Somebody Like You

by Beth K. Vogt

  “Haley, I can still—”

  “No. I’ve got this.” Tears blurred her vision. Stupid contraction. “Next time I see you, I’ll introduce you to your nephew.”

  Stephen looked as if he was going to say something else, but she looked away, back at the clock. Time was up. She was going to become a mom—and she was going to face that moment without Stephen Ames.

  Without Sam.

  The reality seemed to press against her with the same force as a contraction—only if she gave in to it, she’d birth the sobs that had been building inside of her for months.

  She needed Sam here. She needed him to tease Nikki about whether she had a boyfriend. To come back into the room, after visiting the vending machine, munching on a package of Oreos and a bag of Fritos, telling her that he’d save the Three Musketeers bar for her until after the baby was born—and they’d both know he’d eat it.

  She needed Sam to tell her that she could do this.

  Stephen paced the hallway outside Haley’s birthing room. He took two steps toward the door. Stopped.

  God, this is not right.

  But there’s nothing I can do. You know I don’t belong in there with Haley—that’s Sam’s role. Not mine.

  But no woman should be alone while she has a baby. Sure, the doctor is there. The nurse. But they aren’t family—or even a friend like Claire. Will anyone remember to take pictures?

  He turned his back on the birthing room.

  If I walk through that door, God, Haley is going to rise up off the bed, grab me by the front of my shirt, and throw me back into the hallway. That would be a memorable moment.

  A nurse interrupted his conversation with God.

  “Excuse me, sir, you can’t just stand in the hallway outside the birthing room. I need you to go to the waiting room down the hall.”

  Okay. That settled it. He’d do what the nurse asked. Pray. Wait for the invitation to meet his nephew.

  That decision didn’t last long.

  What if Haley were my wife, God? What if I’d died and Sam were here, willing and able to help Haley—instead of leaving her alone during the birth of our first child?

  He’d want Sam in there.

  He’d want his brother to ignore Haley’s protests . . . ignore any I-can’t-go-in-there-because-I’m-not-married-to-this-woman protests . . . and stand beside his sister-in-law and hold her hand.

  “Being out here while she’s in there is wrong.” Stephen stood with his hand pressed against the wooden door. “Even if she kills me, I’ll die doing the right thing. And the odds of her killing me right now are low. She’s a little distracted.”

  He eased the door open a few inches.

  “. . . I can’t do this.” Haley’s voice was thin, ragged. “I can’t. I want my husband. I want Sam.”

  Her words halted Stephen’s advance.

  He wasn’t Sam.

  He stiffened his shoulders.

  But he was the next best thing.

  He shoved open the door, striding into the room, his eyes locked on Haley’s.

  “Stephen—”

  “You’re not doing this alone.” He walked forward and took her left hand, which was clenching the blanket, positioning it around his crossed fingers again. “Here. Squeeze.”

  “Get . . . out.”

  “I’m not leaving.”

  “Go—” Her voice broke.

  Nikki interrupted the verbal tug-of-war. “Mr. Ames, if she doesn’t want you here, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

  Stephen knelt beside the bed, lowering his voice. He had one chance to get this right—and only the time until the next contraction started. “I thought about Sam. What he would want me to do. He wouldn’t want you to be alone. Please, let me stay. Let me help. I’ll hold your hand. That’s all.”

  Whether she gave in because what he said swayed her or because the next contraction overtook her, Haley stopped resisting him. Her eyes filled with tears, which she blinked away. Did the woman ever cry?

  “Did I ever tell you that Sam and I were born six weeks early? That I’m older than Sam by four minutes—”

  “No labor stories . . . kind of busy with my own . . . right now . . .”

  The pressure on his fingers increased. “Got it. We’ll focus on you. Trade stories later.”

  The next hour passed much like the previous one: contraction, breathe, rest, contraction, breathe, rest. The murmur of the doctor’s voice behind him when he came in to check on Haley’s progress was mere background noise, blending with the nurse’s softer tone as she moved between Haley and the physician—asking questions, helping Haley adjust her position, encouraging her to keep her eyes open as she conquered contractions. Again. And again. And again.

  How many contractions did it take to move a baby from inside a woman to outside? What time was it? He wanted to look over his shoulder, check the clock on the wall, but he continued to keep his back to the “business end” of the bed, his eyes trained on Haley’s face. During each contraction, her gaze returned to him, a compelling glow in her blue eyes.

  When she licked her lips, he offered her the ice chips.

  “I feel like I’ve been ridden hard and put away wet.”

  He pressed a damp cloth against her forehead, thankful Nikki had suggested another way to help Haley. “You’re beautiful, Haley. You’re doing great.”

  After another exam, during which Stephen stood behind the striped privacy curtain near the door, the doctor announced, “This baby wants to be born before midnight. Thankfully, it’s tolerating labor well. I’m going to have you start pushing—but only with every other contraction—and see how it goes. Nikki will be helping you.”

  Thirty minutes later Nikki, who had stayed on past her shift, called the doctor on her cordless phone and said, “It’s only going to be a few more contractions.”

  Releasing the guardrails, Haley collapsed against the pillows, eyes closed, her mouth drawn. “One more push. I’ve got one more push in me.”

  “You can do this—however many pushes it takes.” Stephen brushed the damp hair off her forehead.

  The sound of the birthing room door swishing open and closed heralded the arrival of Dr. Campbell. “Looks like we’re going to have a baby.”

  Haley managed a weak half smile. “I’m the one having a baby.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Stephen saw the doctor roll a metal table of instruments over beside the bed and heard Nikki break down the bed to accommodate the doctor during the delivery. He refocused on Haley—that’s what he was there for. “Ready for me to count?”

  Two minutes later, Haley’s push was accented with a “Come on, come on” that ended in a drawn-out groan.

  “Okay, Haley, the baby’s head’s out.” Dr. Campbell’s voice was calm. Soothing. “Stop pushing just for a second while I suction the mouth.”

  For all the huffing and puffing he’d been doing with Haley, Stephen found it impossible to breathe.

  “One more little push, Haley.”

  Stephen and Haley exhaled at the same time, her face reddening with exertion, and then she released his hand. Waited.

  “You have a daughter, Haley.”

  Haley’s eyes flew open, and she gripped the handrails, struggling to sit up. “No. No. I have a son. The ultrasound said I was having a boy.”

  “Nooo, I’m certain I delivered a girl.” Laughter laced the doctor’s reply.

  “But the ultrasound—”

  “This is why I told you the ultrasound is just a picture of reality—not reality itself. Ultrasounds can be wrong.”

  “But I don’t do girls.” Haley fell back against the pillow.

  “You do now.”

  seventeen

  A daughter. She had a daughter.

  As the nurse covered her with a thick, warm blanket, she felt a shift in the atmosphere of the room. Heard the door open and close. Open and close. A low chorus of voices.

  But the one thing she didn’t hear was her baby’s c
ry.

  “What’s wrong?” Haley looked around the room until she found the small group of hospital personnel gathered around the baby warmer off to the left. “What’s wrong with the baby?”

  Nikki separated from the group and came over, adjusting the pillow behind Haley’s head, her eyes kind. “Your daughter is having some difficulty breathing. You remember what we talked about earlier today—how preemies can have issues that need extra care. We’re giving her some oxygen before we take her to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit. That’s the NICU.”

  “Is she going to be all right?” Stephen, who still stood beside her, asked the question forming in Haley’s mind.

  “The neonatal nurse-practitioner will do a thorough exam.” The nurse’s voice was soft. “Let me bring your daughter over so you can say hello to her for a moment.”

  The sound of a weak cry pulled Haley’s attention back across the room. “That’s her—that’s a good thing, right?”

  “Yes—but she still needs extra help. Let me see if she’s ready to meet you.”

  Within seconds, Nikki settled her daughter in Haley’s arms, wrapped within two layers of warm baby blankets, so that Haley could only see her face.

  She touched the edge of the blankets. “Can I look at her?”

  The NICU nurse, who’d introduced herself earlier, touched Haley’s hand. “We have to keep her wrapped up because she’ll have trouble keeping herself warm.”

  Haley didn’t dare touch the thin, clear plastic tube that encircled both of her daughter’s cheeks and ended with small prongs that were inserted in her nostrils.

  “That’s a nasal cannula. We’re giving her oxygen.”

  “She’s so tiny . . . and I haven’t counted her fingers and toes yet.”

  “Ten fingers. Ten toes.” The nurse pulled back a corner of the blanket, exposing a tiny hand for a too-brief second. “I counted for you.”

  Haley pressed a kiss on the baby’s forehead, inhaling the warm newborn scent of her daughter. “You were supposed to be a boy. Clint Barton. I don’t have a name for you.”

  “There’s time for that.” Stephen’s words didn’t pull Haley’s attention away from her daughter.

  “We’ll be taking this little one to the NICU now. No need to worry. You can come check in on her once you’re recovered from delivery.” She nodded toward Stephen. “Dad, you can go with us, if you’d like.”

  Stephen stilled beside her. Was this the time to go into the “He’s not my husband” routine? There were more important things than correcting yet another person who was jumping to conclusions.

  “Stephen.” Haley reached up and grabbed his forearm. “I need you to go and be with her. I don’t want her to be alone.”

  “Of course I’ll go. You relax—well, do whatever the doctor and nurses tell you to do—and I’ll keep you posted.”

  “Don’t leave her. I’ll get there as soon as I can. Just stay with her. Please.”

  Stephen wanted to turn around, go back, and hold Haley’s hand. To assure her everything would be okay—that her daughter would be fine. But he also knew he had to keep walking to the NICU because Haley had asked him to stay with the baby. And that’s what he’d do.

  He followed behind the nurse and the woman who identified herself as the neonatal nurse-practitioner, trying to discern their quiet murmurings, his eyes trained on the Isolette, which reminded him of a space capsule. The tiny form that was his niece lay on her back, bundled in blankets to keep warm, her face obscured by the oxygen tubing, a thin cord protruding down by her feet indicating the compact oxygen monitor attached to one of her toes.

  When they came to a set of windowless double doors, the nurse used her ID card to gain access to the NICU. They rolled the Isolette down the carpeted hall lined with small rooms housing warmers with monitoring equipment mounted on the walls—most of which were occupied by small babies. The adults who weren’t wearing scrubs Stephen assumed were family members. Another nurse greeted them and led them to the “pod,” where Haley’s baby would be cared for—a ten-by-ten-foot room with a window for observation from the nurse’s desk, a rocking chair, and the required monitors.

  Stephen watched as they transferred his niece to a bed with bright lights above it. As one of the nurses came near, he saw his opportunity.

  “So what do I do? Stay out of the way?”

  The woman offered a gentle smile and motioned him forward. “No—if there’s a hand or a foot that we’re not using, go ahead and touch her. Talk to her. It will help calm her. We think it even decreases a baby’s perception of pain.”

  He could touch this minutes-old miracle?

  The nurse continued to talk. “We’re going to get some preliminary labs and eventually do a chest X-ray. Even though she may just have premature lungs, we always have to rule out infection or other potential causes of her breathing problems, especially since she was preterm.”

  “Why would being preterm indicate a possible infection?” He’d just ask questions until he was brave enough to touch the baby.

  “Well, premature labor happens for a reason—often some type of infection, even if the mom doesn’t show any symptoms like fever.” As she spoke, the baby was being weighed and measured. “We can treat infection, so until the cultures we draw are negative, she’ll be on IV antibiotics.”

  Stephen eased himself closer to Haley’s daughter. Sam’s daughter. He was here because they couldn’t be . . . yet. He wanted her to know she wasn’t alone.

  The nurse leaned close. “Don’t forget to wash your hands.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  After scrubbing his skin pink, Stephen stood beside the Isolette again. He held his breath as he rested his pinky on her oh-so-tiny palm . . . exhaling as her fingers curled around his finger in a stronger grip than he’d imagined.

  She was a fighter, like her mother.

  Everything, everyone around him faded into the background as he bent over the Isolette, modulating his voice to a whisper. “Hey, sweetheart. Welcome to the world. You arrived a little sooner than we expected—but we sure are glad you’re here. Your mom’s getting cleaned up from a busy day and your daddy . . .” Stephen stopped. Swallowed. Waited until he could speak again. “Your daddy’s watching you from heaven. Just think of that—you’ve got someone watching over you all the time. I’m your uncle Stephen, and if it’s okay with you, I’m going to be hanging around a lot now that you’re here.”

  He watched as her eyelids opened once, twice . . . his niece had his brother’s rich brown eyes. Haley would look at her daughter and see her husband.

  eighteen

  She couldn’t put her daughter in the pale blue sleeper adorned with whimsical monkeys, no matter how adorable it was. She’d be swimming in it.

  Haley sat in the hospital bed, the blanket drawn up around her, the newborn outfit spread out on her lap. She touched the soft material, shaking her head, a soft sigh disturbing the silence of her room.

  “I have a daughter.” She folded the garment’s arms. “A daughter—and nothing for her to wear.”

  She wasn’t even sure when they’d release the baby to go home. And even more important than clothes, her baby needed a name. She couldn’t keep saying and thinking “my daughter” and “the baby.”

  At the sound of a soft knock on her door, Haley expected yet another visit from a medical tech to check her vitals. But Stephen stepped into the room. “You’re supposed to be with her.”

  “I know.” He pulled a chair up beside the bed. “They’re doing a chest X-ray, and I had to leave the room anyway, so I came see how you’re doing. And bring you this.”

  Haley watched him pull the camera from his coat pocket, followed by an Almond Joy candy bar. “I forgot about the camera.”

  “I figured as much. I also thought you might be hungry.”

  “They brought me dinner—wait.” Haley accepted the chocolate, unwrapped it, and took a bite. Chocolate and coconut. Oh, this was the perfect after-labor treat. “Have
you had anything to eat?”

  “I made a quick run to the cafeteria before it closed.” He settled into the chair, running his fingers through his hair, disheveling the long ends. “And then I double-timed it back here.”

  “Thank you for staying with her, Stephen.”

  “No place on earth I’d rather be.”

  Haley ignored how his words warmed her, focusing on the camera instead. She pressed the button so that images from earlier today flashed onto the screen: she saw herself sitting in bed, giving a thumbs-up; a view of the heart monitor strip; one of her holding Stephen’s hands, her face marred by a grimace.

  “Oh, that’s lovely. Not one of my best moments.”

  Echoes of his “You’re beautiful” whispered in her mind.

  “We can delete it.”

  “No, no. I can always use it later—show her the pain I went through to birth her when she’s giving me a rough time during the teen years.”

  “Very wise. See, you’re getting the hang of this mothering business already.”

  She didn’t respond to Stephen’s teasing, as her attention was centered on the next photo, of Dr. Campbell holding a newborn baby. Her baby. Her daughter.

  “Wait—you were facing me and the wall the entire time. How’d you get this photo?”

  “I didn’t take that. Nikki and I got pretty good at passing off the camera. You were too preoccupied to notice.”

  There were several photos of the baby in the warmer and then one of her wrapped in a blanket, snuggled close against Haley’s chest.

  “I barely got to hold her before they took her to the NICU.” She touched the photo with her forefinger, closed her eyes, and inhaled, as if she could recapture the warm scent of her daughter when she’d pressed her lips to her soft forehead. “She’s so tiny. I don’t even know how much she weighs.”

  “A whopping four pounds, five ounces.”

  “I’ve handled guns heavier than that.”