“I don’t know. She called me in my room, she said she was in pain and that she was bleeding. I called nine-one-one immediately, and they’re working on her now.”
His voice was hoarse when he asked, “Did she lose the babies?”
“I don’t know,” Heloise told him honestly, “they haven’t told me anything, but she was bleeding pretty heavily when we left.” It didn’t look hopeful to her. “Her doctor is with her.”
“I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
“I’m in the waiting room outside obstetrics.” They had moved her up from the emergency room in case she delivered. But at eighteen weeks there was very little chance the babies would survive, and if they did, not in decent condition.
Five minutes later she saw her father fly past her and disappear into the treatment area beyond where she was sitting. He waved as he went by but didn’t stop to talk to her, and for the next two hours Heloise had no idea what had happened. She didn’t know who to ask, and it was six o’clock when her father came to find her.
“How is she?” She didn’t dare ask him if she’d lost the triplets. He looked worse than Natalie had when she came in, and Heloise could see then how much they mattered to him, and even more how much Natalie did, and she felt sorry for him.
“She’s okay. And so are the triplets for now. They did a sonogram, and she didn’t lose them. She may have placenta previa or some other condition. But she’s hanging on to the babies. They’re going to keep her overnight, and if nothing else happens, they’re going to send her home with a monitor and keep her on bedrest. She’ll probably be in bed for the rest of the pregnancy, but if she can keep them for another month or two, they might make it.” It sounded like it was the most important thing in the world to him, and Heloise reached out and hugged him. “Do you want to come in and see her?” Heloise nodded and followed him through two sets of double doors, down more hallways, and finally to her room, where there were monitors all over her, and Natalie looked terrified and traumatized by everything that had happened.
“How do you feel?” Heloise asked her gently.
“Scared shitless,” she said honestly with a weak smile. “I just don’t want to lose them.”
“I hope you don’t,” Heloise said and leaned over to kiss her hand. “You’re going to have to take it very easy.” Natalie nodded. It was worth it to her. She was willing to do anything to save their babies.
Heloise didn’t want to wear her out, and she left a few minutes later. Her father was going to stay with Natalie, and he promised to call her if anything happened. And Heloise thought about it on the way uptown, that no matter how angry she got at him about the sale, or Natalie, or the triplets, in the end they were a family, and the only thing that mattered was being there for each other and being loving and forgiving. She really did hope that Natalie didn’t lose the babies.
And miraculously, she didn’t. Natalie came back to the hotel the following day, in an ambulance. They put her straight to bed. She was on full bedrest for the rest of the pregnancy, with a bedpan. She couldn’t even get up to go to the bathroom. Her feet weren’t allowed to touch the floor, and she looked terrified as she lay there. Hugues was with her, and he told her to ring for the maid or call him on his cell phone if she needed anything. And Heloise told her to call her or anyone at the front desk as well. Natalie promised not to move, and she looked pale and frightened when Heloise went back to the front desk and Hugues to his office.
They rode down in the elevator together. He didn’t tell her that he had had the offer from the Dutch the day before and had been meeting with their bankers. The offer was a good one and would be hard to refuse. He didn’t know if he would ever get an offer like that for the hotel again. He had told them he would get back to them in a few days. And then Jennifer had called, and he had rushed to the hospital. He thanked Heloise again for her help as they parted in the lobby. Things were still tense between them, and he knew they would be until he made his decision.