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Before I could melt down again, Jericho tiptoed into the kitchen. “Mom? She’s still sleeping, but I can see the contractions. Should I wake her? What do you think?”
I sighed, again calling upon my birth-coach training for many of the mothers of our church. First labors were always the longest and the worst and Shemika seemed calm so far. “Let her sleep. I think she’s in early labor—”
“Ohhhh.” Shemika’s voice thundered down the hall, sounding more like a moo than anything.
My eyes met with my son’s first and then with his father’s. That sound was one I’d heard before…from my own lips. I bit the inside of my cheek as the memory, the terrible pain, came flooding back. Fifty-six hours of anguish and all of it paled to the hurt of realizing that Jordan hadn’t just gone for a drink of water, that he’d run for his life and would never come back.
“Perhaps I spoke too soon. Put her things in the car,” I said, checking the kitchen clock—11:13 a.m. “We’ll watch the next few for a pattern.” My mind locked as I tried to sound calm instead of screaming like I wanted to. Why had helping strangers have their babies been so much easier than helping bring a piece of me into the world?
“We’ll stay here as long as she’s comfortable. Keep her moving, Jericho. Walking, squatting. I’ve got something for her to eat before we go.”
My son looked scared but strong. “Thanks Mom. I know this has to be hard.”
You have no idea.
Were those pink onesies and blankets still in my trunk? I hadn’t touched them in months. “I’ve got some clothes and things in the car. It’ll be fine.”
“I knew you’d know what to do. I love you, Mom.” My son pecked my cheek, leaving a wet spot on my face.
As he turned away, I blinked back a tear of my own. In all the fighting, I’d forgotten how much I missed hearing that I was loved, being called the name that had defined my very being for so many years.
Mom.
Jordan stood in the kitchen doorway with admiration and confidence in his eyes, the look that had made me fall for him in the first place. A look that said, You amaze me. You can do anything. Nobody had ever talked to me like that back then. Nobody but him. And he really must have believed it, because he left me with everything to do. I turned from him now.
His long legs covered the distance to me with ease. “I know I’ve said sorry a million times, but I have to say it again. I’m sorry.” He choked up a little. “Seeing that girl like this. Remembering—”
“Fuhgetaboutit,” I said, adding a fake laugh for decoration. He would, or course, forget about it, so he might as well do it now. I, on the other hand, wouldn’t have such a luxury. Someday soon, he’d disappear and I’d be stuck again, this time with a grandbaby to take care of. They all assured me otherwise, but I’d been around long enough to know how the story would end. He’d get his fairy tale like everyone else. Everybody but me.
Jordan leaned in closer. “I can’t forget about it. Ever. Even now, marrying Terri…I told her that I don’t know if I want to have children with her. I don’t think it’d be right. Or fair.”
My foot lifted off the floor, but I caught myself before I kicked him.
I’ve really got to try a new workout.
The pan slammed against the burner, a redirection of my anger. I wished I could escape this room, this conversation. One reason I hadn’t been able to deal with this baby, to go to Jordan’s house and even discuss it was because of her—Terri, his girlfriend. I had no reason to care, no claim to him. In truth, he’d tried to get back with me again, but too much had passed between us to make things right. Still, seeing the two of them together was hard. At least he hadn’t brought her along today.
“Have all the babies you want. It doesn’t matter to me.” I jerked away from him, ransacking the cupboards.
Another moan, this time followed by a shriek, sounded in the living room. I checked the kitchen clock—11:22 a.m. The contractions were consistent and getting closer. So much for the soup. A box of my precious Zone bars would have to do.
“You care about me, Chelle. I know you do. Sometimes I even think about calling off the wedding until you can forgive me—”
“I have forgiven you.” Another box of low-carb bars, the ones I’d bought off of a cable shopping network during a bout of insomnia, tumbled down out of the cabinet. I forced the box back into the cabinet and when it refused to stay, I wedged a box of low-carb pancake mix in front of it, wishing I had something to prop myself up with. Why hadn’t I stayed at church and let Tad give me a full pedicure? Someday I’d learn to take my blessings where I could get them.
Jordan continued. “Your head may have forgiven me, but not your heart. If so, you wouldn’t retract whenever I come near you, or look away when I enter a room. The sight of me brings you pain. I know that. If not for Jericho, I wouldn’t have stayed in this town. But I have to stay. You of all people should understand that. I have to make things better for him if I can. You did well with him. Better than I ever could have.”
“But still not good enough, or we wouldn’t be here hoping a baby won’t be born in the next room. I did everything to keep him from turning into you—into us—but it wasn’t enough. He messed up anyway.”
Shocked that I’d actually said that, I grabbed the three Coke cans they’d left on the counter and rinsed them before crushing them in my new Can Killer (another insomnia-induced purchase) and tossing them into the recycle bin. It wasn’t as gratifying as kicking people, but much safer.
“So that was your parenting goal? Keeping Jericho from becoming me? From becoming us?”
I scrubbed the counters as if my life depended on their cleanliness. “Us? That was a bad choice of words. There is no us. There never was. I don’t have your name. I only have your child. That was the only blessing that came out of my sin.”
Jordan’s face sobered. “You make it sound so horrible, like my leaving was God’s punishment to you for being with me.”
I shrugged. What difference did it make? I’d sowed a lot of bad seeds with Jordan and reaped every one. In the midst of it, God had given me more than I could ask for: His love, friends, family, a handsome, intelligent son, a business I loved. The questions didn’t matter anymore. The answer remained the same—Jesus Christ.
“We were young, Chelle. We didn’t know. We didn’t get it.”
“Didn’t we?” I stirred the soup like a madwoman, trying to hide my trembling hands. “It doesn’t matter whether we knew or not, Jordan. God knew. He’s loving, but He’s holy. He couldn’t change that for us.” I leaned forward to listen for Shemika. Nothing. “He can’t change it for them, either. It is what it is—”
Jordan kissed the back of my neck.
Even after so many years, my body melted at his butterfly kiss, reserved for times when words wouldn’t suffice. My womanhood leaped to her feet and sighed in satisfaction. I pushed her back. And him, too.
My heel crunched down on his toes. I was embarrassed and sorry for doing it, but he wasn’t going to toy with me like this. I’d come too far, been through too much. I was past angry now. I was “salty,” as his sister Dana would say.
“Ow!”
We both turned. Shemika’s voice carried over Jordan’s grumbling. I stared at the clock—11:26 a.m. This one was closer. Too close.
Jordan gave me a puzzled look and let his hurt foot drop to the floor. He took my shoulders into his big, brown hands.
“It’s time, isn’t it?” he asked in a steady tone.
I nodded and pulled away, turning off the stove and grabbing my protein bars plus the extra pack I’d so carefully put back. I tossed the soup pot into the dishwater to soak. Jordan looked at me as if I was insane. I sucked my teeth. “Nobody else has to think about later, but I do. When I come back home, I’ll be alone.”
Jordan ignored my words. “Just tell me what to do. I’m here for you. For us. Whatever you need.”
How I’d love to believe that, but I just can’t.
“Thanks.”
It took us a lot of stopping and starting between contractions to make it to the living room. When we made it there, the doorbell rang.
No one moved at first.
“I’ll get that if you’d like,” Jordan said.
I nodded. There was no way I could untangle myself from Shemika now if I tried. Her arms were around my neck, her hair in my face…and my son was holding up the both of us.
As entwined as I was, I heard the woman’s voice at the door. Terri, Jordan’s girlfriend.
“I never thought it’d be this bad,” Shemika whispered as we struggled forward after the next contraction.
“It’s not bad, even though it feels bad,” I said. “It’s good. It’s bringing your daughter to you. To us. Now hold my hand. We’re all here for you.”
Terri fluttered toward us like a bird made of pink silk. I tried to ignore her, but that was a tall order.
“That’s right, darling. I’m here. Breathe just like we did in the class. Puff! Puff! Puff!” Jordan’s girlfriend pushed around me to reach for Shemika’s hand, but I couldn’t get out of the way. Nor did I want to. Puffing was good if you were trying to smoke a cigarette, but it wouldn’t help now. Reading books about having babies and actually having them were two different things. I was about to tell Miss Thing so, but Jordan beat me to it.
“Terri, thanks for being so supportive, honey, but I’m going to need for you to go.”
One of her rings, a starburst diamond, almost gouged out my eye as she whirled around. “What?”
“You heard me, hon. We’re going to the hospital now. My family needs me.”
Her bottom lip quivered. I looked away. Terri wasn’t my favorite person, but this was a private thing.
“But…but…aren’t I your family too, Jordan?”
He took a deep breath. “If we were married, you could come. We’re not. This is Rochelle’s home, sweetheart. You shouldn’t have come here. We talked about that, remember? Now, relax and go home. I’ll be back soon.” He smiled. “Hopefully with baby pictures.”
With that, he took Shemika’s hand and pulled her to the door. Jericho and I helped her outside, one of her arms over each of our shoulders. Jordan joined us again as we paused for two more contractions then finally got Shemika into the car. It wasn’t until the hospital floor chilled my bare soles that I realized that I’d never put on any shoes.
Chapter three
Shemika made it to the trash can. Then she went down just where I did, in the lobby of Saint Elizabeth Hospital, by the west entrance. The security guard took one look at us and shook his head.
“Oh no. I’m not delivering any more babies out here this week. Had one looking just like her the other night. I had to do the whole thing.” He wiped his forehead. “Don’t think I ever will get over it.” He jogged to a wheelchair and pushed it toward us.
Shemika doubled over before he reached us. She let out a low rumbling noise, letting the earthquake inside her fill the room.
The security guard’s eyes widened. “The other one, she made that sound, too! Right before she fell out and…” He pinched his eyes shut and grabbed Jordan’s sleeve. “Help me get her in the chair, man. I’m going to have to run for it!”
Jordan looked at me and then back at the man, who looked to weigh about a hundred pounds—well, maybe if he was under water holding dumbbells he’d be that heavy. There was no chance of him running Shemika anywhere in a wheelchair.
“I’ve got it, man,” Jordan said as, to my amazement and shock, he did for Shemika just what he’d done for me seventeen years before—picked her up and made for the elevator like only a former basketball star can.
The security guard followed in a limping run. “The second elevator,” he shouted before a fit of coughing overtook him. Before I realized it, I was running too, along with Jericho, who was less than thrilled with his gray-headed father’s show of athleticism. Shemika was a big girl and Jordan was about fifty pounds lighter than he’d been back in the day. His gait showed the strain. My son’s face showed it, too. “Dad, slow down!”
“Triage elevator. Right there.” The security guard pointed us in the right direction and explained to the approaching nurse what was going on.
The last in line for the elevator, I ended up taking the nurse’s questions as we waited for the elevator to arrive.
“Who’s her doctor? I can call that up for you at least.”
I smiled, embarrassed to have no response to a question any grandmother should be able to answer. “Um…Jericho?”
My son punched the button with one hand, with his other hand he tried to comfort his girlfriend, now standing on her own but making faces. “It’s Dr. Wallace.”
Shemika shook her head. “No, it’s his midwife, Chris,” she managed to say as the elevator arrived.
The nurse smiled. “Great. I’ll call it up.” She patted my hand. “Good luck, Grandma.”
I filed my new title in the back of my head as we all squeezed into the elevator. Once the door slammed shut, a manly quiet, the kind of silence that only males at an impending birth can muster, filled the elevator as Shemika turned into a brown spider, legs and arms everywhere, trying to climb away from the pain.
Though Jordan had helped usher her to the elevator, it was my son who held Shemika now, rubbing her back, trying to get her to calm down.
“Breathe, babe,” he said in a voice I’d never heard.
Shemika tried to suck in a breath, but screamed instead, her arms swimming against a wave of contractions.
After several blows to his back and shoulders, Jordan moved into the front corner of the elevator. I fought against the urge to be happy that she’d landed a few blows. The image of his girlfriend in my living room would be forever stained on my mind. I flattened myself to the front, too, leaving my son to endure the kicks. During first births, I tried to stay out of the way and not take anything personally. I did hope she’d calm down upstairs, though, before she wore herself out.
Moments later, as we spilled from the elevator, I touched Shemika’s hand, hoping a soft touch would help her relax. We made it to triage quickly. Jordan opened the door, while my son and I helped Shemika inside.
I tried to encourage her. “Remember our deal? You relax, your body works and your baby comes.”
Shemika didn’t look convinced. Evidently my birth-speak was a little rusty. It’d been a full year since I’d attended a laboring mom, but it was all coming back. Good thing, since my friend Tracey would be delivering soon. She lived out of town, but I hoped to be there somehow. “I know I’m making it sound easy, but really—”
Shemika grunted in response.
“Are you okay? Just a few more steps…”
Shemika didn’t even try to answer. She just started sliding to the floor. Jericho and I grabbed her, but Shemika’s weight, combined with her flailing arms and legs, proved too much for both of us. We were all still standing, but heading for the floor. Where was Jordan?
“Let me help you.” The voice stung like hail.
Tad.
One look at him and I lost my grip. The whole wild, pregnant mess that was the three of us landed in his arms, including my supersize son. Jericho jumped as though he’d touched a hot stove. Must be a man thing.
As we untangled, Jericho helped Shemika up. I looked into Tad’s kind eyes and at his bruised chin. Bless his heart, now here I was about to beat up the rest of him. “You poor thing. What are you doing here?”
He smiled. “I got a call from someone on the Men’s Fellowship prayer chain.”
I shrugged. Who’d made the call I didn’t know, but I was thankful. For all Tad’s annoying traits, he was calm in a crisis.
Jordan’s face glistened with sweat. His eyes looked bloodshot. Maybe this whole birth thing was weighing on him harder than I’d thought. He shook Tad’s hand. “Thanks for coming. Sorry for calling you out of service, but you said—”
Tad nodded. “I said call anytime. And I meant it.” He spoke to Jordan, but his eyes were locked on me.
And my bare feet.
Shemika managed to get herself into a tan gown and we were guided behind a series of curtains and asked to wait for a nurse. Shemika latched on to Jericho’s hand with a death grip. Or maybe a life grip.
My son gave her a smile, then leaned down to me with wide eyes I’d seen only a few times, one of them on the day he’d met his father for the first time. “I have a bad feeling, Mom.”
A snort escaped my lips. “Me, too, but my bad feeling was about nine months ago.”
“No, really,” he said, trying to whisper but forgetting to do so. “And she’s grabbed my hand so hard. It was almost like she was…pushing?”
“Pushing?”
My voice must have really carried, because a nurse emerged from what seemed a thousand layers of curtains. “Who’s pushing?”
