“Hey, Radcliffe, you in there?”
“Yeah,” he called out, sitting up in bed and shoving his cell back in his pocket as Sherman Rix stuck his head through the tent opening. “There’s a call for you.”
Fear gripped him. The few people he knew would call him on his cell, which meant this call came from official channels.
“Do you know who it is?”
Sherman hesitated before saying, “Some hospital in Melbourne. I didn’t catch the name.”
Fear morphed into full-blown panic as Rory scrambled off the bed and ducked through the flap, breaking into a run toward the main truck that housed the cameras, IT equipment, and satellite phones.
If something had happened to Samira or the baby and he was stuck all the way out here, he’d never forgive himself. He shouldn’t have listened to her. He should’ve fought for her. What a dickhead.
As he bounded up the steps into the truck, he sent a silent prayer heavenward for the safety of a baby he never knew he wanted so badly until faced with the threat of losing him or her.
Snatching up the satellite phone, he willed himself to calm the hell down so he could formulate the words needed to ascertain exactly how serious this was.
“Rory Radcliffe speaking,” he said, clenching the phone so tight it made an odd crackling sound.
“Hi, Son.”
Relief filtered through him, and his muscles relaxed, but only momentarily, as he realized his dad was calling him from a hospital.
“Are you okay, Dad?”
“Uh, yes. I had a minor stroke, but I’m okay.”
Shock rendered him speechless for a moment. “You sure? What happened? How long will you be in hospital for?”
He might not have been close to his father growing up, but he hated the thought of him lying helpless in a hospital bed.
“I had a little turn at work. Couldn’t make sense of the documents I was reading, and my PA said my mouth was drooping on one side, so she overreacted and called an ambulance. I got here this morning. They’ve run tests, said it’s very minor, no major damage. I’m on blood thinners for potential clots, but I should be home over the next few days.”
His dad wasn’t telling him everything. If the stroke was so minor, why would they keep him in hospital?
“I’m actually wrapping up filming tomorrow, Dad, then I’ll be on the first flight home. Is that okay?”
“I’ll look forward to seeing you, Son.”
Rory clutched the phone to his ear. He’d never heard the great Garth Radcliffe sound so uncertain. While it would take them a long time to repair the yawning gap in their relationship, his father wouldn’t have called unless he was feeling particularly vulnerable. Rory wouldn’t wish him ill, but this could be a turning point for them, a way to start making inroads toward some kind of bond.
“Take care, Dad, and call me if you need anything.”
“I will,” Garth said, sounding particularly gruff, before hanging up.
Rory stood in the truck for a long time, listening to the dial tone. He’d never felt so helpless, and he couldn’t wait to wrap up this damn show tomorrow and get home to the people he loved.
And this time, he’d make sure Samira knew it.
Forty-Six
Samira hadn’t wanted a baby shower. She didn’t want the fuss, not when most of the aunties barely looked at her at the last gathering she’d attended, a Diwali celebration at the Dandenong Town Hall. The festival of lights was supposed to promote peace by celebrating the triumph of good over evil, light over dark, and blessings of freedom and enlightenment.
Some of those judgmental aunties could do with a hefty dose of enlightenment.
After Rory had left Melbourne, she hadn’t wanted to face them, so she’d chickened out and got her mom to break the pregnancy news to her cronies. Kushi had been circumspect when Samira had asked about their reactions, but she knew her mom was protecting her. The aunties, especially Sushma, would’ve had plentiful advice to remedy her unwed state and the scandal of having a child without a husband at her age or otherwise.
To take some of the heat off her mom, which she knew Kushi would be copping with, Samira had attended the Diwali celebration. But whether she’d been admiring the rangoli, the intricate floral design made of colored rice and flowers at the entrance to the town hall, or helping light the lanterns surrounding the main room’s perimeter, or watching the fireworks, she’d felt the aunties’ stares boring into her. Cynical. Harsh. Judgmental. They’d spoiled her appetite so she couldn’t even enjoy the Indian feast laid out for attendees.
So why would she want a baby shower with these women in attendance?
But Pia had insisted, saying they could be found lacking together, a way of giving the aunties the finger, that they were happy in their life choices and wouldn’t be criticized for it.
So Samira had gone along with it, but now, as she sat in the middle of her mom’s family room, surrounded by cakes made out of diapers and baskets filled with lotion and baby clothes, all she wished for was the sanctity of her apartment.
She’d been having Braxton-Hicks contractions all morning while the ache in her lower back intensified. If it persisted, she’d get it checked out, but at thirty-two weeks, this baby was a long way off from being born.
Besides, she may not want a relationship with Rory, but he deserved to be at the birth if he wanted, and she had no idea when he’d be getting back. He hadn’t responded to any of her texts beyond the same “thanks” to every one. He didn’t ask how she was feeling or whether she’d been attending prenatal classes. Then again, she’d made sure he wouldn’t when she’d told him she’d be marrying another man.
As for Manny, she’d distanced herself from him too. She felt bad using him as a tool to drive Rory away, even if he didn’t know it. So they’d chatted a few times on the phone, but there had been no more coffee dates, and she’d made Kushi promise on her grandchild’s life not to invite him around anymore.
Thankfully, her mom was resigned to the fact she’d be a single mother. The one and only time Kushi had asked about Rory, Samira had snapped that they weren’t together and she didn’t want to discuss it. Again, her mom had surprised her by giving her the space she wanted. But today, surrounded by baby paraphernalia and listening to tales of water births and hypnosis to experience a painless labor, a small part of her wished she had Rory by her side.
She thought she’d loved Avi once; she’d been wrong. Because ending her marriage hadn’t hurt half as much as watching Rory walk away from her car that night several months ago.
She’d been a fool. A fool who hadn’t thought this through much beyond that night, because what would happen when he came back and discovered she hadn’t married Manish after all? Could she keep holding him, and her feelings, at bay when he wanted to be involved in raising the baby? More importantly, did she want to?