told you the day you gave yourself to me, there was no going back.”
He'd been nineteen to her eighteen. So young. ”But you couldn't know this would happen.”
He couldn't know they'd lose their baby.