“I’ve never delivered a baby, Roam,” West said as Logan pulled out to the main road. “I could do it, but if there’s a complication, I can’t-…,”
“Do it!” The pain returned, this time not to be confused with a cramp. It began in my back, pulsing fingers that crept along my sides and erupted in my abdomen. Shadows billowed in my vision, darkening West’s face. He held my chin firmly in his hands.
“Breathe!” He shouted, shaking me slightly. “In your nose, out your mouth, do it-…,”
“Don’t you know Lamaze?” Violet demanded, holding the seat tightly as Logan flew around a curve. “Isn’t that a mandatory class or something?”
“Violet, shut up,” Logan growled.
“We can’t take Troy across in the daylight. I’ll take Roam to the cottage, you and Violet stay here with Troy until I can get back for you. Logan, do you think you can kill him- when you have to?”
“He didn’t have any problems killing me,” Violet muttered, under her breath.
“Yes,” Logan pulled into a gravel lot near the water. “This is the place?”
“Yes- I see the boat. Annie,” he gathered me into his arms. I stared at him, relishing in the fact that the muscles had stopped contracting inside me. “Are you sure you trust me to do this? I can take you to a hospital-…,”
“Just tell me you can,” I begged, tears filling my eyes. I ignored his name slip, understanding that his emotions were running at the same speed that mine were at the moment.
“I can- I just want you to be…,” his face turned cold, the same commanding control that I was used to from him. “Okay. I’m putting you in the boat and taking you across. When the pain starts, breathe. Focus on breathing.”
“Okay,” I acknowledged. He hurried to the small office at the dock, and I assumed he was paying a fee for parking the boat.
“Roam,” Logan turned to me, and I panted, holding my stomach as another pain hinted in my lower back. “I’ll be there tonight. I…,” he reached for my hand, holding it tightly. “I love you. I’ll be there tonight,” he repeated, nervously watching West approach the van again.
The wooden motor boat traveled over the smooth waves of the sound easily, but through two more contractions, the half-mile ride felt endless. The cottage was another half-mile from the dock on the island. West reached for me to lift me into his arms, but I protested weakly.
“I’ll walk,” I gritted my teeth, my eyes watery and burning. “I’ll attract too much attention if you carry me.”
He held me tightly against his side, half-carrying me as we walked toward one of the only cottages in sight. I marveled at the emptiness of the island; few people, no development, and nothing but glorious ocean that stretched for miles. “You chose this place… so we’d be isolated,” I realized, lifting my eyes to his. “I was killed on the mainland, at a gas station, wasn’t I?”
He stiffened, opening the unlocked door of the cottage. The beach house was new; I could smell fresh paint as we walked in the front door. Though the layout was the same, every appliance, the butcher-block countertops, the fixtures… they were shining, no more than a few weeks old. “You wanted to get some supplies for the nursery. You were… nesting,” he smiled down at me lovingly. “I knew better than to argue with you.”
“Nursery?”
He pushed open the door to the smallest bedroom, just past the kitchen.
My breath caught in my chest. The tiny room that resembled a dirty closet in the future was now illuminated by the window that faced the setting sun. The walls were painted yellow, with delicate, whimsical flowers detailed along the ceiling and floor in ivory, green, and light blue. A wooden cradle, antiqued white, hung from adjacent pedestals, matching a small chest of drawers against the wall. The floor was deep oak, having never seen the abuse of a sander or paint brush.
“You painted the flowers… you were such an artist,” he traced a finger over a flower, lifting his eyes to mine. “I thought I’d never see this place again.”
“West,” I gripped the plaster wall, shaking. He gathered me in his arms and carried me through the small living room and into the master bedroom.
Laying me gently on the bed, he brushed his palms together, as if they were damp. After watching him run his fingers through his hair, I squirmed, biting through another contraction. “We need to time these,” I said, the back of my neck moist with sweat. “We’re supposed to be timing these… we need a watch.”
“I have one,” he retrieved a gold pocket watch from the dresser. “You just had a contraction… I’ll start now.”
I took a calming breath, desperately trying to recall the chapters that I read about emergency birth. “And you have to… to be really clean, because the baby doesn’t have a very good immune system…,”
“Unless she’s immortal,” he hurried to the bathroom, and I was relieved to see it still existed.
“She’s going to be really… slippery,” I gripped the bedspread, widening my eyes. “Ohmygod,” I held my breath, the pain lingering longer in my back than before. West returned in seconds, moving next to me. “My back!” I caught his hand in midair, gripping it with all my strength. “My back feels like it’s breaking,” I sobbed, twisting in agony.
“That was... less than a minute,” his voice cracked as he watched the ticking hands of his pocket watch. “She’s coming, Roam…,”
“I need to… push, the pressure,” I dropped back to the pillow, cringing at the ceiling. Panic hit with force, and I panted, staring at him in horror. “I’m so afraid! I can’t do this!”
“You’re not alone,” he soothed, lowering his face to my forehead with a kiss. “I’m going to get a few things from the kitchen. I’ll be back before the next one. Don’t push.”
“Okay,” I breathed, my knuckles cracking as I twisted the polyester material of the bedspread in my fingers. I began to tremble, and then shake violently, my teeth rattling uncontrollably inside my mouth. I’m trapped in a nightmare…
But this is real…
“I’m going to put a pillow under your back, to help prop you up a little-…,”
Humility rushed through my body at the worst possible moment. I widened my eyes, shaking my head at him, unyielding. My knees locked together as I backed to the headboard. “I can’t let you do this!”
“Roam-…,”
“I can’t!” I tried to sit up, but another horrible pain began at the top of my buttocks.
“Roam!” He gripped my shoulders, fixing his gaze in mine. “You need help. You can’t do this by yourself. You’re my wife, this is our child. I will not lose you, and I will not lose this baby. This is everything… she is everything,” his even voice broke through the terror in my mind. My chin quivered as tears tumbled over my cheeks.
I had decided, after I had found out that I was pregnant, that I wouldn’t be that dramatic woman in labor, punching her husband and cursing his existence. I’d read everything there was to read, watched YouTube videos of live births, and felt that the more educated I was, the more calm I could be during this very natural- and beautiful- process.
Wrapping my hands around his forearms, I threw my head back and screamed.
I lost all sense of myself as West pulled my dress over my head, tucking a sheet over me. The pain was worse than getting the numbers, worse than drowning, and it happened continuously, every forty-five to sixty seconds. I nearly jumped out of my skin when a blonde curl fell over my eyes, forgetting that I was in a stranger’s body.
Attempting to breathe through pain proved more distracting than anything; as each contraction built, the impending pain was more frightening than the pain itself. I listened to West’s comforting words as he promised it would be over soon. Lying back, I moaned, my throat aching from torturous screams. Time suffered along slowly, and I very soon lost count of the number of contractions I’d had. I tried to focus on my baby’s face, of what she would look like when I finally held her.
“She won’t be able to breathe,” I
cried, my words an incoherent jumble between contractions. Another was building, and I fought to control my fear. “You have to clean her airways!”
“I know!” He shouted back, the fear in his own voice unmistakable. He’d gathered towels, a large bowl, long-handled shears, and a baster. “I know, baby, I can take care of her… we just have to get her out here, with us,” he forced a reassuring smile, brushing his fingers over my wet hair.
Push. The urge was sudden and overwhelming; I attended to it before I could form words.
“Jesus… wait… Roam, her head… she’s coming,” he readied himself with a towel. I quaked beneath the pressure, sobbing as the burning pain intensified with every moment. “Okay… her head,” he choked, lifting his eyes to mine. “I have her head in my hands, baby, next shoulders, this is hard,” he soothed.
“No kidding!” I shrieked, and then winced. “Oh, West, I’m sorry-…,”
“Don’t apologize- just rest until you feel like you have to push-..,” he stopped speaking, and I heard a watery sucking sound. I turned my head to where the bowl was; the baster was gone.
“Now,” I held the headboard over my shoulders, pulling as I rammed my back against the wood for leverage.
In a flash of fiery pressure, I knew the moment that she came out of me. West wrapped the white towel around the squirming infant in his hands. Focusing on the odd, tugging feeling below my navel, I watched him lift the baby, still wrapped in the towel and attached by a bloody, gray-blue cord.
“A girl,” he hushed. I stared at him, panting, unable to close my mouth or speak. Tears spilled from his dark blue eyes, and he wiped at them with his shoulders; his hands were covered in blood. “There’s more, baby.”
I understood; in the middle of my response, the baby in my arms let out a pitiful yowl, breaking into a full-on cry. I gasped, sobbing, unable to see her clearly through my tears.
“She’s crying; that’s good,” I hiccupped, staring down at the child in my arms. Bursting with frantic laughter, my chest convulsed with sobbing breaths. “Of course she’s crying… she’s mine.”
I gazed at the baby in my arms.
She was born.
The child meant to fulfill the prophecy, the one who would destroy the evil world that Troy came from, was here.
She moved in slow animation, wriggling and turning. I lifted the edge of the white towel and gently brushed her eyebrows and cheeks, careful with her fragile features. West worked beneath me, cleaning and cutting, and I dared not look at what he was doing for fear of missing a single moment of our daughter’s life.
Our daughter. I mopped at her matted hair, breathing with laughter at the color. “Red,” I finally lifted my eyes to West. He stared at us both, his gaze unwavering. “She has red hair,” I shook my head in disbelief.
“Your grandmother did. Annie’s,” he corrected softly.
“What’s her name?” I listened to her cry again, and this time she tightened her tiny fists, her fingers turning bright white.
“You said you’d know when you saw her,” he answered, his voice breaking.
“I don’t know,” I drew the outline of her perfect face with my finger, sighing deeply. “You name her, West. You’ve waited longer than I have.”
He exhaled sharply, kneeling at our side. I watched him fight with the tears that betrayed his calm control, and finally he gave in, letting them slide down his cheeks. “Eva.”
I smiled, reaching for his cheek. He pressed his lips to the palm of my hand.
“That’s it,” I whispered, nodding. “That’s her name.”
Chapter TwelveWest and I held the baby in our arms until the sun disappeared into the ocean. He carried the cradle into our bedroom, placing it next to the bed. He whispered words of love to both Eva and I, pressing kisses to my lips and to her tiny fingers. We discussed how I would breast-feed Eva, how we would protect her, and what we would do if Troy was still immortal. We counted her toes, giggled at her chubby knees, and marveled at her cherubic face.
Every time I thought about the fact that I was living someone else’s life, I quickly shut that door in my mind.
West helped me to the bathroom; the shower was an amenity I (or Annie) had insisted on when he had the cottage built. I laughed as West ran back and forth between the shower and the cradle, checking on Eva every ten to fifteen seconds as she slept. We washed her together and bundled her in a fresh, cloth diaper. The layette Annie had prepared for her on first day at home was enormous; she was too tiny to fit into anything but a small, white sleeping gown.
I found a nightgown for myself, in awe of the collection of clothing that Annie had. “You must have a good job,” I buzzed, tossing through dress after dress in the closet. “She has so many dresses!”
“I fix boats on the island. I taxi the property owners back and forth pretty often; they all know you, and love you. They tip us graciously.”
“Wow,” I mouthed, pulling a black, halter cocktail dress from the back. “West, this is gorgeous… chiffon, the detail…,”
“You need to be resting,” he teased, rocking Eva tenderly in his arms. “Nightgown now, fashion show later.”
“I could be a fifties housewife,” I smirked, slipping into a short, peach nightgown. The bathroom had been well stocked with feminine necessities. Annie’s a planner- perfect.
“No you couldn’t,” he answered softly, tucking the baby into the cradle. “You’re going to be a teacher.”
“I’m exhausted,” I smoothed my hands down my sides, trying to remember how long it’d take for my stomach to shrink back down. As I did, I remembered my dream, West laying over me, kissing me on the bed…
Good-morning, baby.
“This was the nightgown from my dream,” I shivered, cold reality making me reach for the baby. “Do you think it’s over? The prophecy?”
“If her birth didn’t fulfill the prophecy, we have to hide Troy away… but not here. I won’t have him anywhere near you or Eva.” He gently cupped his hand over her warm head.
I thought of Logan’s promise to take him through another fountain. “Did Logan tell you he’d travel through another fountain with Troy? I won’t let that happen,” I squared my jaw, shaking my head adamantly. “Logan deserves to go home. He’s done enough to help.”
West considered my words quietly. “I have to go get them. Do you feel well enough to wait here?”
I smiled, adjusting the clean blankets around me. “West, I’m so tired… but I’ve never felt better than this moment.”
“Maybe you can try to feed her. Without the pressure of anyone around,” he added, and I could see his reluctance to leave.
“Go. Get them. I’ll be fine.” Eva began to breathe rapidly, her eyes pinched closed in a dream. She sighed, her chest rising and falling normally again. I gazed at her. “I just want to hold her.”
“I know the feeling.” He kissed me again, his lips lingering on mine. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
After West left, I lay in the big bed, listening to the waves pounding the shore just outside. Every time I’d doze off, I’d jump, quickly searching for the baby in my arms.
Surreal. There was no other word to describe having woken up on Thanksgiving morning seventeen-years-old and twelve weeks pregnant, only to be holding my healthy baby girl in my arms twenty-four hours later (and fifty-seven years earlier.)
Gazing at Eva, I watched her pursed lips suckle in her sleep, counting the hours since I’d given birth to her. She’s less than four hours old. How much does she weigh? We need to take her to a pediatrician.
Morgan should hold her. I thought of Morgan and my dad, trying to concoct a feasible scenario that would explain the baby belonging to me. Impossible. I’d be committed. West will have to keep her, I realized, sickened at the thought of being away from her- or West. As I began rationalizing reasons to stay in 1955, Eva stirred and started to cry.
I had read everything I could about pregnancy and delivery, but nothi
ng about breast-feeding. Awkwardly, I lifted the baby to my breast, imitating what I’d seen in movies. She panted and reached, stirring uncomfortably and crying harder. I rocked her, trying soothing words that sounded unfamiliar to my ears.
“It’s okay,” I sang softly, startled. I can sing. My singing voice was something Morgan had described after my fourth grade Christmas pageant as “mice being electrocuted.” When it never improved, I moved on to the books and the pool, giving up on the choir.
Now, I rocked my daughter in my arms, recalling the lyrics to a song my father sang to me when I was little about a place called Moonlight Bay. My voice touched notes that I had no idea were within my grasp; I carried through the chorus, smiling as Eva curled into my arms to sleep again.
“That was beautiful,” West’s words made me smile at the doorway.
“I can sing… well, Annie can,” I said softly, careful not to wake Eva as she slept. “Logan and Violet are okay?”
“Right here,” Logan stepped in the bedroom, Violet right behind him.
“Where is Troy?”
“He’s tied up outside. He’s gagged- no one can hear him,” West glanced at Violet, and she gave him a dirty look. “Violet won’t let me try to kill him. If he’s mortal, he can’t lead us to the doors if he’s dead.”
“Don’t talk about it in front of the baby,” Violet scolded, waving a silencing hand in West’s direction. “Is she awake?”
“She just fell back to sleep.” I watched Logan as he stared at the bundle in my arms. “I tried to feed her… but she just cried and… I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“We’ll go to the mainland and visit the hospital first thing in the morning,” West assured me.
Logan, still silent, walked toward the bed. His blue eyes were so unfamiliar, and I wished for a moment his brown eyes would return. “She’s so… little,” he stepped back slightly, a smile working at his lips. “Red hair?”
“And her eyes are green,” I said to West, laughing. “They look exactly like mine.”
Fall (Roam Series, Book Two) Page 10