Mother To Be

by Cheryl Reavis

  He was unprepared for the insistent scrambling he felt, or for his emotional response to it.

  "Strong," he said, his voice sounding husky and strange to him.

  "You should feel it from this side," she said.

  He reached for her then, moving her closer to him so that her head rested on his shoulder. "Don't worry," he said to reassure her that he wasn't taking more than she'd intended to give. "It doesn't mean anything."

  He held her close for a moment, and he had to brace himself against the rush of feeling her nearness caused him. He loved her. And he couldn't say it without risking what little ground he'd gained. She was sick and she was scared and she didn't want to be by herself. He was handy. And he had to be satisfied with that.

  She went to sleep easily, and so did he. But it was he who woke up alone. He sat up. There was a hint of daylight at the windows. He listened intently, but he couldn't hear her moving around anywhere.

  He began to look through the house for her, finally finding her outside, sitting on the front-porch steps. It was a cold morning, and she sat huddled with her head resting on her knees.

  "Lillian?"

  She looked up at him, her face tearstained and anxious. "I think I'm in labor," she said.

  He didn't remember much of the trip to the hospital – except that he held her hand. Her fingers were cold and clinging in his. He kept looking at her as he drove. She was in intense pain; he could see it on her face. And there was nothing he could do about it – except drive.

  He took her in through the emergency entrance, where a woman wearing a blue scrub dress immediately whisked her away. He didn't know if she remembered Lillian from yesterday or if "I think I'm in labor" was the magic phrase to get a patient seen in a hurry. He wanted to go with Lillian, but he wasn't give the option. He stood there, staring at the door she'd gone through, completely at a loss as to what he should do. He'd been in a hospital since Mae died – as a patient – but he'd forgotten – hadn't realized – how much he hated them, how much the smell and the sounds of the place could bring all that pain and sadness back again. He had been down this road before: Wait here. Stay out of the way.

  The sense of helplessness was nearly more than he could bear.

  He forced himself to sit down in the waiting area with the rest of the extraneous people. He wasn't even sure anyone would come to tell him how Lillian was. He wasn't her husband. He wasn't even her "significant other." When everything was said and done, he was merely the donor of the sperm.

  The place was busy; he could understand what that might entail, but it didn't help the waiting. Finally, Lillian's obstetrician – a young man with thick glasses who looked like a college student – called his name.

  "She's in labor," the doctor said bluntly, because he was too young and too white to do anything else. "She's almost thirty-five weeks – five weeks from her due date. We like for a baby to be as mature as it can be before it's delivered, but in this case, we can't wait any longer."

  "Why not?" Becenti asked, already fearing the answer.

  "The tests we're doing show some problem with the fetal circulation."

  "I don't know what that means," Becenti said loudly enough to cause everyone nearby to look at him.

  "It means something is interfering with the baby's blood supply. Every time Lillian has a contraction the baby's heart rate goes way down. She's going to have to have a; C-section. We're going to have to take the baby – right now."

  "Is she going to be all right? Is the baby going to be all right?"

  "I think Lillian will do fine. I'm...hopeful about the, baby. I've got to go. You can wait in the waiting area on the obstetrical floor – somebody will tell you how to find it. I'll look for you there – after."

  Becenti stood there, stunned.

  Hopeful? What the hell did that mean? Hopeful?

  Coincidence had played a big part in his being here with Lillian, now. He remembered what his mother always said to remind herself to stay alert for the Navajo's metaphysical trickster and bringer-of-disaster.

  Coincidence is always Coyote.

  He had to think, and he was completely numb. Everything was moving too fast – he didn't even get to speak to Lillian beforehand. He didn't get to tell her –

  But he wouldn't have told her anything, because she was, afraid of needing. Just like he was.

  He asked for directions to the obstetrical-floor waiting area, and the pay phones, and some place where he could get change. As soon as he had a handful of quarters, he made the call to Window Rock, to Lucas Singer's house. Lucas had gone already, a sleepy Will told him. And Sloan wasn't there, either. She was in Albuquerque attending a nurses' workshop "or something." He looked at his watch and tried the law-enforcement building. It was too early for Mary Skeets, and the night dispatcher told him that Lucas hadn't come in yet.

  He didn't leave a message. This wasn't the kind of thing he wanted Lillian's family to learn from a While You Were Out memo. He did the only thing left to do. He waited. And waited.

  There was no one else in the waiting area, and he was grateful for that small blessing. He didn't want to talk to anyone. He didn't want to see anyone. Except Lillian. And their baby.

  He eventually called Window Rock again. This time he got Lucas easily – which was not necessarily a good thing.

  "You took your own good time calling back," Lucas said, and Becenti had to hold the receiver away from his ear for a moment to keep from responding to the remark. He knew that it was the worry talking as much as the disdain for the man Lucas thought had used and then abandoned his sister. He had little to tell Lucas, Lillian was still in surgery. The only other thing he knew was that he had no energy left to be interrogated.

  "What did Lillian say?" Lucas wanted to know.

  "I didn't get a chance to talk to her."

  "Why not?"

  "Because they took her to surgery and then they told me about it."

  "Yeah, well, whose fault is that?" Lucas wanted to know. Becenti understood the question perfectly. If he'd been her husband instead of a fly-by-night son of a bitch, he might have been better informed.

  "I have to go," Becenti said. "If you've got anybody going out my mother's way, I'd appreciate it if you'd tell her about Lillian."

  Lucas didn't say yes or no, and Becenti let the noncommittal silence go. He hung up the phone and went back to waiting.

  He must have dozed off, because he realized suddenly that Lillian's doctor was there.

  He got up immediately. He wanted to be standing when he heard the news. He wanted to meet it head-on and face-to-face.

  "Lillian's okay," the doctor said. "The baby is stable. He's – "

  "He?"

  "It's a boy," he said. "He's having some breathing problems. We're going to have to keep him in the 'baby box,' give him oxygen, make sure-he stays warm – help him breathe if it comes to that. And when all that straightens out, he's still going to have to gain some weight before he gets to leave here – but he's got all his parts and everything. Lillian's still in the recovery room. She'll be there for a while yet. We have to make sure she's stabilized before we bring her back to this floor. You can go see your boy in the meantime, down that way. Tell them who you are and they'll try to roll him close enough for you to get a look at him."

  The doctor turned to leave.

  "Wait," Becenti said. "You didn't say if the baby will be all right."

  "I'm still hopeful. He's in the right place with all the best and latest equipment. Right now we make it as easy as we can for him."

  Becenti stood in the hallway. He heard every word – but he still didn't know what he wanted to know. Breathing problems, he heard. Make it as easy as we can for him, he heard.

  He turned abruptly and went in the direction the doctor had indicated. The nursery had a number of "baby boxes," all of them occupied, and he couldn't begin to guess which baby was his.

  "What name?" one of the nurses said through the glass. He could barely hear
her. "Singer," he said. "Singer-hyphen-Becenti?"

  He stood there. He loved Lillian Singer. He wanted to marry her. This was his baby, and Lillian had done the only thing she could – or would – do to acknowledge that. But he was not happy being relegated to the other side of a hyphen. He intended to be more of a father than that.

  "Yeah," he said. "Singer-hyphen-Becenti."

  She motioned for him to move to another window farther down the hall. He made the trip more quickly than she, and he stood waiting. There was only one incubator in this room. It had a tiny baby inside, one that lay surrounded by equipment and wore a pink-and-blue knit cap.

  "Here he is – young Mr. Singer-Becenti," she said to him, her voice still muffled and surreal sounding. She moved the unit closer to the window and then checked the baby's status – he supposed. He pecked on the window to get her attention. "Why is he in here by himself?" he asked.

  "No more room over there," she answered. "This is better. One baby – one nurse."

  He didn't know if he was reassured by that or not. What if the ratio was an indicator of how sick or weak the baby was?

  This is not working, he thought. His son was too far away. He wanted to see him up close. He wanted to be able lo tell Lillian what he looked like.

  He pecked on the glass again. "Can I come in?" he asked.

  She hesitated.

  "Please. Can I come in?"

  "No, I'm sorry. Not yet. Soon, though," she promised him.

  But he had no faith whatsoever in hospital promises. He wanted to stand close to his son. He could feel his eyes filling with tears. He swallowed hard, then again. He wanted to touch his little boy, but he had to make do with touching the glass window instead.

  The baby lay with his eyes closed. Becenti could see a few strands of dark hair sticking out from the knit cap and l he rapid but uneven rise and fall of his tiny chest.

  Please, he thought. Please.

  What would he do if anything happened to this little boy? He had lost Mae. He had never had Lillian. He couldn't go through it again.

  "He's sleeping," the nurse said. "This getting-born business is kind of rough – especially if you weren't planning on making the trip. He's little, for right now. But they do have a way of getting six feet tall and asking for the car keys."

  He looked at her, trying to see if she thought this baby would do that.

  "In a few days, if everything goes okay, you can hold him."

  "Hold him?" he asked, not sure he'd heard right.

  "Yes," she said, smiling slightly. "He needs to be held by his mom and dad as soon as he's able."

  He stood there for a long time, watching for some sign of his son's strength and willingness to hang on. Finally, the tiny hands opened and closed.

  He turned abruptly and walked away.

  "Where is he?" Lillian asked. She had been trying not to, but she couldn't stand it any longer. She'd been trying not to cry, too, but the tears slid from the corners of her eyes in spite of everything she could do. It wasn't just the pain of the surgery or worry about the baby that made her cry. It was Becenti. He should be here. She couldn't be with their son – he had to do it.

  "I don't know," Sloan said. "He was here. He saw the baby. That's all I could find out."

  "He wouldn't just leave, would he?" Lillian asked, when apparently that was exactly what he had done.

  "Lillian, I don't know."

  "I need him," she said, still trying not to cry. "Damn it!"

  She turned her face away; Sloan handed her a tissue. Lillian had no idea why Becenti would just go. Somebody had to look for him. Somebody had to find him and tell him to come back here.

  She gave a wavering sigh. "I don't know what's wrong with me," she said. She kept crying, and she was talking too much – when she didn't feel like talking at all. She was so tired, and so – everything.

  "You just had a baby. And major surgery," Sloan said. "And you're worried about your son."

  "You've seen him?" Lillian asked. She didn't know if she was repeating herself or not.

  "Yes, I've seen him. He's beautiful."

  "Who does he look like? And do not say Winston – Churchill."

  "No, he doesn't look like Winston Churchill," Sloan assured her. "He looks like...a sweet baby boy you can't wait to get your hands on."

  “And his breathing is... better?''

  "Yes."

  "And you'll wheel me down there to see him?"

  "As soon as the doctor says it's okay and you can make the trip."

  "He didn't have to go back to Window Rock for some kind of police thing, did he?" Lillian asked, abruptly switching the topic of conversation.

  "Lillian – " Sloan said in obvious exasperation.

  "What?" Lillian said. "I suppose you want to – run off, too."

  "Actually, I want to take a stick to you," Sloan said.

  "What is that supposed to mean?"

  "It means – Never mind what it means. I've given up on you. You just don't get it."

  "Get what?"

  "The man loves you!"

  "Then why isn't he here?"

  "Because he can't take any more grief from you, that's why!"

  "Did he say that?" Lillian asked, and she couldn't keep her mouth from trembling.

  "No, he didn't say that. It's just what I think."

  "What he said was that he wanted – to marry me."

  "But you took care of that right quick, I'll bet," Sloan said.

  "Yes, I took care of it! I'm not coming back to the reservation. I need a little sympathy here!"

  "Well, you're not going to get it," Sloan assured her. "Not from me."

  “You don't understand."

  "I don't understand? Who do you think you're talking to, here? I left everything I knew, everything I owned, to come live on the rez with Lucas, only I had three children that weren't his instead of one that was."

  "It isn't the same at all."

  "Of course, it is – except my situation was worse. I had my brother's children and the cultural differences. And then there was Lucas's history with alcohol – and that anthropologist person flitting in and out of his life whenever she felt like it. But I still took the chance, because I loved him and because there was no other way. I had a career, but I didn't have to work in North Carolina any more than you have to work here in Santa Fe. There are plenty of lawyers on the rez, and you already do legal work there whenever your mother or Lucas asks you to. I really don't see the difference."

  "Maybe I don't like to get paid in sheep."

  "There are worse things," Sloan said, clearly ignoring the sarcasm. "Lucas and Becenti both belong to the People. You and I don't. What do you think life is about, Lillian? You can't have what you want without some kind of strings attached. You have to make choices and sacrifices. You think it's been easy for me here? This is beautiful country and I love it – but it's not my home. And I have to struggle every day not to do something culturally wrong that will embarrass Lucas or Will or Dolly – or cause a meeting of the tribal council. It's hard. Sometimes I get so homesick I could die."

  "I know. I'm sorry."

  "You know?"

  "Those nostalgia dinners you have to have every so often – the grits and the fried green tomatoes and all that other stuff, right?"

  Sloan gave a small sigh. “Right."

  "If it gets so bad, then why do you stay here?"

  "I said I get homesick enough to die, not leave. And I told you. I love Lucas, and I couldn't have him any other way. If I have to be homesick sometimes so we can have a life together, well – it's the price I'm willing to pay. And have paid for quite a few years now. Lucas didn't give up on us. He came all the way to North Carolina to get me. He found a way for us to be together, but only if I could do most of the compromising. He knew what he was asking – how hard it would be for me. But I made the choice – for us."

  "So Lucas is worth it?"

  "Of course, he's worth it. How often do you think you can find
a man to love and respect, who loves and respects you, too? It's close to a miracle, Lillian. If I have any regrets, it's that he and I never had a child of our own."

  "But you're telling me that to be happy you have to be miserable," Lillian said in exasperation.

  "On some level, yes. Intermittently, yes. And if you love Santa Fe more than you love Becenti – Well, then, you're an idiot."

  "Gosh, Sloan, why don’t you say what you really think?"

  Sloan smiled. ''Because you just had a baby – and major surgery."

  "And I'm worried."

  "That, too."

  "Becenti still loves – Mae," Lillian suggested.

  "Some part of Lucas still loves the anthropologist. So we're both second choices. So what?"

  "So – " she started to say, but she had no answer to that question. She only knew Becenti wasn't here, and she wanted him.

  "Lillian," Sloan said. "What I really think is that whatever you ran to Santa Fe to get away from – you took with you. And I think you should deal with Becenti and whatever feelings you have for him with that in mind. Because if you don't, you'll regret it for the rest of your life. You've got that little boy to think of."

  Lillian had no more to say. She was so tired and everything seemed to hurt. She closed her eyes. She wanted to see her baby, and she simply didn't have the strength to get there.

  "Will you go see him again?" she abruptly asked Sloan. "I want to know how he's doing."

  Sloan didn't point out that she'd just come back from the nursery, and Lillian appreciated that. She lay there after Sloan had left the room, thinking about the things her sister-in-law had said. The logic was flawless – even if Lillian's career success had been her own and not something Stuart had machinated. It did all come down to choices and sacrifices. How much was she willing to give up for a chance to be with Becenti and their child? Contrary to what she'd always believed, living on the reservation wasn't the real problem. She understood the real problem perfectly now. She was afraid, and perhaps with good reason, because Johnny Becenti had apparently gone.

  Where is he? she kept thinking. Where is he!

  In spite of everything, she fell into a deep sleep. She was alone when she wakened, and the sun was coming up. She was able to turn over on her side with considerable discomfort to her belly and to the hand receiving the intravenous fluids, but she made it, finally. A nurse came in almost immediately.