by Mimi Barbour
Pedro, the child, was sobbing heartbrokenly as he knelt beside his mother, who lay on the floor in a pool of water. Liam ran towards them to check the woman and soothe the boy. “What happened, Pedro?” His rough voice seemed to shock the boy out of his hysterics, and with a glad cry he flung himself at Liam. “Mi mamá is dying. Help her, señor, please.”
A soft pleading came from the pregnant woman who had arched her body, contorting it this way and that. “Sir, the baby is coming. You must call my midwife.”
The pain seemed to intensify, as if it intended to break up her insides. She writhed in agony, biting her lips bloody to stop the screams. Once the contraction had passed, she whispered to Liam, “Take him away from this. He mustn’t see.”
“What is going on here?” A very angry dude dressed in working-man’s clothes and big boots stood in the doorway, rooted to the spot. “Isobella!” Once he’d taken in the details, he dropped his lunchbox and rushed to kneel next to Liam. “Papá,” Pedro reached for his father, leaving Liam’s arms without a moment’s hesitation. “Help mamá. She is sick.”
“I’m calling an ambulance.” Liam whipped out his cell phone and would have dialed 911 if the other fellow hadn’t ripped it from his hands and flung it across the room.
“No ambulance. Her midwife. I’ll call.” Settling the boy on his hip, he rose then rushed to the telephone table by the wall, where a small book lay open.
Liam watched as he dialed the number, and when he felt a trembling hand clutch his, he encircled her fingers reassuringly. “Don’t worry, honey. We’ll get you some help.” A glance told him the woman worked miracles to keep the shrieks from breaking loose. Her lips were torn and raw while tears poured from her eyes nonstop. First he patted her shoulder. Then he cleared the damp mass of wild curls away from her face.
Behind him, Liam heard the Spanish torrent of pleas, and because he was multi-lingual in four different languages, Spanish being his best, he knew immediately from the one-sided conversation that the midwife couldn’t be reached. Son of a bitch! He had no idea how to birth a baby, and he wasn’t sure her husband did, either. He’d seen the look of horror and fear on the other man’s face.
“Look Mr. Ruiz, this is an emergency. Your wife needs a doctor, and I have no idea of how to help her. Do you?”
“Yes. I can look after her if you’ll help. There’s no time to argue. The baby will come quickly if she has the same delivery as she did with Pedro. Go to the kitchen, boil the kettle, and take the boy with you.” Saying this, he forcefully held out the boy, who’d been twisted around him like ivy growing on the north side of a building. “Bring the clean towels from the drawer. Pedro, you show the hombre where mamá keeps them.” Ruiz ran to kneel beside his woman and began to position pillows under her back from the nearby sofa.
Shocked to his core, Liam felt as if a brick had been slammed into his face. The guy couldn’t be serious. “Hey, bud. She needs a doctor.”
“No, she needs help. Now go!” Ruiz pointed to a doorway, then began loosening her clothing and removing her pants. When he realized that Liam stood glued to the spot, he yelled again, louder and made a move, as if to threaten. “Go!” This time the man bellowed and Liam felt an unknown force push him forward.
Liam went.
Being separated from both his parents, the boy screamed with ferocity, the decibels rising. Oh god, where the hell was the angel when he needed him? He’d rather face a battalion of rioting enemy soldiers than deal with a hysterical brat.
“Shush, big guy. We need to help your mom now, okay?” Once in the kitchen, he lowered the boy and knelt in front of him. The wet cheeks and big terrified eyes got to him, and he swiped gently at the tears and gave a quick reassuring hug. “Your dad gave us a job to do, so we need to follow orders. You go get me the towels your papa wants, and I’ll fill the kettle.”
Giving the boy a little push to start him off, he quickly ran to the stove, turned it on high, and grabbed the kettle. He let the hot water run until it steamed, filled the thing, and placed it on the red burner.
Spying the washroom, he flew in and checked out the medicine cabinet. Happier than a pig in shit, he found what he wanted, a big bottle of hydrogen peroxide. It stopped infection. He knew it worked. During his childhood, when he’d collected the cuts and scrapes of an active child, his father had used this as an effective treatment.
His dad! Funny how the thought popped into his head just then, as if he needed to think of things like that now. But the truth was it had always been his father who’d kept his head in moments of stress. Unlike his mother, who’d normally screech for her husband.
“Señor. Here are the towels.” The little guy held so many in his chubby arms that they trailed on the floor behind him and the weight almost toppled him over.
“Good boy.” Liam lifted them from him. “Now you go in the kitchen, watch the kettle, and yell when it’s boiling, okay? And don’t touch anything.” Liam remembered to add that last bit. Who knew what went through a child’s mind when he wanted to help.
Pedro nodded and ran over to stand guard in front of the stove.
Liam hightailed it back into the living room and saw that Ruiz had gotten his wife undressed and covered with a blanket. He was crouched down between her knees.
As soon as he heard Liam, he looked up, his expression calm while his eyes screamed “Help!”
“I found the disinfectant; you should clean your hands.” Liam flung the towels down next the man and steered clear of the working area.
“Where is Pedro?”
“I have him watching the kettle; he’ll call when it’s boiling.”
Grunts and whimpers broke loose as Isobela’s body reacted to another contraction. Liam could feel the pain rippling through his own in sympathy. He tightened his muscles and his butt cheeks clenched.
The wild-eyed glance from Ruiz scared the daylights out of him. “You know what to do, right?”
“Yeah! Yeah! I need scissors. We need them to cut the cord. They should be in the kitchen drawer. And a big pot, from the cupboard under the sink.”
Isobela’s cracked lips opened, and her tired voice stuttered. “The suitcase—baby clothes—hallway.”
“Papá, the water is ready.” Pedro rocked back and forth in the doorway, his legs scissored.
“Good, mi hijo. Now go to the toilet like a big boy.” His telling glance at Liam pleaded.
“Come, Pedro, I’ll help you. You have to show me where your mom keeps her scissors. He took the boy’s extended hand and led him to the bathroom, where the boy fetched a stepping platform, stood on it, and pulled down his pants.
“You okay, big guy?” Liam waited for Pedro’s nod, fondled his hair, and then backed away. I need to get the water.” He rushed to the kitchen and fetched the big pot, pouring it half full of boiling water. Finding the scissors, he threw them into the water to soak and hefted the pot with the handle to carry to where Isobel’s nightmare progressed. In the hallway, her suitcase leaned against the wall, and he grabbed that also.
“I’m boiling the scissors, but they’ll still need to be washed with the peroxide.”
“Good idea. The baby’s coming, I can see the head. Help Isobela. She needs to lean against you now.”
“Who, me?”
“Do it!”
Liam settled behind the exhausted woman and lifted her shoulders gently so they rested back against his chest. He grabbed a towel, leaned over her to wipe the sweat from her face, and asked soothingly. “Comfy?”
“Yes-s, gracias.” She let her body weight fall back trustingly.
Liam noticed the painfully dry edges on each side of her mouth. He scanned the room and sure enough, there was Pedro crouched under a wooden chair, watching. “Hey, kiddo, can you get your mom some ice from the freezer?”
The boy nodded and jumped up to disappear.
And at that moment, Liam watched as Isobela’s stomach rippled and her legs splayed. After a moment, she balanced her heels on the
floor, reached for his hand, and using it as a counterweight, the little warrior began to push. He felt as if she’d be ripping his arms from their sockets before she stopped. And no sooner did he get to rest for a moment but she started again, this time almost in a sitting position.
“Perfecto, mi amor.” Ruiz’s face, sweaty as his wife’s, beamed for a moment from above the blanket. Then his head disappeared once again. His voice came muffled but understandable “The baby comes soon. Push once more.”
“Ahhhh!!” The scream tore from her before she scrunched her face for the final grunting thrust.
Liam heard Ruiz’s gasp of joy and felt intoxicated himself from the swell of relief. The baby’s cry sounded loud and annoyed.
“Una bebé niña! Una niña Hermosa! Beautiful! She’s beautiful.” The proud father cried the words, taking sobbing breaths between each phrase, tears cascading down unshaven cheeks. He wrapped a towel around the infant and laid her over his lap.
Isobela fell back against Liam and sighed deeply, her hand wiping her face before reaching for the babe. “Darla a mi.”
Liam felt his own body sobbing inside and tried desperately to stop the tears that wanted to fall. He shared a moment with the proud mother that would be etched forever in his memory, and then propped her with the pillows. On his knees he crawled to where Ruiz had collapsed, seemingly useless now that the worst of the trauma had passed. Not thinking, he reached in the water for the scissors.
“Son of a bit… god, that’s hot!” Just in time he spied the boy crawling to his mother, holding out a prized piece of ice. He hefted the pot in his hands and returned to the kitchen to pour out the water so they could retrieve the tool they needed. And then he hurried back to Ruiz, who waited with the hydrogen peroxide. Once they’d soaked the scissors long enough to be sure, the two looked at each other and hesitated.
Liam spoke first. “I’ll hold it and you cut.”
“We need string. We need to tie it.” The man looked around as if he’d never seen the house before.
It was Isobela who chimed in and made sense. “The telephone table.” She pointed, and Liam cautiously handed the slimy grayish umbilical cord back to Ruiz. He’d disarm a live bomb any day over this ordeal. He scuttled to the table and back, string clutched in his sore hands. In moments the deed was done and the noisy infant lay cuddled in her mother’s arms.
“Chico,” said Ruiz, dragging his son’s rapt attention from his new baby sister. “Go and get two beers from the fridge for me and mi amigo, por favor.”
His raised eyebrow asked and Liam’s nod answered. The two men, shoulders slumped, drew deep breaths while their eyes stayed glued to the charming performance of a mother meeting her daughter for the first time.
Just then, the outside door was flung open and a middle-aged woman dashed into the house, only to stop dead at the sight of her patient holding the newborn. At a glance, she seemed to know what to do and quickly took control, pushing her way between the men and taking charge. With a very few terse questions, she deemed everything to be in order.
Liam backed away and watched as Ruiz scooped wife and baby into his arms and hugged them both so tenderly that Liam once again had to bite down hard.
Since both he and the boy were superfluous, Liam led him into the kitchen, to the table, and sat him on top. After he shut the open freezer door, he looked to see if there was anything in the fridge for the boy to drink while he sucked up his beer in three swallows. “Want some Coke?” He’d seen a can on the door.
“Mi mamá says no pop—only milk and juice. I have a new sister?”
“Yes, and she’s beautiful.” He took the apple juice carton and snagged a glass to fill halfway. Once the boy held it, Liam clinked his bottle against it in a toast and said, “Here’s to the new princess Ruiz.”
Obviously loving the attention, Pedro giggled. “She’s all red.”
“Uh-huh!”
“And wrinkly.”
“Yep.”
“And she screams really loud.”
“Oh, yeah!”
“Do we have to keep her?”
Maybe he shouldn’t have laughed, but nothing in the world could have stopped the waves from bursting loose. He picked the boy up in his arms, and all the while he hugged, he swung him around in a circle, loving the happy squeals. “She’ll be your best friend one day, little guy. You’d better take care of her.”
“Okay, okay-y!”
The door opened and Ruiz slowly stepped into the room, his shoulders slumped like those of a beaten man. It reminded Liam a little of someone else he’d seen recently.
Ruiz plucked his son from Liam’s arms, hugged him for a second, and then lowered him. “Tu mamá wants you, mi hijo.”
Once the door closed and the two men had nowhere else to look, Ruiz turned to Liam and held out his hand. Liam slapped it away and shoved his face right up close to the other man.
Chapter Ten
“What the hell is wrong with you? What if something had happened, if the baby hadn’t come properly or… or something? She could have died in the hands of two bloody incompetent idiots who had no reason to take chances with her life. You’re a fool! Why the hell wouldn’t you let me call the ambulance?” Liam lowered his voice for the last part when he’d noticed Ruiz’s warning glance aimed toward the other room.
“Easy for you to say, Señor. I no have health insurance. I am here illegally. What do you know? You think the doctors would have treated her?” Veins stood out on his forehead, and his bloodshot eyes pierced Liam’s conscience. “Why do you think we hired a midwife?”
With both hands held in front, Liam took a step back and calmed down. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I would have paid for her treatment in a second.”
“But I have no money to pay you back. I work long hard hours and get paid nada.” Ruiz’s fingers rubbed together, his expression disgusted. “Gringos like to take advantage of a man who can’t fight back.”
“Not all gringos. What kind of work do you do?”
“Anything! Dig ditches, clean sewers, work in a kitchen, whatever I can find. But the pay is bad, if I even get paid. My big-shot boss stiffed me today and… Look, I’m not complaining. We’re here in America, safe from the drug cartel on the streets of Ciudad Juarez. So no matter what happens, we are better off.”
“You’re mixed up in the drug trade back home.” Liam couldn’t help the disgust evident in his words.
“No! Never! They forced Isobela’s father to work for them, and then they killed him. The escoria… how you say…?”
“… scum.”
“Si! They think Isobela witnessed this-this atrocidad—”
“Atrocity?”
“Si! And they want to kill her so she can’t testify. But she saw nothing. We fled with only the clothes we wore.”
Liam could see the man was done. He looked so tired that he reminded him of soldiers coming off days of advanced training, exhausted and beaten.
“I’ll leave you to your family now, but I’d like to come back and talk to you again, if I may? I might have a job for you, one that will pay proper wages for the hours you work.”
Hope lit the man’s eyes. A little light that started small, then flared and grew as he stared at Liam and looked into his soul.
“You are the man in this morning’s accident, si?”
“Si!”
“Then I owe you twice. You have managed to save both my children today.”
“No. You have it wrong. You saved your daughter, and Miss Bertolli saved your son. Twice I’ve managed to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Chapter Eleven
By early Sunday, Sadie’s patience had vanished. She had to get out of the loony bin. Of course, before Bea would let her leave, she made her call Greta to be sure she’d be there. In case Sadie got into trouble. What the heck kind of trouble did she think she’d get into?
Thank heavens Greta had answered and agreed to stay home. And they still balked. Finall
y, she sweet-talked them with promises. Like spending the next weekend together at their beach house for a pajama party. They’d watch chick flicks and eat junk food. It didn’t seem too dreadful to her right now, but she knew when the time came that would change. It was their idea of a good time. And her idea of a nightmare.
But right now, she’d do anything to get away from their constant singing, their mind-numbing cheeriness, and their maddening references to her new boyfriend, spoken with tongue in cheek, of course. Any chance to tease, they took.
Right from the beginning, their sickeningly sweet tones had warned her of just how much they’d taken to Liam. If that wasn’t enough, the proof became very clear in the way they’d opened up to him while he’d been their guest. They talked to him about business, things that would normally only be shared between the family. They’d lit up when he praised their food. In fact, you’d think the player had never had a well-cooked meal before he met “the sweet gals,” as he’d referred to them more than once. All the time he overstayed his welcome—in her opinion—he’d overplayed his part and they’d simpered disgustingly.
Considering that they had very few men to cater to, since neither of her sisters had a serious beau at the time, nor her mom, she supposed she shouldn’t mind so much that they’d sucked up to Liam like glaze on a honey donut.
But she did.
Both her sisters had made a play for his attention. When that didn’t seem to work, since he teased them equally, they did their best to sing her praises.
It had curdled her stomach.
Chapter Twelve
Early Monday afternoon, at the approximate time specified and the address Bea had written down, Liam showed up ready and willing for work—more fool he!
Impatient, Sadie stood clicking her booted heel against the sidewalk—fists planted on her hips. Her tight sweater and jean-clad body drew stares from other drivers, but she never even noticed. She was too busy eyeballing her watch, and as he approached, her eyes drilled him.