Wrong Turn, Right Direction

by Elle Casey

  “No, you’re not,” the woman at my shoulder says with a smile in her voice. “You’re becoming a mom. Are you already a mom? Or is this your first?”

  I seriously want to slap this woman, even though I know she’s just trying to be nice.

  “Just hold her hand,” the man says. I’m grateful for his interference. Did he know my slapping hand was getting itchy? He winks at me before looking down at the space between my legs again. “Okay, Mika. Here we go . . . You ready?”

  I shake my head as tears course down my cheeks. “No!”

  He smiles, a charm I know he was born with shining out of every pore on his face. “That’s okay. I’m ready enough for both of us. Now push.”

  I feel a wave coming, a contraction designed to force this little human out of me, and I grab the arms of the chair, giving it everything I’ve got.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  One more push and we’ll have the head out.” The stranger touches my knee as his other hand hovers down below. I pray he’s going to catch the baby before it slides down the massage chair and lands on the floor.

  “Oh, boy, here comes another one!” The words fly from my mouth unbidden, followed by a series of unholy shrieks. The stretching, burning sensation between my legs is unlike anything I even imagined possible, and it lasts for what seems like way too long. My body is going to split in two, I know it is.

  “Gotcha!” the man yells triumphantly. “Almost there!” His face is twisted in concentration as he stares at the space between my legs. Then he looks up at me, and his expression morphs into one of great excitement. I’m reminded of a high school volleyball coach I once had when he yells, “Push! Again! Come on! You got this, Mika!”

  He inspires me to try harder, to get this impossible thing done, to triumph over the intense pain that feels as though it’s destroying me. I never believed what women said about childbirth before. I thought they were exaggerating about the agony, but I get it now. Nothing I ever do will be as painful as this is.

  “Go, Mika, go!” he yells, grabbing my knee and squeezing it. “Push! You’re the woman!”

  “I’m the womaaaaaaan!” I yell, bearing down and giving it my all.

  The baby’s tiny shoulders and then legs pop free, yanking a scream from my lungs. Holding the baby, the man folds his arms into himself, looking like a guy who just caught a touchdown pass in the end zone.

  “It’s a boy!” he shouts.

  There’s a gurgling sound from the baby and then a slight cry. The man stands, flipping the gooey baby over onto its belly so he can pat its back.

  I cannot stop staring. That thing . . . that baby . . . was inside me this whole time? It’s impossible to believe. Impossible, impossible, impossible. I’ve read stories about women not knowing they were pregnant, but I never thought it would happen to me.

  “He’s safe,” the man says, his breath coming hard. He sounds like he just ran a 5k race and came in first place, and he’s sweating like he did, too. “He’s a boy. He’s a boy and he’s safe.” He presses his lips closed, making his nostrils flare as he holds up each of the baby’s hands and feet, checking them over. “Got all his fingers and toes.” He bends over to look at the baby’s face and pauses, frowning. “He’s got three eyeballs, but hey, that’s not such a bad thing; he’ll be able to see better than all his friends, right?” He looks up and grins at me.

  My eyes bulge. “Say what?” I sit up as far as I can, to see this horror he’s describing.

  He laughs. “I’m kidding. Just making sure you’re still with me. He’s got two eyeballs. Cute as can be.”

  Relief floods my body. I shake my head at him, not sure which I want to do more right now to this man: hug him or slap him. I hold my arms out. “Just give me that baby and hush up.”

  He extends his arms and places the tiny being on my belly as the woman walks over with a fresh towel, helping me wrap him up as best we can with the umbilical cord in the way. My son’s face is tiny, his cheeks especially puffy, his eyelids swollen. He looks like a little prizefighter. I can’t believe he’s mine or that he even exists.

  “Somebody pinch me,” I say in a daze. “This can’t be real.”

  “Oh, it’s real. I can vouch for you. And he’s gorgeous,” the woman says. “Congratulations.” She smiles so warmly at me, it brings tears to my eyes.

  “Thanks.” I stroke his cheek where it’s been dried by the towel; his skin is impossibly soft. “He is pretty cute, huh?” Emotions well up in me, and feelings awaken I didn’t even know were possible for me to have: Intense love. Protectiveness. Fear. I imagine Pavel knowing about my baby, taking him from me. And I can just as clearly picture myself picking up a gun and shooting that evil man right between the eyes. Never will I ever let him hurt this boy or take him from me.

  I make a silent pledge to my newborn son as I stare down into his dark-blue eyes: No one will get in our way of making a new life together. No one. I promise you with all my heart and soul.

  “Absolutely, he’s cute,” the guy says. He reaches between my legs to move the towel out of the way so he can see the baby’s face. “Cute little nose.”

  I can’t stop smiling. I did make a cute baby, that’s a fact. I can’t believe how impossibly small he is. His thumb is no bigger than a Tic Tac.

  The younger guy with the cell phone comes over, tripping over a pile of wet towels on the floor before righting himself. “He just caught your baby like he’s Johnny Bench or something.” He moves in closer, pointing the camera at the baby for a couple seconds and then at my face. “Do you have any words you want to share with your soon-to-be YouTube fans?”

  I put my hand up and try to push his camera away. “No, get out of here. This is a private moment.”

  The man reaches over and takes the phone away from him. “She’s right. Let’s turn this off.”

  “Hey, man, that’s mine.” The kid reaches over to try to take his phone back, but the man stops him with a chop to the wrist that shuts the kid up instantly.

  The man looks at me, holding up the phone. “Do you want to keep this video?”

  I shake my head vigorously. “Heck, no. No, thank you.”

  “Where’s the delete button?”

  “Hey, you can’t do that!” the kid yells, trying once more to get his phone from the man as he works to erase the file. The kid gets an elbow to the shoulder for his trouble. “That’s my video! I took it! You have no right to erase it!”

  “Too late.”

  The relief that floods through me feels as good as a warm bath on a frigid winter’s night. Now I won’t have to worry about Pavel seeing the video online. I entertain the idea for a few seconds that I’ll be able to hide everything from him, including the baby’s existence, until the moment I glance up and see no fewer than twenty phone cameras recording everything through the window of the nail salon. There’s no way this isn’t going to be on all the news channels for days. I am so screwed. Fear seizes my heart and makes me feel like I can’t breathe.

  The man gives the phone back to the kid with a warning: “No more filming unless you get permission first, got it?”

  The younger guy snatches his cell away and mumbles something rude as he goes back to the other massage chair. He falls down into it and starts texting like crazy, ignoring us.

  “I have to cut the cord,” the man says. He pauses and looks at me funny. “You okay?”

  I nod, brushing away my concerns about Pavel. I have bigger fish to fry right now, namely the fact that I have a baby in my arms and absolutely zero preparation for that. I watch as a large tow truck slowly drives by.

  The man grabs a nearby towel to wipe his hands. It looks like he’s participated in a slaughter; he’s got blood and who knows what else up to his elbows. I wince, wondering if I should apologize, but I’m loath to bring up the subject of him being all up in my business. This is just surreal. A half hour ago I was trying to figure out what kind of coffee would make Pavel happy. Now I’m wondering how in the hell I’m g
oing to pull off being a mother to a child I didn’t even know existed until five minutes ago. My mind is officially blown.

  “I need something to tie the cord with before I cut it,” the man says, looking around.

  The salon owner pulls open a drawer in a counter next to the massage chair and takes a ball of string from inside, holding it up. “This work?”

  I eye it warily. That can’t possibly be sterile. Does it need to be? I have no idea. I start to panic again, until the man speaks.

  “Sure. Just wash it with soap and water and then soak it in alcohol for me, would you?”

  It’s so nice to have someone standing there by my side taking care of my concerns before I even have to express them. I’m so used to doing everything for myself, it feels like a luxury, and for this moment I can give in to it and not worry about someone taking advantage of me having my guard down. I rest my head on the chair and draw the baby up closer. He starts to twist his head into me.

  “He wants to nurse,” the woman says, as the owner of the salon takes the string toward a sink.

  I look at the woman in a panic. “I have no idea how to do that.”

  “If you want to wait, the paramedics in the ambulance can help you,” the man says. He glances toward the window. “I hear the sirens.”

  I nod, loving the idea of waiting until medical professionals are on hand. I’ve already made enough of a fool of myself for one day, and besides, my little baby has fallen asleep again. I’d worry about his super-short attention span, but he looks awfully content.

  The stranger turns his attention to me. “Congratulations, Mika. He’s beautiful.” His expression is soft, stress free. It transforms him in a flash from a take-no-prisoners badass to a gentleman. I feel my heart warming toward him. He very possibly saved my baby’s life. Maybe mine, too. Who knows what would have happened if I’d kept driving? I could have hit a car head-on or started having my baby while I was sitting on its head. Any number of things could have gone really wrong for me and my little one today, but this man showed up in the street, threw himself in front of my car, and made sure none of those things happened. I might have humiliated myself in front of fifty people, but at least my son is alive and breathing. I look down at his sleepy, innocent face and know what I have to do.

  “What’s your name?” I ask, my voice breathy, soft, full of wonder as I stare down at my boy.

  The room goes silent.

  I look up at my savior. “Well? You got a name or what?”

  “Oh. Yeah. Sorry; I thought you were talking to the baby. I’m Thibault.”

  “How do you spell that?”

  “T-h-i-b-a-u-l-t.”

  “Good,” I say, going back to admiring my son. “I’m going to need to know that for the birth certificate.” I can’t stop smiling, and when I glance up at Thibault, I see that he looks happy too. He might even have a tear in his eye.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The ambulance ride to the hospital is no big deal. Being in the hospital, though, that’s a different story. I’m put in the maternity ward and harassed by one nurse after another until I’m ready to scream at all of them to leave me the hell alone. Everyone wants to know what my pregnancy symptoms were, why I didn’t know I was pregnant, whether I had any prenatal care, and if I realize how serious this is.

  “Of course I know how serious this is,” I say to the third person who’s asked me in the last hour. “I’m holding a baby in my arms. You think I don’t realize what that means?”

  “But there must be someone we can call for you,” the young girl says, smiling at me with a slightly strained expression showing around her eyes. “The father of the baby, maybe?”

  I have a really hard time reining in my emotions and the reaction my heart and brain want to share with her. She’s lucky there’s nothing within reach that I can throw, because the hold I have over myself is very tenuous.

  “As I already told you and your co-workers, there is no one you can call. And I’ll thank you to stop asking me the same questions over and over again like I’m some kind of child who doesn’t understand.”

  She holds up some papers. “It’s just that we need you to fill out the birth certificate forms, and you really need to put the father’s name on it.”

  I nod my head over at the table on wheels that still has my leftover lunch on it. “You can put your papers right there. I’ll look at them later.”

  She walks over and places them down, spinning around to look at me again on her way out. “I’ll be back within the hour to pick them up.”

  “You can come back whenever you want, but I’ll fill them out when I’m ready.”

  She presses her lips together and stares at me for a little while before speaking again. “You know, we’re all just trying to do our jobs here. You could be a little more helpful; it would make our lives easier.”

  I raise my eyebrows at her. “Is that a fact? Well, I’ll try to keep that in mind while I’m sitting here dealing with a surprise baby and the new life I’m about to start on my own.” I drop my gaze to my son, patting him on the bottom as he suckles. I can’t look at the nurse anymore or I’m liable to say something ruder than I already have. I know they mean well, but they’re pushing me and I don’t like being pushed, especially when I have so much thinking to do. It stresses me out, and that’s bad for me and the baby.

  I hear footsteps moving across the room and assume that means I’m alone, so I’m startled when a man’s voice comes from the doorway.

  “Hey there, feisty lady.”

  I lift my head immediately, expecting to see the male nurse who’s already been in here twice. They’re nothing if not persistent. The scowl melts from my face as I see it’s him, though. Thibault. I can’t believe he came to visit me. I’m both happy and suspicious.

  “Oh, hey, Thibault. What’re you doing here?” I scan his body and take in the crutches. Crutches? He swings himself into the room, stopping at the foot of my bed.

  “Oh, just recovering from a hit-and-run. Got a room down on the second floor for the night. Two-oh-four, just down from the nurses’ station.”

  “Hit-and-run.” I can’t believe he just said that. Here I was all excited that he came to say hello, giving me a chance to thank him again, and instead he’s here to try to scare me. And I thought my day couldn’t get any worse.

  He leans his armpits on his crutches. “Yeah. Some crazy lady hit me with her car and drove away. I didn’t catch her plate number, unfortunately.” He’s smiling.

  I can’t figure out what’s going on inside that head of his. His face is friendly but his words are anything but. “What’re you playing at?” He probably wants a payoff. I have some money in savings, but I’m going to need that for me and Baby Thibault. Bribery and hiding those kinds of monetary exchanges are all a part of my job as Pavel’s bookkeeper; I know very well how the darker edges of the world work. Maybe this conversation would have shocked me five years ago, but today it doesn’t. Not one bit. I lift my chin, trying to show him I’m not easily intimidated.

  He leans his crutches up against my bed and drags the chair over, easing himself down into it. “Just trying to keep things from getting too complicated.”

  “I have insurance,” I say. I made sure I got health insurance as part of my deal with Pavel, although I never thought I’d be using the maternity benefits while I was working for him, and I have car insurance too, although I have to pay that out of pocket.

  “Can you afford the premiums being doubled?” he asks. He sounds doubtful. Confident. Like we’re playing cards and he’s holding a trump in his hand. He must think I’m a welfare case. How rude.

  My nostrils flare while I attempt to remain civil. “That’s none of your business.”

  He frowns. “Well, I think it is my business, since you hit me with your car.”

  I shrug. He thinks he can manage me, acting like a schoolteacher or whatever authoritarian figure he’s trying to channel, but it won’t work. Measuring this guy against Pavel
is like lining up a newborn kitten next to a lion. I nod my head toward the corner of the room. “My purse is over there. The ambulance driver was nice enough to get it from the tow truck driver before they hauled my car away. Bring it to me and I’ll get you my insurance information.”

  His expression softens. “There’s no need to get upset with me. I’m just here to see how you’re doing. Really, I don’t need the insurance stuff. I was just teasing. I’m just going to let my health insurance take care of it.”

  I shrug, not believing him. Everyone has an angle. “I’m not upset. You keep talking about my insurance and me hitting you with my car, even though everyone saw you walk out into the middle of the street without looking where you were going, so, whatever. Get my purse, I’ll give you the information, and you can be on your way.”

  Thibault was a nice guy when everything was falling to pieces, which was really cool and I appreciate it, but now he wants to play games and intimidate me. That’s fine. I can handle it. He’s just one more person I can cross off my Christmas card list, which is convenient because now it can go back to having zero people on it. It’s a lot less work at holiday time.

  Holding Baby Tee tighter gives me comfort—a sense of strength, even, when I’m sitting here across from a man who is working at tying me up in knots. I’m not alone now, and I never will be again. I have a son. Warmth floods my heart as I look down to stare into his face. I’m feeding him, keeping him alive with something my body has created. It’s a miracle . . . I’m literally holding a miracle in my arms.

  Thibault’s tone is supposed to be soothing, I think. “Tamika . . . three hours ago I was elbows deep in your business, helping you give birth to that gorgeous boy you’re holding. Not to mention the fact that you nearly ran me over before I’d even had a sip of my mocha latte. Not that I’m filing a claim against you, but I think I’m at least entitled to ask you about your insurance. But you act like I’m trying to hurt you. Why would I do that?”