The Way Back

The Waiting

His mouth creased into a frustrated line as the flame of his lighter flickered then extinguished from the gentle breeze. He uttered a profanity under his breath and successfully lit his cigarette after the fourth attempt. Lindsey blew out the smoke and let his back fall against the metal of the bench. He twiddled the filter between his thumb and index finger and sighed heavily, unable to shake the guilt pounding on him like waves on a shore. Lindsey rubbed his brow and thumped the ashes from the cigarette. It was his fault. He was the one to blame; he was the reason Stevie was drugged and in a hospital bed. He crossed his ankles and let his neck thump against the bar of the bench, peering up at the midday sun through his sunglasses. "Fuck," he muttered and dragged his hands over his face. He couldn't remember half the words Dr. Shepard had spoken – what she'd said about dilation and cervical effacement and the dreadful side effects of the drug that would be used to hopefully stop the premature labor. The only part of the morning ingrained into his mind was finding Stevie in the bathroom and her cries that it was too early.

Lindsey hunched forward, placing his elbows on his knees. He dropped his cigarette and scraped it out with his foot. He felt like he'd been out of the room for an hour or more, but it had been twenty minutes since Sharon had forced him out of the door. He wanted to rush back in the room even though he couldn't do anything for Stevie except hold her hand and feed her ice chips while watching her suffer. Lindsey took another cigarette out of the almost empty pack and smoked leisurely. He ran his tongue over his chapped lips and smoothed his palms over his denim covered thighs, cursing loudly as the burning cigarette burned the side of his finger. Lindsey glanced at the familiar brown leather loafers in front of him and looked up, meeting his brother's concerned eyes. "Thanks," Lindsey said, sitting straight and taking the offered styrofoam cup of coffee.

"You're welcome," Jeff replied and sat down on the bench.

"Is she awake?"

Jeff shook his head and tapped his nails against his lukewarm coffee. "Asleep. Sharon said a nurse had been in ten minutes ago to check her reflexes. They're still good."

He dipped his head and took a drink, twisting in his face in disgust. "That's awful," he mumbled, pouring the coffee out quickly. "I hate it. I can't do anything for her. It's my fault," Lindsey despondently spoke and punched holes in the white styrofoam with his cigarette.

"It's not, Lindsey."

"I bought a fucking Ferrari and argued with her yesterday," he countered.

"You didn't cause her to go into labor. You heard what Dr. Shepard said. There are a ton of reasons why. You can't blame yourself. It won't help, little brother."

With a hefty sigh, Lindsey stubbed out his cigarette on the bench and stuck the butt into the cup. He stood to his feet and stretched, tossing the cup into the trash. "I need to go back in," he said to Jeff.

"Lindsey, I mean it. It's not your fault," Jeff reiterated, watching his brother bow his head and shove his hands into his pockets as he walked towards the hospital's entrance. "He won't ever believe it," he whispered into the air with a shake of his head.

Lindsey drifted to the elevators and sluggishly shuffled inside, pressing the button for the floor's number. He leaned against the wall and closed his eyes as he replayed the morning in his mind. It should have gone differently. He would have ordered breakfast along with a dozen roses as an apology and sat around for a few hours drinking coffee while listening to Jeff tell Stevie about the previous night's drunken antics. He wished for that instead of being within the walls of a hospital and stalling for time. He hated that Dr. Shepard couldn't give him a guarantee or clear answers. The woman couldn't tell him if the twins would come today, tomorrow, or weeks from now, but she wanted the same thing he did – for the babies not to be born yet. Unlike him, Dr. Shepard was prepared if the twins arrived much earlier than expected. He wasn't ready.