“No,” Elizabeth agreed. “Of course not.”
For a few minutes, we ate in silence punctuated only by the occasional scrape of cutlery. The mood had taken a funny turn and I wasn’t entirely sure why. So what if I planned to work after I had children? I didn’t have any children, and I was fairly certain my prospects of having them were slim at best. Even if Elizabeth and Bill didn’t know that, were they really so insecure about their own choices that everyone needed to agree with them?
At least Elizabeth was eating. It reassured me. She was so thin, and at this stage of pregnancy, women needed calories. She ate like she was expecting twins—triplets!—though I wasn’t about to point that out.
“This is delicious, Elizabeth,” I said, hoping to inject some life back into the party. “The chicken is perfect.”
“You’re a lucky man, Bill,” Michael agreed, “a wife that can cook like this.”
Bill was looking at Elizabeth. “Slow down, darling. Are you eating for two, or two hundred? You’ll give yourself indigestion.”
Elizabeth’s smile snapped into place, frozen, if not for a slight quiver.
“Must be a boy,” he continued. “That’s my guess. What do you think, Floss?”
I frowned. Elizabeth’s cheeks were pink. Was he trying to humiliate her?
“The gender doesn’t have bearing on the amount of calories the mother needs to consume.” I sat a little straighter in my chair. “Elizabeth needs to eat plenty at this stage of her pregnancy.”
As usual, Bill held my gaze, but this time, it unnerved me. Perhaps I was a little sharp, but I considered it necessary. Silence fell upon the table yet again. Elizabeth wouldn’t meet my eye, or Bill’s. It was as though she were contemplating something very important. Finally, she married her knife and fork and rested them on her plate.
After dinner, I helped Elizabeth bring the dishes into the kitchen. While I filled the sink, she stood beside me. Right beside me. I got the feeling she was leaning on me. Physically (practically) but more so, emotionally. I was happy to prop her up. I had a strange feeling she needed it.
“So how is the pregnancy going?” I asked. I wanted to segue into Bill somehow but wasn’t sure of the best way.
“Oh yes, fine.”
“No issues?”
“None at all.” She stepped ever-so-slightly away from me, scrubbing the same plate four times, front and back. “My blood pressure is fine, my weight and measurements are fine—”
“Actually, you look thin,” I countered. “Apart from the stomach, you look like you’ve lost weight.”
“Morning sickness. Can barely keep a thing down.”
I felt my eyebrows gather. Morning sickness was rare this late in pregnancy, and besides, she seemed fine and well. “Any kicking?”
“Yes. It’s kicking right now.”
“May I?” I stepped forward and lifted the hem of her blouse. Elizabeth stepped back. But it was too late.
I thought I might faint. I cooled from the head down, giving me strange, falling sensation. Elizabeth tried to force down the hem of her blouse, but I held it tight. A purple, mottled bruise—red wine on cream carpet—stretched from her right hip to her navel. An angry bruise.
“It’s nothing.” Elizabeth forced her shirt down. She turned away from me and resumed washing dishes. “I fell on the way to the outhouse, is all. It can be awfully dark at night, and it was raining.”
I stared at her.
“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Have you been to the doctor?” I asked.
She waved her hand. “The baby’s kicking, I told you that. You have to be tough out here, in the country. I can’t be running off to the doctor with every little sniffle. And keep it to yourself. I don’t want Evie worrying.”
“Evie’s your midwife! You should tell her.” I lifted her shirt again and ran my fingers over the mark. “Does it hurt?”
“No. You’re sweet to be concerned, but my baby is growing beautifully, and it must be tying itself in knots, the amount it’s wriggling about. Don’t tell Evie, Floss. Please?”
“Okay.” I pressed a palm to my forehead. I could hardly force her to tell Evie, but I didn’t understand her hesitation. “But you need to see a doctor.”
“I can’t.” She took the tea towel from her shoulder and started drying dishes and returning them to their places. Still reeling, I picked up another towel and helped her.
“Well, at least come to a prenatal clinic so Evie can give you an exam.”
Elizabeth crashed a stack of plates onto a high shelf. “I’m a midwife, Floss. Why should I ride a bus all the way into town to be told things I already know?”
“How’s it going in here, ladies?” Bill and Michael entered the room. They appeared good-humored, no trace of the awkwardness during dinner. Bill had a way of charming people, convincing them he wasn’t such a bad guy. But now, I wasn’t sure it was true.
Elizabeth placed the last of the cutlery into a drawer. “All done.” She turned, a bright, convincing smile on her face. “Now—who’s ready for dessert?”
“You’re in for a treat,” Bill said to Michael, all smiles. He winked at Elizabeth. “Elizabeth makes the best treacle pudding you’ll ever taste. And after the dinner she’s just had, I’m sure she won’t be able to eat a bite. Help us, Floss.”
“Better not. I have a long ride ahead of me.”
“I can drive you home,” Michael said. “I was going to offer earlier. I’d be happy to.”
“You’re very kind,” I said. “But I must go.”
At the time, it was all I could do to get out of there. Suddenly, standing there in that tiny house felt suffocating in a way that it hadn’t when I’d arrived. What was going on with Elizabeth? I wanted so much to help her. But how could I, with her forbidding me to say anything?
With hindsight, of course, there were lots of things I could have done. But by the time I realized, it was too late.
* * *
The phone was ringing. Lil had finished hanging the washing and was sitting in front of me. She was available to talk, she wanted me to share this with her. She sat, ignoring the shrill, metallic ring of the phone.
I snatched it up. “Hello? Floss speaking.”
“Mom, it’s me.”
“Grace.” Lil sighed, picked up the laundry basket, and left the room. Discreetly, I picked up my purse and tucked the envelope farther inside, out of sight. “Are you all right?”
“I’m wonderful. You’ll never guess what? I did a delivery with Neva last night.”
“You did?”
“I was short a birth partner, so she said she’d do it. It was wonderful, Mom. I was so proud of her. Oh, and listen to this: She brought a man with her. A gorgeous man.”
In the kitchen, Lil was not exactly slamming cupboard doors, but certainly closing them firmly. “She brought a man to the birth?”
“Yes. A pediatrician.”
“Oh.” I wasn’t following, but from Grace’s triumphant tone, I got the sense that she would fill me in.
“Something was going on between them. Something romantic. I’m sure of it.”
“You think he’s the father?”
“No.” Her tone dipped. “No, I don’t think that. At least, I don’t see any reason that she’d hide it if he was. He’s single. Respectable. As I said, gorgeous. It’s a shame, because he was lovely. A good match for Neva.”
“Why is it a shame?” I asked.
“Call me a dreamer, but I’m still hoping the baby’s father will swoop in and everyone will live happily ever after. I can’t help but feel that the child will be missing out, not having the opportunity to know its real father.”
“Like … you missed out?” I spoke carefully, trying to keep the waver out of my voice.
“This is different, Mom. It’s preventable. My father died—you didn’t pretend he’d never existed. What Neva is doing to her baby—denying it a chance to know its father—that’d be pretty hard
to forgive. And I don’t want Neva to destroy her relationship with her child before it’s even born.”
Grace chatted awhile longer, and then we signed off. But after I hung up, the room began to blur. A throbbing pain hammered in my chest, and my hands coiled around the base of my throat, over the pain. I couldn’t breathe. I tilted my head from one side to another, trying to find Lil. A sharp rattle came from somewhere—from me?—and then there it was—her face. Even amidst my alarm, the sight of her soothed me.
“Floss?” Lil’s voice rang out. “Darling, what is it?”
Another great rasp came from me, stealing the last of my breath. I pointed at my chest, where the fire raged. I managed to suck in a short breath. “I think … I think I’m having a heart attack.”
13
Neva
“Looks great, Annabelle. Does it feel better?”
It was late afternoon and I was teaching a breast-feeding clinic at the birthing center. I was exhausted. I’d finished up at Mom’s place about 6 A.M. but when I’d arrived at my apartment an hour later, I found I couldn’t sleep. I’d called Grace a couple of times to find out how Gillian and the baby were doing, but she must have been busy. I hadn’t wanted to disturb Patrick for the second time in twenty-four hours, so I just waited for news. It was hard to focus on the task at hand, but luckily, my muscle memory for these clinics was good enough to fake it.
“It feels a million times better. Neva, you are a lifesaver.”
“If it hurts, take her off immediately and relatch. It’s meant to feel one hundred percent comfortable.”
Around the room, all the mothers and babies were nursing comfortably. “You’re all A-plus students. Breast-feeding doesn’t always come easily. It’s a learned skill; every mom-and-baby unit is unique. But you’ve all done brilliantly. We’re about done; I’m just going to grab some samples of the nipple cream I told you about. Feel free to exchange numbers while I’m gone. Other moms are invaluable when it comes to sharing knowledge.”
In the corridor, I opened the cupboard where the samples were kept and began rifling through.
“There you are.”
I spun around. Patrick stood by the front desk with Anne. He was dressed in suit trousers and a rumpled shirt under his white coat. He looked as tired as I felt.
“There you are!”
I crossed the room and, without a thought, wrapped my arms around his neck. Patrick stiffened at first. It wasn’t like me to hug. But after the emotion of last night, I still didn’t entirely feel like me. “How’s Gillian? How’s the baby?”
When I drew back, Patrick looked amused. “Wow. A hug?”
I blushed. “Hormones.”
“Ah.” Patrick nodded. “Gillian and the baby are both doing fine. How ’bout I update you over dinner?”
“Do they even serve food at The Hip?”
“Who said anything about The Hip?”
Anne became preoccupied with her computer screen. I frowned. Who said anything about The Hip? No one, I suppose, but … we only ever went to The Hip. In fact, other than when Patrick’s father died, when I spent the day at his mother’s place, I don’t think I’d ever seen Patrick anywhere other than the hospital, my apartment, and The Hip.
“So … what time are you off?” he asked.
“Seven thirty. But—”
“Great.” Patrick signed a document, closed a manila folder, and handed it to Anne. “I’ll pick you up then.”
He left the room and I felt my eyebrows soar. Pick me up? Usually Sean, Patrick, and I just sloped down to The Hip one by one as we came off shift and joined whoever was already perched at the bar. We left in a similar way, usually when we’d had too much to drink. No one ever picked anyone up. And, now that I thought of it, no one ever ate dinner.
“Neva.” Anne’s voice interrupted my thoughts.
“Yes?”
“Just had a buzz from the clinic. One of the women needs help reattaching her baby.”
“Oh.” I waved at her as I hurried into the room. “Yes. Thanks, Anne.”
* * *
At 7:33 P.M., I sat in a tub armchair, feeling like a schoolgirl waiting to get collected for the prom. On my lap was a canvas bag filled with empty Tupperware containers that I’d been meaning to take home for a month.
“Ready?”
Patrick had slipped in without me noticing and was standing before me in a fresh blue shirt and jeans with brown lace-up shoes that he hadn’t been wearing when I saw him an hour ago. He carried no bag whatsoever—I had no idea how guys did that—and his jacket, brown leather, was tossed over one shoulder. I caught a whiff of something. Cologne.
I glanced down at my flat shoes, navy hospital pants, and white shirt. Next to Patrick, I looked like a junkyard dog. A pregnant junkyard dog. Patrick, to his credit, didn’t appear outwardly disgusted, but then again, why would he? It wasn’t a date. Was it?
I pushed to my feet so fast my head began to spin.
“Whoa. You’re not going to faint on me, are you? I’m off shift and I usually deal with people a little smaller than you.”
We stared at each other and I was struck by the unfamiliarity of Patrick. Usually I’d throw out a wry joke, but now I wasn’t sure it was appropriate. The clothes, the cologne, the picking me up? I managed to roll my eyes before pushing through the door. As I skimmed past him, he took the canvas bag from my shoulder and tossed it over his own.
A couple of pretty nurses were in the elevator when it opened, and Patrick made a great show of putting his hand out to stop the door from closing on them. He couldn’t help himself. One of them shot me a glare of pure envy. A flutter traveled through me from head to toe. I wasn’t sure if it was a good flutter or a bad flutter.
“So, where d’you want to go?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Nellie’s?”
I immediately wanted to retract the words. Nellie’s was casual and the food was good, but it was also located directly under my building and was staffed by middle-aged waitresses who’d seen me there alone enough to develop an obsession with my love life. Arriving with Patrick wasn’t going to go unnoticed. But it was too late; he was already nodding. “Sure,” Patrick said. “Nellie’s, it is.”
We strolled in silence. It would have been amusing if I wasn’t so self-conscious. Patrick and I had never had a problem with conversation. Was he nervous too? And if he was, what did that mean? When I couldn’t take it anymore, I blurted out, “I have a joke. A guy phones the local hospital and yells, ‘You’ve got to send help. My wife’s in labor!’ The midwife says, ‘Calm down. Is this her first child?’ He replies, ‘No! This is her husband.’”
This got a full guffaw from Patrick. I couldn’t help feeling pleased. But when he held my gaze after his smile had slipped away, I looked away.
The bell dinged as we entered the restaurant. Judy, the worst of the waitresses (in a gossipy sense), looked up, immediately animated. By the time the door had closed, she was already elbowing one of the others. They were going to have a field day. A free booth sat in the back, and I beelined for it until a tug at my elbow stopped me in my tracks.
“Where do you think you’re going without saying hello?”
I turned. “Hello, Judy.”
She grinned, and her weathered face dissolved into a puzzle of lines. Although I never inquired into Judy’s personal life—a kindness I wished she’d return—her lack of wedding ring indicated that she hadn’t had a love life of her own, or if she had, it couldn’t have worked out too well, because here she was in her blue uniform and white tennies six days a week, paying far too much attention to the lives of the customers.
“Don’t go scooting back there, there’s a table available here in my section.” Judy gestured to a table in the middle of the restaurant. “I want to make sure you’re looked after properly. I’m Judy, by the way,” she said to Patrick, gesturing at her right breast, where her name was embroidered. “If you need anything at all, ask for me. I’ll get y’all some water.”
I slinked into the red leather booth and Patrick, after giving Judy a smile that sent her tattooed brows rocketing into her hairline, slid in opposite me.
“Sorry,” I said. “Forgot to tell you about the crazies at Nellie’s.”
Patrick perused the menu. “I hear they have good burgers here,” he said. “Should I order two?”
“If you’re really hungry. Tell me about Gillian.”
Patrick groaned. “Fine.” He placed the menu flat in front of him. “If you’re going to be all business. Gillian’s daughter is completely healthy, apart from the lip and palate, and she’ll be a great candidate for surgery. I gave Gillian the details of a pediatric plastic surgeon, and they can do the surgery while she’s still a baby so they won’t have to worry about her being teased at school or anything. It’s a good result. Oh, and Gillian and David have called her Grace.”
I gave a tiny gasp. “They have?”
“I should tell you, though, the doctor on duty was furious when we came in. He was ranting and raving about home births and how it was negligent to deliver this baby at home. I explained that the baby was never in any distress, but … he was a hater. He said he would report your mom to the Board of Nursing.”
“Report her? For what?”
“Who knows? He’d probably had a long shift and was blowing off steam. I doubt he’ll go through with it.”
“Well, he should go right ahead if he wants. She didn’t do anything wrong. The baby was delivered safely under the care of the best midwife I know with a pediatrician present. Good luck to him if he thinks he’s got a case.” Heat pulsed around my face and neck. “Who was the doctor, anyway?”
“Didn’t know him. But if the Board of Nursing contacts me, I’ll confirm she did everything by the book. She’ll be fine.” He hesitated. “I’m surprised you’re so protective of your mother. Given that you can be quite … hard on her.”
I opened my mouth to respond, and then I paused. Was I hard on her?
“At least, the way you talk about her,” he continued. “You obviously have your issues.”
“Well … it’s just a matter of fairness,” I said. “She wasn’t negligent. In fact, it was my idea to call you and give Gillian the option of delivering at home. I don’t want my mother picked on because she is in a minority group of midwives who deliver at home.”
The Secrets of Midwives Page 11