The Next Little Thing: A Jackson Falls Mini

by Laurie Breton

  But her favorite feature, by far, was the old-fashioned pantry, like the one in Grandma Bradley's house when Casey was a little girl. She'd insisted on it, and Rob had indulged her because he loved her, and because he'd built this house for her, as a symbol of that love. He would have given her the moon if she'd asked for it, so a pantry wasn't exactly a deal-breaker.

  Casey opened the pantry door. Jeweled sunlight spilled onto the floor from the oval stained-glass window on the end wall as she stood admiring all those freshly-varnished empty shelves that she would fill with dry goods and canned food and her mother's best china.

  She was turning back to the kitchen, intending to close the door behind her, when she felt an odd little twinge, deep in her pelvis. Then warm liquid began to trickle from between her legs. For a single, crazy instant, she thought she'd lost control of her bladder. Until the trickle became a stream, saturating her jeans and puddling on the brand-new floor tiles beneath her feet.

  "Rob," she said.

  In the living room, the two men continued their conversation. "Rob!" she said, more loudly, the word bouncing off the kitchen's hard surfaces.

  He must have heard something in her voice, because suddenly he was standing beside her, his face taut with concern. "Babe?" he said.

  She looked at him, looked down at the floor, then back at him. And said, "My water just broke."

  * * *

  Her feet were freezing.

  Even through the thick wool socks she'd packed in her labor kit and left in the car two weeks ago, her feet felt like matching blocks of ice. The birthing room was downright frigid, presumably for the comfort of the laboring mother-to-be. Comfort was a vague and loosely defined word, and her body had betrayed her. From the pelvis up, she was sweaty and sticky, her hair a wild tangle, her mouth parched and dry. South of the birthing zone, her legs and feet were weak and shaky and cold.

  As soon as her water broke, labor had commenced with all the grace and subtlety of a wild stallion racing madly toward a burning barn. She hadn't remembered it like this. With her first baby, she'd had more than enough time to drive herself to the hospital, where she'd then spent a long twelve hours dilating and effacing. Maybe her memory was shaky. After all, it had been eleven years since the last time she gave birth. Maybe her sisters-in-law, Trish and Rose, were right when they said that no two birthing experiences were the same. Or maybe, just maybe, at thirty-six, she was getting a little long in the tooth for this kind of activity. Whatever the reason, none of this felt familiar. Not the sweating or the freezing; not the white-hot pain that sliced through her midsection like the dull blade of a knife; not the sheer brutality of childbirth.

  She supposed her memory block was universal: Women forgot the pain the instant that squalling, squirming, red-faced lump of humanity was placed in their arms. A woman's instantaneous and all-encompassing motherlove was nature's amnesia, designed to ensure the continuation of the species. If women remembered the pain, they would never open their legs to another man, and the human race would face certain extinction.

  But she was being reminded now, in vivid, breathing Technicolor, unsoothed by the mauve walls of the birthing room, the dim lighting, or the soft cooing of Smokey Robinson in the background. "This is all your fault!" she snapped. "You did this to me!"

  At her side, Rob dipped a facecloth into the bowl of water on the bed stand, wrung it out, and applied its cool comfort to her flushed face. Dabbing gently, he said, "I know, babe. It's all my fault. I take full responsibility."

  "You men have to get your damn jollies, and we women end up paying the price!"

  He drew the cool cloth along her forehead. It felt wonderful. "Poor baby," he murmured. "I'm a barbarian, and you clearly never enjoyed a minute of it."

  "Oh, shut up."

  "More ice?"

  "Yes. Please." She could feel another contraction coming on. Oh, God. She couldn't take much more of this. If the pain didn't stop soon, she would leave the bed, find a scalpel somewhere, and cut this baby out of her. What had she been thinking, having a baby at thirty-six? She'd surely lost her mind.

  Attuned to her as always, Rob recognized the building contraction. Setting down the spoonful of ice, he took her hands in his. She squeezed them so hard his fingers, normally a nice, healthy shade of pink, went bone-white. "I can't do this," she said. "I'm too tired. I can't do this any more."

  "Look at me, babe. Focus on me. Breathe."

  "I can't!"

  "Yes, you can. I've seen you survive things that would've killed most people. You're the strongest person I know. You can do this."

  She concentrated on his face, on the warmth in those green eyes, the strength of his hands in hers. He was her rock, her true north, the love of her life. She'd loved him since she was eighteen years old, and he'd always kept her upright and breathing during her moments of triumph, of pain, of despair. Rob MacKenzie was the one solid thing in her entire adult life, the other half of her, and she loved him with a depth and a passion she'd never felt for another human being.

  "I hate you," she said. "I hate you with every chromosome in my body."

  A lesser man might have been shredded by her words, but he knew her too well to feel threatened. Besides, he'd gone through the same birthing classes she had. He knew about transition. "I know you do," he said. "Breathe anyway."

  She'd tried to warn him, weeks ago. She might have forgotten the pain of childbirth, but she hadn't forgotten her Jekyll and Hyde transformation, hadn't forgotten that when she'd given birth the first time, she'd turned into a raging monster, viciously cussing out half the hospital staff before Katie finally made her appearance. When she'd warned him that this could happen again, and that he, by virtue of being the one who'd impregnated her, would probably be the target, he'd laughed at her. "I think I can handle it," he'd said. "Besides, you're not flying solo this time around. I'll be right there by your side through it all. It won't be so hard on you with me there."

  Men were so gullible. They actually believed the baloney they were spoon fed in childbirth classes.

  The contraction eased, followed almost immediately by another. She gasped. Through tears, she said, "Goddamn it all to hell!" And crushed his fingers again.

  Hunching closer, he gently brushed the damp hair back from her forehead and said, "You need to relax. Just like they taught us in Lamaze class. Just breathe and relax. It'll make this all a lot easier."

  "You can stuff your relax right up your—oh, my God, Flash, I don't think I can take this pain any longer!"

  "Isn't there anything you can give her?" Rob asked the nurse. "The pains are almost on top of each other."

  "Too late now," the nurse said cheerfully. "Things are moving right along. It's a hard labor, but it'll be a short one."

  "Wow, Florence Nightingale, that's a genuine comfort."

  "It is what it is. Your wife will be fine. Women go through this every day."

  "Not my woman!"

  Casey squeezed his hands and huffed, "I take back…what I said…about you. I don't hate you…after all."

  He pried a hand free, wet the washcloth, and applied its cool comfort to her face. "Did you hear what Nurse Ratched said, babe? It's almost over. We're almost there."

  "Maybe you should just leave," she said. "After this little episode…there'll be no mystery left…in our relationship. You'll never think of me…the same way."

  "Jesus, Mary and Joseph. I've loved you for two decades, Fiore. Do you really think a few body fluids will scare me off?"

  His words brought tears to her eyes, touched her so deeply, so sweetly, that it took her by surprise, the sudden, overwhelming urge to push. She crunched the slender bones of his hand again. "Rob?" she said. "The baby's coming. It's time to push."

  "Not yet," the nurse said. "First we need to do another little pelvic exam and see where we're at."

  The nurse waited until the contraction was over. Then, while Casey huffed and strained and struggled to hold back a baby who clearly wanted out, t
he woman stuck a confident and competent hand up inside her and felt around. For an instant, Casey was taken back to her days as a farm kid, seeing her father with his arm buried to the hilt inside a cow's lady parts, all in the name of artificial insemination. She pondered whether that was how they did it with human females, and began to giggle uncontrollably.

  "What?" Rob said, looking mystified.

  She shook her head, unable to answer. He wouldn't fully appreciate the joke, anyway. He was a city boy. One who, at the moment, looked tired and disheveled and overwhelmed. "I'm sorry," she said. "I know how hard this is on you."

  "We haven't lost a father yet," the nurse said briskly, lowering Casey's hospital gown back into place, giving the illusion of privacy, when everybody on the planet knew that once you'd delivered your first baby, all modesty was lost forever. "You're at ten centimeters, chickie. Time to get this party started."

  Now, things began moving quickly. A half-dozen nurses gathered around as Dr. Levasseur strode in, gloved and gowned. She said, "Why don't you scoot up on the bed, Dad, so you can support your wife's back while she pushes?"

  Perched behind Casey, Rob brushed back her hair, rested his hands on her shoulders, and leaned close enough so she could feel his warm breath on her cheek. "Love you," he said fiercely.

  "Love you, too." Casey clutched his hand as she felt the next contraction coming. She stiffened for an instant, then reminded herself to relax, and leaned back against her husband. "Okay," Deb Levasseur said. "I'm going to count one, two, three, and then I want you to push as hard as you can. Ready?"

  She nodded her readiness.

  "One. Two. Three. Push!"

  With Rob supporting her back, she pushed, focused on the white-hot pain and the reward at the end of it. Hushed voices floated, surreal, from just beyond her peripheral vision, the nurses chit-chatting as they witnessed the ever-wondrous miracle of birth. Time ceased to have any meaning, and there was nothing but the pain, and the effort, and the solid comfort of her husband, bracing her with strong hands and quiet strength.

  "Take a break," the doctor said, and she fell back limply into Rob's arms.

  "You're doing great," he said near her ear. "I'm so proud of you."

  She reached up a hand, touched his face, felt another contraction coming on. "Here comes the next one," Deb said, eyes trained on the fetal monitor. "Son of a gun, we're racing right along here. Ready, kids?"

  With the end in sight, Casey knew without question that she could scale mountains if that was what it took. "Ready," she said with quiet determination. Leaning back into Rob, she took a deep, hard breath. Waited for Deb's "One, two, three," and pushed with every ounce of strength in her.

  "Good!" Deb said. "The baby's crowning. We're almost there. Keep pushing. Keep pushing! Okay, let's take another break. Dad, are you ready?"

  They'd talked endlessly about how to make this birthing experience unique, how to make it reflect who they were as a couple and who they would be as a family. They'd discussed their ideas with Doctor Deb, who wholeheartedly approved. In addition to playing Smokey, they had agreed that Rob would assist with the delivery and would be the first person to hold their child. It was a little unconventional, but their relationship had never run on a conventional track, and that all-important initial bonding with the baby drove their priorities. Besides, Rob had missed all this with Paige. Who knew if she would be able to conceive again? This might be his only chance to experience childbirth.

  Rob looked at her questioningly. Casey found his hand, squeezed it. "Go," she said.

  He went. Stood, transfixed, while Deb said to him, "There you go, hon. That's your baby. Look at that head of hair."

  He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He met Casey's eyes, and she smiled at him as the next contraction began to build, watched his eyes change upon recognition of the pain in hers.

  "Okay," Deb said. "On the count of three, I want a big, big push. The biggest push you can do. One. Two. Three. Push!"

  She pushed, tried to use her breathing to help her drive past the pain. She'd never exerted this hard, so hard she feared she might pop a blood vessel. Beside her, one of the nurses spoke soft words of encouragement while Deb said, "Good girl, good girl, you're doing great, keep pushing, keep pushing, keep—there you go, the head's out. You ready, Dad? Sit right here, hon. Casey, I want you to take a deep breath and then one more push."

  Her hand squeezed tightly with that of the nurse at her side, Casey took a deep, cleansing breath, gathered her forces, and gave a final, hard push. With an abrupt, squishy plop, the baby slid out of her and into her husband's outstretched hands.

  The pain was instantly forgotten as she watched him, the person she loved most in all the world, hold the baby they'd made together. His face a study in wonderment, Rob cradled the infant to his chest while the doctor and the nurses bustled around the room, taking care of business. "It's a girl," he said, and met Casey's eyes. His were suspiciously bright. "Emma Danielle MacKenzie. She's beautiful, babe. Ten fingers and ten toes, and everything where it belongs."

  "I told you, didn't I? A long time ago."

  "Yeah. You did." For an extended, somber moment, they held a private conversation with their eyes, and then he looked back at the baby. "Hi, precious," he said tenderly. "I'm your dad."

  The baby let out a lusty squall, and he gave Casey a huge grin. "Oh, yeah," he said. "She's a MacKenzie, all right."

  The cord was clamped and cut, and a nurse whisked baby Emma away while Deb delivered the afterbirth. Rob perched on a stool beside Casey, took her hand in his, brought it to his mouth and kissed the palm. She caressed his cheek, ran her hand around to the back of his neck, threaded fingers through his hair. "Hey," she said softly.

  "Hey, yourself. You okay?"

  "Utterly exhausted, and utterly happy. What time is it?"

  "About three-thirty. I can't believe how fast that went."

  "Like a racing locomotive. Emma was in a hurry to get here."

  "Once she finally made up her mind. You're cold, sweetheart. You have goose bumps on top of goose bumps."

  "A little," she admitted. "I'm mostly tired."

  "Hey, can we get a blanket over here? She's freezing."

  A nurse brought a soft blanket, and he tucked it around her. "That better?"

  "Immeasurably. How are you holding out?"

  "After what you just went through, you're worried about me?"

  "I've been through this before. It's your first time. Although I have to admit that my first time was nothing like this."

  He took her hand in his. "That first time? I would've been there for you if you'd called."

  "I know. But it wasn't your place then. It is now."

  He drew the stool closer and lay his head on her chest. Arms cradling him, fingers playing idly in his hair, she studied his eyes somberly, those green eyes she knew so well, just inches from hers. Somewhere in the distance, Emma was squalling furiously. "She has quite a set of lungs on her," he said, "our daughter."

  "Yes," she said, drawing a fingertip down the bridge of his nose. "She does. Maybe she'll grow up to be a singer, like her big sister."

  "Maybe."

  "Are you planning to tell her she was born to the sound of Smokey Robinson?"

  "Every chance I get."

  Their eyes studied each other in perfect understanding. No words were necessary. They knew each other so well, they could hold entire conversations without speaking a word.

  The nurse returned with Emma, clean and wrapped in a soft blanket. "Five pounds, eight ounces," she said. "Nineteen inches tall. Great color, great lung capacity. She's tiny, but fit as a fiddle."

  Rob straightened and took the baby, cradled her to his chest, spoke hushed words of love as their daughter stared at him in wide-eyed, newborn amazement. Then he leaned over the bed and carefully placed the baby in Casey's arms. "Mrs. MacKenzie," he said, "I'd like you to meet your daughter."

  Looking into her daughter's face for the first t
ime, she was overwhelmed with emotion. It seemed she'd been waiting for this day forever, this bittersweet moment that inevitably took her back to the first time she'd held Katie, the joy she'd felt on that day. And the horrible, mind-numbing grief she'd felt when Katie died.

  The sweetness of love. The poignancy of loss.

  But she wouldn't let that lingering sadness overshadow today's joy. Emma was her own person, and deserved her mother's undivided love and attention. "Hello, sweet baby," she said, planting a string of soft kisses on her daughter's velvety cheek.

  Emma wrapped tiny fingers directly around her mother's heart as she studied Casey's face with somber eyes that were a dark shade of blue. Eventually, they would turn green. All nine of the MacKenzie siblings had green eyes, and so did most of their children. Casey, herself, had green eyes. She didn't understand the genetics, but she was pretty certain that two green-eyed people would have green-eyed children.

  She studied the shape of Emma's eyes, the delicate arch of her brow, so like her own. Yet there was a great deal of Rob in that face, as well. "She looks like both of us."

  He leaned closer. "You think?"

  "I think. We do good work, MacKenzie. She's gorgeous."

  "She must've taken that from you, because it sure as hell didn't come from me."

  "Actually," she said, without missing a beat, "it came from the mailman."

  He arched a brow. "The mailman? Really."

  "I was planning to tell you, but I just couldn't find the right words to crush all your hopes and dreams."

  "I thought Ethel Hawkins was our mailman…mailwoman…um, mail delivery person."