“At least you had a nice dinner,” Olivia told the poodle, who was giving her the canine version of a cold shoulder by averting his gaze. “I feasted on mystery meat from the hospital cafeteria.”
Haviland groaned and trotted away.
Ignoring the blinking light on her answering machine, Olivia wearily climbed the stairs, changed into her nightgown, and fell into bed. She expected sleep to come immediately, but her mind was still pacing the halls of Pitt Memorial Hospital.
Nurse Love had been a gem. True to her word, she’d scrubbed in and stayed with Anders throughout his surgery. Olivia wiled away the hours watching CNN, flipping through insipid women’s magazines, and drinking cup after cup of watery coffee, but the dedicated pediatric nurse left the operating room only to let Olivia know that the surgery was complete and that her nephew was doing fine.
“How long will the recovery take?” Olivia had asked.
“It varies. Some children go home after two weeks, some three. There’s really no science to this sort of thing.” She removed the blue cloth cap she’d worn for the past four hours and ran a hand over her short, black hair. “Do you want to see him?”
Olivia shook her head. “Not with all those tubes and things,” she admitted. “I just want to be able to call his parents, say that he’s doing well and that they needn’t worry, and go home.”
Nurse Love smiled knowingly. “His mother’s going to ask if you saw him. Trust me.” She put a hand on Olivia’s shoulder. “You’ve been sitting here for hours wondering about your nephew. Now come meet him face-to-face.”
Incredibly nervous, Olivia had waited until the baby was admitted to the NICU and, after being given instructions on how to wash her hands and forearms and dress herself in a sterile gown, she’d entered a room populated by nurses and miniscule babies in incubators.
Olivia had never been so frightened in her life. Her navy eyes grew round as they took in the sight of the tiny arms and legs of the diapered forms. Even the crying sounded undeveloped. They were more like bird cries than the lusty howls she’d heard from full-sized babies in the grocery store. These were pitiful, like the mews of a kitten. Olivia wondered if these miniscule infants would all make it, and the thought redoubled her fear and discomfort.
“Jesus,” Olivia breathed.
Nurse Love put a hand on her shoulder. “Yes, I do believe our Lord and Savior pays special attention to these little ones. Come on, you’re not the only person who’s been scared to death by the NICU. Look at it this way. Most of these babies just decided to move up their arrival dates. They’re not fat and pink like the full-term ones, but they will be soon enough.” She stopped in front of an incubator bearing a paper sign that read, “Salter, K.”
Olivia had exhaled slowly. Here he was, the child that had been taken from her sister-in-law’s womb mere hours ago and had spent the first day of his life in an operating room instead of cradled in his mother’s arms. Olivia reached her fingers toward the letters of the baby’s name, and then hastily withdrew them.
“My daughter tells people that babies are brought here to finish cooking,” Nurse Love had said with a quiet chuckle. “Look at Anders. He weighs over seven pounds. In here, that makes him a giant. He’s going to do great.”
Olivia had forced her gaze down to the still form of her nephew. He slept on his back, arms splayed wide, eyes closed. Like most of the babies in the room, his body was connected to a network of tubes and wires, and Olivia’s heart ached at the sight.
“You can put your hand in that hole if you want to touch him.” Nurse Love had pointed at the side of the incubator.
Olivia had been astounded that she really did want to reach out, to make a physical connection with the little being in his nest of white cotton. Timidly, she’d stretched her fingers forward, touching the blanket lining the incubator and then, the skin of her nephew’s arm. She stared at his small fingers, noticing the long and nearly transparent fingernails. They reminded her of dragonfly wings.
“Oh, my God,” she murmured, her eyes filling with tears.
Nurse Love had sighed at the scene. “I never get tired of watching people do that for the first time.”
The women fell silent, wordlessly observing the rapid rise and fall of Anders’ chest.
“I’m ready to go now,” Olivia had whispered. “I can’t do anything for him.”
“You already did,” the nurse had assured her. “You were here. On some level, through some wonderful and mysterious means, he knows it too.”
Brushing the moisture from her cheeks, Olivia had cast one more glance at her sleeping nephew and hurriedly left the ward.
After calling Kim with the news that Anders’ surgery had been a success and that he was resting peacefully in the care of a team of skilled doctors and nurses, Olivia had driven over to the closest hotel offering suites with kitchens and paid in advance for a two-week stay. “I need a list of area restaurants that make deliveries,” she told the manager. She then drove to the nearest grocery store, where she bought a cartload of food and sundries, including several coloring books and Barbie dolls, and put everything away in the suite. Lastly, she placed a few hundred dollars in cash in the room’s safe.
It was her intention to bring Kim the room key when she was released from the hospital in two days’ time. Kim had already informed her that Hudson refused to shirk his duties at The Bayside Crab House during its first weekend in operation, so she and Caitlyn would stay in Greenville until Anders could go home.
Olivia had pointed out that the assistant chefs could handle the grand opening but was honestly relieved to know that Hudson would be in the kitchen later that weekend.
Now, in her dark bedroom, Olivia tried to relax, but failed.
“If I don’t get some sleep tonight,” she spoke to Haviland, “it won’t matter how many chefs are in the kitchen. I’ve got to bring my A game to tomorrow’s staff meeting.” Olivia thumped the space on the bed beside her. “Come here, Captain. Chase those hospital images away, would you?”
Haviland jumped onto the bed, licked her cheek, and snuggled against her, sighing contentedly. As Olivia listened to him breathe, the sights and sounds of the tiny babies in the NICU finally released their hold on her.
The next morning, she stood with coffee cup in hand and listened to her messages. There were half a dozen calls pertaining to Friday’s grand opening, one from Harris asking what she’d discovered at the art museum, and a surprise call from Nick Plumley. Apparently, he was still renting the house down the beach from hers and said to stop by anytime she wanted.
Olivia copied down his number from her caller ID and then dialed.
When Plumley answered, she immediately apologized for phoning so early in the day. “It’s just that I have a historical object here that you might be interested in seeing,” she explained.
“Don’t tease me,” he complained good-naturedly. “I haven’t even had my coffee yet.”
Olivia hesitated. She wanted to see Nick’s face when he first looked at the painting, but something prompted her to show more of her hand right now. “Harris found a watercolor hidden inside one of his stair treads. Turns out, the artist was Heinrich Kamler. Does that name ring a bell?”
She heard a sharp intake of breath over the line. The name definitely meant something to Plumley. “Is there a connection between this artist and your sequel? Didn’t you already write about how he murdered a prison guard in order to make his escape?”
There was a long moment of silence. “May I see the painting today? How about now?” The eagerness in Plumley’s voice was transparent.
“Sure,” Olivia replied brightly. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes, but I expect an answer to my question first.”