Expectations

Chapter 15

"Twice a week?" Christie asked blankly. "You mean on top of my weekly ultrasound?"

Jim could hear Dr. Nelson flipping through Christie's chart. "We can do one NST at your weekly appointment, but we need to be monitoring fetal stress often now that you're nearing the home stretch, so you'll need to make at least one other trip in a week. Possibly two."

"So," Christie said, her voice taking on a sly quality that told Jim she was going to try to get away with something. "You put me on bed rest but you have me constantly coming in for all these appointments. Since that hasn't done me any harm, couldn't I be up more often? Maybe I don't need to be resting all that much."

Dr. Nelson laughed, as she did at all Christie's attempts to get out of bed-rest. "You've made it thirty-three weeks. Are you telling me you can't take it easy just a little longer?"

"I guess I can," Christie said, sighing. "But with Christmas this week…"

"Just take it easy," Dr. Nelson warned.

"Take it easy," Christie mimicked as they approached the sidewalk. Her impression of Dr. Nelson was dead-on and brought a smile to Jim's lips.

"It's not funny," she said.

Jim's arm around Christie's shoulders registered the slight shiver that ran through her body in the cold December evening. "She's right," he said, hoping his smile softened his authoritative tone. "You need to rest—and to get out of this cold."

Christie stopped walking. "No, Jim. It's beautiful out here and I've missed the entire Christmas season. I like being out in it. Couldn't we eat out somewhere before we go home? What harm could it do? I'm already out and dressed."

"I don't know," Jim said, making a face. "Seems like we should be following orders here."

"I know," she said, and now she was pleading with him. "We need to do what's best for the babies, but it's a couple of days before Christmas and I want to feel the vibe a little. I've never spent so long away from all the lights and decorations and I—I've missed it all so much…"

It didn't hit Jim until Christie's voice had dwindled to a stop. She had just reminded herself that Jim was missing "the vibe" as well.

Jim hadn't given it all that much thought this year. Last year had been much harder. Forcing himself not to dwell upon everything he longed to see had required much more energy. Now, with that first hard Christmas under his belt, he had moved on and was even learning to find new beauty and to enjoy environments vicariously through others. Christie's joy in the season was contagious and, although she didn't know it, her sadness over how much Jim was missing was strangely comforting. Still, it did come with a sting.

Hekissed her forehead. "I know," he soothed. "I think we can risk one meal out. Might be our last one before having to worry about babysitters."

He felt her nod.

Hank led the way to a small French restaurant they liked, Christie seeming to follow him as much as Jim did.

"Should I be worried about fatty food?" she asked bitterly, setting her menu on the table. "Jim, I'm kind of glad you can't see me these days. I'm hideous. I can't see my feet. I seem to go on forever."

"I know how big you are," Jim told her. "Having two people inside you will do that. But you'll never be hideous."

"Thank you," she said meekly. "And thank you for bringing Christmas into the apartment. I shouldn't be complaining when you went to so much trouble to do that for me."

Jim knew all their Christmas decorations by heart and he had trimmed the tree and decorated the apartment with just a little help from Marissa, who had come by as Jim was finishing the job. She was able to add a few touches Jim had forgotten. Christie was delighted with the result and was spending too much time out in the living room, looking at the tree. Keeping her in that bed was growing increasingly difficult.

By unspoken agreement, they lingered over their meal, sitting side by side in their booth so Christie could take hold of Jim's hand from time to time and so Jim could rest his arm around her shoulders and sneak a kiss during conversational lulls. They sat this way occasionally in quiet restaurants, now that eye contact across a table was no longer possible.

"I'm glad you like the decorations," Jim said, stroking her hair as he spoke. Something about this moment felt indescribably sweet—and familiar. Like something out of a dream.

"I do," she said, kissing him. "How'd I get so lucky?"

He could feel the smile on her lips. Could almost see her. For a second he thought he knew what this moment reminded him of, but then the sensation of déjà vu retreated into an area of his subconscious he knew he couldn't reach and he gave up trying.

"Do you feel ready?" she asked, her voice dropping to a tone that would have sounded sultry in another setting.

Jim shrugged. "I don't know. Sometimes I think I'm going to be the best dad ever, and I can't wait for it to start. But then…I don't know. Did my dad ever feel that way? That's a weird thought."

"You can't think that way. Neither of us is from a perfect home, but we both learned what not to do, right? And Jimmy, you're nothing like your dad."

Jim shook his head, feeling that Christie wasn't getting what he was trying to say—probably because he couldn't find words to match the concept in his head.

"It's not that my dad was so awful," he tried to explain.

"I know."

"I mean, he meant well in his way—and he was proud of me. I always knew that. I just—I don't want Madeleine and Amelia to ever think I'm proud of them for what they can do and not for who they are."

Christie sighed and rested her head on Jim's shoulder, her hand running through his hair in a way that always soothed him. "Jimmy," she said, something halting and hesitant in her voice. "That sounds like it's coming from more than your childhood. Am I right? You think your dad was only proud of you when you could see?"

Jim turned his head, pretending he was looking her in the eye, and shrugged. "I doubt he's doing much bragging these days."

Christie didn't even try to offer a contradiction. "He should be," she said. "I brag about you all the time to anyone who will listen. I'm always proud of you. You know that, right?"

"Do you brag or defend?" Jim asked.

It was one of those questions he instantly wished he could take back. Jim couldn't tell if his words had made Christie angry or sad or if they had just put her into an argumentative frame of mind. He never knew what would trigger one of her moods but, whatever it was, he was bound to do it one way or another. This time he felt he deserved whatever he was about to get for ruining something Christie had meant as a compliment.

But another of Christie's quirks was that she could sometimes surprise him by not taking offense at all, even when it was warranted. "Both," she admitted. And then she laughed. Jim laughed with her out of sheer relief over the unpleasant scene that had just been averted.

"Thanks," he said quietly.

"For what?"

"For bragging. For defending. I hate putting you in the position of having to defend me, but I understand that it has to happen sometimes."

He felt her shrug. "It's nothing new. I've always had to defend you for something or other. You've never exactly been easy."

He smiled. "I wouldn't use that word to describe you, either."

"There is one thing," she said, her serious tone making Jim's spine straighten. "I don't recall agreeing to the names 'Madeleine' or 'Amelia.'"

He tightened his arm around her shoulders, enjoying a good laugh with his wife. "They're on my list."

"We can discuss 'Madeleine,'" she said. "But what about 'Taylor'? Or 'Campbell'?"

He felt half his face scrunch up as he thought of a diplomatic response. "I thought we agreed that we wouldn't use last names as first names."

"But they're family names."

"So is 'Gertrude,' but you don't see me putting that one on the table."

"You would if you could."

"Fine. It's on my list."

"Okay. Then I'm putting 'Tennyson' on my list."

"Tennyson?"

"My favorite poet."

"Fine," Jim said, a harsh laugh escaping. "You comfort little 'Tenny' Dunbar when she comes home from school, crying because all the other kids are making fun of her name. What's wrong with normal girl names?"

"Nothing. I just don't want to be boring."

"Boring is good. James. Christine. What's wrong with names like that?"

"Nothing," she admitted. "But we have a plan. You have your list. I have mine. We each name a kid."

"But we still have to agree."

"I know, Jimmy, but I'm getting a little worried. We aren't even close to agreeing and the babies could come at any time. What happens if we don't have this figured out by the time they get here?"

"I don't know."

"Maybe…" she began hesitantly. "I don't know, Jimmy. Maybe we don't have to agree. You pick one and I pick one and we hope for the best."

He sighed through his nose. "Let's not rush it. As long as we have time, we'll try and agree. Okay?"

Christie was none the worse for her dinner out, although Jim checked on her so many times over the next two days that she was starting to get annoyed.

"You're sure we can't avoid having them over?" he asked her on Christmas morning. "You really should be taking it easy."

"If anyone says that to me one more time…"

They had managed to keep to themselves on Thanksgiving, but people seemed to want to spend Christmas with them.

"You're not up for it," Jim protested, knowing it was futile. Guests on Christmas Day were inevitable now.

Christie didn't seem to mind. "They understand how it is," she soothed. "They know we're not cooking or doing anything very special. And the place looks great. Very festive."

"But don't you think it's rude for them to want to come over when they know you need to stay in bed?"

"I'll stay on the couch and—no. It's not rude. They probably think they're doing us the favor by not leaving us here alone on the holiday."

"I wanted to be alone."

"They're your family. You tell them."

But Jim couldn't tell his mother not to come over, laden with the cheap gifts she always felt compelled to buy for them.

Jim and Christie were able to have their own small gift exchange before the Dunbars arrived. Christie had ordered a computer game for the blind for Jim and the rest of the gifts were clothes. Karen had helped Jim pick out earrings and a matching necklace for Christie and he had chosen a sweater for her himself, loving it because it was so soft. He liked the idea of Christie feeling like that sweater.

"I wish I could wear it today," Christie said when they were setting the gifts aside to make way for company.

"Why can't you?" Jim asked.

"Remember the part about having two people in me?" Christie asked.

Jim started. As intimately aware as he was of the size of Christie's abdomen, he had genuinely forgotten she wouldn't immediately be able to wear that sweater. The Christie he saw in his mind didn't match the Christie he saw with his fingers. He sighed, realizing it was impossible to reconcile the two. He would never know what she looked like, carrying his children.

"But do you like it?" he asked shyly.

"It's gorgeous. I love it. Hopefully I'll be able to wear it in a few weeks—if I'm not still too fat."

Jim's family arrived in the afternoon, everyone seeming more at ease than usual in the comfortable setting, eating the meal Jim had ordered. Shannon and Bradley helped maintain the feeling of normalcy. A baby to play with and a sister to tease went far in diluting any strained parental vibe in the air. Jim had to laugh when a stumble he took over a misplaced chair was met with a snort of sisterly laughter. Shannon had come a long way since meeting Marty.

"Shannon!" Jim's mom exclaimed.

Jim ignored his mother and, within a couple of minutes, was able to maneuver himself into a painful collision with his sister that nearly knocked her over. Even Shannon wasn't quite sure if it had been intentional as Jim pretended to nurse his injured elbow.

During the gift exchange, Jim waited eagerly for Shannon to open his gift to her and he was not disappointed by the awkward silence that filled the air once she had done so.

"I picked it out myself," he told her earnestly, knowing she was viewing the paint-spattered shirt Marty had left the day they had painted the babies' room.

"It's…" Shannon began, but she couldn't seem to fill in a description. She was wondering, Jim knew, if Jim had accidentally wrapped the wrong thing or if someone had played a trick on him, swapping out the real gift for the paint shirt. She was undoubtedly torn between pity and the urge to tease and she didn't know what to do next.

Jim concentrated on making his expression hold a look of naïve anticipation as he awaited Shannon's reaction. "Do you like it?" he asked eagerly.

"What is it?" Jim's dad asked. "Take it out of the box, Shannon."

"No, I think…Jim? Do you know what's in this box?"

Jim smiled at Shannon. "Go ahead and look at it."

He heard the wrapping paper shift as Shannon removed the shirt from the box and he was able to pinpoint the moment the paper fluttered from the shirt. Shannon gasped.

"'My Blessing'?" she read. "What the hell does that mean?"

Jim grew serious. "He's a good guy—and he'll be here in a little while for dessert."

"He said he might stop by," Shannon said, sounding dazed. "But I thought—"

"I know you're seeing each other," Jim said, dropping his voice. "I work with the guy. He and I had a talk the other day and…"

He stopped, startled, as Shannon flung her arms around his neck and gave him a tight hug. "I told him you'd be cool about it," she said, letting go. "He wasn't so sure. But…does this mean you didn't get me a real gift?"

"It's right here," Christie said from her perpetual spot on the couch. "He had to have his little joke first, but we did get you something other than Jimmy's blessing."

Marty arrived as Shannon was getting ready to serve the pie she had brought for dessert.

"So this is Bradley, huh?" Marty asked after everyone had greeted him.

Jim, who was holding his nephew, turned Bradley to face Marty and made him wave his hand in greeting.

"You haven't met him yet?" Jim asked.

"Nah, she didn't want me to unless…"

Jim smiled. "So you're meeting him. Wanna hold him?"

Marty seemed to hesitate before lifting Bradley out of Jim's arms. "He's…you."

"Cute kid, huh?" Jim said, feeling his smile spread.

Marty laughed. "Cute little Dunbar," he said, sounding like the words were making him cringe.

"Hey!" Shannon had approached. "You've got him. What do you think? Isn't he gorgeous?"

"He looks like Jim," Marty said.

"And like me," Shannon added.

Marty groaned.

"I told you so," Jim said to Marty, allowing himself to smirk openly.

The evening wound down, and Jim found himself sitting with all the women while Marty, still holding Bradley, had a quiet but intense-sounding conversation with Jim's father. Jim strained to hear what they were saying, but all he knew was that they were talking shop. The way Jim used to with his father. It used to be one of the only topics they had in common but now even that had become so awkward they generally didn't speak at all. Jim tensed as he heard his name in the conversation.

"Jim never told you about that?" Marty asked, raising his voice slightly. "That surprises me. Hey, Jim. Come here a minute."

Jim joined his father and Marty at the dining room table.

"I was just telling your father about what happened with the Korean grocers and…"

Jim tensed, wondering if Marty was about to elaborate on what had happened in the locker room after that case had ended, but he relaxed when he realized Marty was sticking to the case and the different approaches he and Jim had used. He even kindly left out the part about the perp running right by Jim.

"Jim thought it was an isolated incident and unrelated to the pattern. I disagreed—"

"That's one way of putting it," Jim muttered.

Marty ignored him. "We both ended up being right and both cases got solved."

Jim cocked his head to one side as it hit him that this was the first time someone was able to tell his father firsthand about what he did on the job.

"And you were able to work all that out…together?" Jim's dad asked.

"Well…" Marty said, sounding like he was smiling.

Jim laughed. "We weren't really working together much in those days, but we each had a theory and we each worked it. He got his guy, I got mine. I can't say we didn't step on each other's toes a bit but…"

"It all worked out," Marty finished. "Jim and me—we came to an understanding at that point and we don't go our separate ways like that anymore. Jim, you never told your dad about the Tuxhorns? About Marlon Condell?"

Jim heard his father shift. "I read about that one in the paper," he said. "You worked it?"

"Worked it?" Marty answered for Jim. "He was in the room when the guy blew his brains out."

"Are you talking about brain splat in front of my baby?" Shannon asked, joining them. "Here, give me my baby back. Jim, come with me. I need to ask you something about the nursery."

Jim stood and followed his sister through the apartment, neither of them speaking until he had stubbed his toe on Hank, who had been napping beside one of the cribs.

"What is it?" Jim asked.

"Nothing. The room is perfect."

Jim shrugged, inclining his head toward Shannon to urge her to explain herself.

"He told me not to tell you he said it," she said slyly. "But I really can't resist—and you've been so nice about us and everything."

"What are you talking about?"

"Marty said, and I quote, 'Jim's one hell of a detective.'"

Jim nodded, feeling his lips turning down in deliberate nonchalance. "Exact quote?" he asked.

"Yeah. I feel a little bad telling you, but why shouldn't you know he said that? And Jimmy, thanks for letting Marty and me…"

"Letting you?" Jim cut in. "That's not exactly how this thing went down. All I did was—"

"Your blessing is important to us. Marty wouldn't date me without it, you know. He never said it in so many words, but he's that kind of guy. You guys work together and he has too much respect for you to date your sister unless you tell him it's all right."

"Yeah," Jim said, grinning. "He's just dripping with respect for me."

"You don't know, Jim," she said, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "He's not what you think. He looks up to you a lot and—"

"Looks up to me? Maybe he's accepted that he's stuck with me in his squad and he's come to realize that I'm not such a bad guy outside the job—and it doesn't hurt that he thinks my sister is hot—but I wouldn't go so far as to say that he looks up to me."

"You impress him. He wonders how you do it. How you go on. I don't know what went on with the two of you when you first got there, and I'm sure he's still keeping face and acting stupid like a man, but you blow him away. What's so funny?"

How could he explain it to her? His biggest fear, when he had begun to suspect there was a spark between Marty and Shannon, had been that Shannon would expose all of his vulnerabilities to Marty. It had never occurred to him that it could be the other way around.

"I don't think you should repeat any more of those conversations," he said.

"Why not?"

"It's nice just this once, but you want Marty to trust you, right?"

"But—"

"I have a certain—very grudging—respect for Marty and…I have to work with the guy. I know you mean well, but…let's keep the hot side hot and the cold side cold, okay?"

"What does that even mean?" she asked.

But Jim left the room, smiling even as he shook his head.