Vaginal bleeding. Baby stressed.
Tears fill my eyes, and I cover my baby protectively. “Where’s Silas?”
“Silas?”
“My fiancé. Has he been called?”
“Sweetheart, you didn’t have a thing on you. I just received a call from the police onsite who gave us your name of Dara Jackson. No other information.”
“How’s my friend, Luna?”
“Pretty redhead?”
“Yeah, she was driving.”
“Banged up. We patched her up, but she’s still unconscious.”
“Can I see her?” I ask, my heart hurting.
The nurse shakes her head. “No, honey, we’re monitoring the baby. You’re in this bed for at least twenty-four hours until we know for sure the fetus is okay. We’re setting you up for an ultrasound. I’ll send the doctor in now. You rest that head. You took quite a beating yourself.”
“I need to call my fiancé. He’ll be worried. And my mom.”
The nurse brings the phone over to my side and leaves the room.
The phone rings once before he answers with a ragged, “Dara!”
“Silas,” I whisper, my throat clogging up, my forehead pounding.
“Baby, where are you?”
“Hospital.”
“God, no. Which one? I’m on my way now. Fuck! Ricardo called an hour ago. A fucking hour, saying he was worried because you and Luna didn’t show for drinks and dinner. Baby, tell me you’re okay?”
I start to tremble, the shock of being in a car accident, being strapped up to this machinery, the baby undergoing stress tests, and the nurse mentioning vaginal bleeding hitting me all at the same time. Big, heaping tears fall down my face. “I’m scared. The nurse is monitoring the baby for stress, and there was bleeding, Silas…”
“Fuck! Fuck! No. Baby, no. It’s going to be okay. I’m here. Tell me where you are.”
“Same hospital you were in.”
“Okay, just stay with me. You’re on speaker, and I’m in the car right now.”
“You have to call my mama.” I swallow, knowing how this will freak her out.
“Not letting you go, lil’ mama. Staying with you until I can see you. Shit, you’re by yourself. I’m sorry.”
“Luna got hurt,” I whisper through my tears.
“What happened? Do you remember?”
I sniff and wipe at my running nose with my gown. “Car accident.”
Silas goes silent.
“And Luna was hurt, babe. She was hurt bad. I saw her unconscious, bleeding from her head. The nurse won’t let me see her. Says I need to stay where I am because of the baby. And I’m scared. I’m so fucking scared!” The sobs tear through me one after another.
“Dara, you listen to me.”
“She’s still unconscious. What if she doesn’t wake up? What if something is wrong with our baby? The nurse said I had vaginal bleeding…” I choke on my next heave. Some alarms start blaring, and I gasp, looking around the room.
The nurse runs into the room followed by a man in a white lab coat.
“Dara!” Silas’s voice careens through the phone, but I’m not paying attention. I’m lost in the swirl of fear and desperation.
Suddenly the phone is taken from my hand, and the doctor’s got his scope on the baby. “Miss, you need to calm down. Baby’s heart rate has gone up. We’re going to need an ultrasound room, stat,” he says to the nurse before moving around the bed to the other side.
The doctor reviews the machine that’s hooked up to my belly.
The blonde nurse hangs up the phone, and I want to howl, my connection to Silas gone. She grabs my hand.
“Dara, I need you to take deep breaths in and out slowly with me, okay? Calm down. Your heart rate is too high. You relax, the baby will likely follow.”
I follow along with her breathing, which is essentially the meditation breathing I do normally, so I close my eyes and start my routine. Chanting in my head, sending love, light, and healing to my baby in waves of energy and intention. I hum a Bob Marley tune called “Three Little Birds” low in my throat and send that peace to my baby.
“That’s it,” I hear the nurse’s voice, but it sounds faded and far away. “Good, Dara. Baby’s heartbeat is closer to normal. Just keep breathing.”
When I’ve finished the fourth run-through of the song, my own heartbeat has leveled out, I’m much calmer, and I can feel my baby rolling around. I open my eyes and see the yellow halo brighter than ever around my belly.
A relief so strong it almost makes me weak hits my heart.
Baby is going to be okay. I just know it.
Chapter Nineteen
The symbol most commonly used for the third eye chakra is the two elements associated with wisdom, a lotus flower, and an upside down triangle.
SILAS
I know there is a God because I’ve witnessed the beauty he brings to this world. Most specifically in Sarah, my lost love, and in Dara, my everything.
“God, you wouldn’t give me Dara and our baby if you were meaning to take them away… There is no way you could be that cruel. You’re merciful. Kind. Please don’t take away our baby, and protect its mama. I am in your debt, please.” I beg and pray out loud in the car because I don’t have any other option.
Traffic is slow, but I’m blazing my way to the hospital. After parking at the entrance, I fling my door open, not caring if it gets towed. I have to get to Dara.
Right as I get out, Vanessa and Darren Jackson are rushing forward.
“I’ll park the car, son. You see to my baby and yours.” His rumbled voice is more of a roar than a statement.
I nod, toss him the keys, and grab Vanessa Jackson’s hand so we can beat feet inside.
“Dara Jackson, Maternity!” I slap my hand down on the desk for information.
The individual gets the details, and we are motoring three floors up to room 343.
Even though my pace is a step below running, Mrs. Jackson is keeping up, just as eager to see her child. She’s going to be an amazing grandmother. God willing our baby is okay.
The instant we get off the elevator, I see the sign toward her row of room numbers and head that direction.
I open the door, and there she is, hooked up to a couple machines, her eyes wide with fear, hair a wild mess of waves, color ashen. A doctor and a nurse are by her side, pushing her bed, wheeling her toward the door.
“Silas!” she cries out, her hand reaching out for me.
I take it and stop the bed. “What’s going on?”
“Ultrasound. They need to make sure the baby is fine internally.” She’s squeezing my hand in a death grip.
“You the father?” the doctor queries.
“This is my fiancée, and yes, I’m the father,” I answer on autopilot, squeezing my girl’s hand and kissing her fingertips.
“Well, come on. No time to waste,” the doctor grumbles.
“Mama!” Dara notices Mrs. Jackson.
“You go. I’ll be right here with your daddy when you get back.”
Dara nods and pulls my hand to her chest. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“It’s going to be okay.”
Tears slide down her cheeks as the doctor and nurse wheel the bed down the hallway.
“What if it’s not?”
I close my eyes but keep walking, dread, fear, and anger warring for top bidding in my chest. I tamp down those feelings and force positivity into my heart. She needs this. I need this.
“It will be. Because it’s us three. Together.” My throat is raw, and my eyes fill with tears I can no longer hold back.
Please, God, don’t make me a liar. I send one final prayer to the Big Guy upstairs in the hopes he will grant this one request.
She’s wheeled into the room, next to a machine. This one is far more high-tech than the smaller ones we’ve seen in the gynecologist’s office. There’s a giant flat TV screen on the wall in front of us, another to the left of the machine.
/> The nurse lifts Dara’s hospital gown and removes the contraptions strapped to her stomach. A reddened stripe about two inches thick crosses over her baby mound at a slant.
“What the fuck is that?” I ask, pointing to the red skin.
“Seat belt bruise,” the doctor says before squirting gel on her belly and rubbing it around.
I wrap my arm around Dara’s head and kiss the crown over and over. “It’s going to be okay, baby.”
She nods, but her body is trembling. I hate that she’s scared, but I’m scared too. All we can do is brave it together. Sarah and I made it to this point last time, so I know when the doctor moves the handheld tool around it’s going to produce images on the screen.
I wait with bated breath while the doctor takes over, presses the item to her belly, and flicks a button. The screen in front of us lights up, and our baby is there.
The doctor focuses the images on the baby’s head, hits a bunch of buttons, and takes his time studying the skull.
I can’t breathe. I’m stuck in a holding pattern with a weight on my chest the size of Texas. Nothing matters right now, nothing but that small rounded head and the doctor’s assessment. Sweat breaks out at my hairline as we wait for what seems like hours but is probably only a single minute.
“Looks perfectly intact. I don’t see anything to worry about on baby’s head.” The doctor punches more buttons. “Head measures correctly for twenty weeks along. Now let’s focus on the spine.”
Again, the doctor does his wiggle around the belly thing with the tool. I watch with extreme fascination as he clicks the image and looks intently at the entire line of our baby’s spine, one vertebra at a time.
“Is the spine okay?” Dara asks, her voice cracking.
Doctor nods. “Yep. No problems.”
She lifts my hand and holds it to her chest and face. Her lips rest on my fingertips. Every few seconds, I can feel wetness on the top of my hand from her tears.
“Baby’s head and spine are good,” I whisper in her ear. “So far everything is fine. Stay strong.”
She swallows, and her body shudders with a large exhalation. I can sense her body relaxing, the stress leaving her with every image that pops on the screen.
Perfect head.
Perfect spine.
Perfect legs.
Perfect arms.
“Now I’m going to do the internal organs. You’ll get to see the baby’s heart pumping and the blood and oxygen in red and blue on the screen.”
“No way!” I stare at the screen like it’s the second coming of Jesus Christ Himself.
The doctor offers a small smile but flicks switches that show the heart pumping. “It’s fast, probably because Mom is stressed but also because of the trauma. The heart is great. Nothing to report. Your daughter will relax inside the womb when Mom relaxes outside of the womb.” This time he offers an out-and-out smile. “Everything is great. No problems. Your daughter is fine.”
Daughter.
A girl.
We’re having a girl.
Dara’s hands squeeze mine so tight I can feel the blood pounding in my hand.
“Daughter? We’re having a girl?” Her voice cracks.
The doctor turns his head. “I’m sorry. Did I ruin the surprise? You’re twenty weeks. I assumed you already had this test.”
Dara shakes her head. “Scheduled for tomorrow.”
“Well, I…yes, you’re having a girl.” He moves the wand to the baby’s bottom. “See right there?” He points to the space between a triangle shape. “No penis or testicles.”
“We’re having a baby girl. Silas?” Dara turns her head to me right as I sway backward and fall to my knees.
A girl.
I’m getting a second chance. A second chance at everything I’ve ever wanted.
“Thank you, God.” My entire body quakes.
“Thank you,” I whisper to Sarah and the baby we lost. Shivers race up and down my spine, goosebumps firing on my flesh.
“Thank you, Dara.” I lean back on my heels, look up to the ceiling, and close my eyes. Ribbons of happiness replace the shaking, trembling, and nerves in a giant wave, coating all the sadness, fear, and grief, replacing it with life, love, and joy.
“I’m going to be a father. It’s going to happen this time. I just know it!” I laugh and put my hands behind my head.
“You okay, son?” The doctor stands before me, holding out his hand. “Thought you were going down for the count there a minute ago.”
I grip his hand, and he helps me to my feet. If gravity wasn’t holding me down, I’d float away with the lightness filling my heart, body, and soul.
“Silas…” Dara reaches for me with both hands, and I go to her, resting my face right into her neck. As always, her sugary scent envelopes me.
She runs her fingers down my back, up my neck and over my head, forcing me to look her in the eyes. “You going to be okay?” Her words are whispered, quiet, and just for us.
I lick my lips and cup her cheeks, wiping away her tears with my thumbs. God, she’s unearthly divine. “More than okay. Baby, I’m going to be a father to a little girl.”
Her corresponding smile is one I haven’t seen before. It’s small, sweet, and lovely in its simplicity. “You’re not sad it’s a girl?” The same fear I had moments ago is plastered across her pretty face.
How could I have made her think that I wouldn’t be happy about our child, whatever the gender?
Christ, I’m a fuckup.
I shake my head immediately, curl a hand around her nape, kiss her forehead, and set my other hand on her exposed belly. My child rolls under my palms, and I sigh with contentment.
“Listen to me, and hear what I’m saying.” I get an inch closer so all she can see is me and all she can feel is my touch on her skin. Everything else needs to disappear so that she’s encompassed by the intensity of what I feel for her and our daughter.
“I know what I’ve lost, Dara. Today, I also know what I’ve gained. This is our destiny. It’s here. Right now. You, me, and our daughter.”
* * *
Dara’s moved back to her room and set up with the baby monitor. The nurses ask if we want the heartbeat sound turned off. We both practically scream our desire to have it blaring. Right now, we need to hear our daughter’s heart beating. With every swoosh, a little of the panic and agony we just experienced fizzles away.
Just as she’s settled, Vanessa and Darren Jackson enter.
“My baby!” her mother coos, arms open.
Dara sighs into her mother’s embrace, and as I watch, all I can think is my woman is going to give that to our daughter. She’s going to be loved and taught to love and nurture others by incredible women.
Darren holds out his hand. I grip it tight as he brings me into a hug. “Pleased you’re taking care of my girl, doing the right thing.”
“Nothing else I want in this world but your daughter’s hand and our baby, sir.”
He claps me on the back. “Good man. We’ll get along just fine, then.”
“Yes, sir. I do believe we will.”
“Mama, the baby is perfect. The doctor did all the tests, and guess what?” Dara has light in her eyes and excitement in her voice.
“What, baby? Should I brace for this?” Her mama holds on to the side of the hospital bed dramatically, as if a tornado is going to come crashing through the wall and take her away at any second.
“We’re having a girl!” she squeals with delight.
Mrs. Jackson smiles widely, puts her hands to her chest, and looks up at the ceiling. Funny, I did the same thing when I found out but for much different reasons.
“Praise Jesus and the Lord above! My child is giving me a granddaughter!” She claps, lifts her shoulders, and hoots. “Darren, did you hear that? We’re getting another baby girl!”
Darren smiles good-naturedly. “Another girl who looks like her?” He points to Dara, and then he looks at me. “Son, you’re screwed. Buy a shotgun no
w. I had to beat the boys off with a stick and threaten them with a gun when they came sniffing around my baby, looking like a movie star since she was twelve years old. Then high school…ooo weee.” He shakes his head. “Mark my words. You better have a son next so he can help…cuz you are shit outta luck, boy!” He laughs—loud and proud.
“Daddy! Our girl is going to be protected just fine. I’ll teach her about boys, and her father will scare them away. I’m not worried!” Dara backs me up instantly and rubs at her belly.
Always there. Taking my back. My woman.
There’s a knock on the door, and my mother opens it, peeking her head in. She must have received my frantic voice mail earlier when I was losing my shit.
“Is she okay?” I hear my brother Kevin’s voice from behind her.
“Yeah, what’s going on?” my baby sister Chantal says in a high-pitched whine I can hear through the door.
I’m sure the other two are behind them.
I head to the door and stop, holding up a finger to my mother. She nods and waits patiently.
I check with Dara. “Baby, you okay if my family comes in?”
She frowns. “Of course. They just want to make sure the baby is okay. Let them in, for goodness’ sakes. Family is always welcome.”
With that statement, my mother grins widely and opens the door, my four siblings following on her heels.
My mother comes to the bed and holds out her hand to Mrs. Jackson. “I believe we met a few weeks ago but under unpleasant circumstances.”
Vanessa Jackson takes her hand. “You settle that foul-mouthed problem you had with one of your babies?” She goes right for the gusto.
My mother smiles. “Sure did. I believe my Whitney has a few things to say to your Dara. If the time is right, that is?”
“The time for apologies is always right,” Mrs. Jackson confirms.
“Whit…I believe you have something to say to Dara, your brother’s fiancée?” Mama reminds my sister.
Whitney plays with her long black braid, her face to the floor as she steps up. My sister must be wearing hair extensions, because her hair isn’t normally that long. Still, they look real, and she rocks them well.
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