Come Back to Me

by Carolyn Astfalk

  “You think I wanted this to happen?” He could hear the irritation, maybe even a little panic, in Chris’s voice.

  “No, of course not.”

  The sound of rushing water stopped, replaced by the humming of the tub jets.

  Alan lowered his voice. “Relax. She’s okay. She’s in the tub. I’m here. It’s all good.”

  “How far apart are the contractions? You said her water broke. Is she dilated?”

  Dilated? “How should I know? And what do her eyes have to do with—” He caught his mistake too late. Chris wasn’t asking about her eyes, he—

  “Her cervix, you idiot. Is her cervix dilated?”

  Alan squeezed his eyes shut, embarrassment heating his neck, and considered Chris’s question. The midwife hadn’t even been in to examine Rebecca. “All I know is I came home, and she said her contractions were, like, three minutes apart. Then her water broke, and we came to the hospital.”

  Maybe later he’d explain that Jamie drove them and why, but not now.

  Chris cursed. “I want to be there, Alan. For Rebecca. To see my baby born.” Alan didn’t miss the crack in his voice.

  “You’ll be here. She’s in good hands. Just drive safely, okay?”

  “Okay. . . okay.” The windshield wipers whirred in the background and the sound of rain hitting the car’s roof grew louder. “Tell her I love her. I’m sorry. So sorry. And I’ll be there as soon as humanly possible.”

  Alan smiled. Too bad he wasn’t more like Chris. He was a good man, through and through. They shared the same genes though, so maybe there was hope for Alan yet. “I will.”

  “Alan?” Rebecca’s voice came from the bathroom.

  “Hey, I’m gonna go. Drive safe. She’s in, uh—” He walked out the door and peeked at the number affixed to the wall. “She’s in room 404.”

  He ended the call with Chris and stepped one foot into the bathroom. Sterile in contrast to the birthing room, it contained only a commode, sink, and tub. The fluorescent lights were off, but light came through the blinds on the single-pane window opposite the tub. No privacy curtain. Rebecca must be naked; she was in a bathtub, right? Was she covered? He kept his head angled toward the window. “Hey, you need something?”

  “Some water? The nurse said she’d bring ice water.”

  Alan turned away from the bathroom, his gaze darting around the birthing suite. There it was, on the table—a giant plastic mug filled with water. He grabbed it and returned to the bathroom entrance.

  “I’ve got the water. Are you. . . are you decent?”

  Rebecca let out a sharp laugh. “I’m in the tub. What do you think?”

  That’s what he was afraid of. Rebecca was beautiful, pregnant or not, but she was Chris’s wife. Totally off-limits. Not goin’ there.

  “Um, okay.” He kept his gaze trained to the ceiling as he walked in and lowered the mug onto the tub ledge, nearly missing it and almost dropping the mug into the bath. It must have looked humorous, but Rebecca didn’t laugh. In fact, she didn’t say anything.

  That she’d lost both her modesty and her sense of humor made him think this baby wasn’t going to wait too much longer.

  If you exist, God, if you’re even there, get my brother here pronto.

  It was the closest he’d come to a real prayer—ever, but desperation had pushed him to it.

  “Chris called. Said to tell you he loves you. He had car trouble and had sort of lost his phone charger, but he’s on his way. He’ll be here.”

  “Soon?” There was no missing the pleading in her voice.

  “Fast as he can.”

  Rebecca half-whimpered, half-groaned through what he presumed was another contraction. “Is Jamie still here?”

  Great question. “I think so, but she doesn’t have her phone, and—”

  “Never mind. I don’t want you gone looking for her.” She’d nixed his possible escape. “Please stay, Alan.”

  He blew out a breath. How could he say no?

  Alan grabbed a chair from the room, its legs squawking as he dragged it across the floor. He spun it around so that it was close to but facing away from the tub and sat. “Do you want to talk? Or should I just keep quiet?”

  The water sloshed in the tub. “You can talk. I’m listening. But don’t expect answers. It’s getting hard to . . . to focus for too long.”

  He nodded. “Okay. What should I talk about?” What did he and Rebecca have in common anyway, besides Chris? That was it. Chris. “I know. You want to hear about Chris when he was a kid?”

  “Sure.”

  He struggled to recall something, anything funny from when they were kids. Or even interesting. His mind drew a blank.

  “Let me think.” Maybe if he just started talking, something would come to him. “Okay. When he was nine, Chris took his bike out determined to ride it down MacKenzie Hill. It’s that big one, behind the cul-de-sac off of Mom and Dad’s street. You know the one?”

  “Mm-hmm.” More water sloshing.

  “So, it’s just a dirt trail the neighborhood kids made, but he pushed his bike up there, and when he gets to the top, it starts raining.” He glanced out the window, where rainwater splattered against the glass as it bounced off the narrow ledge. “So, he’s already up there. Nothing to do but come down. Me and three other kids, we’re at the bottom, goading him on. So, he lets out this, I don’t know, Tarzan call or something, and starts down.” He paused, wondering if she were still paying attention or if she just wanted to hear the sound of someone’s voice.

  “I’m listening.”

  He grinned, remembering the day, some of the tension in his shoulders easing. “He’s bumping along, coming all way down, and at the very end, he hits this mound and careens to the side into this flash-flood puddle or something and wipes out.” He recreated the descent and landing with his hands, not sure if Rebecca was watching.

  “Oh, your mom probably wanted to kill him.” Her voice sounded tired but light. She was probably between contractions.

  “Oh, yeah.” Alan laughed, picturing Chris. “He looked like the creature from the Black Lagoon or something. The muck’s dripping off him, but he pulls his bike into the garage, and he’s got a smile on his face a mile wide ’cuz the whole neighborhood knows he killed MacKenzie Hill.”

  Rebecca groaned behind him, louder and longer than he’d heard before. “Alan, I think I want to get out. Can you . . . can you get the nurse?”

  “Yeah, uh, sure.” He stood, pushed his chair to the side and buzzed the nurse from the button connected to the bed.

  Within minutes, the nurse arrived, and he waited behind the pulled curtain until Rebecca was out of the tub and situated in her bed. Or so he thought. When the nurse slid the curtain back, Rebecca was on all fours atop the mattress, clad only in the hospital gown.

  His eyes must’ve bugged out because the nurse snickered.

  “She’s having a lot of back labor. Sometimes that’s a more comfortable position.”

  Alan lowered his voice. “Is she going to have the baby, like now?” Suddenly all the tension returned to his shoulders, and a heavy weight pressed against his chest.

  The nurse fussed with the machine they’d called the fetal monitor. “It’s hard to say, but I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s ready to push soon. Maybe in the next hour?”

  “Push? She can’t. My brother’s on his way. He’ll be here in an hour or so. Less now.”

  The nurse smiled. “It’s her first. It may take some time. But the baby will come when the baby’s ready to come. Not sooner and not later, whether Daddy’s here or not.” She brushed past him and out the door.

  20

  American Baby

  Raking a hand through his hair, Alan turned his back on Rebecca, who re-situated herself on the bed for the thousandth time. He was so not cut out for this job. Chris had months to prepare. He went to birthing classes with Rebecca and listened to her read aloud from all kinds of pregnancy books.

  “Alan?”

/>   Shoot. Could he slink out the door and hide? No, he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. “Yeah, Rebecca?”

  “In my . . . in my bag, there’s a sock with a tennis ball in it.”

  A what?

  “Can you get it? If you press it into my back, it’ll relieve some of the pressure.”

  “O-Okay.” He pulled open the bureau drawer and dug around inside her bag, pushing aside a baby book, notepad, and slippers until he found the sock-ball.

  For the next half hour or more, he pressed that ball as hard as he could into her lower back, trying desperately to keep his eyes from all the bare skin unintentionally exposed due to the flimsy hospital gown. Where had Jamie gone? She didn’t have her phone. He should’ve told her to find them, not hang out in some waiting area.

  Normal speech seemed beyond Rebecca now as her glazed eyes either squeezed shut or bounced about the room, lingering for a few moments on this or that—mainly the crucifix that hung on the wall opposite the bed—as she steadied her breathing. She tried three different positions—leaning against the wall, over the side of bed, hands and knees, growing more agitated with each passing minute until she groaned and pleaded. “I can’t do this anymore.”

  He swung the sock ball in circles, glancing around the room as if something there could ease her pain. What should he do? Maybe she needed some pain medication. Just knock her out for the rest of it. But she’d told him she didn’t want any of that stuff, that she wanted to do things naturally.

  Leaning with her arms braced against the bed, she broke into a sob. “I can’t . . . I can’t take any more pain.”

  “All right, all right.” His heart knocking in his chest, Alan buzzed the nurse again.

  In a few minutes, Crystal backed through the door, pulling a large metal cart with an array of instruments on it covered in plastic. Another nurse and the midwife followed.

  What was this? He backed up, knocking into a tray table on wheels. She said she couldn’t handle any more. Were they going to drug her? Or do a c-section or what? “What’s going on?”

  Rebecca shifted on the bed, groaning again.

  “Sounds like this baby’s ready to come out.” The midwife, an athletic-looking, fifty-something woman, gave him a chipper grin.

  He lifted his chin in acknowledgment, as if he’d arrived at the same conclusion. It was blasted three in the morning or something, and Chris hadn’t arrived. She was happy about this?

  The midwife spoke to Rebecca as the nurses maneuvered the cart to the foot of her bed, removing the plastic cover and arranging things just so. With a hand to the remote, the midwife adjusted the bed and then switched on a bright light aimed between Rebecca’s legs as she lay in a semi-reclined position.

  Her knees were bent, and the nurse helped her scoot to the edge of the bed.

  Oh, no. Oh, God, no.

  He felt the blood drain from his face, his head growing light and his chest growing tight. I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t be here. Chris. Where on earth is Chris?

  This was it.

  “Do you feel like you need to push yet, Rebecca?” the midwife asked.

  Rebecca let out a throaty groan like he’d never heard from her before. “Yes. Please. I need to push.”

  The second nurse who had come in pulled what looked like a metal and plastic bassinet on wheels into position. Still grappling with the fact Rebecca was gonna pop this kid out now, Alan approached. “My brother, her husband. H-he’s not here yet. How long is it gonna take?” He glanced at the midwife, who looked to be in baby-catching position. “How long does the pushing go on?”

  The nurse smiled and opened her mouth to reply when the door swung open again.

  Chris stood motionless in the doorway, his gaze darting around the room until it landed on Rebecca. He strode forward, his brow creased with worry. Water dripped from his hair, and his shirt was soaked through. The smell of fresh rainwater preceded him.

  As if someone had loosened the pressure valve in Alan’s chest, he relaxed. “Hey.” He thrust his arm out, grabbing Chris’s. “You’re just in time.”

  Chris turned to him, obviously not having even noticed him before. He let out a deep sigh. “Thank God.”

  Thank God. He’d prayed Chris would make it in time. And he had. Barely, but still. Had God heard his prayer?

  “They just brought all this stuff in.” Alan gestured to the table and the bassinet. “She’s ready to push.”

  Chris placed a hand on Alan’s shoulder and met his gaze, his eyes tired but steady. “Thank you.”

  Two words, but heartfelt ones. Chris must’ve been sick with worry. That Alan had been there with Rebecca had probably been his only comfort, pathetic as it was.

  Rebecca caught sight of him. “Chris. You’re here!” Her exclamation ended on a sob that quickly turned into a near-growl.

  “Deep breath.” The nurse counseled Rebecca from the side of the bed where she held back Rebecca’s leg. “Then push through the contraction.”

  Alan winced at the strain evident in Rebecca’s moan.

  Chris rushed to her side.

  The midwife directed him to dry off and wash up in the bathroom while Rebecca rested between contractions.

  In seconds, he was back at Rebecca’s side, holding her hand and covering her head with kisses while she cried and murmured to him.

  “Ready for the next one, Rebecca?” The midwife scooted closer on her wheeled stool. As if they were cast in a well-rehearsed play, they each took their positions, even Chris.

  Grateful he was no longer needed, Alan slipped from the room. In the hallway, he breathed deeply and leaned against the wall. The growling wail from inside the room signified the next contraction. More murmurs followed along with Chris’s reassurances. “You’re doin’ great, honey. We’re gonna hold our baby real soon.”

  Alan padded down the hall, running a hand through his hair and over the stubble on his cheeks. Would Jamie be in the waiting room? Probably not. She must’ve gone home. He’d be stuck here, but that was okay. He’d hang around for a while after the birth, then have Chris give him a lift home.

  He stepped into the waiting room. Empty. No rain jacket or sign anyone had recently occupied the space. Not even an abandoned coffee cup or water bottle. Alan’s heart sunk.

  With a sigh, he sat and slouched back on the stiff, padded chair, the emotions and anxiety of the night combined with the late—or rather, early—hour catching up with him. He rested his head on the seatback and stared at the ceiling tiles. The soft yellow glow of a tabletop lamp relaxed him. Maybe he could switch off the light and rest his eyes for a few minutes.

  A loud clap sounded from the hall, as if someone had dropped a tray.

  Alan jerked to attention, an ache starting in his neck. He rubbed it away and stood, pacing the small room. Had Rebecca had the baby yet? By the looks of things when he’d left, that baby should’ve shot out of her within minutes if not seconds. But what did he know? Would he be able to hear anything from here? Any guttural wails heralding the delivery? The first cries of his little niece or nephew?

  His heart swelled at the thought. They’d been looking forward to this day for months. He’d been privy to Rebecca’s growing belly and the steady influx of baby gear into their home, yet it hadn’t felt real until now, with the baby’s arrival imminent.

  Any minute now, his younger brother’s life would be irrevocably changed. His responsibilities would increase. His house would be filled with stinky diapers, a gazillion toys, cheesy fish-shaped crackers, and . . . his throat thickened. Love. Their little home would be filled with love and drool-filled smiles, baby belly laughs, and sloppy kid kisses. His eyes stung, and he blinked away tears.

  He shook his head. Had he contracted baby fever? He couldn’t blame the alcohol. That had worn off. Before envy could creep in and steal the joy he felt for Chris, Rebecca, his parents, and himself, he forced his mind in another direction. His gaze caught on the reading material left on the table, the glossy magazine covers dull
in the dim light.

  With a flick of his hand, he spread the magazines. Chick stuff. Some boring medical magazine. Two books teetered on the edge of the table, one a kid’s book with anthropomorphic horses on the cover and the other a plain, navy hardcover. He flipped it over and around. A Bible.

  Shifting his weight to a hip, he thumbed through the pages. Never read one of these before.

  The corridor was quiet now, and Alan poked his head around the corner. No sign of Chris. No baby’s cry. He gripped the Bible and returned to his seat. What did he have to lose? He’d already lost his job. His home. His pride. His wife.

  The thin pages slid through his fingers as his eyes scanned the chapters. Might as well start at the beginning. He skimmed a few pages until his gaze snagged on familiar words: “And the two shall become one flesh.” He read the few preceding paragraphs and the ones after. This was one of the passages read at Chris and Rebecca’s wedding.

  If it were true, that would explain why it felt like his heart was cleaved in two every time he thought of Jamie and their life together. How much had he damaged their relationship tonight? He’d chosen her over temptation; he’d honored his vows. But he’d been stupid. Again. At the worst possible time. He’d had to rely on her to bail him out, and he didn’t know—

  “Alan?”

  Jamie stood in the entryway, a purse slung over her shoulder and a paperboard cup in one hand. A hint of hazelnut drifted his way. She’d twisted her hair into a knot in the back as she often did at night. He could picture her on their couch with her head resting on the arm, a long t-shirt riding up her bare thighs and her feet propped on a throw pillow. Yep, heart wrenched in two.

  She dropped her purse onto a chair. “I saw Chris run by. Did she have the baby yet?” Her eyes were concerned, eager . . . happy?

  Alan stood, returning the Bible to the table. “Chris made it in time. She’s pushing now. I have no idea how long that takes. Longer for the first baby?”

  “I’m so glad. He’d be so upset if he’d missed it.” She clasped her hands together around her cup and gave a little squeal. “Ooh, I can’t wait to hold the baby. Do you think it’s a boy or a girl?”