“Just how close a friend are you?” the older man asked, his eyes narrowing as he observed Michael.
Michael straightened his shoulders and looked Sean Shay in the eye. “Very close. I care very much for your daughter, Mr. Shay. As to the details of our relationship, sir, I don’t think they’re any of your business.”
“They are if you’re the father of her baby,” Sean said, his temper rising.
Michael swallowed hard, knowing this was the most awkward situation he ever had or would experience in his life.
“Yes, sir,” he admitted, giving no outward signs of his nervousness, “Meghan is carrying my child.”
A dark thundercloud of anger settled over the old man’s brow. “In that case, I’ll make use of my right, for the first time, not to serve someone,” he said harshly, taking a swipe at the countertop with his bar rag. “Any man not willing to do what’s right when he gets a girl in trouble is not welcome in my bar.”
“Takes two to tango,” said Donald from several stools away, making his own thoughts of Meghan’s behavior obvious. The fact that he was enjoying the whole situation irritated Michael.
He gave Donald a measuring look, then pointedly turned back to Sean Shay.
“I’m very willing to marry Meghan, Mr. Shay,” he said clearly. “I was hoping she’d have me long before I knew about the baby, but your daughter is the proudest, most stubborn, pig-headed woman I’ve ever met. She’s too embarrassed to marry me,” he finished angrily.
“Sorry, Mr. Ramsey.” Sean Shay paused, relaxing visibly and taking on a knowing, sympathetic look. Michael gave his first name and the older man continued. “I’m sorry if we came on a little strong, Michael. But you know the old saying ‘A son is a son till he takes a wife. But a daughter’s a daughter all of her life.’ You’ve come to the right place for help. While she’s asleep upstairs, well put our heads together and force the girl to see reason.”
“Sounds good to me, sir,” Michael said, grinning, glad to have an ally.
Sean kept Michael’s coffee cup full while he went on to praise Meghan in glowing terms. He told of how spunky and indomitable she was as a child and how proud he was of what she’d made of her life. He related how he’d helped as much as he could with her education, but it hadn’t come close to being enough. He mentioned how she had worked her way through Harvard, and all she’d been through to earn her position at the law firm.
Meanwhile Meghan had settled herself on the comfortably familiar bed in her old room. She took a deep cleansing breath and let it out slowly to help her relax. Then she waited.
The back spasms she had come to recognize as early labor pains were still regular and holding at twenty minutes apart.
“I’ll just lie here and relax. I still have lots of time, and Lucy will be here soon,” she calculated drowsily, as her eyelids covered her tired, scratchy eyes.
Then next thing she knew, her eyes flew open with a start. It took several seconds before she recognized her surroundings, and when she looked at the clock beside the bed she saw that at least two hours had passed. Her attention was drawn to the uncomfortable tightness in her abdomen. She breathed deeply and slowly, and gradually the tension dissipated.
She lay very still, eyes wide with anticipation and fear. The minutes ticked by. After twelve minutes a pressure started at the sides of her belly and increased to cover the entire dome of her abdomen with such intensity that her brow furrowed and her teeth clenched before it began to subside.
This was it, then. Full-fledged labor. She waited out the next twelve minutes and the next contraction just to make sure. She was excited and frightened, happy and depressed all at the same time.
She heaved herself out of the bed. She’d have to go to the hospital soon. The family needed to be alerted, and with any luck at all, Lucy would be downstairs waiting to help her.
Slowly, she made her way down the stairs. She could hear Connie and her father talking on the other side of the doors that led into the bar. Another contraction gripped her at the bottom of the stairs. She seized the handrail for support and took a slow, deep breath in through her nose, exhaling just as slowly through pursed lips. Following the lessons she’d learned in Lamaze class, she repeated the exercise until the pain ended.
“Oh Lord, what have I done?” she thought. “I don’t want to go through with this anymore,” she added in desperation.
“Connie? Pop?” she called, as she swung through the door into the barroom. “I …” Her words caught in her throat as she spotted Michael seated between Donald and Connie at the bar, talking to her father who stood in his usual spot behind the counter.
The four men turned their heads when they heard her. All the humiliation of that morning returned and she momentarily forgot the imminent arrival of her baby. Instead, her instincts of self-defense rose to protect her heart and soul and pride from more anguish:
“I don’t recall inviting you here, Mr. Ramsey,” she said acidly.
“It’s a public pub, Miss Shay,” he returned dryly, slipping off his stool and advancing toward her. “And we need to have a little talk.”
“Stuff it, Michael,” she instructed.
“Meghan. Listen …” he started.
“I don’t want to listen, Michael. I don’t want to talk. I just want you to go. We’ll talk in a few days,” she stipulated, as she walked around him toward a bar stool.
She could feel another contraction beginning and hoped that if she could sit down and turn her back to him, he would be unaware of what was happening.
The bar was nearly empty again after the lunch rush, and the few stragglers left seemed engrossed in their own lives, and were paying little attention to the drama unfolding at the bar.
Concentrating on the steadily increasing pain in her abdomen, she vaguely could hear Michael saying, “You will listen. I’m not leaving till we clear the air.”
Although her teeth were clenched in pain, she only sounded angry when she said, “It’s already pretty clear to me, Michael,” while in her mind, she tried to calculate the time. It hadn’t been twelve minutes since the last one, she realized, and this one seemed worse. More frequent, greater intensity, she recalled from her classes. Oh, great!
“Good,” Michael continued, unaware of Meghan’s discomfort. “Then maybe you can clear it up for me. This stupid disappearing act of yours has got to stop. I’m sick of the deceptions between us, and I’m sick of your distrust of me. Now turn around and fight me like a Shay,” he finished, his voice harsh with frustration.
“Trust,” she spat back at him. “That’s a laugh. You took my love and trust and made a fool of me. You’ve known for weeks about me and the baby. About what I did,” she stormed, as she turned on the stool to face him, the pain ebbing, her eyes bright with physical and emotional pain. She could feel hysteria slowly taking hold at the frayed edges of her mind. She briefly glanced around the bar in panic. Some of the patrons had turned in their seats to watch the pregnant lady fall apart in front of their eyes.
Meghan didn’t care. Her frantic mind generated a rush of super strength. She’d slay this Goliath and walk majestically into the sunset to have her baby.
She straightened her shoulders, drew in a deep breath, and continued her attack. “You knew I tricked you into being the father of my baby and you didn’t tell me. You …”
Her tirade was interrupted by her shocked father. In stunned confusion, he injected, “Meghan, what are you saying? Now what have you done, girl?” he finished, his anger rising as visions of the possibilities flashed through his mind.
Meghan released an exasperated sigh and half turned in her father’s direction, her eyes still on her original target.
“I planned the whole thing. I didn’t even know him,” she said tersely. “I picked him.”
“Picked him?” her father echoed, too confused to be angry anymore.
“That’s right,” Michael took up the story. “Out of over five hundred men, she picked me to be the father o
f her child. She planned it, Sean,” he explained.
Over Sean’s bellowed, “Five hundred men!” Michael went on to say, “It was a perfect plan, too, except that she didn’t take into consideration that I might fall in love with her that night. She haunted me for months, and when I found her again, I was ecstatic. I was determined to convince her to share her life with me. When Connie opened the little can of worms about her grand plan, I was overjoyed and honored that she had picked me. But that’s not all I felt,” he cautioned, now addressing himself to Meghan again. “I was damned mad you’d tricked me like that.” He paused, thoughtfully studying the woman he loved. He took in her flawless porcelain skin, the dark shadows under her pure green eyes, now dulled with fatigue and strain, her wild crop of red hair, so soft to the touch. Always, she was beautiful, but more important, she was warm and loving and strong. He had come to admire and respect the courage and determination that had driven her to such lengths. And he envied the baby she had craved to love.
“I took a walk that night,” he continued, “to keep from killing you in your sleep. Halfway around the block I could easily envision my life without you. For a while I thrived on my anger. I plotted several routes of revenge. By the time I was back at the house my anger had burned itself out and the life I could see for myself was an empty shell. Where your loving and laughter had filled me so completely just hours before, there was only an echoing emptiness I knew I couldn’t live with. Which meant I couldn’t hate you. So … on my second trip around the block, I tried to forgive and understand you. Knowing you, I was sure you hadn’t deliberately set out to harm anyone. I also knew entrapment wasn’t in your plan, because you made no demands and went to great pains to make sure that whoever the father was, he wouldn’t get involved. You just wanted a baby,” he said emphatically, “and I did understand that and I forgave you your deception.”
Michael took several steps closer to her, but they didn’t touch. Their audience forgotten completely, he continued. “My third orbit around was riddled with questions like, if you loved me, why hadn’t you told me? That one was easy, you did love me and were afraid of losing me. That gave me hope. Then there was, how do we get the truth out in the open? Not so easy!” he said, making the familiar gesture of frustration by running his hand through his hair.
“You are right,” he conceded. “I should have just told you that I knew the whole story. But I wasn’t playing games. I was trying to give you opportunities to tell me yourself. I wanted you to trust in my love enough to know I’d always love you.”
“What I did was so stupid and so wrong, but it seemed so right at the time,” she said, her sails suddenly windless. “And I did want to tell you … many, many times, but I was afraid to take the chance,” she murmured softly, humbled by the relief and gratitude filling her heart and soul. This man’s heart must fill his body from head to toe, she thought. Never had she met anyone so loving, so understanding. Her entire being swelled with the love of him as she tensed her body to endure yet another contraction.
“I know, darlin’,” he returned. “I should have told you I knew the truth and that it didn’t matter anymore, as long as we could be together. However,” he said, his tone changing drastically, becoming sharp and vehement. “I’m not the wonderfully forgiving guy you’re thinking I am right now. And so help me Meghan, if you ever run from me again or lie or withhold information from me again, you’re going to have hell to pay. Do you understand me?” he added, as he took a firm grip on her upper arms, preparing to give her a good shake and then hug her until she popped.
He never got to the embrace. As he took hold of her, Meghan let out a bloodcurdling cry of pain and agony. Everyone in the room gasped loudly, as her legs buckled and she fell against Michael, who uttered a shocked, “Good Lord,” in lieu of a lengthy prayer.
“Oh, Michael,” she wailed, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I love you so much. Please don’t let me die now. Don’t let our baby die. Not now!”
“No one’s going to die, darlin’,” he said, his drawl covering the panic he felt. He scooped her huge body into his arms and started for the door. “How long have you been like this?”
“All morning,” she replied wearily.
“How far apart are the contractions?” he demanded, more than a little rattled.
“I’m not sure anymore. I think this is the fourth one since I came downstairs,” she answered vaguely, holding on tightly to Michael.
“Dammit, Meghan! Why didn’t you say so,” he shouted. Then as Meghan’s head fell weakly onto his shoulder, his voice softened. “It’s okay, darlin’. Tell me when the next one starts, then take a deep …”
The door closed behind them. Wrapped up in themselves, they understandably didn’t pay any heed to the commotion they left behind them in the pub.
The men who had stood to defend Meghan when Michael had grabbed her and she had cried out in pain were now returning to their seats. The room was abuzz with conversations on what had just transpired. A pool was immediately started with bets as to whether or not Meghan and Michael would make it to the hospital, and a round of drinks on the house was ordered by an anxious grandfather-to-be.
A harried and bewildered Lucy rushed in on the pandemonium, and to her repeated inquiries as to what was happening, she got at least half a dozen different versions of the facts. However, they’d all come to the same conclusion. Meghan was about to deliver.
“I knew I shouldn’t have stopped,” she said, as she grabbed up her purse and coat again. “I ran into an old friend at the airport and she insisted we stop for coffee and catch up on each other’s lives,” she explained, as she finished fastening up the front of her lightweight coat. She turned and headed toward the private rear entrance at the back of the pub. “I feel just awful. I should have been here.” Then she disappeared through the door.
Seconds later she reappeared, a sly, knowing smile on her face.
“On second thought,” she confided to anyone listening, as she took a place at the bar beside Connie, “Who needs a fifth wheel at a time like this? The second round is on me, Pop.”
Michael, in his frenzy, carried Meghan through the emergency doors at the hospital, shouting, “We’re having our baby now,” between calm, soothing instructions to Meghan.
Meghan took little comfort from his words. All the way to the hospital, he’d punctuated the Lamaze exercises with “I love you, Meghan,” and “Everything’ll be fine, darlin’.” Oh, she knew he was well intentioned, but it wasn’t his body trying to turn itself inside out to deliver this baby. She was worried about the baby. How much more of this could the infant take? What if something was wrong? The book had said “very painful,” not excruciating. It said labor could last anywhere from twelve to twenty-four hours and came in gradual stages. If this was the beginning, she’d never last to see the end of it. If this was indeed transition and it was all nearly over, hadn’t it happened quicker than it should have? Was something wrong? Would her baby survive?
In addition to asking herself every age-old question asked by every laboring mother since the beginning of all time, Meghan was trying to focus on enduring each contraction as it came, bearing each intense pain until the darkness faded and the world came back into focus.
Michael had been asked to leave while Meghan was examined and prepared for delivery. The nurse told him to change into “delivery garb,” which consisted of a way-too-small green gown, paper overshoes for his boots, and a paper hat no self-respecting cowboy would be caught dead in, except maybe if he were about to have a baby.
Back at Meghan’s side he found her more and more upset. The intensity of the pain and her ever-increasing fear were leading her into a state of panic. She was like someone he’d never met before. His attempt to rub her aching muscles was met with a growl and a warning to keep his damned hands to himself. At one point she reached out and grabbed the front of his shirt with both hands and ordered him, through gnashing teeth, to get her something for the pain because
his stupid breathing exercises were “a crock.” If Michael hadn’t been so worried about her, he might have been embarrassed.
It was about then that a short man with fuzzy gray hair and spectacles waltzed into the room with a piece of paper and a small black book in his hands.
“This is turning out to be quite a day for you two,” he said in a thin, reedy voice, as he stood grinning at the overwrought parents-to-be.
“You damned well better be a doctor,” Meghan told him bluntly.
The little man frowned and turned to Michael, hoping for a better reception.
“Well?” Michael boomed. “You’re not the man who was here before, so who the hell are you?”
“I’m Judge Thaddeus Murphy. I’ve come to perform the nuptials,” he explained, wondering if he’d wandered into the wrong room.
“What nuptials?” Meghan and Michael asked together.
Thad Murphy had sat on the bench for almost thirty years. In that time he’d only performed one other of these delivery-room weddings and had often wondered about the ethics of it as neither partner appeared to be in a sound state of mind under the circumstances. Such was the case here, but he was now considerably older and wiser.
“Are you Mary Meghan Shay?” he asked.
“Yes,” she answered a little indignantly.
“And are you Michael James Ramsey?”
“Yes,” was Michael’s tentative answer.
“Do you two want to be married?” the judge asked solemnly.
“Yes,” they both said automatically.
“That’s good enough for me,” the fuzzy-headed man declared. “Sign here, and you’re tethered together forever,” he waxed poetically.
Both men waited for Meghan’s next contraction to pass, then smiled as each other while she and her nurse signed the paper; one as the bride, and the other as her witness.
Fifteen minutes later, Meghan and Michael watched the birth of their child, heard its angry wail, and all was calm again, contented and loving. The nurses and doctor congratulated Michael and met the real Meghan Shay Ramsey for the first time, adorable and charming and back to being herself.
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