“Tina Walsh here, to see Janie Walsh,” I blurted to the woman at the front desk.
“Of course, Ms. Walsh,” said the receptionist. “But we don’t allow anyone but family into the NICU,” she said with a pointed glance at Jake.
“Th- this is Janie’s father,” I said shakily, with a hesitant glance at the big man. There was no change of expression on his face.
“Of course then,” said the nurse. “Please follow me.”
Our steps rang in the empty hallway, the polished floor a depressing green, the walls bare. The NICU was so institutional, I wished they would do something to make it better for families. I swore that if Janie made it out of this alive, I would do something, anything in my power, to make the ordeal more bearable for parents struck by tragedy.
Finally, we pulled up in front of a glass window.
“There she is,” said the nurse gently. “We turned up the heat in the incubator because her temp was falling, and we’re still pumping antibiotics for any secondary infections. I’ll leave you with her now.”
I pressed my nose against the glass, looking at our precious girl. Her body was so small, still under the bright lights, the wires wending their way in and out of her arms and legs, a breathing tube taped under her nose. I was miserable and a silent tear escaped from the corner of my eye.
It was only when I heard a noise that I realized Jake was crying too. I turned my head and the big man had tears on his cheeks, his eyes fixated on the tiny bump before him. Our baby … our baby was sick, and her father was devastated, a man so ruthless he’d made the front page of national media for his cold-blooded ways. But our tiny daughter had brought him to his knees. His hands gripped the window sill with white knuckles, his forearms shaking as he sought to steady himself.
“Jake,” I soothed. “Janie’s sick but you can help her,” I said. “You can do something for her that no one else can,” I continued.
“I know, Tina,” he ground out. “I have the drugs here.”
And with that, he produced a tiny pill pad from his pocket. It couldn’t have been bigger than a credit card, but in tiny transparent blisters were blue pills, small enough for even a baby to swallow.
“I’ll have a supply of Pernacular delivered to the hospital,” he said roughly, his voice breaking. “In the meantime, we should start her on these,” he said with a swipe at his eyes.
I almost collapsed with relief. Jake, someone I thought I hated, had come through. Maybe I could begin to trust him, begin to see him in a new light as a pharma executive, sure, but also as a father, a man of feeling, and an indisputable part of my life.
Epilogue
Tina
Two years later …
My baby squealed happily, waving her chubby arms in the sunlight. Janie was a darling and so different from her first days on earth. I remember how pale she was then, how still, her tiny form seemingly overwhelmed by all the tubes going in and out.
In contrast, my baby was now a tanned, healthy two-year old, running around the playground in a pink t-shirt and matching shorts.
“Papa, Papa!” she cried, her arms outstretched as she reached for the man with dark hair and blue eyes the same shade as her own.
Jake leaned forward to catch her, swooping her up in a bear hug, her tiny form incongruous in those muscular arms.
“Let’s go see what Mommy’s doing okay?” he asked as the little girl vigorously nodded her agreement.
You see, Jake and I are a couple now. The first few months when Janie was sick were really rough. Jake could hardly look at me because he was so angry about my keeping the baby’s existence a secret, but his love for his daughter was strong, and with time, our issues came out into the open.
“Why Tina? Why did you storm out of my office that day? I’d already told you I was breaking it off with Jenna, so why didn’t you give us a chance?” he’d asked harshly.
“Jake,” I began slowly. “It’s hard to believe, but it has to do with Pernacular … and how I thought Pernacular defined you.”
He snorted.
“What, you believed all that bullshit in the press? How Manning Pharma denies treatment to pregnant women and lets their babies be consumed by parasites? You know that’s not how my company works. You know that’s not how I work,” he added forcefully.
“I know that now,” I said slowly. “But I didn’t know it at the time. The newspapers just couldn’t get enough of Manning, and my law professor basically painted you as villains. I had no idea how the insurance industry works. I had no idea that they negotiate the price of a drug down to mere pennies on the dollar. Nor did I know that Manning Pharma was giving Pernacular for free to those in need,” I said slowly. “It was only until your media machine worked its magic that public opinion began to shift,” I added.