Chapter One: Patience
Author's Note: This story is set a few months after the events of my last story, "The Clue in the Inheritance." If you haven't read that one, you may be a little confused. The important things to know are that Frank and Callie have already had a private courthouse wedding but are planning to go ahead with their previously-planned larger wedding, and that Callie's parents do not approve of her relationship with Frank.
"Doctor Hargrove to the cardiac wing. Doctor Hargrove, please report to the cardiac wing."
Callie Hardy sighed and replaced her magazine in the rack beside her chair. Between the public address system's constant, jarring interruptions and the whirling of her own thoughts, her ability to concentrate was shot all to hell today. Even the photo-heavy celebrity gossip rags which comprised most of the waiting room's selection of literature could not hold her attention.
"Okay, baby. I'm done. I just spent the last half hour reading the same paragraph over and over," she said ruefully, giving her rounded abdomen a gentle pat. "They've paged that doctor a lot this afternoon, haven't they? I wonder if he's the one helping your grandpa."
The baby she carried gave a series of fluttering kicks, as though in answer to her words. Callie smiled, her worries vanishing for the moment. No matter how rough the rest of the day had been, those movements were always a source of pure joy to her.
"Thanks, little one," she murmured, patting her belly again. "You're good company."
A passing nurse paused to smile at her. "Aren't you the cutest, talking to that baby bump! Boy or girl?"
"It's a boy," Callie said, smiling back at the older woman.
"Congratulations. Are you due this fall?"
"August, actually."
The nurse's eyebrows shot up. "Are you serious, girl? He's a little peanut, then! My babies were all chunky...and so was I," she added, laughing. "I've been a nurse for 35 years and I'm still amazed at how different every pregnancy is. You look beautiful, hon. Good luck with that sweet boy."
"Thank you!" Callie said.
The nurse moved on, and Callie settled back in to wait. The happy glow kindled by the nurse's kindness made time move along a little more quickly for a little while; but all too soon it faded, giving place once more to dullness.
Callie shifted in her chair, searching for a position that would offer a little more support for her back. She hated to think of her own comfort at a time like this. What was a little discomfort compared to a heart attack? But the fact remained that she was increasingly uncomfortable. For one thing, she was chilly. Her pretty, sleeveless top, which had been perfect back when she thought she was going to spend the afternoon driving around to meet with clients in the June heat, was not sufficient for this over-air-conditioned lobby. On top of that, her back ached, her stomach was growling, and- if she was completely honest with herself- she was beginning to feel restless and even anxious. Though Callie was by nature a patient person, she was quickly approaching her limit.
"I wish someone would tell me what's going on," she said, more to herself this time than to the baby. "How long have I been here, now?" She glanced at the clock over the reception desk, calculating the time in her head. Three hours, forty-five minutes. That meant it had been more than four hours since her first and last communication with her mother that day- a hasty, panicked phone call in which Margaret had simply said that her father was having a heart attack and told her which hospital had sent an ambulance. The idea of texting her mother crossed her mind, now, as it had several times already; but as she had each time before, Callie quelled the urge. Surely if there were any news to tell, her mother would have told her by now. Adding stress by demanding updates would not help the situation.
Callie looked at the clock again. Three hours, forty-seven minutes, thirty-three seconds...Three hours, forty-eight minutes...
She had grown to hate that clock over the course of the afternoon. She hated its bland, pale, moon face and its mockingly slow hands. Even the second hand seemed to stop and think before every half-hearted forward twitch. Watching the damn thing was like having an itch she couldn't scratch. Callie wrenched her eyes away from it, shuddering, and drew in a long, deep breath to quell her rising panic.
Frank is coming, she told herself. You're not going to sit here alone for eternity. And you can always text one of the girls, or Joe, if you need someone. She reached into her purse and closed her hand around the solid shape of her cell phone. Just knowing she could reach someone if she needed to was comfort enough. She did not feel the need to actually type a message right now.
Something Nancy had taught her, a technique for reducing anxiety, came to mind. Use your senses to ground you, Nancy had said. Forget your brain for a moment and focus on your body.
"Okay," Callie whispered. She could do that. Sight, smell, taste, touch, hearing. Smell... that one was a bad idea. The antiseptic odor of the hospital had been making her feel slightly nauseated all afternoon. Taste was not applicable. Touch...she put both hands on her belly again and was rewarded with a gentle kick. Callie closed her eyes, focusing on the sounds in the vicinity: the hum of the air conditioner, a sudden laugh from a room down the hall, a squeaking wheel on a passing cart.
"That just leaves sight," she murmured, after a minute, opening her eyes again. She blinked in the fluorescent glare and looked around the room, taking stock of the ugly, modern furniture in the waiting area, the cheap paintings, the potted plants with their shiny artificial leaves. Nothing in the room appealed to her artistic nature.
If I were the patient, here, I would not find anything in this environment inspiring or healing. The thought made her pause.
Do I really want to give birth here? Maybe it's worth re-starting that argument, she thought wryly, remembering how stubbornly opposed Frank had been to the idea of a home birth. He would never change his mind about that. Callie knew him well enough to recognize an un-crossable line when she saw it. But maybe she could talk him into visiting the new birth center over in River Heights as a compromise.
Callie pulled her phone out of her purse. In reality, she knew, changing their plans at this stage of the pregnancy might not be a feasible option- but a little research could not hurt anything, and it sounded like an excellent way to pass the time.
Though she quickly became immersed in a comparison of patient reviews for both facilities, Callie kept one eye on the door. As soon as she caught a glimpse of a tall, dark-haired man in a Bayport Police uniform she abandoned her research project and ran forward to meet her husband.
"Frank!" she cried.
Callie had learned years ago that hugging Frank while he was in uniform was never going to be comfortable. Between the name badge and the radio, the buttons and the holster, there was simply no good place to rest against him. Today, though, she did not care about physical comfort. She threw herself at him like a drowning woman catching hold of a life preserver. And Frank understood. Though he was rarely demonstrative in public, he wrapped his arms around her now without a moment's hesitation and held her tightly until she had gathered enough strength to step back.
"I'm so glad you're here," she said simply.
Frank reached for her hand and took it, twining his fingers through hers. "I'm sorry I couldn't get here any sooner," he told her. "The chief needed some paperwork wrapped up before he could let me go."
"It's okay. There's nothing you could have done here, anyway."
"That's not true. I could have waited with you," he said, his eyes dark and serious. He gave her hand a squeeze and led her over to the couch in the waiting area.
"How is he doing?" he asked gravely.
Callie shook her head. "You know as much as I do. He had a heart attack. Mom's still back there with him."
"And nobody has updated you at all?" Frank frowned. "I'll go ask a nurse."
"No, wait." Callie had not released his hand. She tugged it lightly, asking him to sit back down. "I don't know if I want to know," she admitted.
"You'll have to know sooner or later."
"Please, Frank, indulge me. I'm not in the mood to be logical."
"Okay. If that's what you want, we can wait."
Frank sat, wrapping an arm around her, and Callie leaned back with a sigh. Maybe it was the couch, which was a lot more comfortable than it looked, or maybe it was just having Frank there with her, but she was feeling better now than she had all afternoon.
"I brought you something," Frank said suddenly, reaching into his pocket. "Hold out your hand."
"What is it?"
"Just give me your hand."
Callie complied, feigning more nervousness than she actually felt. It was not as if it were Joe asking. Joe would have some kind of mischief planned, as he had demonstrated a few times over the years they had known each other. Frank, she trusted. And sure enough, the object he dropped into her palm was both harmless and familiar.
"My lucky mood ring?" Callie said, delighted but slightly confused. "Where did you even find this? I'd almost forgotten all about it."
"It was in your jewellery box," Frank said. "Kind of wedged in at the back."
"Thank you," Callie said, kissing him impulsively before slipping the ring onto her finger. The band felt tight on her ring finger, so she tugged it off and moved it to her pinky finger. "You always hated this thing. Why did you bring it?"
Frank shrugged. "I still think it's complete bull. But I knew it would make you smile."
"Aww. Thanks, sweetie." Callie held her hand up, tilting it to admire the silly trinket. She and Iola had won matching rings at the county fair the summer before they started high school. While neither girl had been truly superstitious, it had become a tradition for them to wear their "lucky" rings to things like final exams, their boyfriends' football games, and the drama club performances in which Iola frequently played leading roles in front of sets which Callie had painted. Iola had not been wearing hers the day she died. Callie wondered, suddenly, where that ring was now. Did Joe have it, or was it still in her old bedroom at the Mortons'?
"That really makes you feel better," Frank commented, watching her face.
Callie laughed. "It really does. It holds a lot of memories. I still say it helped you win that championship junior year."
"That was hard work, and having a good team, and Tony being in exactly the right place at the right time," Frank said.
"So, luck," Callie teased.
"No way. We practiced after school every day so Tony would know what the right place was when he saw it," Frank said adamantly.
Callie decided to change the subject. She knew Frank could argue this all day. "Hold on," she said. "You stopped by the house, but you didn't get changed?"
"No. I was in a hurry." Frank frowned, slightly, and she did not think it was because of her ring.
"Penny for your thoughts," she said. "You look worried."
"I am worried. We still haven't heard any news about your dad."
Callie studied his face. "I don't think that's all that's on your mind."
"What do you always say to me? Stop detecting at me," Frank said lightly.
"I'm not detecting. I just know you. Spill it," Callie demanded.
Frank sighed. "Okay. When I stopped by the house, Joe and Nancy were there."
"At our house?"
"Yeah."
Callie had to ask. "With their clothes on, right?"
"Yeah," Frank said again. "But they looked guilty. They're up to something."
"They're probably just finalizing plans for the bachelor and bachelorette parties they keep threatening to give us," Callie said, dismissing the matter. But Frank did not look convinced.
"I don't think it's that simple. I am going to get to the bottom of this." His face darkened with determination.
Callie knew Frank was observant and tenacious and not likely to let this go until he had solved it. She also knew that if his instincts told him Joe was up to something, he was probably right. On the other hand, she trusted that Joe and Nancy would never do anything malicious.
"I don't have a single extra scrap of energy to use on wondering what those two have planned," she told Frank. "Not right now, anyway. Maybe after the wedding, and after we hear about Dad- "
Her phone went off, suddenly, interrupting her mid-sentence and making her jump. Frank grabbed her purse off the nearby chair and held it open so she could grab the device.
"Speak of the devil," she said, showing him the caller ID on the screen before she answered. "Hi, Joe."
Nancy's voice came through the speaker, concerned and apologetic. "It's me, Cal. I'm sorry to bother you right now. I just wanted to check on you."
"Me too!" Joe called in the background.
"Are you all right? Do you want me to come keep you company, or bring you anything?" Nancy offered.
"I'm okay. Frank's here with me," Callie said. "But thank you so much for the offer, Nan. You guys are the best."
"Don't say that so loud. Joe's ego does not need the boost," Nancy said dryly.
Frank had leaned in close and was listening intently. "Are they still at our house? Ask them if they're still at our house," he whispered loudly.
"Babe. Let it go," Callie whispered back, covering the phone with her hand.
"Can you repeat that? I think we have a bad connection," Nancy said.
"I'm sorry, that was me whispering at Frank. He wants me to ask if you're still at our house," Callie said.
Nancy laughed. "I had a feeling he'd be suspicious."
"Tell him I hid a clue somewhere in the house, but he's never going to find it," Joe chimed in.
Frank leaned closer and spoke directly into the phone. "Do you really want to play this game right now, Joe?"
"Okay, boys, give it a rest," Callie said. She swapped her phone to her other ear, away from Frank. "Nan, please tell me you're not doing something awful. I don't have the energy for this."
"I promise we are not doing anything awful," Nancy said. "We love you. Let me know if you need anything, okay?"
"I will," Callie said gratefully.
Frank handed her purse over so she could drop her phone back in. She set the bag beside her and leaned against his shoulder again. "It's so nice of them to offer to come," she said.
Frank nodded. "Can you imagine if they did, though? They're terrible at waiting. Joe would be down in the ER by now, trying to apply for a job as an ambulance driver, and Nancy would have wandered down into the morgue and discovered a secret passage."
"You're right," Callie said, giggling. "But it was still nice of them to offer. Bess offered, too."
"We have a good family," Frank said.
"We do."
They were silent for a few minutes.
"Thank you for being here," Callie said softly. She felt a sudden wave of love and gratitude for this man who cared enough to sit here with her, offering comfort and support and never once complaining about the wait.
"Where else should I be right now?" Frank asked. "What kind of husband would I be if I didn't drop everything to be with you when you need me?"
Callie swallowed a sob. "Still," she said, her voice wavering. "Dad has never been anything but awful to you, but here you are anyway, waiting to see if he's going to be okay."
"Don't cry," Frank said, brushing away a tear with his thumb. "Oh, Cal, don't cry. Your dad is going to be fine. The doctors here are excellent. They've patched me and Joe back together more times than I can count."
Callie smiled a little.
"There," Frank said approvingly. "That's my girl." He let go of her, suddenly, and delved into his other pocket. "I almost forgot. This should help you keep that smile on your face."
"You brought snacks?"
"Not just any snacks. Mrs. Morton made these especially for you," he said, presenting the little bag with a flourish.
"Snickerdoodles!" Callie said happily, helping herself to a cookie. "That woman is a saint. How did you know I'd be hungry?"
"Oh, just a guess," Frank said, straight-faced. "It's kind of your default state these days."
"And whose fault is that, Frank Hardy?"
"Mine," Frank said amiably. He reached over and placed a hand on Callie's belly. "Speaking of which, how is our little mistake doing today?"
"I thought we agreed we had to break the habit of joking about that," Callie protested. "If that ever slips out in front of the poor kid, his ego will be ruined forever."
"Okay. How is Weatherby doing today?" Frank said, stressing the name.
"He has a real name, you know," Callie told him. "You don't have to use that silly nickname anymore."
"I don't feel right using it yet."
"And he thinks I'm the superstitious one!" Callie said with mild exasperation, addressing a nearby potted plant.
"That's different," Frank said.
"I see no difference," Callie said. "Move your hand up a little and you'll feel him better."
Frank slid his hand obediently upward. Callie could tell the moment he felt his son's movements, because his face took on a look of pure awe. He pressed his hand more firmly against the spot and bowed his head, focusing his entire awareness on the sensation.
"I can't get over how incredible that is," he whispered finally, looking up at her. His eyes were suspiciously bright. "You're so lucky you get to feel him move all the time."
"You can carry the next one," Callie murmured back, trying to lighten the mood before she started to cry again.
"I'm not sure technology will ever advance that far," Frank began. He was interrupted by the approach of a nurse.
"Ms. Shaw?" he called, striding toward the waiting area. Callie's head and Frank's both jerked up. Callie was on her feet before she even realized it- no small feat, these days, as rising usually took a little planning.
"Mrs. Hardy," she corrected automatically, and immediately felt annoyed with herself. That was hardly what mattered at the moment. "How is my dad?"
"He's resting comfortably. He's going to make a full recovery."
Callie felt all the tension drain from her body. She leaned back against Frank, who had stood up behind her. "Oh, thank God," she whispered. "Can I see him?"
The man hesitated. He looked uncomfortable. "Your mother asked me to tell you that you can go home."
"Did she specifically tell me not to visit?"
"No."
"Then I want to see him."
He nodded. "I would feel the same in your situation. Please, follow me."
Margaret Shaw had been sitting by her husband's bedside, staring into space, her hands folded quietly in her lap. When she caught sight of Callie and Frank in the doorway, however, she practically leaped up to intercept them.
"Out," she whispered harshly, gesturing for them to go back into the hallway.
"What's going on?" Callie whispered back. "Is he sleeping? We promise we won't wake him up."
Margaret looked around for the nurse, who had faded away discreetly. Then she turned toward Callie, folding her arms defensively across her middle. She looked limp and grey, like a worn-out pillowcase, but when she spoke her voice was brisk. "I don't think he needs to see you today."
"But I want to," Callie began. Margaret shook her head vigorously, cutting her off.
"I said I don't think it's a good idea."
Callie felt bewildered. "Why did you call me down here if you didn't want me to see him?"
"I didn't know how serious it was. I wanted you to be close in case- well, in case. But it didn't come to that."
"Mom!" Callie protested. "Are you saying you thought he might die?"
"He had a heart attack! I had every reason to think he might die!"
"But he didn't," Callie said in a small voice. "Please, Mom. I'd like to see him."
"No."
Frank stepped in, his calm voice a soothing contrast to the women's heated exchange. "Are you staying here tonight, Mrs. Shaw?"
"Yes."
"Is there anything we can bring you?" he offered. "Dinner, an overnight bag, a book?"
"I'm fine," she said stiffly. "The nurse is going to bring me some supper."
Callie broke in again. "Please let me stay with you. You shouldn't have to be here alone."
For a moment, Margaret's face seemed to soften. Then she shook her head, and it was as if a door had slammed closed between them. Callie did not miss the way her mother's glance had dropped to her belly. The look, brief as it was, felt like a physical blow.
It always comes back to that, Callie thought bitterly. Her mother had been increasingly uncomfortable around her as the pregnancy had become more obvious. Callie noticed that she seemed both fascinated and repulsed, tender and harsh. Margaret seemed to be fighting hard to maintain her detachment from this child and all he represented.
"Please," Callie said again. But Margaret had made up her mind.
"I'm fine," she said again. "There isn't anything you can do here unless you've been secretly going to medical school." The words stung a little, as she had meant them to, with the barb of broken trust. You crossed the line once. Who knows what else you're hiding from me?, was the subtext.
"Besides," Margaret added. "I know you both have to work in the morning. Go home. I'll let you know if anything else happens."
Callie was trembling, now, with worry, frustration and hurt. She felt Frank's arm go around her. Then he reached out with his free hand and patted her mother's shoulder, offering comfort even to this woman who denied it to herself.
"Please let us know if you change your mind. We're here for you," he said sincerely.
Margaret nodded, her lips pursed.
Callie did not trust herself to speak. She stepped forward and gave her mother a hug, pretending she neither saw nor felt the stiffness of Margaret's posture. Her body and the embrace itself felt as brittle as ice.
"Come on, Cal," Frank said gently. "Let's go home."