34. Chapter 34
Chapter 34
Rose
Callum screams. Again.
I cradle him and tilt my head to the side so my ear can rest against my shoulder. Maybe that will muffle the sound some because my son’s lungs are something else.
He tries again to rip the blood pressure cuff off his arm, so the nurse at the ER finally just removes it for him. It’s small, just right for his age, and it even has trucks printed all over it. But he doesn’t care a bit.
“We’ll try again when he feels a little calmer,” she tells me, her eyes twinging in sympathy.
I’d gotten him settled in his crib last night and had just begun a study session when I heard him cry out. It wasn’t his usual, I don’t want to sleep right now cry. Usually, he only needs me to get him up and rock him some more until he’s ready to go back to bed. And I’m happy to do that. But I knew instantly that something was wrong.
He was standing in his crib, holding his ear, crying. There was fluid streaked with blood on his sheets and pajamas.
So, yeah. Nothing prepares a mom for that, even though I’m studying nursing. You’d think that would take some of the fear away, but it doesn’t. If anything, it makes it worse.
I checked his ears with my otoscope and as best as I could tell, his left eardrum had ruptured, and his right ear looked horribly inflamed. With my heart in my throat, I drove him straight to the off-campus emergency department and we’ve been here ever since.
The nurse brings me a juice box for him, which ends up being the only thing that calms him down. I knew from my studies and because I’m a big medical nut as it is, that patients presenting with OME—otitis media with effusion—can often feel relief when the eardrum ruptures because a lot of the pressure is released. But his pain only seemed to intensify.
When the attending physician confirmed a severe, double middle ear infection, I felt a small sense of calm. At least they can treat this. They got him set up on some medicines and are just waiting for his fever to go down. Then they’ll send us home.
I’m tired. It’s past one a.m. And the gaping loneliness of doing this on my own is a chasm I can’t pretend away anymore.
I miss Milo, which I’ve not allowed myself to do very much.
I’ve been insanely busy. It’s dizzying, really, to bring Callum with me to work at Tate International in the early mornings and then take him to the UNC on-campus daycare in the late morning. To go to classes throughout the day, spend time with Callum in our little apartment in the evening, then do my homework until I’m falling asleep and typing out nonsense with my cheek against my keyboard.
It’s been two months of this and sometimes I wonder if I have what it takes, if my sisters were right that maybe I’d get into it and realize I couldn’t do it. But for the most part, I’m hanging in there. I’m making friends in my cohort and enjoying the vibrant kaleidoscope of fall colors in Chapel Hill. The city isn’t much like Longdale, but it does have a small-town feeling that helps a little with the homesickness.
But now? With my precious little boy so sick, I simply don’t have it in me to fight back the tears. They come, hot and stinging, and with every breath, there’s only one word on my lips: Milo.
I miss him so badly it hurts. And not just because I’m alone with my sick boy in an emergency room far from home. I keep thinking I see him on campus, whenever I notice in the distance a guy with the same build or a swoop of dark, glossy hair. Sometimes, I catch a whiff of cologne or soap and it slams into my awareness that it’s like Milo’s. The ache starts in again.
And now, I understand the ramifications of what I did to completely cut him out of my life. I not only broke my own heart, but I deprived Callum of the love of a father. Not just a role model or someone to look up to, but a dad . Milo was more of a dad to Callum than anyone has ever had. He showed up consistently for months, loving my son like he was his own.
And what did I do? I dropped him like a vestige of my old life, one that I’ve been trying to escape as long as I can remember. I shed everything I thought could stop me like I was peeling off a tight, suffocating sweater. I shed it and ran.
And Milo was the collateral damage.
The thing was, he wasn’t what I was afraid of. And I couldn’t see that. He was the healing, brilliant heat of the sun, and I discarded him.
And I denied Callum the love of a true and valiant man.
When sobs start racking my body, I have to lay a now-quiet Callum down on the bed in the triage. My arms ache from holding my sweet boy, so I roll my shoulders and then pace and sob some more, breathing in the scents that remind me of Milo and our first night together. I smell him in the sharp alcohol of the hospital-grade hand sanitizer. I hear him in the squeak of the doctors’ and nurses’ shoes on the thick, vinyl flooring. I feel him here, remembering how we kissed in an ER over a year before. I taste his lips on mine, I feel the barely-there stubble of his chin scratch my skin.
I love him in every part of me—in the tired nerves behind my eyes and in the deep tunnels and canals inside my bones.
I love him within the very fibers of the cartilage of my sternum, the bone covering my heart.
And I need him back in my life.
Right now.
Callum and I make it through the night, and he’s discharged from the hospital just as the sun is beginning to come up. My whole body is tight and dry, my eyes like sandpaper against their lids.
Not that I’m complaining. I’m not the one suffering from a horrible ear infection. My poor baby.
Callum and I collapse into bed, and we mostly stay there for the next couple of days. I manage to squeeze in some studying while he sleeps and get begrudged permission from my professors to miss class. Work grants me the rest of the week off, as well.
I’m going to be behind in my coursework, but I don’t care. Callum needs me right now and that’s all that matters.
Yet, I can’t stop the constant thoughts of Milo. With those thoughts come a surge of regret and shame. I want nothing more than to call him or visit him and ask his forgiveness. I want to tell him how I feel and say can I please re-enter your life ? Please? But fear grips me every time. Milo deserves better than how I treated him. It would be unfair of me to reach out now.
And then, it's like a light switch is flipped on the third day. Callum’s suddenly feeling well. He’s acting completely normal. So we get real wild and crazy. We get dressed in our matching Barbecue Dad outfits and walk to the apartment complex office where we pick up our mail.
Of course I think of Milo when I wear these clothes. And it pains me to realize how small this outfit is on Callum now. He’s growing so much.
When we get the mail, there’s a get-well card for Callum from my family back in Denver. Everyone’s signed it—my mom, brother, and sisters. They even inked their dogs’ and cat’s paws and put the paw prints on the card, which makes me laugh.
Tears spring to my eyes again—pretty much the usual these days. I read the card to Callum, and he beams. I sort through the junk mail and am heading out of the apartment office with Callum when the woman at the desk speaks up.
“Oh! I think this is also for you. It’s been here a while.”
She holds out a brown paper package and I take it from her. It’s heavy. I haven’t picked up my mail in a while—haven’t had time for that. The return address is Tate International in Longdale. With my heart jamming my throat, I rip it open to see a heavy envelope with a rouge wax seal.
MKT.
And beneath that is a hardcover book wrapped carefully in tissue paper. The cover has deep purple, brown, and sage tones, a sweeping font in gold raised lettering, and sprayed edges in a curling, rich print design.
Zehma of the Night Loch.
I gasp. Is this real? I cradle it in my arms, breathing in its papery, inky scent.
I break open the envelope’s seal and slide the letter out. Unfolding it, I can barely read the words through my tears.
My Dearest Rose,
As you can see, my book’s been published. Here’s an Advanced Reader Copy for you.
When I got an agent, you were the person I wanted to tell. When I heard the news, that a major publisher had picked it up and wanted to fast track its publication, again, I wanted to tell you immediately.
So, naturally, I had to send you a copy because you helped me make it what it is.
I have missed you more than I can find the words to explain. And you know how much I love words.
I want you to know I finally told my family that I’m a writer . . . an author. It’s freeing. And you were right: they’ve been hugely supportive.
Things with the publication have been going so fast. There’s a small book tour scheduled. And my publisher is putting together a launch event in Denver next month.
Greenleaf heard of my impending publication. They granted my request to defer, citing that it would help with their publicity and marketing to have a writer with a book already published by the big five join their program.
Rose, I’m going to email you two round trip plane tickets for you and Callum to Denver for the weekend of the seventh. I want you there at the launch event with me.
Will you please come? My beautiful Rose, I’m willing to wait for you to realize we’re meant to be together. I can’t wait forever, but I love you, and I believe in you. And I know this is scary, but I also know you can take this chance. I want you to take that chance with me.
If you don’t come, I’ll know you’re not interested, and I won’t contact you again.
I love you,
MKT
I can’t catch my breath. I may just pass out right here, right now.
Milo included another paper with the details of the launch party.
My heart stops. It’s tomorrow.
Callum’s exploring the office and the woman’s mouth tuts when he disappears behind the counter and starts getting into her stuff.
“Sorry!” I say as I run around the counter and grab Callum by the hand.
“You have to stay by Mommy,” I tell him. I set the letter down on the little table by the door. When I crack the book open, there’s a slight pop. There’s nothing like the sound of a brand-new book opening, is there?
I thumb through the cream-colored pages, stumbling upon the dedication in the front, laughing, my soul burning with love as I read it.
For Rose.
And then in thin-point permanent marker right below, Milo has written: I welcome you eating the entirety of every ice cream cone you come across because I’m not afraid of having a family with you. I’m not afraid of spending my life with you.
I love you, Rose.
Milo Knox Tate/Thaddeus Blackthorn.