“Well, I’m happy to keep you company,” Phoebe said, meaning every word. Almost. Happy might not be the right choice of adjectives. She was honored her sister had called her, and she was glad it had worked out that she was available. But as the full scope of what might lie ahead began to play out in her mind, Phoebe felt a balloon of trepidation begin to inflate inside her chest. “But I’m going to bet on Vic and his ability to hunt down Tim, okay? He’ll make it.”
Renata took Phoebe’s hand and pulled her toward the living room. “I’m glad you’re here, Phoebe. As much as I hate to admit it, I really don’t want to do this alone, even the waiting for Tim part, and I’m glad it’s you here with me now.”
Phoebe chuckled, not quite knowing how to take the rare compliment from Renata. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather I call Juliette? With Vic hunting down Tim, I’m sure she’s available now.” She intended it to be a joke, but it came out sounding sincere, maybe even a little pouty. Perhaps because under the jesting, the question was legitimate. Renata had never purposely chosen Phoebe’s company over anyone else in all the years she could remember.
“No. You’re the one I want. Juliette would be fine until she witnessed a contraction. Then she’d freak out and either cry or ask Victor to come help—no, thank you.”
When Phoebe saw the sofa, she chuckled. “You’re nothing, if not prepared, Ren darling.” A large trash bag lay spread out on the cushions, several layers of thick bath towels on top, and one of the pillows from her bed propped against the arm of the couch. On the coffee table sat a tray of refreshments, complete with a bowl of bite-sized fruit—grapes, blueberries, boysenberries, even cantaloupe cut into cubes—Ren’s favorite vanilla-flavored Greek Yogurt, a ramekin of almonds, and a pitcher of fragrant herbal iced tea.
“I just didn’t think I’d need back up, you know? Tim has been like a helicopter these last few weeks, hovering and swooping, making sure I had everything I needed at my fingertips. I suppose that’s why I sent him off—I needed a little breathing room. But I never thought….” she waved a hand around, indicating the empty house, and then lowered herself onto her side on the sofa, making sure not to mess up the towels and plastic covering. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and let it out slowly, her whole body deflating as she tried to relax. “You’ve always been my first choice, Phoebe. For back up,” Ren murmured, almost to herself. “I should have asked you long ago.”
Phoebe sat in a high-backed armchair and studied her sister in silence, a rush of intense emotion making it hard to breathe for a moment. Ren looked like she might even be drifting off and Phoebe knew not to disturb her. If a laboring woman could get some rest between contractions, she absolutely should. Besides, it gave her time to attempt to wrap her head around all the things Ren had divulged in the few minutes since she’d arrived.
Things on the Dixon-Larsen home front weren’t as idealistic as Phoebe had assumed. Tim was a helicopter husband, something John, Ren’s first husband, had not been. Even when there were times he should have considered being so. No wonder his wife missed him, especially now. He had been the cool head of reason in their marriage, no matter where Renata’s head had been, and now it seemed that Renata was being forced to step up.
Not that the notion was a bad thing. The downside to John’s unflappability was that it allowed his wife to be somewhat unrestrained. Renata had always inferred that she led a perfectly-ordered life, but in reality, she really was just a high strung control freak who was judgmental and stuck up, to boot. For the duration of their marriage, John had cleaned up after Renata’s meltdowns, and although he apparently didn’t mind—his love for her seemed to transcend reason—he hadn’t really made anything easier on anyone by not calling Renata on her behavior.
And now, although she had a man who rivaled any six-packed stud Phoebe had ever photographed, painted, or sculpted—real or imagined—Toolbelt Tim apparently had chinks in his armor, and maybe even a few missing tools in his belt. A few missing screws, too—what sane man would take on a grief-stricken, pregnant widow, and her four pre-teen boys?
Renata, dear coddled Renata, was having to think about the ramifications of her own actions. She was finding out what it felt like to be alone, even when surrounded by loved ones. How to be strong because no one else would be strong for her—or when no one else could offer her the kind of strength she needed.
No, it wasn’t such a bad thing that the lickable Toolbelt Tim wasn’t so perfect after all. Which meant Renata Gustafson Dixon Larsen’s life wasn’t so perfect after all, either.
Even more surprising, Renata had not only admitted, but insisted that Phoebe, of all the women in the family, was her first go-to girl on the list. The thought made Phoebe warm contentedly inside, and she wondered if she glowed just the tiniest bit in the dimly-lit room. Never in a million years would she have imagined Renata would choose her to be her support over everyone else in the lineup. Something had truly changed in Renata, and in turn, it was triggering some kind of a reactionary change in Phoebe.
Phoebe wasn’t sure she was ready for it, though. Happy to be here? No, still not the right word. But content with the way things were at the moment? Yes.
“That’ll do, donkey,” she whispered into the stillness, quoting a favorite line from the movie Shrek, one she’d watched a hundred times or more with her nephews. “That’ll do.”
Renata didn’t open her eyes, but the corners of her mouth lifted in a gentle smile. A few minutes later, she moaned softly and drew her knees up a little higher, rounding her shoulders forward again. “Here comes another one. Maybe you can help me get up.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
An hour later, the contractions were definitely getting closer together, down to about every ten minutes. Renata was still putting off heading to the hospital, but they were also getting more difficult and she’d begun to weep silently during the last one, the tears interfering with her breathing. Phoebe counted, rubbed, paced, and took deep cleansing breaths with her sister, all her senses tuned into the natural rhythm and rending of childbirth. She knew Ren was waiting to hear from Tim, but Phoebe was feeling quite unsettled about waiting any longer.
Her phone vibrated against her chest just after midnight. Ren was on her knees on the sofa, her head resting on her crossed arms on the back of it, while Phoebe gently rocked her hips for her and swept long, slow strokes up her spine and over her shoulders, making soothing noises with her movements. She paused in her ministrations to answer the phone.
“Phoebe, Tim here.” His uncharacteristically abrupt tone spoke volumes about his frame of mind.
“Hey there,” she murmured, keeping her voice low, not wanting to say who it was until she knew what he had to say. “Where are you?”
“I’m about half an hour away. How is she?”
Phoebe glanced at the huge wall clock mounted above the mantle; she’d been monitoring Renata’s contractions with it. It had been just over five minutes since the last one, but the woman on the sofa was beginning to make small, sighing moans again, a sound Phoebe was growing to recognize. She didn’t think it wise to put things off much longer, especially now that they’d gotten a hold of Tim. “She’s doing great, but I’m thinking we should probably head to the hospital shortly. Can you meet us there?”
“Is that Tim?” Renata asked, her words muffled against her arms.
Tim spoke at the same time. “The hospital. Yes. Can I talk to her?” Phoebe heard fear in the gravelly edges of his words.
“Of course. And Tim? She’s doing great,” she assured him again. “I mean it.”
“Thanks, Phoebe.” He had to clear his throat before continuing. “I’m sorry I’m not there right now, but I’m glad you are. Thank you.”
“Of course,” she said again. “Here’s Ren.” She reached out and touched her sister’s shoulder. “It’s Tim, Rennie.”
Phoebe turned away and busied herself with straightening some of the items on the coffee table, givin
g the couple a moment to talk privately. The conversation was short out of necessity, and Renata grunted as she handed the phone back to her. “As soon as I get through this next contraction, we should probably go.”
Phoebe took the phone and once more assured Tim that his wife was doing fine before hanging up. Renata began to rock back and forth on her knees, her head down, hands now clutching the back of the sofa, the singsong moans a little louder this time. Phoebe once again pressed into Ren’s low back, applying counter pressure against her tail bone.
Suddenly, a gush of fluid burst from between Renata’s legs and she cried out in surprise. Phoebe jumped back a little, her eyes wide, and let loose a startled curse.
“Bad word,” Renata growled.
Phoebe giggled, fighting off the surge of hysteria clawing its way up her throat. “Are you reprimanding me or saying ‘bad word’ in lieu of an actual bad word?”
“Bad word,” Ren said again, making her intent quite clear. “Bad word, bad word, bad word.” She took another deep breath and carefully rose up off the couch, making sure to stand over a towel as more liquid sluiced down her legs from beneath the soft, knit maternity dress she wore. “My overnight bag is already in my car, but can you please grab some extra towels for my seat?” She grunted in frustration and clutched at her hard stomach. “Slow down, baby girl. Wait for Ti—wait for Daddy, okay?”
Phoebe made certain Ren was steady before dashing down the hall to the bathroom. The hospital was less than ten minutes away, but things had suddenly progressed much quicker than expected. A low moan from the living room had her madly scrabbling for towels, not bothering to close the cupboard doors behind her, as she careened back out to find Ren, once more on her knees on the sofa, caught in the throes of another contraction.
“Already?” Phoebe shot a look at the clock. Less than five minutes. “Ren?”
But her sister was breathing in short, sharp pants, her expression one of shock and fear. Her eyes bore into Phoebe’s. “Help me, Phoebe. I can’t—” A half-sob burst out between breaths. “Too fast.”
“I’m calling 911,” Phoebe muttered as she moved around to the back of the couch so she could get eye-to-eye with her sister. “Let’s not do this here, okay?”
“They’ll take—too long. You take—me to—the hospital.” Renata punched the words out between clenched teeth. “Now!” Before the contraction was completely over, she was already pushing up off the sofa and grabbing at one of the towels in Phoebe’s arms. “Call the hospital and tell them we’re coming,” she commanded, and then breathed in long and deep, her exhale shuddering on the way out.
They were in the car in less than a minute, Phoebe thankful she’d parked in the driveway beside Ren’s SUV rather than behind it. Halfway there, Renata had another contraction, this one intense enough to make her cry out.
“I’m sorry, Rennie. I’m going as fast as I can.” At that time of the night, there was virtually no traffic, but she didn’t want to get pulled over, either, so although she was speeding, she made every attempt not to drive recklessly.
As they pulled up in front of the Emergency Room entrance, another contraction hit, and Phoebe laid on the horn before scrambling out of the car, and hurrying around to the passenger side to open the door. Again, Renata sobbed out loud, but Phoebe sensed it was more out of frustration than just pain. “He’s not going to make it,” she moaned as a uniformed woman approached quickly, pushing a wheelchair. “Oh, Phoebe, Tim isn’t going to make it,” Renata moaned as she eased her bulk into the wheelchair.
Phoebe parked in the first open spot only a few yards away, yanked the overnight bag from the back seat, and caught up to them as the attendant wheeled Renata inside. The sisters held hands as they traversed through several sets of double doors and down the endless corridors to the Labor and Delivery Ward where Ren was handed over to waiting staff who already had a room prepped and ready for her.
Phoebe stayed close while a matronly nurse helped her sister out of her maternity clothes and into a hospital gown, then up onto her bed. She held Ren’s hand through another contraction. A doctor swept in, introduced himself as Dr. Adams and deftly put Ren’s feet up into stirrups and performed a quick and efficient internal exam.
“Well, my dear, you’re progressing nicely, I’d say. Dilated about eight centimeters so it’s a good thing you decided to come in.” He removed her feet from the stirrups and draped the sheet over her with quick, sure movements. “Your doctor has been notified and is on his way, but we’re ready when you and your baby are, okay?”
Phoebe liked this Dr. Adams. He looked to be in his fifties, his hair halfway between blond and gray, his features warm and open. He moved intentionally and confidently, a calm spirit exuding off him as he made his way around the room, communicating with his staff while they hooked Renata up to monitors, and prepared the necessary equipment for the pending birth. She knew Renata would prefer her own doctor, the man who’d delivered all four boys, and walked her through several miscarriages, but if he didn’t make it on time—a distinct possibility—Phoebe thought Dr. Adams would do just fine.
For which she was glad. Suddenly the enormity of the situation struck her, and she closed her eyes and held her breath to block out the sights and smells enveloping her. It was all she could do not to cover her ears like a child.
“Stay with me, Phoebe. Don’t leave me,” Renata murmured, still clutching her hand.
“I’m not going anywhere,” Phoebe promised, opening her eyes, and letting the words out on a release of air. She had to keep it together; for Ren, for Baby Charise, for everyone. For herself and her own pride, she had to step outside herself and focus on her sister.
Phoebe took a deep breath and eyed the monitor on the other side of the bed, grateful for something to concentrate on. “Looks like another one is coming, Rennie. Take a deep breath in through the nose, and out through the mouth. Breathe with me.”
~ ~ ~
Less than half an hour after they’d arrived at the hospital, Tim pushed into the room, a hulking mass of tightly-wound man-flesh. In spite of the situation, Phoebe took a moment to appreciate the sight of him practically storming the gates to get to his woman and child. She smiled in welcome as he hurried to Renata’s other side, where he bent over her and kissed her tenderly on the forehead. Then a nurse practically dragged him to the sink to thoroughly wash his hands before letting him back to the bedside.
Renata burst into tears of relief as her own Dr. Flynn bustled into the room only moments after Tim, a huge smile softening his sleepy features. He shook Tim’s hand, patted Renata’s shoulder, and then scanned the monitors as the nurse filled him in on any details not on the screen in front of him.
The room quieted as Renata’s whimpers turned into a deep moan when a powerful contraction swept over her. Phoebe took a step back, suddenly uncertain of what her role now was, but Renata thrust out her hand and grabbed her wrist. Her pain-filled eyes zoned in on Phoebe’s. “Stay. Please. I—need—you,” she gasped out.
Tim nodded, his gaze wide with shock and concern, clearly unprepared to witness the woman he loved in such distress. “What should I do?” he asked quietly, stepping close to Phoebe. “How can I help?”
Phoebe took his hand and put Renata’s into his. “Just stay right here, close, where she can focus on your face.” She smoothed the hair back from Renata’s forehead and leaned close to her sister. From a long-untapped source of willpower and courage, Phoebe spoke, her voice calm, her attention focused solely on Renata’s eyes. “I’m staying right here. Don’t worry. We’re both here. Let’s do this together, okay?”
At 2:32 a.m, Charise Olivia Dixon Larsen made her grand entrance into the world, a euphoric Tim and exhausted Renata both shedding tears of joy over the tiny red-faced baby girl.
At 2:38 a.m, Phoebe once more bent over her sister, kissed her tenderly on the forehead, and whispered, “You were amazing, Mama Ren.”
At 2:44 a.m, Phoebe con
gratulated Tim for the third time, and then slipped from the room. She stumbled only twice as she made her way back through the winding corridors to the Emergency Room, nearly blind with unshed tears of her own, and out into the parking lot where Renata’s car was parked.
She kept it together until she had slipped behind the wheel of the SUV and pulled the door closed behind her. Then she covered her face in her hands and released the pent-up agony that had been building inside her, great wrenching sobs tearing through her body as wave after wave of memories washed over her.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Sunday morning, Trevor and Ricky sat shoulder-to-shoulder in the amphitheater seats of the big sanctuary where they attended church. Gia hadn’t made an appearance, and Ricky’s expression clearly showed his concern. He’d tried texting her when the service started, but she’d not responded. He kept checking his phone periodically throughout the hour of worship, and Trevor was sure the kid hadn’t heard a word of the sermon.
The last song was sung and the pastor dismissed them all with a prayer of benediction. Trevor felt a slight surge of adrenaline rush through his veins at the thought of the coming meal—at least the company he’d be spending it in. It was just after eleven and lunch wouldn’t be ready for another hour or so, and he’d hoped Vic and Juliette would come by to listen to a few of his new songs before heading over to the Gustafsons. But he hadn’t seen them in their usual row, either.
Juliette had become one of his favorite beta-listeners; she loved his music, but it was her deeply sensitive nature and intuitiveness that provided him with exceptional feedback. She had yet to give him suggestions that weren’t spot-on, and in fact, on this album alone, some of the changes he’d made because of her thoughts had turned good songs into great songs. He was anxious to see what she thought of his latest pieces.
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