Chapter 21

I couldn't be cruel and make you wait tooo long but then again, I'm not sure this is gonna help...

“It’s called cervical insufficiency which is a fancy way of saying that the cervix has thinned out or is dilating prematurely. The good news is that mom has made it this far. In a lot of cases this sort of genetic insufficiency usually results in miscarriage so mom’s done really good to get here and we can slow this down and keep an eye on how things progress. The bad news is that your water breaking means that you have gone into pre-term labour.” She feels her mother’s grip on her hand tighten but she can’t take her eyes off the drip that is delivering the drug into her arm that is supposed to slow down the contractions she’s been having. 

“It’s too early,” her mother tells the doctor in his mint green scrubs in the sort of hushed tone that suggests that she either believes her daughter is not or is incapable of listening. As if being in labour prohibits her from being able to take part in a conversation about her own care.

“It’s a little early,” the doctor agrees in a voice that she knows is meant to induce calm, “but we are usually very successful in cases of premature rupture of membranes of delaying the inevitable for a few days and during that time we will be keeping a close eye on mom and baby and we’ll be giving mom some corticosteroids which will help in supporting the baby’s lungs so we’ll get a better chance of having a good outcome. So what we need mom to do now is rest and let us look after the rest, okay?” The last warm fuzzy feel good statement is for her as the doctor pats her hand in what she assumes is meant to be a comforting sort of way. She gives him and his clip board a half a smile and then watches him go out and hand the clip board to a nurse hovering in the hallway. 

“Do you hear that Fernie? You’re gonna be fine,” her mother says with a smile that goes nowhere near filling her eyes that are brimming over with tears. They are tears of fear, she knows because she cried them all the way to the hospital. Somehow the smell of bleach and the sterile surroundings, the pastel blue walls and the crisp white bed sheets have done their work. She is no longer terrified of imminent doom and her pulse is beginning to slow. 

“Actually he didn’t say that mom. What he said is there’s some stuff they can do to make it better,” she corrects her mother quietly, her attention having returned to the slow drip of the liquid running into her arm. “He was being intentionally vague about it. It’s what they do so they don’t have to promise they’ll make you better but they don’t scare the shit out of you either,” she adds with a sigh. 

“You’re being morose Fern,” her mother says with a sight quaver in her voice. She smiles. She knows her mother would like to lecture her but any show of strength at this point is earning her brownie points. 

“Am I?” she looks over at her mother and it is her turn to give her mother’s hand a comforting squeeze. “I guess I’m just tired, sorry.”

“It’s this boy isn’t it?” her mother whispers, looking around the room as if suddenly a host of curtain-twitchers are going to show up at just that moment to listen in on them.  

“Boy? Hmmm,” Fern make a non committal noise, closes her eyes and turns her head away. Her father has been focused in like a laser on the fact that she has not spoken about the father of the baby. He has asked, more than once, if they will be meeting this ‘paragon of the community’ as he has taken to calling him. For her part Fern has said nothing, deflected the questions and changed the subject. 

“We’re going to be here a while hun,” her mother reminds her, patting her hand as if she needs to do so to get her daughter’s attention. 

“I don’t know what you mean mom,” she sighs and then feigns a yawn, hoping her mother will do as the doctor suggested and let her rest. 

“Well I don’t think it’s the virgin birth,” her mother hisses in an uncharacteristically direct way that almost makes Fern smile. 

“No mom I didn’t think you did,” she sighs again and this time a real yawn escapes, as if thinking about sleep has made her crave it.

“So this boy...,” her mother begins, and then at a sharp look from her daughter rolls her eyes and shrugs. “Okay, this man. Should I be letting him know? I mean, presumably you haven’t exactly been planning a life together but would he want to know about, y’know, this?” her mother asks, a quick glance taking in the hospital bed, drip and paper gown. Fern looks down at the identity bracelet they put on her arm when she was brought in so that her mother won’t see the sheen of tears she refuses to shed over him. There was a time she would have been almost sure that he would have wanted to know but now she shrugs one shoulder and picks at a loose thread on the edge of the crisp white sheet.

“Probably not mom, no.” 

“Well is there anyone you want to call?” her mother asks, digging her own phone out and offering it to her daughter, “work or a friend?” 

____________________________________________________________________

“What the fuck!” He swings his stick against the wall and watches it break in his hand. White dots dance in front of his eyes. “What the fuck was that?” he snaps again, tossing his helmet across the dressing room.

“You practically walked into it,” Pascal says softly, laying a hand on his captain’s shoulder. He shrugs it off and drops down onto his spot on the bench. 

“You can’t expect not to get hit.” Sid looks at Dupes skates and nods, once. “You can’t expect the whole league to treat you like you’ve got a fucking force field around you unless of course you want to Scott to wrap you up in fucking bubble wrap before you go out on the ice,” he adds pointedly. Sid turns his gaze up to meet his friend’s solemn one and does not answer. He doesn’t need to. His unhappy expression speaks volumes. 

“I just got back,” he says slowly and deliberately. 

“We know. No one’s disputing how much you want to play but you can’t flip out every fucking time someone hits you,” Pascal adds quietly. The rest of the guys file in quietly. Every last one of them avoids his gaze. He knows they’re all thinking the same thing; he’s having a prima-donna moment and they want to be able say they never saw it; all except one. 

Flower is looking down the bench at him wearing an expression of disappointment mixed with derision. 

“You can’t be mad at her for taking what she’s due,” the goalie says quietly. “A half a million, it’s not much. She’d get more if she took you to court. You must know that.” As usual MAF cuts to the quick of the matter, bypassing the garnish and heading straight for the steak and Sid hangs his head, clearly stung. He was angry with her for taking it but Marc was right, as usual, she could have, probably even should have asked for more. 

“She probably thinks I put him up to it,” he says weakly. It’s a thought that’s been plaguing him over the last twenty four hours; that she must think he sent his father in this one last time to try and buy her off, even after everything he’d said. 

“Do you blame her if she does? You haven’t been exactly straight forward with the poor girl,” Pascal points out cautiously. For once he doesn’t argue, he merely nods and then shrugs. 

“But she’s gone right? I mean...I can get a private detective or something...but I don’t want to force myself on her when she thinks I’m just doing it to take the kid,” he says quietly, digging the toe of his stick into the carpet in between his skate blades. 

“So that’s it, you’re just gonna give up claim to your first son? Just like that?” Johnny asks from his spot down the other end of the bench. “Excuse me but who the fuck are you and what have you done with my hard headed never fucking say die Captain?” Sid affords him a grateful smile. 

“Not to mention an adorable piece of tail,” Nealer offers with a wink. 

“Jesus Creature, what do you need me to do, get Talbo on the fucking phone to tell you what to do here?” Pascal laughs as a large wad of hockey taps strikes the side of Sid’s head. 

“I don’t even know where to start looking,” he sighs, untangling the sticky tape from his sweaty hair. 

“Fuck man, I’ve been tellin’ you to watch fucking CSI!” Kennedy barks, slamming the blade of his stick down on the floor. “You’re not gonna laugh at my CSI road trip marathons after this. Start with fuckin’ finding out from payroll where the cheque got cashed and then go in that fuckin’ bank and tell them you’re Sidney fuckin’ Crosby and you need to find her,” he adds enthusiastically. 

“Yeah, and when the bank manger’s panties have melted and you’ve given her my number, you’ll have an address and then maybe she calls the cops on you and maybe she won’t but at least you’ll know,” Nealer smirks and reaches over to give his shoulder a shove. 

______________________________________________________________________

“I got here as soon as I could, is everything okay?” The familiar voice drags her out of a slumber and when she opens her eyes Veronique is standing at the end of the bed, wide eyed but otherwise perfectly coiffed and manicured in violet cashmere sweater set, slim-fitting jeans and knee high brown wedge heeled boots, like something off the cover of a Coldwater Creek catalogue.

“Thanks for coming. I know it must have been quite a drive but,” Fern replies, bypassing the question and reaching for her friend’s hand, “I couldn’t take one more minute of my mom fussing.”

“Oh,” Vero glances around and then her eyes get even wider but the expression of shocked concern devolves into an amused grin. “What did they say? Did they disown you? Did you show them the cheque?” 

“No and noooo,” Fern sighs, trying to drag herself up onto her elbows. “They’d probably think I’d sold my soul to the devil if they saw that but no, they’re both very excited...I mean...as long as everything goes okay.” 

“Yeah,” Vero’s gaze strays to the wide belt around the widest part of her swollen stomach and then up to the monitors tracking mother and son’s heart beats. “It all looks pretty official. Are you scared?” She’s been doing her best to be calm, the way the doctor tells her is best and her mother has been flustered enough for the both of them. But now, with no one but the one person who knows exactly what’s going on, she lets go of the last scrap of control and lets the tears fall. “Oh...oh mon ami, que c’est, le laisser aller. It’s okay to be scared. I’d probably have been in a straightjacket by now,” Vero whispers, leaning over the safety rail and doing her best to hug her friend. “I’m sure it will be fine. Je suis certain que tout ira bien.”

“I was so sure I could do it but now...,” Fern leans into her friends arms and sobs. 

“You will, of course you will. This is just a...un hoquet...a hiccup?” Vero waits for a correction but Fern only smiles weakly up at her. “I’m certain all new mothers think it will be impossible.” 

“You wouldn’t,” Fern declares quite suddenly but finds as she says it that it feels as if it must be true. “You’d be ready. Crib, clothes, room, everything would be waiting for him.” Vero’s face colours as she says it and she can see the young brunette picturing the baby’s room and wonders if the walls are blue with fluffy white clouds or yellow with Kanga, Roo, Piglet and Owl all watching over the crib. 

“Mais...ce n’est pas grave...doesn’t matter what I would do. You’ll do things your own way,” Vero suggests but the vision is still in her eyes as she reaches to close her hands comfortingly over Fern’s. “And remember you have the money to get started. You can buy anything you want,” she adds encouragingly.

“Yeah,” Fern sighs, thinking about sharing the room in her parents’ small bungalow with a crying baby, every midnight feed on her own in the darkness, every diaper, every all those baby clothes to clean and fold.... “Or you could. You and Marc want this. You would do this so much better than me,” she insists, a burden lifting from her shoulders. A light shines from the slim beauty’s eyes but her lips press into a thin, determined line and she shakes her head. 

“Non. Il n’est pas possible. This is your baby. You’ve carried him all this time and made the very courageous decision to keep him. Non...it wouldn’t be right,” Vero says quietly and Fern wonders how much she’s trying to talk herself out of this as she does. 

“Or you two would be great parents and I can give the cheque back and I can forget all of this ever happened and go on with my life,” she suggest firmly, moving her hand to top Vero’s. “Don’t say no. Talk to Marc. I think this might be the best solution for everyone, including him,” she adds, glancing towards the belt around her stomach and listening to the beeping of the monitors behind her head. 

______________________________________________________________________

“Not cashed?” he looks across the desk at the man in the suit that doesn’t quite fit with the tie that looks a little too tight and the glasses that perpetually seem to be slipping down his nose and leans forward. “Are you...very sure?” 

“Yes,” the man answers emphatically as if Sidney is testing him. “While a cheque that size is undoubtedly going to be held for clearance for a number of business days, there is no evidence that we have been contacted digitally in regards to its accuracy.” Sid smiles and nods as if he’s followed all of the accountant’s explanation but he is still turning those first words over in his mind. 

“So it hasn’t been cashed?” he asks again, to which the small man’s reply is a twitch of one nostril and the purse of his thin lips. 

“Would you like to cancel the transaction Mr. Crosby?” he asks slowly and quite deliberately, now as if speaking to a third grader.

“Nooo,” Sidney answers carefully, considering doing so and then deciding against it, “but is there any way to contact the branch it gets cashed at...as you said digitally and tell me where and when it’s cashed?” The accountant turns to look at the HD LED screen in front of him, tilts his head to one side and seems to consider the rows of numbers that represent Sidney’s various accounts. 

“Yes I’m sure that’s plausible,” the man says slowly, narrowing his eyes and tilting his head to the other side much like a robin does when listening for worms moving unseen in the soil beneath its talons. 

“So you’ll make a note to let me know when it’s cashed?” he prompts, feeling a rush of energy for the first time in the last twenty four hours. 

“I can do that, yes,” the accountant says, making it clear that he feels put upon by the request. 

“Thanks Travis.” He places his hand firmly on the man’s shoulder only to have him look down at it in disgust and then up at him with an impatient look. Sid does his best to hide his amusement until he’s half way out the door where he almost runs directly into Flower who is standing in the middle of the hallway, wearing a very serious expression as he stares down at the phone in his hand. 

“Ça va?” he asks, repeating the same gesture with a different result. Marc looks up at him, stunned, blinks and then whets his bottom lip with his tongue before he replies. 

“Mon ami...I think we should talk.”