We climbed out of the car. No matter how I tried, I couldn’t not stop to look at that baby seat in the back and its smiling-lion baseball cap. At the name written in happy letters beneath that lion.
“Bren?”
I dragged my eyes from the cap and offered Amanda a smile. “I’m okay.”
“But not gravy?”
“Not gravy,” I answered honestly.
She nodded. “Let’s go.”
You know that smell hospitals have? That distinct smell of disinfectant, artificial air and food? I’m very familiar with that smell – Mum’s a nurse, remember? I’d spent more than one day of the school holidays whiling away the hours in the waiting room when child-minding plans had fallen through and there was no choice but for me to go to work with her. Added to that, playing football for most of my childhood and teenage years, the emergency department was my friend growing up. The smell of a hospital never instilled in me any sense of dread or heartache like it did for most people.
The second I exited the main foyer, however, and entered the hospital proper, with its distinct, ubiquitous, chemical-clean smell, my gut clenched and my mouth turned dry. A cacophony of electronic beeps from monitors, buzzers of patients in their rooms, doctors and nurses discussing said patients, all assaulted my ears, the horrible circumstances for me being at the hospital turning the familiar sounds into something harsh and jarring. Twisted the sickened sensation building like a storm inside me.
“Hi, Amanda.” A woman in pale green scrubs approached us from the opposite direction as we walked up the corridor toward a closed door. “How are you doing today?”
Amanda stopped and smiled at the woman. They spoke. Amanda indicated to me with another smile and a wave of her hand. I know I should have connected to the conversation, but I couldn’t. My head was roaring. My pulse was choking me. The door loomed before me. Closed to the rest of the world.
Above the door was a sign. ONCOLOGY. I stared at it. My gut clenched.
“Bren?”
I jumped at the feel of warm fingers on my arm and jerked around. Both women were regarding me – Amanda with a soft smile, the woman (was she a nurse?) with an apprehensive frown.
“Brendon,” Amanda continued without removing her hand from my arm, “this is Julie. Julie is the head nurse of the Oncology unit.” She gave Julie a warm smile. “She looks after Tanner for me when I’m not here.”
I looked at the woman, opened my mouth, then closed it again. Jesus, what was wrong with me?
“Julie, this is Brendon,” Amanda’s hand slid from my arm to find my fingers, “Tanner’s dad.”
A flicker of sympathy filled Julie’s face and then the apprehension dissolved into a wide, welcoming smile. “Hello Brendon. It’s wonderful to meet you. I can see where Tanner gets his looks from.”
I blinked again. I couldn’t connect. I couldn’t . . .
Amanda’s fingers squeezed mine. Not hard. Just a wordless message to let me know there was a connection. Hers and mine.
“G’day,” I said, although to be honest, it may have come out as a blurting sound, nothing like a word. “How’re you going?”
Julie gave Amanda a wicked grin. “Oh, I see what you mean about his accent.”
“I know,” said Amanda.
I turned to look at her. She shrugged up at me, her cheeks pink.
“Your mom and dad are in there at the moment, hon,” Julie said, her focus back on Amanda. Her grin faded, once again a warm, gentle smile. “And Chase.”
“Thanks, Julie,” Amanda said. “How is Tanner?”
It didn’t escape me that she let go of my hand. I should have been relieved, given how angry I was with her. Instead, I felt . . . lost.
Julie gave her a funny little head nod. “He’s waiting for his mommy.”
“I’m here. And so’s his daddy.”
Julie turned her smile to me. “It was nice to finally meet you, Brendon.” And with that, she left, walking down the corridor away from us.
“You okay?”
I swung my dry, hot stare to Amanda and nodded.
“Me too.” She approached the door, pumped waterless disinfectant into her palms from the dispenser, and then gave me a nervous smile. “Let’s go.”
Without another word, she pushed the door open with her shoulder and crossed the threshold. After disinfecting my own hands, I followed.
Taking that first step through the door was difficult. Daunting. And at the same time I wanted to run through it and find the son I didn’t know I had, before the universe tilted and threw my life into chaos once more.
We were a few steps along the corridor of the Oncology ward when I saw him – a man in a brown tweed suit, glaring at me from the open doorway of a room just past the nurse’s station.
Charles Sinclair.
Amanda’s father straightened, his eyes piercing and direct behind the lenses of his rimless glasses. His jaw bunched. I drew a slow breath. To say he’d never been my biggest fan was an understatement, but the contempt radiating from him surprised me.
Amanda took my hand in hers as we came to a stop in front of him. “Dad, you remember Brendon?”
Charles ran a slow inspection over me, as if cataloguing every crease and wrinkle in my shorts and T-shirt and filing them under FAIL.
I offered my hand. “Mr. Sinclair.”
He didn’t take it. “You’ve been conspicuously absent in my daughter’s life, Osmond. At a time when she – and your son – needed you the most. Can’t say I didn’t expect it, to be honest. I always knew you weren’t—”
“Dad,” Amanda groaned, embarrassment and regret filling the sound. “I told you not to—”
“I would have been here, Chuck,” I said, dropping my hand and ignoring his not-so-subtle insult, “but until two hours ago, I had no clue I had a son.”
His eyes narrowed behind his glasses. The lenses were spotless. Meticulously cleaned. “And why’s that, do you think? Why do you think my daughter didn’t want to let you know you’d messed up her life, hmm? What does it say about you that she’d rather face this alone than with the Neanderthal who got her—”
“Dad,” Amanda snapped. “Enough.”
He stopped talking, but he didn’t stop glaring at me. There was some serious hate there. At that point in time, I didn’t give a flying fuck.
“Excuse me for being rude, but this Neanderthal is here to see his son, not stand in a corridor and trade insults with you.”
His chest puffed up. It was a ridiculous sight. He stood no taller than my chin and was reed thin. And yet there he was, a father defending his child, protecting his child, with the only weapon he had – words.
Would I be equally as combative if the situation was reversed?
I didn’t need to think about the answer. I was ready to do whatever was needed to help a son I hadn’t met yet. There was no doubt in my mind I’d use more than words to protect Tanner if necessary. I’d use every weapon I had at my disposal.
“I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again while I’m here, Mr. Sinclair,” I said, forcing my voice to be calm, composed, despite the turbulent state of my mind. “I hope we can put the hostilities aside until my son’s life is no longer at risk.”