A Change In Tide (Northern Lights Book 1)

by Freya Barker

  With my mouth still full, I drop my knife and fork on my plate and allow her to snatch it away. I’m not about to risk any kind of confrontation with her, not after the emotional sermon I received earlier today when I left crumbs on the cutting board on the counter. She even burst into tears when a kitchen towel, she’d just hung up, slipped off its hook and landed on the floor. I swear to God, I hope this shit doesn’t carry through once that baby is born. OCD as I am, this is too much, even for me. Violence may ensue.

  “How about a quick loop around the lake?” I suggest, listening to her bang and slam her way around the kitchen. I’m hoping perhaps the fresh air and water will snap her out of whatever crawled up her butt. The noises stop suddenly, and for a blissful moment it’s quiet, before a distinct sniffling can be heard. Fuck me, here we go again.

  Almost dragging my ass, I push back my seat and move to the kitchen where, as expected, my sister is crying like someone shot her puppy. She’s draped on the counter, her head down on her arms and her back and shoulders heaving with loud sobs. Knowing better than to say anything, I pull her up, wrap her in my arms, and rest my chin on top of her head.

  “What’s wrong, Pipsqueak?” I try to sound comforting, but I can’t quite hide my exasperation. It only makes her cry harder.

  “I—I...I don’t know!” she wails against my chest, and I’m mentally preparing myself for another shirt change.

  “Come on,” I urge her, setting her away a little as I grab a kitchen towel and run it under the cold tap. With my hand under her chin, I use the towel to mop up the mess on her face. “Let’s get some fresh air. I’m thinking maybe you’ve been cooped up too much. We’ll swing around the lake and when we get back, I’ll build a fire and we can make s’mores for dessert,” I try with some success. At the mention of s’mores, her face lights up.

  A clean shirt later, I help her into the back of the boat. Not an easy feat, since she’s pretty much top-heavy with her massive belly. I make sure not to remark on it, though. I joked about it a few days back and she took it hard—judging by the dent in the drywall beside the fireplace, left by the jar candle she narrowly missed my head with. Checking my words is not something I have a lot of experience with, so this tiptoeing act is getting on my nerves.

  Jordy settles quietly on the bench behind the pilot seat, and I tuck a blanket around her legs. It’s still early in the season and the chill can set in quickly once the sun starts going down.

  “Thank you,” she mutters behind me when I start the engine and steer away from the dock. “I’m sorry I’m being such a brat.”

  I can hear a wobble in her voice and before she can start with fresh waterworks, I quickly joke, “Just so you know, this is my last dry shirt, Pipsqueak.”

  “Asshole,” she fires back, but this time I can hear the smile in her voice. Crisis averted.

  We tour around the lake, low throttle, commenting on some of the more elaborate homes and cottages, and are just passing the mouth of a small river.

  “Jared...” I hear my sister whisper behind me and I turn around. She’s pointing at the shore, where a large moose cow and her newborn calf are standing in the underbrush. I shut off the engine and let the boat coast, as we silently watch the majestic animal take a few steps into the water and lower her large head to drink. Her little one, more interested in its mother than the water, is nuzzling her side, eventually dipping its head and latching on to feed.

  I turn to smile at Jordy, but my smile disappears instantly when I see her face contorted in pain. The moose and baby forgotten, I rush over and drop on my knees in front of her.

  “Hey...what’s happening?” I say softly, brushing her hair from her forehead to find it slick with sweat. I’m trying to be calm, even though I’m fucking worried.

  “Contractions,” she manages to bite out between clenched teeth.

  Okay, now I’m not calm anymore.

  “The baby?” My voice is pitched about two octaves higher than normal as my throat slowly closes on me. I guess it was a stupid thing to say, because I suddenly find myself staring into Jordy’s very angry eyes, shooting daggers.

  “Yesss,” she hisses, with a hefty dose of venom. “The fucking baby.”

  Scrambling to my feet, I head back to my seat to start the engine. My heart sinks when I push the button and nothing happens. Not a click, not a sound, not even an engine gurgle. Not a thing. I try again, with the same results.

  “What’s wrong?” Jordy asks, a worried look on her face.

  “Not sure. Let me check,” I say, moving by her to get to the large outboard engine, even though I don’t really know what the fuck I’m supposed to be looking for. I’m a hockey player, not a mechanic. I like playing with motorized toys but I don’t have a fucking clue how they work.

  “Shit!” I hear Jordy yell behind me and I swing around.

  “What?”

  “I think my water broke...” She looks at me with a trembling smile before casting her eyes down. When I follow her gaze I notice the puddle on the seat underneath her. Now would probably be the time to panic.

  I turn back to the engine and start randomly fiddling with fuel lines and other loose bits, without any idea what I’m doing. With one last ineffective knock on the engine housing, I rush to the pilot seat to try the engine again. Nothing.

  When I hear Jordy softly moan, I cast a quick glance at her before letting my eyes wander to the shore, in hopes we’re not too far from a house or cottage I can swim to, but this side of the lake is mostly crown property. Land that is owned by the government and generally preserved in its natural state. Meaning we’re shit out of luck, and in more ways than one. I notice we’re moving. And not just a little; with the breeze picking up and in the current flowing from the river, we’re slowly drifting away from the shore.

  Anchor. I dive past a whimpering Jordy and grab the small anchor. I narrowly have the presence of mind to make sure the rope is firmly attached to the cleat before I toss the hardware over the side. I let out a sigh of relief when I can feel the anchor snag on something.

  Straightening up, I spot the familiar sight of a kayak heading in this direction. Without thinking, I start waving my arms and yelling for help.

  Like the idiot I am.

  FIVE

  Mia

  What on earth?

  I almost turn right around when I spot my neighbour’s boat, but just as quickly realize things seem off. Something in the way Jared moves around the boat that appears to be aimlessly drifting. I slowly continue paddling closer, watching him drop an anchor over the side, only picking up my pace when he spots me and starts yelling and waving frantically. Something is most definitely wrong.

  “It’s Jordy,” he says, when I’m close enough to the boat so he can lean over the side to grab the rope from the kayak’s bow. I know instinctively he’s talking about the pregnant brunette. “Her water broke.” Concern is evident on his face.

  I don’t think, this is familiar territory for me, and I grab his proffered hand without discussion, letting him pull me onboard. Not an easy feat, to transfer mid-water from a damn kayak onto a boat, but I manage. Or rather, he does when he shifts his hold so he has me under my armpits and simply heaves me over the side. I don’t even have time to steady myself when he’s already shoving me toward the bench in the stern.

  “How many weeks?” I ask, as I sink down on the floor in front of her. She looks like she’s in the middle of a decent contraction and is focused inward, rocking her body back and forth. “Jared?” I look over my shoulder to prompt him.

  “Oh, thirty-six weeks? Maybe more?” he mutters uncertainly as he ties my kayak to a cleat.

  I tamp down the rush of anger. The asshole doesn’t even know how far along his wife is. Figures. Focusing on the woman again, I notice her breathing is deepening, telling me she’s coming through this contraction.

  “Sweetie?” I try to get her eyes on mine and when they lift, I see the surprise in them. “Hi.” I smile easily, as if we’re
not bobbing around in the middle of a lake. “I need you to lie back on the seat, okay? I just want to make sure your baby’s head is properly engaged.” I gently manoeuvre her while I talk, lifting her legs up on the seat. I take note of her lack of communication, it worries me a little because it might indicate she’s hitting transition.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Jared’s angry voice comes from behind me when I start easing the woman’s shorts and panties down her hips.

  “Checking to see her progression, what the hell do you think I’m doing?” I snap back, before adding, “Why don’t you get the damn engine started.”

  “It won’t start,” he says, a little defeated.

  “Try again,” I suggest when I measure her, and my fingertip encounters the silky feel of the baby’s head during the next contraction. “She’s fully effaced and about eight centimeters dilated. We need to get to shore.”

  “I don’t even know what the fuck that means,” he mumbles as he steps around me and heads to the front.

  “I’m a midwife,” I quickly explain, as I pull up her shorts to cover her, realizing he couldn’t know. “This baby will be here imminently and I’d much prefer we find a way to get her on land before she delivers.” Guttural grunts from the woman make it clear time is running out and I turn to look at Jared. “Try again,” I say softly, urging with my eyes.

  When he pushes the start button nothing happens, and he slams his fist on the boat’s wheel in frustration.

  “Maybe if you put the throttle in the starting position?” I suggest, spotting the gearshift forward instead of upright.

  “Fucking hell!” he exclaims, immediately pulling the lever in neutral and hitting the start button again. This time the engine immediately turns over and before I know it, he’s engaging the throttle.

  “Wait!” I yell out. “Your anchor.”

  A stream of colourful language flows from his mouth as he slips the engine back in neutral and steps over me to get to the anchor rope. He’s lucky he didn’t get it wrapped around the engine blades. Rookie. Before I can say anything, the boat lurches in the water and I’m trying hard to hold Jordy and myself steady as Jared races us to shore.

  I whisper to her, reminding her to breathe, in hopes she holds off on pushing until we’re somewhere more appropriate than the small bench in the stern of the boat. Relief courses through me when the boat docks. I instruct Jared to lift her out of the boat, trotting after him as he rushes her inside, his legs eating up the distance with his long strides.

  “The couch,” I direct him when she starts grunting in his arms. “Call an ambulance, then grab me a shower curtain or garbage bags, some clean linens. In that order.” I know nothing about this woman, her medical history or her pregnancy, and I don’t want to risk anything. Jared comes back, an arm full of sheets and towels, and a bunch of garbage bags fisted in his hand.

  “Help me lift her up.” The poor girl is barely aware of her surroundings at this point, completely at nature’s mercy as her body does what it needs to do. In no time, we have the couch and the floor in front of it covered with garbage bags, a few towels and clean sheets. I’m removing Jordy’s clothes and cover her with the remaining sheet. Jared looks a little green around the gills. “Did you call for an ambulance?” I ask, as I quickly take off my flannel shirt and walk over to the kitchen sink to wash my hands.

  “On their way.”

  I look up at the gruff tone of his voice and watch as he leans over to kiss her forehead. Whatever is going on with that other woman, he loves this one. It’s obvious.

  “How are you doing, sweetie?” I ask the woman when I see her eyes are more alert. “Feeling any pressure?”

  “Yes,” she whispers, the first time I hear her speak. “I have to push.”

  I gently smile at her. “Then push. Your body knows what to do, trust it.”

  It takes her a while to find a position that works for her, until I suggest she sit on her haunches in front of the couch, with her arms hooked over Jared’s knees, who is sitting behind her. This way, there are no restrictions as her body makes room for the baby. Almost automatically, Jared’s hands curve protectively over her belly, and other than her grunts when the next contraction takes her body in its hold, there is just the peaceful quiet of the lake. Even Griffin, who at some point toddled over from the other side of the little bay, sensing something was up, is curled outside the sliding doors on the deck.

  Just as I hear the sirens of the ambulance coming over the hill, with one last surge, Jordy’s little baby boy slides warmly into my waiting hands.

  Jared

  “Here, help hold her and the baby up. Cup your hands under his bottom.”

  I’ve never felt so out of my element. This situation became surreal the moment Jordy told me she was having contractions. That one word created a panic that paralyzed every last one of my functioning brain cells. I don’t even want to think what might have happened if our quirky neighbour hadn’t shown up.

  A midwife. What are the fucking odds?

  So different from the skittish, awkwardly timid woman I encountered last week, this version of her exuded a confidence that was instantly settling. I’m not normally one to take orders lightly, but I found myself craving her directions. Giving me a sense of purpose and peace.

  Sitting here with my near naked sister hanging between my knees, my arms keeping her and this purplish, slippery, wrinkled little thing secure, was completely beyond my comfort zone. Yet, I wouldn’t have wanted to miss this for the world.

  “I’m just going to open the door for the EMTs, okay?”

  I notice the tear streaks on Mia’s face as she pushes up from the floor to get the door, and only then realize my own face is wet. She returns right away, with two bulky men and a stretcher following her in. I have to keep from growling as one of them crouches down in front of my still half-naked sister, who is muttering in what can only be delirium, at the baby pressed to her chest.

  “You okay?” Mia asks me carefully, once my sister and her baby are strapped down to the stretcher. I haven’t said a word yet and my voice sounds odd when I answer.

  “Yeah. I...that was...thanks,” I lamely finish, clearly not yet in control of my faculties.

  “Do you think you can drive?”

  Her words are enough to shake off any lingering jitters, and make me stand up straight, slightly jutting out my chest in defiance.

  “Of course I can,” I snap defensively, instantly feeling like an ass.

  “Good,” she responds, trying but failing to hide a smirk. “Because I’m going to ride in the ambulance with her. She still has to deliver the placenta.” She chuckles softly when an involuntary shudder washes over my body.

  “Right,” I mutter, looking around for my keys.

  -

  By the time I’ve parked my car, they’ve already wheeled Jordy into the emergency entrance. A friendly nurse directs me to the room where they’ve taken her. It’s not until she congratulates me, that I realize she seems to think I’m the father. I’m slowly clueing in she’s likely not the only one.

  When I step inside, Mia pulls me to the side. A doctor is examining my sister, and the large EMT I’d wanted to slug earlier is standing on the opposite side of the bed, talking softly with the doctor. I can’t see the baby.

  “Where is he?” I ask Mia urgently.

  “Relax,” she soothes, even though she herself looks like she’s about to come apart at the seams. She looks just like when I found her in her stalled car. Eyes red-rimmed, her skin almost translucent, and the muscles around her mouth twitching erratically. “He’s in the nursery being checked over by the pediatrician. They should have him back soon. Mom is doing fine,” she assures me with a shaky smile.

  “She’s my sister,” I hiss, needing to set the record straight. I can tell by the blatant shock on her face, she had come to the same conclusion as the nurse earlier.

  “Oh.”

  Suddenly she darts from the room, leaving me to star
e at a slowly closing door, wondering what the fuck brought that around. I don’t get too much time to think, when the doctor calls my name.

  “Dad?”

  I turn to him, getting a little annoyed that everyone is jumping to conclusions. Not surprisingly he flinches when I snap, “I’m not the father!” The silence that follows is thick as every pair of eyes turns to me. My sister, bless her heart, finally pipes up in a soft voice from the bed.

  “Jared’s my brother,” she explains, smiling as she looks at me. “He’s taking care of me.”

  Before anyone can respond, the door opens and a bassinet is wheeled into the room with my loudly protesting nephew. Because the doctor is still busy with whatever he’s doing to my sister, the nurse waves me to a chair in the corner and comes at me with that screaming bundle. Holy fuck, this kid has lungs. I throw what likely is a look of alarm at my sister, whose face is beaming.

  “Go on,” she says. “You might as well get used to it.”

  Resigned, I turn to the grinning nurse who puts the kid, who’s wrapped tighter than a burrito, in my arms before walking out the door, the EMT close behind her.

  My eyes drop down to the loud little bundle in my arms. I don’t do babies. I’ve never done babies, but I swear the moment I curl him against my body, he stops screaming. His little squinty eyes open and the moment they hit mine, the world disappears.

  “Hey, little bruiser...” I stroke my fingertip over his downy cheek.

  “His name is Oliver, not bruiser.” I flick my gaze up to Jordy, who is thankfully completely covered up again.

  “Oliver?” I repeat, my eyebrows raised. “Ollie?”

  “No. Smartass. Ole,” she says, repeating slower, “Oh-luh. Like dad.”