10 Things I Can See from Here

by Carrie Mac

  Stop it, stop it, stop it! Do this one thing. Don’t think of anything else but this one thing. And then the next one thing. One thing at a time. Feel it. Fear it. Get it done.

  “Yes, ambulance!” I helped her into the back of the van. Claire rolled onto her knees, wrestled off her bikini bottom, and started rocking back and forth.

  “What can I do?” Salix said.

  “I don’t know!” I covered my face with my hands. “I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

  The boys sat on a rock at the edge of the parking lot, their arms around their knees, wide-eyed and silent.

  “I do know one thing. Everything is going to be okay, boys.” I tried to smile. I even gave them a stupid thumbs-up. “Mom is going to be fine. And so is the baby. I promise.” But even as I said it, I didn’t believe it.

  “Ooooooooh,” Claire moaned through loose lips. “Oooooooooh.”

  I draped her sarong across her back, trying to cover her, but she yanked it off.

  “Breathe.” Because that’s what they always say, right? “Breathe, Claire.”

  “The first-aid kit.”

  Salix opened the red bag, and a little wooden gnome toppled out.

  “King Percival!” Owen dashed over to scoop up the gnome.

  “Birth kit,” Claire gasped.

  Sure enough, there was a package labeled BABY. I unrolled it: gloves, scissors, a clamp for the cord, a little rubber bulb for suctioning, a couple of disposable pads, folded in fours. Salix shook one open and handed it to me.

  “Thanks.” I glanced up.

  “Are you okay?”

  I didn’t answer. I didn’t know if I was. Or if I wasn’t.

  Catch the baby. Catch the baby. Just make sure that the baby doesn’t end up sliding past me and out of the van and onto the dirt, ripping away from Claire, and cracking its head open. No dead babies. No dead mothers. Easy does it.

  “What can I do?”

  “Keep an eye on the boys.”

  Claire screamed. I could hear Salix tell someone passing by that it was all under control.

  “No it’s not!” I hollered. “Where is the ambulance?”

  Everything was out of control.

  Claire squatted, her legs spread. Her thighs were wet with blood. I didn’t want to look any closer, but I had to. I had to catch the baby. No one else was going to help. There was only me.

  “What can I do?” I said. “What do you need?”

  “Head.” Claire reached between her legs. “The head is crowning.”

  “Do you want to be on your back instead?”

  “No!” Claire turned a bit so she could prop herself up on the backseat, facing the front. “Catch the baby, Maeve.”

  She let loose one deep, long groan.

  I forced myself to keep my eyes on the dark shape that was emerging through the blood and the ooze.

  “Is it a boy or a girl?” Corbin shouted from the rock.

  “Salix, hand me the gloves!”

  Claire growled. She put her hand against the bulge and gave a long, controlled push. The baby’s head was out.

  “Oh!” I dropped the gloves, stunned. And then I reached forward as she bore down again. One shoulder appeared, then the other, and then the baby’s whole body slid right into my hands. A brand new baby in my hands.

  “Baby!” Claire rolled onto her back then and reached for the baby. “Hello, baby! Oh, hi there!” She let out a laugh. “A girl! A baby girl!”

  “A girl,” I whispered. And then I laughed too. “A girl!”

  “A girl!” The boys leapt off the rock and came running. “A girl! A girl! A girl!”

  The baby made tiny fists and let out a little wail.

  “Oh, give her to me!” Claire held her against her chest while I found another pair of gloves and wrestled the little plastic clamp onto the cord.

  “I want to cut it!” Corbin yelled. We were out of gloves, so I took mine off carefully, and he wore them as he sawed at it with the scissors from the kit, the too-big glove fingers flopping back and forth. “That is so gross,” he said when the cord was severed.

  I wrapped the baby in the cleanest towel, and then there were sirens. An ambulance and a fire truck careened into the parking lot, screeching to a stop beside us. Two paramedics and four firefighters grabbed oxygen tanks and jump kits and blankets and hurried to the van, where Claire had already put the baby to her breast.

  “I’ll take one of those blankets, please.” Exhausted, Claire grinned weakly at the men. They all gawked at her, until one of the paramedics snapped to and tucked a blanket around her and the baby, then retrieved a tiny knit cap from the ambulance and snugged it on the baby’s head.

  “Hello there,” he said to the baby. “You made a dramatic entrance, didn’t you?”

  —

  After we saw Claire and the baby off in the ambulance, we put everything back into the van and tossed the bloody towels into the garbage bins. Then we made our way to the hospital in Squamish. I couldn’t drive, so Salix did. I was too stunned. I was too elated. I was too exhausted. I was too shaky. The boys bounced in their seats, shouting at the top of their lungs, and I didn’t even mind.

  “Baby! Baby! Baby!”

  I stared at my shaking hands.

  “That just happened.” Salix put her hand over mine. “It really did. You were amazing. You are amazing.”

  “Everything is amazing,” I said under the chanting coming from the backseat. It didn’t matter if Salix heard or not. Either way, it was absolutely true.

  By the time we got to the hospital, Claire had already called Dad.

  “What did he say?”

  “He kept shouting what I was saying to the guys on set. ‘In the parking lot! A girl! Stupid lifeguard! Maeve was brilliant! Everyone’s fine!’ And laughing and laughing. And then he was crying so hard that I told him he had to calm down before he drove up here.”

  “Look at her.” I touched her soft, downy forehead. “You surprised me, little one.”

  “Want to hold her while I have a shower?”

  “Definitely.”

  Claire placed the baby in my arms, and then she kissed me on the cheek. “Thank you.”

  “You’re the one who had a baby.”

  “You did so much. You helped so much. You were so strong. I knew that you had everything under control, and that made it so much easier to just let it happen. I’m so thankful. I love you, Maeve.”

  “I love you too, Claire.”

  The boys stood on either side of me as Claire walked gingerly toward the shower.

  “Can I hold her?”

  “No, me first!”

  “Both of you will have to wait,” I murmured. “I’m not letting her go.” I could hardly hear the boys arguing as I gazed at the baby. “Look at you.” She was fast asleep, her little lips puckered and rosy. She was here and she was safe and the emergency was over. Perfect fingers. Perfect eyelashes. Pink cheeks. Tiny button nose. Claire’s chin.

  Salix took a picture of me and the baby, and I sent it to Mr. Heidelman, and Ruthie, and Mom in Haiti.

  Hello, baby!

  There was too much to say, about the beach and the parking lot and the back of the van and the slippery new baby in my hands and the ambulance, but I just sent those two words. The rest could wait. For now I just wanted to hold my tiny new sister and marvel at how it had all turned out just fine.

  —

  When Claire got out of the shower, she went to sign the discharge papers, against the doctor’s orders. A minute later we heard Dad running down the hall.

  “Claire? Where are you?”

  When he found the room, he dropped to his knees at Claire’s side.

  “Unbelievable.” He lifted the baby out of her arms. He nuzzled her head and breathed her in, his eyes closed. “Hello, sweet thing. Hello, baby girl.” Tears streamed down his face. “I’m so sorry that I missed your entrance, but wow! You know how to put on a show!” He laughed and laughed, and then he rose up to kiss Claire
hard on the lips. “She’s beautiful. And perfect. And so are you.” He kissed Claire again and then handed the baby back to her. “Okay, everybody. Let’s take this spectacular baby home.”

  Of course they named her Alice. Claire joked that they should call her Alice Lake, but they named her Alice December instead. This was after some discussion, because now Claire wondered if she’d had her dates wrong. Maybe she’d conceived in November? Or maybe Alice was just a bit early. She wasn’t too small, though, no matter how Claire calculated the weeks, and so they went with Alice December after all.

  When they got home, the midwives were waiting on the front step. Beside them, propped against the wall, was Dad’s painting of us in the meadow.

  We all stood and stared at it. All lined up: the boys and Claire, Dad with the baby in his arms, Salix, and me.

  “But how…?” I touched it. Except for a scratch along the bottom and a crack at one corner of the frame, it was fine.

  “Let’s have a good look at your beautiful baby,” one of the midwives said.

  When Dad just stood there, Claire took Alice and ushered the boys inside, and Salix, too.

  “Was it you?” I asked.

  He shook his head.

  Mr. Heidelman’s door opened, and he leaned out with a great big smile on his face. “Congratulations!” He saw us staring at the painting. “I brought it up from the alley. I thought you might be ready to have it back now. My restoration guy will come, my treat. Go. Go now and be with your baby. I’ve ordered pizza. It will arrive in ten minutes.”

  —

  Inside, the midwives clucked and murmured and fawned over Alice and Claire, and me too. “What you did was amazing! Maybe you’ll become a midwife.”

  “Not a chance.”

  “Well, you should be very proud of catching your baby sister.”

  That part was for sure.

  And it was amazing.

  When Dad brought the painting in, he hung it right back up, damage and all.

  “I’m not sure that I want it repaired,” he said.

  “Me neither,” I said.

  —

  After supper, Salix and the boys and I went down to unpack the van. Owen scrambled over the seats, obviously looking for something.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “I can’t find Hibou,” Owen wailed. “She’s gone!”

  “She’s not gone. We’ll find her.” Where had I last seen the owl? “Hang on, hang on. We’ll find her.” I rooted through the bag of damp swimsuits. Salix emptied the bag of buckets and shovels onto the ground.

  “Did you take her inside?”

  “No!”

  “Where did you last have her?”

  “By the van. When Alice was born. I think.”

  “That’s right.” Salix nodded. “You had it when we were sitting on the big rock.”

  “Hibou is a girl.”

  “Let’s go check inside,” I said. “Just in case you took her in.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Let’s go check anyway.”

  Hibou was not inside. We looked in every likely place, and a whole bunch of unlikely places too. Like the fridge.

  “Why would she be in there?” I held open the door while he checked the shelves.

  “I got the milk out for supper!” He sank to the floor and covered his face with his hands. “Oh, no. I remember. I put her down when I picked up King Percival.”

  “By the rock?” I said.

  “Yes!” Owen wailed. “I have to go get her.” He leapt up and ran for the door.

  “Owen?”

  “Owen!” Claire gave Alice to Dad. “You can’t walk all the way to the lake, honey.”

  “I’m going to get Hibou.” He opened the door.

  “I bet she’ll end up in the lost and found,” Salix offered. “You can get her the next time you’re up there.”

  “I have to get her now,” Owen said. “I’ll hitchhike.”

  “No, you won’t,” Dad said.

  “Mom hitchhiked across the country when she was a kid.”

  “I was sixteen!” Claire protested. “You are not hitchhiking to Alice Lake.”

  “I have to go get her!”

  “Here.” Dad deftly shifted Alice into the crook of his arm. He dug the van keys out of his pocket and gave them to me. “Do you mind?”

  “Right now?”

  “Sure, why not?”

  “I delivered your baby in the back of a van in a parking lot in the middle of nowhere and now you’re going to send me back up there to get a stuffed owl?”

  “Please go get her?” Owen clamped his arms around my waist. “Please, please, please?”

  I glanced at Salix. “You don’t mind driving?”

  “I’m in,” she said. “I’m so wired right now I probably won’t sleep for the next three days.”

  —

  By the time we got to Alice Lake, the gate was locked. Salix parked the van and climbed over. I had a flashlight, but I didn’t want to turn it on. We walked along, holding hands under just a sliver of moon and the dark all around, the trees towering black against the sky. I only turned on the flashlight to find the right rock, and Hibou behind it, just where Owen said she would be.

  —

  On the way home, we drove with the windows open. The wind was warm on our faces and smelled like summer—blackberries and dry grass.

  Marvelous. Causing wonder, admiration, or astonishment—surprising, extraordinary. Yes to all of those things. And I didn’t mean just Alice, even though her birth was marvelous, in every single possible way. I meant me. It was marvelous that I had done it. I was astonished and surprised. It was extraordinary for anyone, but especially for me. Maeve Glover was not someone who could deliver a baby in a parking lot, but she’d done it anyway. I admired myself for it. I was astonished at what I could do. And I wondered what else I could do. Maybe I would always wear the heavy boots of anxiety and the prickly coat of worry, but maybe—even still—I could just be a person who belongs in the world, even if it’s hard.

  “I want to show you something.” Salix pulled off at Porteau Cove and parked the van beside the beach. “Come on.”

  I got out and stared up at the starry sky, and the glassy, calm waters. “It’s beautiful.”

  “That’s not what I wanted to show you.” She took my hand and led me to the water. “Wait here.”

  She picked up a stick and swished it through the water, and the most magical thing happened: a million filaments of light sparked up from under the surface.

  “What is that?” I trailed my hand through the streaks of light.

  “Bioluminescence.” Salix knelt beside me. She explained about the phytoplankton lighting up as the water was agitated. “Scientists don’t really know why they do it. They have some guesses. But mostly it’s a mystery.”

  “It’s amazing.”

  “I’ll show you something even more amazing.”

  “I’m not sure I can handle any more amazement today.”

  “Trust me.” She took my hand and pulled me up. She eased my shirt over my head and let it drop to the sand, and then she moved closer, her hands cupping my breasts. She circled my nipple with her tongue, and I thought I might spark into a million filaments of light too. I kissed her and put my hands under her shirt. Her skin was warm and soft, and I could hardly breathe as I tugged the shirt over her head. Without a word, the two of us stripped off the rest of our clothes until we were standing naked in the slim moonlight at the edge of the water.

  “Ten things we can see from here,” she said. “The trees and the water.”

  “The highway way up there,” I said. “Headlights passing. The train tracks.”

  “That island. A boat. The pier.” She smiled. “You.”

  I lifted her hand and kissed it. “You.”

  “That’s ten. Come on.” Salix led me in. The cold lapped my feet and I gasped, my body still hot from Salix’s touch. “Look down.” The water around our ankles glowed. “
Watch.” She took a few steps deeper, leaving a sparkling wake behind her, and then she dove in.

  She was swimming in tendrils of light. I dove in too, and swam out to her, and it never occurred to me—not once—that I’d always been too afraid to swim in the ocean before. I swished my arms and kicked, churning eddies of light all around me. Salix came up behind me and grabbed me and held me, her body pressed against mine. And then I took her hand and we slipped under the water together. I opened my eyes and saw a sea of sparkling stars, and Salix, nearly glowing. The salt stung my eyes, but I kept them open. I didn’t want to look away from all the glimmer against the black.

  I wanted to lift the threads of light out of the cold, dark water. I wanted to lock them into a tiny bottle and hold it in the palm of my hand forever. But I couldn’t, and so I held the day instead. This one day. This one shimmering day when everything changed, and everything stayed the same.

  Thank you to Christianne’s Lyceum, where my teenage beta readers critiqued an early draft with their usual thoroughness, sharp criticism, and brilliant observations. Those smarty-pants are Aliya Samad, Seemi Ghazi, Henry Richardson, Lynda Prince, Johanna Killas, Marie-France LeRoi, Jamie Fannin, Pippa Rowcliffe, Koshi Hayward, Wendy Sage-Hayward, Katianne Hayward, Brooklyn Higgs, and Darlene Higgs. A special thank-you to the leader of all smarty-pants (even if she only wears dresses), Christianne Hayward, who continues to bring up future authors and writers and thinkers at her Lyceum programs while at the same time supporting all the grown-up artists and writers and thinkers. She is the creative mother to a legion of us. Check out her magic at christiannehayward.com.

  Thank you to all the hands that passed me and my manuscript gently around until it landed with Emily Brown at Foundry, who sold the rights in such a spectacular way that a rainbow danced above my head for weeks. Thank you to the delightful Jess Regel at Foundry for all that she does for me and for the larger world of bibliophiles and the writers who enable them. I am thrilled that you are my agent, Jess. Truly.

  Thank you to Kelly Delaney at Knopf, who loved Maeve and her story so much that she wanted to bring it out into the world. And with a splash! Kelly is an ace editor who knows exactly what’s going on in the literary universe. I trust her implicitly, which is such a relief.