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Bruno had intended to drop off Marissa and then call a car to return to the restaurant, but after he parked in the lot, he didn’t feel right about leaving. He followed her into the pediatric emergency room of the hospital, filled almost to capacity with parents and their children.
Some of the kids cried while others leaned heavily against their mothers’ sides looking sickly and forlorn. One kid kept coughing while her father rubbed her back in a soothingly repeated motion.
Marissa hurried to the counter where several women sat behind a glass. “Hello, my name is Marissa Liburd, and my son is Theodore Shaw. He arrived here with my babysitter maybe ten minutes ago.”
Her voice shook a little, and Bruno sympathized with her concern. Getting a phone call that one of his nieces or nephews had been rushed to the hospital would be devastating, so getting that call about a child must be doubly terrifying. On the ride over, he had asked Marissa what was wrong with her son, and she’d told him the babysitter rushed him to the hospital because he was horsing around, fell, and busted his head open.
“He’s always jumping on the damn furniture playing Spiderman, and I’ve told him a million times not to do that,” she had said, sounding angry and fearful at the same time.
“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Bruno had said, though he knew no such thing. He had hated to see her distress in the car, her forehead wrinkled, and her hands held tightly together in her lap.
As the woman behind the glass did a search, he stood silently behind Marissa.
The woman made eye contact with Marissa. “They took him to the back. He had a pretty nasty gash over his eye. You should go back there now.”
Marissa took off for the double doors. Before she went through, she stopped abruptly and turned to face Bruno, as if she suddenly remembered he was with her.
“Go. I’ll wait out here,” he said.
She nodded and hurried through the door.
He found a seat at the back of the room next to a woman cradling a crying infant that she gently rocked from side to side.
Alone now, he had time to think. Marissa is a mother.
In the past, he hadn’t had positive experiences with single mothers, but that history didn’t concern him at the moment.
At The Wine Cork, Marissa had been downright skittish after the kiss, but there was no doubt she had enjoyed it. He did, and his body stirred at the memory of how she felt in his arms and the way she tasted, like forbidden, sweet nectar.
He wanted more of Marissa, but their business relationship was a problem. She was the type of woman who did the right thing. Kissing her had forced her to break the rules tonight, and he imagined she was the kind of person who would have major regrets for doing something she considered wrong.
Then of course, there was the glaring piece of information he had learned tonight. Marissa is a mother.
During the next couple of hours, he watched the stream of parents coming in and going to the back, concern and worry on their faces for their little ones—the same expressions that had been on Marissa’s face.
Bruno kept busy on his phone, twice walking outside to make calls. After he finished the second conversation, he walked down the street to a sandwich shop and ordered sandwiches. When they finished with her son, Marissa might be hungry since they didn’t get to finish their meal at The Wine Cork.
Fifteen minutes after he returned to the waiting room, Marissa exited holding the hand of a little boy with dark red hair wearing a Spiderman costume. Right behind them was a fair-skinned Black woman with short hair that fell to right below her ears.
Bruno stood at his new spot in the front row, and when Marissa saw him, her eyes widened and her steps faltered. After she caught herself, the three of them walked over to him.
“You’re still here.” She sounded surprised.
“I told you I would stay. I wanted to make sure you and your son were okay.”
“Thank you.” She appeared genuinely surprised. “Carla, this is Bruno, one of my friends. This is Carla, my babysitter, and my son, Theodore. Theo, this is Mr. Santana.”
Bruno gazed down at the little boy.
“Hi, Mr. Santana. I got stitches.” Theo pointed to above his eye, where a gash through his eyebrow was held together by sutures. Otherwise, he appeared to be in good spirits.
Bruno bent closer and peered at the doctor’s handiwork. “Wow. How did that happen?” he asked, though he knew the answer.
Marissa answered. “Climbing the bookcase that I’ve told him a thousand times not to climb.”
“Not a thousand times, Mommy. Only five times.”
Marissa pursed her lips, and Carla covered her mouth to keep from laughing. Bruno himself had to bite back his laughter.
