Baby, Baby. Roz Fox Denny

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      CHAPTER THREE

      ATTENDING LACY’S FUNERAL was even harder than Faith had imagined. She was touched by the number of people from the hospital who came out of respect for her. Likewise, by the number of Lacy’s old friends from high school and college who’d shown up. Faith made a mental note to catch Abigail Moore after the service so that she could tell her about her namesake.

      A few acquaintances had sent flowers and cards. Including Kipp Fielding III. His was an ostentatious arrangement of red and white roses. They dwarfed Michael’s small white basket of violets. The violets brought tears to Faith’s eyes; they were Lacy’s favorite flower and Michael must have gone to a great deal of trouble to find a florist to provide them at this time of year.

      More surprising than his thoughtful gesture, however, was seeing the man himself walk into the chapel. He paused at a back row and greeted two couples who’d arrived earlier. People Faith had never met. Now it was obvious they’d known Lacy through Michael.

      He didn’t tarry long with his friends. Head bent, he walked slowly down the center aisle and knelt in front of the closed casket. Faith had thought her tears were all cried out until she watched his jaw ripple with emotion several times before he leaned forward to kiss the oak-grained lid. There was a decided sheen to his eyes when he rose. Or maybe she was watching him through her own tears.

      She couldn’t think of a thing to say when he sank onto the bench beside her. Even if she’d thought of something, she didn’t trust her voice not to break.

      “I swung past the apartment to pick you up,” he murmured. “You’d already gone. You must not have listened to the messages on your answering machine. The last one I left said I’d booked a car service for us. I know you don’t own a vehicle.”

      Faith clasped and unclasped her hands. The truth was, she had listened to the message. But Lacy’s lawyer ordered her to have as little contact as possible with either of the two men. The attorney, David Reed, had been quite adamant, in fact.

      Fortunately, Faith was saved from answering Michael when the minister stepped up to the pulpit. She’d asked Reverend Wilson to keep the service short in deference to the people who had taken time off work. However, his opening prayer droned on and on.

      Ending at last, the minister segued into a poem by Helen Steiner Rice. The words celebrated life, and Lacy had been particularly fond of them. Anyone who’d ever received a note from her would recognize the piece, as she’d had it reprinted on the front of her monogrammed note cards.

      Next, a singer—a woman Faith had selected from a generic pool on file at the funeral home—had half the people in the chapel sniffing and wiping their eyes with her rendition of “The Rose.” Faith chose the song because Lacy had worn out two CD copies of it. Too bad if anyone thought the lyrics inappropriate for a funeral. Faith wanted the service to epitomize Lacy’s life.

      Her own cheeks remained wet as the minister delivered a tribute she’d written yesterday. The words hadn’t come easily, but Faith wanted people to know that her sister wasn’t shallow and vain, as some might remember her from high school and college. For one thing, Lacy had artistic talents. Before her debilitating illness, she’d dreamed of becoming an interior designer. If the media chose to cover the funeral, Faith also wanted them to report how selfless Lacy had been, giving her life in exchange for healthy babies. But it was all she could do to listen to the eulogy. The tears coursed down her cheeks and plopped on the lapels of her new navy suit.

      Before Reverend Wilson brought the service to a close, Michael turned to Faith and whispered, “May I say a few words?”

      “Of c-course,” she stammered. When he stood, she was shocked to discover her right hand had been tightly entwined in his. Faith immediately pulled away, but she missed the warmth of his hand as Michael stepped to the pulpit and faced the small gathering.

      “Lacy Ellen Hyatt Cameron passed through our lives at warp speed,” he began in an unsteady voice. “Her sojourn with us was much too brief.” He paused to clear his throat, and Faith saw his fingers tremble. She lowered her gaze to the floor and sucked her upper lip between her teeth, biting down hard to hold off a new bout of tears.

      However, Michael didn’t dwell on Lacy’s death. He invited everyone to remember the woman who’d lived life full-tilt. “The Lacy we all knew brightened a room just by being in it. She hated sitting still. She loved to go and do. She loved to argue and debate.” His voice cracked a little, but a semblance of a smile curved his lips as he suggested she was probably even now testing St. Peter’s mettle. “It’s that Lacy who’ll live on in my heart and I hope in yours as well.”

      People were dabbing at their eyes as he sat down again. Faith felt as if a weight had been lifted. She’d blotted away her tears while the minister offered a final prayer. “Thank you, Michael,” she managed to say once everyone began to mill about. “Lacy kept things to herself this last year. I…we…stopped communicating.” Faith licked a salty tear off her upper lip while twisting a tissue into bits. “If I hadn’t been so wrapped up in work, I keep thinking she might have confided in me more. I’m afraid I gave up too easily, trying to reach her at the beach house. When she didn’t return my calls, I…” Faith didn’t finish the statement.

      “I’m more at fault than you are, Faith,” Michael said, his hazel eyes dark and troubled. “I let our lawyers act as go-betweens after she filed for divorce. I should have sat down with her when I returned from Norway. I can’t tell you how sorry I am that she ended up hating me.”

      “I’m sure she didn’t feel that strongly, Michael.”

      “Then how come Fielding believes I’m a first-class SOB?”

      “On the phone, Lacy seemed happy enough at Christmas. She didn’t give the slightest indication you two would be splitting up in January.”

      “When you called, she put on a convincing act. She was pretty upset with me for missing most of the major holiday parties we’d received invitations to. Every passing day, she seemed to feel more resentful of the time I devoted to my patients. I didn’t know how to bridge the chasm between us.”

      “I’m sorry, Michael.” Faith stood and bent down to pick up her purse. She started to walk away, then turned back. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. Lacy’s craving for attention goes back to her childhood. To when our entire household centered on our mother’s poor health. At the same time, it terrified Lacy to think her illness might somehow force her to become dependent on others—like our mom had been. Looking back, I believe Lacy assumed the transplant would make her one-hundred percent good-as-new.”

      Michael tugged at his lower lip. “Which explains why she became so terribly hostile toward follow-up care. I wish you’d said something sooner, Faith. You’ve answered my biggest question. I never understood how Lacy could act so cavalier about the second chance she’d been given. I’m a doctor, for God’s sake. You’d think I’d have picked up on her feelings.”

      Faith touched his arm. “You were too close to the problem. It dawned on me gradually, after you two had left Boston.”

      “We were married for five years. How could I completely miss what bothered her so much?” he asked with a snag in his voice. “Kipp got the picture, didn’t he?”

      “It’s a little late for recriminations. Kipp treated her so shabbily he’s hardly in a position to judge you.” Removing her hand СКАЧАТЬ