Chapter 61

“Congratulations, Luc—you’ve a son.” Still in his surgical scrubs, mask hanging around his neck, Mark Andrews stood in the Maternity waiting room.

Luc staggered to his feet.

* * *

After a short argument over who would drive, he’d taken the ’Vette, sending the car skidding down the driveway as he headed to Lake Pontchartrain Causeway, one hand on the steering wheel, the other fumbling with the cell phone as he hit Mark’s Speed Dial Number.

“Luc, please slow down.” Julie’s voice was so calm it was infuriating.

Of course, she’s calm. She’s done this before, but I haven’t. I’ve got to get to the hospital as quick as I can. I don’t want to find myself acting midwife on the shoulder of the road or somewhere.

Nevertheless, he forced himself not to send the car into hyperdrive and get stopped for speeding, giving Julie anxious glances the entire time. She was quiet, one hand resting against her side over the seat belt extender, giving him little smiles whenever she caught his eye. She looked as if she wanted to say something, then decided against it. Probably some smart remark about his reaction.

Julie, no jokes. I’m afraid for you, amour.

Everything happening that night and everything they’d said to each other was forgotten in his fear.

Mark met him in the hospital lobby while a nurse put Julie into a wheelchair and whisked her away.

“She told me she wants you with her. What do you want?”

Me? In the delivery room? Listening to Julie scream as she gives birth to my baby? Luc didn’t answer.

“Come on, Luc,” Mark snapped. “I’ve got to get scrubbed and I don’t have time for you to mull it over and give me your answer next week.”

“No.” He shook his head furiously, then forced it to stop. “I-I…no.”

“Good enough. The waiting room’s on the fourth floor.” He pushed Luc toward one elevator and headed to another reserved for doctors and hospital staff.

Luc rode the elevator to the fourth floor and found himself in a small stuffy room where a sign on the wall admonished NO SMOKING! It was empty, thank God.

Whatever happened to that old cliché of an expectant father pacing a hole in the rug while chain-smoking? He wondered as he spent the next two hours worrying and suffering from not being able to satisfy his nicotine habit.

* * *

“Luc?” Mark broke into his flashback.

“I-is he all right?” By his reckoning, the baby was three weeks early.

“A little underdone but otherwise okay. Got all his fingers and toes and other attachments. Circumcision’s tomorrow.”

He must have looked dazed or something because Mark began to laugh.

“Oh, my God! You’re a daddy, Luc Deveraux. I never thought I’d say that. Not in a million years!”

“Neither did I,” Luc admitted, shaking his head, more to steady himself than in denial. He asked again, “You’re sure he’s all right?”

“If you mean the Rh-factor, it’s under control. Julie gets her Rho-Gam injection tomorrow. Come on.” Mark threw an arm over his shoulders and guided him into the hall. Luc didn’t even think to resist.

“C-can I see her?”

“Where do you think we’re going? She’s going to be a little drowsy. She had a pretty hard time.” Luc must’ve looked worried because he said quickly, “You make ’em big, pal, Eight pounds, ten ounces.”

That didn’t sound big to Luc, until he remembered how rounded Julie’s belly had been. Think of carrying eight pounds and ten ounces of another creature inside you. Oh, God.

“I’ve given her something to make her sleep, so she might doze off while you’re there. Don’t be offended if that happens.” He gave Luc a slap on the back, nodding down the hall. “Her room’s 404. After you’ve seen her and your son, come up to my office and we’ll have a drink.”

He went the other way, throwing the words over his shoulder.

“I’m still on duty so we’ll split a Coke.”

Luc continued alone to Julie’s room. The door was open and he could see her lying in the bed, eyes closed, too pale and still for his peace of mind. His heart clutched as he stepped through the door.

At the sound of his footsteps on the tiles, she stirred slightly. “If that’s my cowardly husband, he can stop right there.”

Luc did.

Her eyes opened. “I wanted you with me.”

“I couldn’t do it, Julie.” He didn’t move. “I didn’t expect you’d want me there. All I could think of were those horrendous delivery room scenes in movies, and I knew the first time you screamed, I’d do something stupid like faint dead away. Then I’d simply be a body lying on the floor with people stepping over me to help you.”

“When you put it that way…” She held out her hand and he ran to the bedside, catching it and pressing his lips to her knuckles. “…I forgive you. A little. Have you seen him?”

“Seen who?” He raised his head, looking into her eyes. They were puffy and slightly unfocused.

“Your son? The reason I’m in here?” She made an exasperated sound. “Are you already neglecting him? Some father.”

“Julie, don’t do this,” he protested, not seeing that she was teasing. “You’ve been intimately acquainted with the baby for nearly nine months, while I… Even with you looking like a small blimp, he was still something of an abstract, until now. I promise I’m never going to neglect my son. I’m going to be such an attentive father, the kid’s going to wish I’d get lost, I swear.”

“Calm down.” She gave him a sleepy benevolent smile. “I know you’ll be. He’s beautiful, Luc. He looks just like you.”

“How can he be beautiful, then?”

“You know what I mean.” She bestowed another soft fuzzy smile on him. “Are you happy now?”

“Julie, right this minute, I’m so happy I could die. Not that I want to.” he added hastily, glancing up at the ceiling. “It’s just a figure of speech, God. Don’t listen. I’m the happiest man in the world.”

“Good.” She closed her eyes and sighed and opened them again. “I love you, my man, my husband, father of my beautiful child.”

“And I love you, ma femme, mon épouse, la mere de mon fils. Mon dieu!” He managed a dry laugh. “We sound like something from one of those Romance novels. Let’s change the subject before we get nauseating.”

“All right. I’m going to tell you something that’ll make you even happier.”

“Nothing could make me happier, Julie. Gabriel’s here and he’s all right.” There, he’d named his son, made him into a real person. His own little archangel. “And that’s all I want.”

“I think you’ll want this, too,” she insisted. She placed a finger across his lips. “I forgive you for Clarice. No matter what happens.”

“You’re wrong. It doesn’t make me happier.” He looked at her for a long moment. “Tomorrow it may. When I’m totally sane again and can think straight. Right now, it’s a nice bonus and a fitting end to all that’s happened, but today? Today, Gabriel’s birth is the most important thing in the world.”

He stared at her so intently she felt uncomfortable.

“Can you still say you don’t believe in Fate?” he demanded. “If William hadn’t died, if I hadn’t gone into that 7/11…I’d never have met you and we wouldn’t have Gabriel. Admit it, Julie, it was destined to happen.”

“I’ll admit anything you want although I certainly don’t appreciate some of the events going along with it.”

She raised herself slightly, putting her arms around his neck and he hugged and then kissed her. When she responded, he made the kiss deeper and more impassioned before forcing himself to pull away.

“Guess we’d better stop that, damn it. Hey, how long will it be before we can have real sex again?”

“Six more weeks.”

“Oh, God, donnez-moi la force.”

Julie gave a soft laugh and blinked sleepily, closing her eyes. They stayed that way a little too long.

“I’d better go,” Luc said hastily. “Mark said he gave you something to make you sleep and I was only supposed to stay a few minutes. Besides, I want to go introduce myself to our son.”

“Come back later,” she murmured, not opening her eyes. “In a few hours. We’ll talk…about…things…”

“I’ll go home, tell everyone, and then I’ll come back,” he promised as he kissed her forehead.

At the door, he looked back. Julie was already asleep.

* * *

The nursery window was two doors down from Julie’s room. Looking at the rows upon rows of little blanketed bundles in their white bassinettes, Luc wondered how he was going to find his son.

A nurse, face-mask firmly in place, stood at one end, bending over one of the little baskets. When he tapped on the glass, she looked up.

He put his arms together as if cradling something, then pointed to his chest, mouthing, “My baby?”

She nodded.

While he was trying to figure out how he’d tell her his name, she walked directly to another bassinette and scooped up the enfant lying there.

How the Hell does she know that’s the right one?

As she walked over to the window and folded back the blanket, Luc got his answer. Gabriel’s head was a feathery cap of copper-colored curls.

No doubt who’s his daddy. Luc was enchanted, and again filled with a startling wonder. This is a piece of myself, created that wonderful night in the cottage. You’re right, Julie. He truly is a miracle. Who would believe such an amazing little creature could come from me?

He might’ve gone on like that forever if the baby hadn’t chosen that moment to yawn, wide and toothless, one tiny wrinkled hand with its fingers rubbery and splayed against its cheek. He kicked, managing to free one spindly, red-mottled leg from the blanket.

Luc’s smile transformed itself into a grin. The biggest, most foolish, Cheshire Cat-grin in the world, as he stared at his son. The corner of the nurse’s eyes crinkled and he knew behind her mask, she was smiling, too, sharing his joy and wonder. Her eyes strayed past his shoulder to someone standing behind him. Reflected in the glass was a white-haired figure in a pale green cotton robe.

“He’s a beautiful baby,” Jean-Luc said softly. “He looks just like you.”

“In that case…how can you say he’s beautiful?” It was a repeat of the question he’d asked Julie. Luc didn’t turn around, continuing to look at his son. He wasn’t ready to confront his grandfather, didn’t want anything to spoil this moment.

“I was there when you were born, mon cher.” There were memories in Jean-Luc’s voice. “Trust me. L’enfant looks like you did as un bébé. Has he a name yet?”

“Gabriel Philippe.” It was spur-of-the-moment, tacking on their great-great-grandfather’s name.

“Ah.”

Luc put a hand on the old man's arm.

“Let me walk you back to your room.” He looked back at the nurse, nodded, and did something even he considered stupid. He said, “Bye-bye, mon fils,” and waved to his son.

The nurse raised one of those tiny hands, flapping it gently in his direction. She and Luc exchanged smiles, an embarrassed one on his side, hers mask-hidden, but he was certain she did smile.

As the nurse carried Gabriel back to his crib, Luc put his arm through his grandfather’s. “I’ve got to see Mark and then go home and let everyone know.”

Jean-Luc leaned against him as they walked to the elevator. By the time they reached it, Luc's arm was across his shoulders.

* * *

To Mark’s call, Luc walked into the OB/GYN’s office on the clerical floor.

Mark had changed clothes, was once more in sweatshirt and jeans, as he’d been when he’d gotten the call. His shoeless feet, encased in white athletic socks, were on top of the desk, crossed at the ankles.

“I don’t have to ask if you’re a proud papa,” he said, straightening and taking his hands from behind his head. “You’ve got that Look. Bought any cigars yet?”

“Do they still allow that? The waiting room had a No Smoking sign.”

“And the Gift Shop has boxes of them but I think it’s more symbolic now. Have a seat.” Mark waved him to a chair as he got up and padded over to a small refrigerator set in a corner of the room As Luc seated himself, he gave in to his curiosity and looked around. He’d never been to Mark’s hospital office and had always imagined it’d looked like those he’d seen on Grey’s Anatomy or Scrubs or any other medical television show. He was disappointed. It looked just like Mark’s dorm room at college.

There was a desk, a very expensive one, but it was covered with books and charts and the surface was barely visible. A nearby couch was such a battered, overstuffed thing Luc was certain Mark has selected it for comfort rather than beauty, a place to doze when he was on-call. Bookcases filled to overflowing lined the walls and there were several filing cabinets as well. A television set and DVD player sat on the one cleared corner of the desk, disk cases lying nearby, the titles all medically-related topics. On top of the refrigeration unit was a small microwave and several neatly-stacked paper plates with plastic cutlery and cups.

Mark retrieved a can of Coke from the ’fridge, snapped it open and poured a little into two plastic cups. He handed one to Luc.

“To Julie, and— What’s his name, anyway?”

“Gabriel.”

“Gab— Oh, God, not another angel? He’s the one with the horn, isn’t he? Last Trump, and all that?”

“Maybe he’ll be a great musician. Like Al Hirt.”

“We can only hope.” Mark held out his glass. “To Gabriel Deveraux.”

They tapped the glasses together, each swallowing the minute amount of soft drink in one gulp. Mark poured more but Luc sat studying his glass. Knowing his old friend well enough to recognize the signs of an imminent man-to-man talk, Mark stayed silent.

Luc set his glass on the desk. “Mark, there’s something I’d like to ask you.” He paused, studied the glass, released it and leaned back. “It’s a little difficult.”

“It shouldn’t be.” Mark relaxed. “I get this from all expectant fathers. Julie says she want to nurse the baby, so I’d suggest using condoms until that’s over. That old tale about a woman not being able to conceive while nursing is just that…a tale. When Gabriel’s weaned, I’ll write her a prescription. She’s wanting to try an implant.”

“That’s not it,” Luc denied. “I…” He stopped, shaking his head.

“What is it?” Mark was startled when he looked away, avoiding meeting his gaze. “Hey, pal… We’ve been through a lot together. You know you can talk to me.”

“Yeah, I know,” Luc studied his hands. “Maybe that’s why this is so difficult.”

Mark waited. He knew when not to say anything else. He’d let Luc tell him when he was ready.

At last, Luc sighed and looked up. “It’s my temper. You know when I get crossed I’m like a bear with a toothache.”

That comparison brought a short-lived grin to Mark’s mouth.

It faded as Luc went on, “That one thing has been the reason for most of the break-ups with any girl I’ve dated. Julie and I have had our troubles with my temper, too, but now that Gabriel’s here…”

Now, he met his friend’s eyes.

“I don’t ever want my son seeing see me like that.”

Mark didn't answer. In college and later, he and Luc had been through several sessions like this, where Luc had talked and he’d given advice but this time, he wasn’t certain what to say.

“I’ve never tried to keep my temper, Mark, especially where Michel’s concerned, and quite frankly, I don’t know if I can. When I get angry, I fly into a rage. It’s almost like something takes over. What I want to know is why it happens. And I want the truth. I’ve got my own opinion but what do you think? Am I some kind of nut-case? Manic-depressive…schizophrenic…bipolar? Can I learn to control my anger? Do I need medication or a psychiatrist? Would…what do they call it…Anger Management help?”

There was a long silence as the two friends stared at each other.

“Mark?”

“Wow… I ever expected anything like that.” Mark raised his glass and downed the rest of his Coke, abruptly wishing it held something stronger. He set down the glass, studied his own hands a moment, then looked up.

Luc was startled to see his jaw set determinedly.

“You’ve thrown a lot of questions at me, pal, but I’ll answer them as best I can.” He took a deep breath. “Here goes. No, I don’t think you’re bipolar or manic-depressive, and definitely not schizophrenic. You’re getting your ideas on that from the movies and they’re definitely wrong. As for medication, you had enough of that after your mother died. It’s always been my opinion all your problems started when that happened. When you first came to San Souci, you were a nice kid. A little shy, but I always thought that was because you didn’t speak English. At least, we seemed to hit it off good enough.”

The hopeful look Luc gave him as he said that was a little unsettling.

“You’re spoiled, Luc, and that’s the plain and simple truth. It was understandable for your grandfather to let you have your way after your mother died, what with all you went through then. But later, when you pitched one of your tantrums, he should’ve torn a switch off the nearest hedge and used it on your butt instead of making everyone give in to you.”

Luc’s mouth fell open. Mark looked apologetic.

“Sorry…but you said you wanted the truth.”

“That’s exactly what I want,” Luc assured him. “Frankly, I was hoping you'd say something like that….well, not exactly what you did say, but at least something confirming I’m not crazy…uh…mentally disturbed. Hopefully curable?”

“As curable as any of us, I imagine.” Mark shrugged. “As for being disturbed? I’m sure you’ve still got some issues stemming from your mother’s death. I remember Dad argued with Mr. Deveraux about that at the time, but it’s not too late to address those, even now.”

“You mean, I’m not something that ought to be locked in San Souci’s attic and forgotten?”

“Don’t get so dramatic. Of course not.” In spite of Luc’s seriousness, Mark laughed.

“And there’s the way I treat Michel, too,” Luc went on. “I don’t remember when that started, but I have vague memories of once actually liking him. I want to feel that way again, too.”

“Are you hinting for a referral to a psychologist?”

“I thought I was being fairly forthright about it, but I was thinking psychiatrist,” Luc answered. “What’s the difference?”

“It’s a pretty fine line. A psychiatrist deals with mental disorders, a psychologist with mental processes and behavior.”

“Better make it a psychiatrist then. I’m not sure I don’t have some kind of disorder rattling around in here.” Luc tapped his temple.

“Okay. I know a couple in New Orleans.”

“Not here. In Dallas. I’m going back to Texas.”

“When?”

“After Julie’s dismissed.”

“I wouldn’t advise taking either her or the baby on a plane, Luc. Not for a few months, anyway.”

Luc’s mouth took on a determined set. Mark braced himself. He’d seen that look quite a few times during their friendship. A prelude to a display of temper. Luckily, he’d never been the target. He glanced around the office. Unfortunately, there were several objects lying around which could become deadly projectiles.

He was surprised when Luc said mildly, “Julie won’t be going with me, Mark. She’s staying here.”

“Why?”

“I had a lot of time to think while I was in that waiting room and I decided if you agreed I wasn’t a certifiable loonie…that I’m going to do this by myself. Cold Turkey. So, I’m going back to Dallas, and when I’m ready to come home, it’ll be with no excess baggage.”

“I don’t know about that,” Mark argued. “I’ve always heard a person in therapy need the emotional support of his family.”

“Mark, it’s my family who’s gotten me into this mess. I think…I know…I’ll do better alone.”