The True Story of Atticus and Hazel Read online

  “It was fine.” I smiled. “Uneventful. Not a lot I can do in my condition and all that.”

  A few construction workers came in after us and waved. We waved back and headed for James’s office. I sat down in a big comfy chair he’d had brought in for me across from his desk. He fell into his own swivel chair and rocked back and forth.

  “How can I be so tired? I just got here.”

  I giggled. “It’s our first day back after break. We’re straight not up to par.”

  “My excuse is booze, though,” he joshed.

  “A valid excuse as any.”

  “I knew I hired you for a reason,” he teased. “You help justify all my bad decisions.”

  I bowed in my chair and extended an arm dramatically. “I’m the master enabler.”

  “The best kind.” He sighed. “Well, I guess we should get started.” He groaned.

  “I guess so.” I winked.

  He sat up and powered on his laptop. “In a few minutes,” he said. “Let my machine warm up a little.”

  “A good idea.”

  “Thank you, Master Enabler.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “I would kill for for an espresso,” he said, his hands folded on his chest. “I don’t think I could go another second without one.”

  “I wouldn’t mind a chai tea.”

  “Well, if you need a chai, who am I to stand in your way? Jeez, you’re so demanding, Hazel.”

  “I know,” I conceded.

  “I’ll run down to the corner then.” He walked over to me and stood beside me, grabbing my hand. “I have my cell. Let me know if you need me.”

  “I will, James. Thank you.”

  He left me on my own and I pulled out my phone, glancing at Atticus’s social pages.

  Just back from LA. Killed another session with artist Young Jock. Keep your eyes open for this talent. Single in six weeks.

  It had a picture of him and, I assumed, Young Jock. Atticus looked so good it was insane. The post had just under seventy thousand likes and at least twenty thousand comments. He had more than two hundred thousand followers in less than a few weeks. It must have been a whirlwind for him. I was so happy for him, but his rapid success made him feel that much further from me. He felt so far away. He felt unreachable.

  A few minutes later, I heard James come through the door and got up to help him. I opened the glass door to his office and began to meet him in the unfinished gallery when an extraordinary pain ripped through my abdomen. I screamed at the top of my lungs and fell to my knees.

  That was when time seemed to crawl at a snail’s pace.

  James’s face contorted in horror. The drinks he carried spilled to the floor in slow motion, the liquid forming an arch as they spun to the concrete. Men from the construction teams ran for me as I began to fall.

  “Hazel!” James shouted, sounding low and muffled to my ears. His eyes widened; his mouth hung in obvious despair.

  My shoulder met concrete, a sharp crack sounded as my skull met ground. My head heavy, I brought it forward to take in my body. Blood seeped through my slacks so heavily it had already started to pool around my hips. Several men reached me, their eyes exuded horror.

  I’m going to die, I thought as my lids begged to droop closed.

  “Juniper,” I whispered as a tear fell. “Atticus,” I agonized.

  James hovered over me and cradled my head, his face wet with tears. “Hazel, baby, stay with me.”

  “I’ll dial 911,” a man’s voice echoed through me.

  I heard footsteps running around me. One man ran into the street hollering for help. Another yelled to give me some room. They were all yelling. Deep, prolonged syllables spun around my head.

  I felt my life slipping, could feel the tired, drugged pull to darkness.

  “Atticus,” I whispered.

  James picked up my hand and felt my pulse. “Where is the ambulance?” He looked in my eyes. “Focus, Hazel. Stay aware,” his panicked voice pleaded.

  “Atticus,” I begged.

  “I’ll call him,” James promised. “Just stay with me, Hazel.”

  “Atticus,” I slurred as the black overtook me.

  ***

  “Tell me what the fuck is going on!” I heard around me. Unable to open my eyes, I had no clue where I was, but I knew it was him. Atticus. Atticus’s beautiful voice. At least I got to hear him one last time, I thought.

  Black. Sound. Black. Sound.

  I faded in and out.

  “Placental abruption.”

  “Severe bleeding.”

  “C-section.”

  “Surgery.”

  “Hysterectomy.”

  “Pray.”

  “Hard.”

  Atticus’s hands found my face. I knew it was him. I knew his skin. “Hazel,” his broken voice begged, “Hazel, fight. Do you hear me? Fucking fight, Hazel.”

  His hands were ripped from me and I faded to black again but not before the broken roar of Atticus Kelly swam through my equally broken heart.

  There were beeps. Some sort of pump. There were muffled voices over a speaker. My throat killed.

  Juniper.

  I tried to bring my hands up to check my stomach but they wouldn’t cooperate.

  “Ungh,” was all I was able to say.

  “Hazel,” I quickly heard beside me. He leaned forward and took up my hand between his own.

  I dragged my eyes open as my head lolled Atticus’s direction.

  “Atticus,” a hoarse voice, mine, sounded.

  He squeezed my hand and broke down in a groan. He cleared his throat. “You’re alive,” he told me. I swallowed.

  His hand met my forehead and he dragged his thumb across, tucking pieces of hair away.

  “Juniper,” I barely got out.

  “She’s alive but in the NICU. She’s,” he cleared his throat of emotion, “very tiny. So tiny, Hazel. She’s fighting, though.”

  Tears ran down the sides of my face.

  “You did good, Haze,” he said. My eyes squeezed tight as more tears spilled. He absorbed them into his own skin. “Sleep, Haze,” he encouraged.

  So I did.

  ***

  “I can’t make these kinds of decisions without Hazel,” I heard Atticus say. His voice sounded exhausted.

  My eyes struggled to open. “What decisions?” I asked.

  Atticus, his mom, Grams, Etta, a doctor, and two nurses looked my direction. Atticus and Etta came to my side quickly.

  “Tell her,” Etta ordered Atticus.

  Atticus let out a breath. “Um, Hazel, Juniper needs medicine.”

  “Sodium citrate,” Etta offered, like I knew what the hell she was talking about.

  “Her, uh, kidneys are shutting down,” he explained.

  “Oh my God,” I whispered.

  “The medicine is necessary,” he said.

  “Give it to her. Whatever she needs, give it to her,” I told them.

  Atticus looked at the doctor and nodded then the doctor left the room.

  “Is she going to be okay?” I asked him. He looked at Etta and Etta returned the look. “Tell me what is going on,” I panicked. Atticus’s eyes glassed over. “Oh my God,” I whispered.

  “Hazel,” Etta assuaged.

  “Don’t. Cut the bullshit, Etta, and give me it to me straight.”

  Etta began to cry. Etta never cried. Ever. “She’s just come a little too early for the best results, babe.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked.

  “The odds of her surviving—” Atticus laid out, stabbing me through the heart.

  The sound that came out of me was otherworldly, the immediate pain was acute.

  “Move,” I demanded, sliding my legs over the side of the bed. “Take me to her.”

  “Wait,” Atticus pleaded. “Let me get your doctor.”

  Everyone in the room stood, their faces looked shocked.

  “Absolutely not,” I said, grabbing the bedrail.

&n
bsp; “Let me help you,” Etta said, lifting me by my elbow. “But take your time.”

  The pain in my abdomen was insane but I didn’t care. I stood as tall as my body would let me and took a step. Etta gathered all my IVs and the IV pole near me. Atticus found me then and wrapped his arm around my back, his hand under my arm.

  “I don’t think this is a good idea,” Grams said, speaking for the first time. “She shouldn’t be walking.”

  “I promise, Grams, she’ll be fine. Walking is encouraged after surgery. She’ll be fine,” Etta told her.

  Sarah sat back down, her face buried in her hands.

  I looked up at Atticus. “Take me to our daughter.”

  I walked as well as I could toward the NICU, which was situated near the recovery ward.

  “In here,” Atticus said, shoving open the outer doors. He pressed a button and a nurse buzzed us in when she saw him.

  The walls were lined with dramatic incubators full of tiny babies. There were three women surrounding one incubator, their hands working. A nurse greeted us.

  “Hey, guys,” she said. “You must be Juniper’s mom.”

  All the breath left my chest. “Yes,” I answered.

  “I know you’re recovering from surgery,” she soothed, “but I need you to wash your hands, please. Dad, you too,” she said, walking us over to a wash station. “Have you had a fever in the last twenty-four hours?” she asked.

  “I don’t believe so,” I told her.

  “Hold on, I’ll call down to your room.”

  She called down to my nurse and confirmed I hadn’t.

  “Before we wash your hands,” she said, “toss your phones in these anti-microbial envelopes. You’ll still be able to use them but it will prevent cross contamination. Don’t touch the bag, just toss the phone in and I’ll seal it.”

  “Okay,” we both said.

  She sealed the bags and laid them aside.

  She taught me how to wash my hands with the antiseptic soap they had in individually wrapped packs. There were two sinks and Atticus, having obviously done it before, washed his as well under her supervision.

  “Would you like to meet your daughter?” she asked me.

  “Yes,” I said, my voice sounding broken.

  She gathered my IVs and IV pole and Etta blew me a kiss goodbye.

  “I’ll see you out here,” she said, and I nodded.

  The woman took Atticus and me to the incubator with all the nurses standing around, which made my stomach fall to my feet. They parted, forced smiles on their faces, and I leaned over the glass.

  “Oh my God,” I whispered.

  She was so tiny. The little hair she had was my color. She could fit in the palm of Atticus’s hand, probably. Her skin was red and looked paper thin. Her little chest pulled in and out through a mechanical ventilator. There was tape and tubes all over her small figure. Rolled blankets supported her tiny bones.

  I had trouble breathing when I took in her fragile state. “Oh my God,” I gasped this time, so overcome I lost my balance, forcing Atticus to catch me. When I righted, I tried to control the sobs that ached to come out. Atticus squeezed his body against mine. “She can’t die,” I told him. “I won’t let her.”

  “We’re going to fight,” he said. “She’s a fighter too, Haze.” But his face looked lost, panicked, negating his words.

  I turned to one of the nurses. “Can I hold her?”

  “Yes,” she answered, and began pulling a comfortable-looking glider my way.

  Atticus lowered me down and helped me sit.

  “We’ll do some skin to skin,” she said, gesturing to the top of my gown.

  I pulled at the snaps at my shoulder and folded the flap back. The nurse opened the incubator door and carefully slid Juniper out. She made a soft sigh and I memorized the sound immediately. Very carefully she laid Juniper’s naked body against mine. She was warm but her feet felt cold.

  “Can I have a blanket?” I asked.

  “I’ll get a warm one,” one of the nurses told me and scampered off.

  My hand went to Juniper’s head. My fingers ran along her downy soft hair and velvety-but-too-thin skin. I kissed her at the temple and she sighed again. Atticus moved near me, his arms folded across his chest as he watched me.

  “You’re both so beautiful,” he told us. He took out his phone and snapped a shot of us together.

  “This is surreal,” I told him. Tears poured down my face. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this. She wasn’t supposed to come yet.”

  “I know, Haze.”

  I looked at him, fighting the tears. “I’m scared, Atticus.”

  He nodded. “So am I.”

  I took a deep breath and focused on touching her skin, keeping her warm. “Put your palm on her back,” I told him.

  He reached forward and placed his hand on her skin. It covered her entire body. Juniper sighed again, making my heart skip a beat.

  The nurse came in with the blanket and laid it across us. Atticus began to move his hand away but I shook my head. He kept it there but sat on his haunches beside us. Juniper’s breathing steadied.

  “I love you, Juniper,” I told her. Atticus’s eyes met mine. “Keep going, baby.”

  He watched me. “How do you feel?” he asked.

  I took a moment to answer. I didn’t know how, really. I went with honesty. “Scared shitless. Overwhelmed. In pain. Happy to see you. “ I paused. “Nervous to see you. I’m a lot of things all at once. H-how are you?”

  “The same. Exactly the same.”

  I looked down at our baby. “This is our daughter, Atticus.”

  I heard him swallow. “I’m a dad.”

  I smiled at him. “I’m a mom.”

  “You said surreal.”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s perfect,” he said.

  “She’s perfect.”

  “No doubt,” he agreed.

  “She’s so fragile, though.”

  “I’m scared for her,” he admitted.

  “So am I, Atticus.”

  He fought the emotion in his voice. “She has to stick around. I have too many plans for her. Too many things we need to do. I’m looking forward to a life with her, to first days of school, and worrying over first dates, to sending her off to college, to walking her down the aisle.”

  My chin shook and my face grew wet. “She has to,” I desperately agreed.

  I felt his hand rub Juniper’s back. I hoped she was absorbing my heat, my skin, my love. I hoped she was absorbing Atticus’s as well. I peered down at her face when the nurse came to check on her.

  “She’s asleep,” I told her.

  The nurse nodded. She looked over at Juniper’s monitor. “That’s the best her blood pressure has been since they brought her in.”

  The nurse walked away with a pat on my shoulder.

  “Are you okay?” Atticus asked.

  My incision was stinging so bad, but I refused to admit to it. “I’m fine,” I told him.

  He looked at me. “You’re lying. You’re in pain.”

  “I’m not moving. An inch.”

  He nodded. “A guy called from your cell for me. That’s how I knew you were here.”

  “That was James,” I told him.

  He avoided eye contact. “Is that a guy you’re seeing or something?” he asked.

  “Atticus.” His eyes finally met mine. “James is my boss. I was at work w-when it happened.”

  He said nothing. His body language gave nothing away.

  “Where do you work?” he asked.

  “One of my senior art pieces is being exhibited at the DMA and—”

  “One of your pieces is in the museum?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “It was that last piece,” he stated more than asked.

  I nodded.

  “Go on,” he said after checking on Juniper.

  “So the curator suggested I apprentice with James. He’s another local artist and is in charge of crea
ting their first gallery. I’m helping him acquire art as well as arrange relationships with artists and preparing to cater to the public. Its main focus is to supply art to those who may not have ever considered the investment or might not be able to. It’s a gallery for the masses.”

  “That’s sounds perfect for you, Haze.”

  “It is,” I agreed. “I have you to thank for it.”

  “That was all you.”

  “I wouldn’t have put myself out there, though, if you hadn’t inspired me.”

  He smiled. It was small but it was there. “Or punched your ex-boss.”

  “Or that,” I teased. I kissed Juniper’s head once more. I couldn’t stop myself. “Atticus, I have to tell you something.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “That last piece, the one in the museum, I painted it for you. You were the reason. It’s why it’s my best piece. That’s what I mean by you inspiring me. I never would have been considered for exhibition if it hadn’t been for you.”

  He shook his head, the expression on his face looked strained, his brows furrowed. “I can’t talk about this right now.”

  The pain in my stomach intensified somehow. “I’m sorry. Of course.”

  There was a long, silent pause between us before he said, “Do you know you almost died, Hazel?” I shook my head, then lightly rested my cheek on Juniper’s head. “You lost so much blood. So much blood. They had to give you three transfusions.”

  “Did they get her out quickly?” I asked.

  “As quickly as they could.” He rested his forehead on my shoulder. I wanted to kiss his temple but I held back. He stared at Juniper. “I thought horrible things, ran through scenarios over and over and none of them good. I was sick to my stomach when you were in surgery.”

  A memory came to the front of my mind.

  “Atticus?”