First Comes Baby

by Janice Kay Johnson

  You’ll live, sweetheart. I know you will. Just hang on.

  The memory was part of the seepage, that awful night refusing to stay buried. But in this case, Laurel was grateful for her sudden conviction that her mother would be with her when she gave birth, too.

  If only in her heart.

  She heard Caleb’s car out front, and went to let him in. Laurel had packed on her own, not taking all that much. Despite Meg’s best efforts, her maternity wardrobe was pretty skimpy, and everyone told her she wouldn’t fit back in her own clothes for weeks after the birth so not to bother taking any of them.

  “Hey.” He smiled at her when she opened the door. He was as vital and electric as always, and she felt like The Blob. “You all set?”

  Butterflies fluttered in her stomach, squeezed above the baby. Was she ready to leave her cozy home? Ready to give birth? Ready to start a new life?

  She made a face. “As ready as I’m going to get.”

  “You sure you have two more weeks to go?”

  “You can count as well as I can.”

  “Yeah, I guess I was there, wasn’t I? Sort of there,” he amended, picking up her suitcase. Then, when he saw her reaching for the smaller one, snatched it up, too, as if it weighed nothing. “No lifting for you.”

  To his back, she said, “You’re going to be really annoying, aren’t you?”

  “Yep,” he said cheerfully, heading down the walk to the car.

  Laurel looked around her small house and felt a pang, as if…oh, as if she wasn’t coming back.

  Of course she would be. That was silly. This was just a vacation, like the week she’d spent with him before. The chance to be pampered. And she definitely didn’t want to find herself in labor in the middle of the night, and have to wait for him to catch the ferry and make it here from Vashon.

  Her house would be waiting for her. The second bedroom was ready for the baby. Meg had painted it a bright, cheery yellow and helped Laurel put up a wallpaper border with frolicking lambs. Their dad had brought the crib they’d used as babies down from the attic and insisted on buying a new mattress for it. A few weeks ago, Caleb had set it up in the bedroom, hanging above it the bright mobile that was Meg’s baby present.

  The small suitcase held tiny sleepers, receiving blankets and the newborn size of disposable diapers as well as a couple of plastic baby bottles, a few cans of formula—just in case—and an unopened package of pacifiers. Laurel and Caleb hadn’t talked about whether he’d bring her and the baby home right after they were released from the hospital, but she had a suspicion he’d refuse. Or else he’d insist on sleeping on her sofa, several feet too short for his lanky body.

  Her suspicion was confirmed when she saw the bassinet beside the bed that was to be hers in Caleb’s guest bedroom.

  Her eyes narrowed. “You didn’t mention buying that.”

  “I figured we should both have a place he can sleep.”

  She didn’t really mind. Honestly, the idea of him dropping them off and driving away was a little scary.

  In fact, the idea of leaving the hospital with a baby was scary all by itself. Baby in abstract was one thing; baby that screamed inconsolably and trusted her when she had no idea what she was doing, well, that was another altogether.

  “We’re going to do okay at this, right?” she asked, standing beside the bassinet.

  “Yeah.” Caleb put an arm around her. “We’re going to be better than okay. Nobody will ever love their baby the way we’ll love ours.”

  She gave a choked laugh. “Mr. Competitive.”

  “I won’t insist he become a doctor.” He paused a beat. “An engineer would be okay.”

  What about not-quite-a-lawyer? Laurel wondered. Was that good enough?

  Oblivious to her thoughts, Caleb said, “If you want to settle in, I’ll put dinner on.”

  She gave him a little smile and nodded. Once he left, instead of opening her suitcase she sat in the upholstered rocker he must also have bought recently and started it gently rocking.

  Splaying her hands over her belly, she half sang, half murmured, “Rock-a-bye baby.” When she got to the part about the cradle falling she thought there should be more upbeat lullabies.

  CALEB’S FATHER CALLED the day after Laurel came to stay.

  “Your mother’s worried that you won’t want us to see the baby,” he began stiffly.

  Caleb set aside the newspaper he’d been reading, glad Laurel was upstairs taking a nap. “You know I wouldn’t do that.”

  “I’m supposed to apologize.”

  Despite the anger he’d nursed, Caleb couldn’t help seeing the humor in his father’s idea of contrition.

  “But you’re having a hell of a time getting the words out because you’re not sorry at all?” he inquired.

  Voice gruff, Clayton Manes admitted, “I regretted what I said the minute I said it. Laurel’s a nice girl. I knew that. But I was afraid you’d get hurt.”

  And was still afraid, Caleb guessed. He was afraid, too.

  “Apology accepted.”

  “You’ve been hard on your mother, ignoring us the way you have the last six months.”

  His eyebrows rose. “I talk to her every few weeks.”

  “But you haven’t been to see her, have you?”

  “I’ve been busy.” Heaven help him, he felt like a teenager hanging his head sullenly and shuffling his feet as his father chewed him out.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Dad, I really have been busy. I’ve had to squeeze a lot in so I could take some time off now that Laurel’s close to her due date.”

  “You need to delegate better, or you’ll burn yourself out.”

  “Yeah, I’m beginning to realize that.” He paused. “The Tacoma store isn’t doing very well, Dad. I could use some advice.”

  “Why don’t I go take a look at it?” his father suggested. “And then we can talk.”

  His mood lightened. “Thanks. And thanks for apologizing. Even if you were forced to do it.”

  “We’re both stubborn.”

  “Yeah, we are.”

  “You’ll let us know the minute our grandchild is born?”

  “I will.”

  “And call your mother in the meantime.”

  “I will,” he said again. “I love you, Dad.”

  His father cleared his throat and spoke words that had never seemed easy for him. “I love you, too.”

  Damned if Caleb’s eyes weren’t burning when he hung up the phone.

  HE CAME AWAKE with a kick of adrenaline. The first thing he saw was Laurel standing just inside his bedroom, a dark silhouette against the light from the hall.

  “Caleb,” she said, and he knew somehow that she was repeating his name. “Are you awake?”

  He shot upright. “Is it time?”

  She nodded. “My contractions are still seven or eight minutes apart, but since we have to catch a ferry…”

  Swearing, he all but fell out of bed. “Why didn’t you wake me up earlier? You were fine when we said good-night.”

  “I told you I was having contractions.”

  He shoved his hands through his hair. “Twinges! You said twinges! Damn. I have to get dressed.”

  “Me, too.” But she didn’t move, and a small gasp escaped her.

  Caleb switched on the bedside lamp and saw her strained face. “You’re having one. God.” He hurried to her and took her cold hand. “Okay. Breathe. Remember? One, two, three… Come on, do it.” Her eyes met his and she began to pant. “That’s it. Three, four, exhale. There you go.” He saw in her eyes the moment the contraction passed. “I’ll help you get dressed as soon as I’ve got some clothes on.”

  “No, I’m okay. I’ll hurry.”

  Fighting the urge to follow her, he looked down at himself. Can’t go to the hospital in nothing but pajama bottoms. Damn it, get dressed.

  He grabbed the first things that came to hand: jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt. He yanked on socks and shoved his feet into
athletic shoes. He screwed up tying a bow and ended up with a knot. His hands must be shaking. To hell with it. Almost to the door, he remembered to go back for his watch on the bedside table.

  By the time he got to her room, Laurel was in the rocking chair panting. She’d managed to get into a jumper with a sweater over it, but had bare feet and held her hairbrush in her hand.

  He crouched beside the chair and talked her through this contraction, too. When it passed, he said, “That wasn’t eight minutes.”

  “No.”

  “I’ll brush your hair.”

  She didn’t protest. He eased out a few tangles and tamed the thick, silky mass in a somewhat askew braid, fastening it with a hair thingie that had been wound around the handle of the brush. Then he brought her shoes to her, collected the suitcase he knew she’d packed with what she thought she’d need and a few things for bringing the baby home. They waited out another contraction before walking downstairs to the car he’d left parked outside the front door.

  The sky was still dark, and he glanced at his watch as he accelerated down the dark island highway, calculating ferry times. They should be okay, but…damn, her back was arching and she was panting again. By his calculations, five and a half minutes from the last contraction. She was progressing fast.

  They got lucky and drove right on a ferry. Caleb helped Laurel lay her seat back. He didn’t let go of her hand once.

  “You’re doing great,” he kept saying. “One, two, three, four…”

  He had to let go of her hand to drive off the ferry and accelerate up the hill. Thank God it was nighttime and not morning rush hour.

  She let out a long, aching moan and he swore.

  “We’re almost there, sweetheart. You’re doing great.”

  “It’s going so fast,” she said in panic.

  “That’s good. You don’t want one of those forty-five-hour labors.”

  “No, but…” Her fingers tightened on his. “I’m glad you’re here, Caleb.”

  “Where else would I be?”

  “El Salvador.”

  “You notice I haven’t gone anyplace for the past month. Babies come early.”

  “Ours has been watching the clock.”

  “Hey.” A grin spread on his face. “Yeah. Today’s your due date.”

  They’d talked about it at dinner, with him noticing how Laurel was picking at her food. He’d wondered, but not enough. Those “twinges” she’d mentioned oh, so casually had clearly been way more. She just hadn’t wanted to get him excited.

  Leaving the freeway at James Street, Caleb grumbled, “I don’t like to think of you in labor half the night, not wanting to wake me up.”

  “I figured one of us should get some sleep. And I really was okay. When it got intense, I woke you up.”

  On First Hill, Swedish Hospital wasn’t far from the freeway. Caleb pulled into the emergency entrance with Laurel panting in the midst of a contraction. A nurse and an orderly came out with a wheelchair and helped her into it, with Caleb going to park the car.

  He all but ran from the lot. Since Laurel had already filled out all the preadmission forms, she was being wheeled down the hall when he caught up. She gave him a relieved smile and clung to his hand.

  The birthing suite was nicer than Caleb had expected. Homier. A nurse pointed out where he could take a nap, and he looked at her incredulously. He was supposed to nap? And leave Laurel to struggle on alone?

  Attaching the fetal monitors as a contraction seized Laurel, the nurse smiled. “Or not. Looks like this one is in a hurry.”

  He captured Laurel’s hand and held her gaze as he counted breaths. “That’s it, sweetheart.” How many times had he said that? “There you go. It’s passing.”

  That one had come less than four minutes after the previous contraction. This baby wanted to be born.

  “We should have called your doctor from home,” he realized.

  “Dr. Schapiro is already here in the hospital,” the nurse told them. “We’ve let her know that Laurel is here.”

  She came by a half hour later, smiling and telling them she’d just delivered a healthy baby boy. She put her hand under the drape that covered Laurel’s legs. “Seven centimeters. We don’t have long to wait. This is what I like. A two-for-one night.”

  Caleb lost awareness of anything but Laurel as her contractions mounted in intensity, racking her body one after the other. Her eyes never left his, as if her world, too, had narrowed to the two of them. He wiped sweat from her face, smoothed damp hair from her forehead, gently kneaded her back during the brief intervals.

  He had given her back rubs during their birthing classes, but tentatively. He would feel her body stiffen when he laid his hands on her, but with the instructor watching he’d go through the motions anyway.

  But tonight—no, this morning now—it was different. He found points of tension as if attuned to her. She arched like a cat against his hand, moaning in pleasure. Her skin was milk pale, her back so narrow he wondered at how she’d borne the weight in front. He learned the feel of the vertebrae from the curve of her neck down to her lower back. And, miracle of miracles, she accepted his touch gratefully, even with pleasure.

  Caleb had a brief flash of hope. Could she? Then another contraction hit, one so intense a scream gurgled in her throat, and he forgot anything but her immediate need.

  Permission from the doctor to push was a wild kind of release for her. Caleb had never seen anything in his life like the effort she made, her body lifting from the birthing bed as she strained to bring into the world the baby she’d cradled for nine months.

  “I see the head,” the doctor said urgently. “One more push.”

  She had mere seconds between contractions. This one bowed her up so that only her shoulders and heels still touched the bed. Through bared teeth, she let out a keening cry of effort and then triumph.

  “That’s it, that’s it,” the doctor chanted. “And here she is. Caleb, Laurel, you have a daughter.”

  Laurel, who had sagged back onto the bed, croaked, “Told you so.”

  Caleb gave a shaken laugh, then turned his head when a thin cry came from behind the drapes. Laurel’s head lifted.

  A moment later, he saw a baby, blood-smeared and with dark hair plastered to her head, her mouth open to let out a lusty cry. She seemed skinny to him, all flapping limbs, the colors shockingly vivid.

  He watched as the nurse gently washed the baby and seemingly assessed her. Coming up with the…whatever. Apgar score? Something like that. Fear crowded his throat and kept his hand squeezing Laurel’s. There wasn’t anything wrong with their baby, was there?

  Then the nurse came to them, her smile soft as she held their daughter, rendered even tinier now that she was bundled in a thin flannel receiving blanket.

  “You have a beautiful little girl who already has a set of lungs,” she said, offering her to Caleb who started in surprise.

  He reached out and took the slight weight in his arms. In one moment, he looked down at his daughter’s face and felt his heart squeeze and quit pumping blood. She had stopped crying and was staring at him with the vague, unseeing gaze of the newborn, but also with what he read as shock. She was beautiful and infinitely precious and he loved her so fiercely, he hadn’t known it was possible.

  “Look at you,” he murmured. “Out in the world at last. I bet you want Mommy, don’t you?”

  He laid her in Laurel’s waiting arms, and saw tears spring into her eyes.

  “She’s beautiful,” Laurel said in wonder. “Oh, little one.”

  She didn’t seem to feel any awkwardness about pulling down the neck of her gown to bare her breast. The nurse showed her how to help their baby latch on to the dusky nipple Laurel exposed.

  Caleb’s legs suddenly lost strength and he dropped into the chair beside the bed.

  Tenderness swelled from somewhere in his chest and filled him until he wasn’t sure he could contain it. Momentarily forgotten, he watched his tiny daughter n
urse for the first time at her mother’s breast, and he watched Laurel’s face, soft with the same wonder he felt.

  She looked up then, sought him out and smiled. The tenderness arced in his chest as if live wires had been implanted.

  Was it possible to be any happier?

  Yeah, it was. If Laurel was his.

  His hold on her was so tenuous. Friendships came and went. He wanted more. Promises. Legal ties. Sex.

  He remembered the feel of her fine-boned body under his hands while she was in labor, the way she had shivered and arched, and thought again, Maybe.

  Right now, they were as close as they’d ever been. He was taking her and their daughter home with him once the doctor released them.

  If he wanted more, it was up to him to campaign for it. To quit buying into her belief that she could never let a man touch her again, even though other rape victims did marry and love men.

  But he had to sneak past her barriers, not demand she let them down. Laurel Woodall was a stubborn woman. Always had been. And now she was stubbornly holding on to her fear.

  Convincing her she was wrong never had been easy. But he’d done it before and could do it again. Exhilaration, wanting, love, squeezed his chest even tighter.

  Wrong, Caleb thought. It wasn’t possible to be any happier. He had everything he needed right here in this hospital room.

  He just needed to convince Laurel that making love had nothing to do with the vicious, degrading assault she’d barely survived, and that she, Caleb and their daughter were a family.

  “So,” Laurel murmured, “what are we going to name her?”

  CHAPTER TEN

  CALEB AND LAUREL took Lydia Ellen Woodall home from the hospital, Caleb driving ten miles an hour slower than he usually did and sneaking frequent glances over his shoulder at his baby daughter bundled in the car seat.

  Of course, Laurel spent half the drive craning her neck to see between the seats, too, reluctant to take her eyes from Lydia.

  She’d known all along, in her heart, that if she had a daughter, she wanted to name her after her mother.

  Her dad had cried when she’d called him.