The Secrets of Midwives

by Sally Hepworth

  “Oh.”

  We smiled at each other. Then the phone rang.

  “I’ll get rid of them,” Robert said, heading for the phone. He winked as he lifted the receiver to his ear. “Hello? Yes, she’s right here.” He held the phone out to me. “It’s Gillian.”

  “Oh. Thanks.” I stood and took the phone. “Gillian? Is everything okay? How is the baby?”

  “She’s fine.” Gillian’s voice was steady but small. “She’s doing really well actually. We have a meeting next week with a plastic surgeon that Dr. Johnson recommended to discuss her first surgery. Everyone’s been really optimistic that it will be repaired by the time she starts school.”

  I hadn’t realized how stiff my body had been until it started to soften. “That’s … that’s … wonderful, Gillian. I don’t know what to say. It’s fantastic.”

  “It is fantastic. Look, I know we’re not supposed to be communicating.”

  “No we’re not,” I said, remembering at the same time as she said it. “But I’m glad you called. I’ve been thinking about you.”

  “And I’ve been thinking about you. I can’t believe you’re being investigated. And, I’m really sorry, but I think I’ve made it worse.”

  The boulder in my stomach, which had disappeared for the last few, jokey minutes with Robert, came back instantly. “What do you mean?”

  “The investigator contacted me and I told her the complaint was ridiculous, and that you didn’t do anything wrong. I answered all her questions, but … I think she is going to twist what I said.”

  “What did you say?”

  “That you didn’t inform me of the risks of waiting to suture a third-degree tear. I did say that I would have insisted on going with my baby anyway, and that it wouldn’t have mattered if you did inform me. But the investigator, she zeroed in on the fact that you didn’t inform me and kept asking questions about that. I should’ve just said that you did inform me. I wish I had. I just froze when she asked me, and then I … I thought she would know if I was lying. You didn’t inform me, did you? Perhaps I forgot?”

  “No, I didn’t.” Robert, who was still standing there, pointed his thumb over his shoulder toward the bedroom, and I nodded. “The investigator is right, I should have,” I said to Gillian. “And you were right not to lie. That might have made things worse. I appreciate you calling to tell me, and I’m sorry you’ve had to be involved in any of this.”

  “But will you get into trouble? I feel terrible.”

  “If I do get into trouble, it will be my fault, not yours. Really, Gillian, you shouldn’t worry about this. You’ve given your statement honestly which is exactly what you should have done. You need to focus your energies on your darling daughter. Leave this investigation business to me.”

  “You really are an angel, you know that? I don’t know how you can be so strong through all of this. You’re amazing.”

  “No, you are amazing. As for me, if the Board of Nursing finds me to have been negligent, it won’t be because of something you said. It will be because of something I did. And I’ll have to face the consequences.”

  “Well, no matter what they find, I’ll be calling you to deliver my next baby.”

  I smiled. “Thank you, Gill. You take care.”

  “You too.”

  I ended the call and slumped into the chair. And with Robert waiting for me in the bedroom, I finally felt some empathy for him. Turns out life could be quite the libido killer.

  21

  Floss

  “Breech? You’re sure, dear?”

  When Neva arrived on my doorstep with groceries, I’d had a feeling something was up. Her hair, which was normally smooth and restrained in a ponytail, was wild and stringy. At first I’d thought it was Grace standing there. Her face had been flushed, and it looked like she’d been crying. Now, with her legs crossed underneath her on my sofa, the tears flowed freely.

  “Completely sure.” A new tear slipped down her cheek and she flicked it away. “Sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

  “Don’t apologize, dear.”

  “… the ridiculous thing is, I didn’t even notice it was breech. It was Patrick who pointed it out. Patrick is the guy you met at the hospital,” she said before I could ask. “He’s the one who is pretending to be the father of the baby.”

  I repeated the sentence in my head to be sure I’d heard correctly. “Pretending to be the father?”

  Neva nodded.

  “I see.” I tried to keep my face neutral. Any reaction too large had a way of frightening my granddaughter into silence, and she clearly needed to talk this through. “And why is he doing that?”

  “He offered, to help with the questions. We’re kind of seeing each other.”

  I waited, but Neva didn’t say anything more. “Patrick must care about you a lot to pretend to be the baby’s father,” I said gently. “Are his feelings reciprocated?”

  “Yes, but…” She trailed away.

  “But what, dear?”

  “I just don’t see how it can last. He’s not the baby’s father. And sooner or later, he’s going to want to know who is.”

  “You wouldn’t consider telling him?”

  “I can’t. He’d leave me.”

  Behind Neva, Lil trailed the hall, a garbage bag in her hand. I met her eye briefly. Last night, once I’d finished recounting my own secret, Lil had thanked me for telling her then excused herself for bed. This morning, she’d bustled around, preoccupied with all the jobs in the house that suddenly needed doing. I left her to it. She needed time to process.

  “You never know,” I said. “People can surprise you.”

  “Not this time.”

  Neva sank farther into the couch, almost as though she wanted to disappear into it. I knew better than to push her. “Well, it’s up to you, of course.”

  “I wish he was the actual father, Gran.”

  “But he’s not,” I said. “No point in wishing things are different than they are.” Neva nodded, staring at her lap. “For what it’s worth, though,” I added, “I think biology is an amazing but largely irrelevant part of being a parent.”

  “You do?”

  I nodded. “In fact, I think choosing to be there for a child, despite the fact that you aren’t biologically related to it, makes it even more special.”

  Slowly, a smile appeared. “You’re so wise, you know that?”

  “Not wise. Just old.”

  She heaved herself out of the chair and kissed my cheek. “I have to go.”

  Neva saw herself out, and the room was quiet again, apart from Lil shuffling around in another room. After a minute or two, she came in and lowered herself onto the opposite sofa. “Is Neva gone?”

  I nodded. “She’s found out her baby is breech.”

  “Breech?”

  “Upside down. She’ll probably have to have a C-section. Not the end of the world, but a disappointment for Neva.” I exhaled. “She also has some other personal problems. Poor love has got herself into quite the tangle with this baby/father business.”

  “Were you able to offer her some advice?”

  “I’m hardly one to be giving advice on secrets, Lil. Besides, it’s complicated. Now that she has Patrick, she has so much to lose.”

  “There’s always something to lose when it comes to revealing a truth,” Lil said. “But there’s also something to be gained.”

  Before me, Lil had only loved once before, a woman name Rosita. Rosita was married to a man with whom she shared four children, and she told Lil that when her youngest son turned eighteen, she would leave. As the time grew close, Lil searched for rental properties and found a cottage in Jamestown—two bedrooms, in case any of the children wanted to come and stay. But Rosita’s youngest son’s birthday came and went, and still, Rosita only came for day visits to the cottage. They’d cook meals together, go grocery shopping. Take strolls along the beach. Then, at night, Rosita went home again to her husband.

  One sunn
y afternoon as they strolled along the pier, they bumped into a man. He was gray-haired, probably in his early fifties. A friend of Rosita’s husband. When he saw Rosita, Lil saw a glimmer of recognition. At the same time, Rosita took a subtle step away from Lil. “Rosita,” the man said. “Fancy seeing you in Conanicut Island! Is Vince with you?”

  There was a brief shaking of hands, and then Rosita twisted on the spot. “Oh,” she said. “Yes, this is Lil. An old school friend.”

  Lil hadn’t expected to be introduced as Rosita’s lover. But the way Rosita tied herself in knots spoke volumes. That was the day Lil realized their relationship would always be a secret. And after a lifetime of hiding who she was, she wasn’t prepared to live with secrets anymore.

  I knew all this. So Lil’s clasped hands and settled jaw shouldn’t have been a surprise.

  “What are we talking about, Lil?” I asked.

  “We’re talking about secrets. Sometimes people keep them for so long, they forget the reason they’re even doing it. Or the reason changes or becomes distorted.”

  I still didn’t know exactly what Lil was getting at. “Meaning?”

  “Meaning Grace is an adult now. She can handle this.”

  “I’m not sure about that.”

  “She can,” Lil said. “People handle a lot worse every day. But I’m not sure you can handle keeping this secret. You just had a heart attack, Floss. If you don’t tell Grace the truth, I’m afraid—” She paused, cleared her throat. “I’m afraid it’s going to kill you.”

  “No. You don’t understand, Lil. You couldn’t possibly understand. Unless you have children of your own, you can’t understand the need to protect them before all else. Before even yourself.”

  Lil winced a little, and I was stung by my own words. But rather than running away or crying, she sat a little taller. It was as if I had further confirmed her resolve.

  “Why don’t you be honest, at least with me?” she said. “This isn’t about Grace handling it or not handling it. This is about you. What you’re afraid to lose. You are afraid, not for Grace’s welfare, but for your own. You’re afraid that if you tell her this, she won’t consider you her mother anymore.”

  “No. That’s not it.”

  “I may not be a mother,” Lil continued, “but I know what it’s like to keep a secret. I spent the best part of a lifetime denying who I was. And it wasn’t until I admitted the truth that I ever felt any peace. I want that peace for you, Floss. You need to tell Grace the truth.”

  22

  Neva

  As I was stopped at the traffic lights on the way back home, I slid my phone out of my pocket. A little envelope flashed on the screen. I smiled when I heard Patrick’s voice.

  “Nev, it’s me. I was thinking of dropping by. Thought maybe we could … I don’t know … watch a movie and fall asleep on the couch together, what do you think? Call me back.”

  My heart skipped as I pressed delete. The idea of Patrick and me falling asleep on the couch together sounded like something I could get used to. Something I wanted to get used to. I thought about what Gran had said. Could I tell Patrick? Was it possible that he would understand? Or would I be forcing our relationship into an early grave?

  I waited for the next message.

  “Yes, hello. This is a message for Neva Bradley. My name is Marie Ableman from the Board of Nursing. It’s six fifteen P.M. Can you please call me when you get this message? 555-4102.”

  Pulling over, I lowered the phone and stared at the screen. The Board of Nursing? Calling to get some incriminating evidence on my mother? The time on my phone said 9:35 P.M. Too late to call. Though … if she was investigating my mother, perhaps I didn’t care about Marie Whatshername’s personal time. The phone rang four times before someone answered.

  “Hello?” It was a woman’s voice—the voice from the message. She sounded curious, annoyed, and very much off duty.

  “This is Neva Bradley. I’m sorry it’s late, but I just received your message.”

  “Oh, yes, Ms. Bradley, thanks for calling back.” The voice immediately took on a new, polite tone. She exhaled, getting her work hat on. “Yes, as you may know, I am investigating a complaint made against Grace Bradley in the delivery of Gillian Brennan’s baby. I understand you were assisting with this birth.”

  “I was.”

  “I’d like to ask you some questions about it. It will only take a few minutes.”

  For some reason, I pulled myself tall in my seat. “Go right ahead.”

  It did only take a few minutes. I answered Marie’s questions honestly, if a little stiffly. I didn’t need to lie. Mom had not acted negligently. But I would have lied if I had to. Without hesitation. And I was certain she would have done the same for me.

  “In your opinion, was Mrs. Bradley irresponsible at any time during labor and delivery?” Marie asked, winding up her questions.

  “She was not. She acted in the best interests of her client and the baby at all times.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Bradley. You’ve been very helpful. I’ll let you go.”

  “Wait. What happens now?”

  “I have a few more people to speak with yet,” Marie said. “Then the notes will be reviewed by a subcommittee and a recommendation made to the Board of Nursing on a course of action.”

  “What kind of course of action?”

  “It really depends. If no evidence is found to support the complaint, we will recommend the case be closed.”

  “And if evidence is found? Not that it will be.”

  “If Mrs. Bradley is found to have been negligent, it is possible that she could be fined or even lose her license.” Marie’s voice softened. “But as I said, I still have a few more people to speak with. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

  Infuriatingly, Marie was calm, impartial, and fair—not at all the villain I’d thought she would be. She was just doing her job. I wanted to believe from her tone that Mom would be given a fair hearing, that was all I could really ask for. Because if she did get a fair hearing, there was no doubt in my mind that the case would be closed.

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  I hung up the phone. Even though I believed Mom would be vindicated, I felt a little sick. Mom losing her license was too wrong to comprehend. Like a world-class sprinter losing their legs. Or an opera singer losing her voice. It wouldn’t just be her who would lose. The world would.

  I pulled up in front of my apartment. As I took the stairs, I rang Patrick. In my building, another phone was ringing. I shoved a finger in one ear, anticipating his voice. It rang again, and then he answered.

  “Hello, gorgeous.”

  “Hello,” I said, feeling shy. I took the last three steps to my door and found it ajar. “Hey, can I call you back? The door to my apartment is open, and I need to check that there isn’t an intruder.” I laughed. “If there is, he’ll be disappointed with our abysmal lack of technology and easy-to-move goods.”

  The door peeled open, and Patrick appeared in the doorway. He pressed the phone to his ear and raised his other hand, palm toward me. “Please don’t call the police.”

  I crossed my arms. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t.”

  “I’ll put back your 1990s VCR and your collection of Spice Girls CDs.”

  “Even Greatest Hits?”

  He pouted. “Fine.”

  It probably wasn’t romantic, but I loved being with Patrick like this. Other than my Dad and Gran, he was the only one I felt completely comfortable with. It had to be a good omen for us. He stood aside and I entered the apartment.

  “It’s a good thing you decided to let me keep my 1990s VCR,” I said. “How else would we watch a movie and then fall asleep on the couch?”

  “Ah, you got my message.”

  He shut the door and turned to face me. In a gray T-shirt and jeans, he was deliciously rumpled and weary-looking. His gorgeous looks gave me a burst of courage, and I sidled up to him and touched his chest. “I did. But I have a bette
r idea.”

  The oven beeped, and Patrick retreated toward the kitchen. “Oh yeah?” he called over his shoulder. “If your idea is nachos, I’m way ahead of you.”

  “Uh…” I followed him to the kitchen and lingered in the doorway. “Nachos are good. But that wasn’t my idea.”

  Patrick’s head was in the oven. “What was your idea?”

  “It was … something else.”

  I let that sink in. Then Patrick unfolded into a standing position. I knew I was blushing, but I forced myself to hold his gaze.

  His brow was furrowed. “But … nachos are terrible cold.”

  I blinked.

  “Kidding!” He crossed the kitchen in two large steps. “I mean, they are. But I don’t care. Sorry.” As he talked, he covered my face in kisses. I accepted them, and his apology. “Let’s eat the nachos later,” he said, his lips pressed against mine. “Let’s eat them … never.”

  He marched me backwards toward my bedroom, all the while mumbling about the insignificance of nachos, about how, actually, he didn’t really even like nachos. In fact, apart from the fact that they’d kept him alive throughout college, he hated them. I laughed between kisses as we made our way through my kitchen and living room. We stopped when the backs of my knees hit the bed.

  “Enough about nachos,” I ordered.

  His smile fell away, replaced by a serious, intense expression. “What nachos?”

  I reached for the top button of his shirt and flicked it open. I undid another, then another, releasing each button until the shirt slid off his shoulders and onto the floor. Carefully, we unfurled on the bed. And after what felt like an eternity, he kissed me.

  It continued like a dream. On and on, we kissed, hands trailing, mouths exploring. I lay back as he kissed my nipples, rubbing and caressing and even nipping me gently with his teeth. I felt a rush of adrenaline, and I began to get excited about what would happen when he went farther down.

  As if reading my mind, his mouth descended farther, obscured completely by my belly. I stared at the ceiling and then … ahhh.… his mouth was warm and wet as it rolled over me. I lifted my hips to meet him and threw my head back. Oh. God.