Trouble Me

by Beck Anderson

  I go after her. She stands up, gun in hand. But I have a flashlight, and I swing it, hard, connecting with the side of her head. She goes down like a rag doll.

  Tucker puts a boot down on her arm, points his gun at her head, kicks her gun away.

  Kelly lies on the floor, still. I see a tiny glint in the puddle of blood or water, I can’t tell which. It’s her ring, her engagement ring. I can tell that as I pocket it. Mari must’ve pulled it off her finger in the struggle.

  I slide down to her side, cradle her head in my hand. It’s too dark; I can’t tell what’s wrong with her.

  I feel down her side, and my hand comes up wet. I feel a warm, jagged wound, flesh torn and bleeding. Panic threatens to strike me paralyzed, but I force my hand to search and come up with another wet warm tear in the fabric of her shirt under her arm, and there’s something sharp sticking out of it, splintered like a broken stick. A rib.

  “Tucker. She’s hurt. She’s not awake. She’s been shot, Tucker.”

  The deputy and Prescott come in with kerosene lanterns from the back utility room. Finally I can really see what the hell is going on.

  Tucker calls the deputy over. “Cover her. Andrew and I need to help Kelly. She’s been shot.”

  Tucker is next to me, his fingers at Kelly’s throat for a pulse.

  “She’s breathing. Her pulse is thready, though. She’s going into shock.”

  “We’ve got to get her out of here, Tuck. The baby.”

  “I know. We’re going to do this, okay? We’re going to help her.” Tucker points to my hoodie. “Take that off. We’ll tear it into strips, tourniquet the arm wound. You’ll need to put pressure on the one under her arm. Then we’ll move her.”

  The deputy holds his gun steady and covers Prescott as he pulls Mari upright and takes her back the way they came.

  Tucker calls to him. “There are zip ties in the toolkit.”

  “We’ll watch her. We’ve got it handled.” The deputy leaves the room with Mari.

  Tucker calls to Prescott. “Go look for Tessa. Her car was out front. She’s probably upstairs in one of the other bedrooms. She can help you contact Kelly’s family, if you can get the radio or cell working. And call for backup and ambulance.”

  “I don’t know. We didn’t have any luck getting a signal just now.”

  “We need the truck, then. You might be forced to hold Mari here for a while.”

  “You go, Tucker, and we’ll handle it here.” He disappears down the hall, calling for Tessa, identifying himself.

  I don’t know what to say. I stare at Kelly’s still, pale face. “Where are we going with Kelly?”

  Tucker’s thinking. “There’s no point trying to get to Portland, probably not even Seaside. That low bridge along the bay was basically washed out when we got past it coming down here. By now it’s gone.”

  “She needs help. And the baby, we need to know about the baby.”

  “So, the deputy said the fire department runs incident command during a winter storm. We need to get there. Someone’ll be on duty, and they’ll have enough resources. We can deliver the baby if we have to. EMTs in a little town like this have probably even done it before if they’ve been around long enough.”

  “A fireman?”

  “All of us will help.”

  I pick her up in my arms. She’s lifeless, limp. I swallow hard and feel my heart pushing blood through my veins, taut with adrenaline and panic. We have to get her out of here. “Let’s get her to the truck.”

  Along the road into town, Tucker powers through standing water and even surf in more than a few spots. I hold Kelly in my arms, talk to her, and hit redial on the cell over and over, hoping to raise dispatch long enough to tell them we’re coming.

  Kelly shudders in my arms. “She’s having another contraction, I think, Tuck.” I hold her, try to help her through it, cradle her shaking body.

  He looks at his cell. “They’re coming pretty close together, but we’re still okay. I think it’s a good sign that labor’s still progressing.”

  I squeeze Kelly’s hand. “Hang on. Hang in there, Kells. We’re almost there.”

  I say this nine million times in the fifteen minutes it takes us to get there. And Tucker is going as fast as humanly possible, I know. We hydroplane a couple times before he can wrestle the truck back into the middle of the road.

  We roar into the fire station’s drive. Tucker leans on the horn and screeches to a halt. Three men come out in T-shirts, rush to the side of the truck.

  Tucker’s out and talking immediately, shouting over the screaming storm. “Two gunshot wounds, active labor. Thready pulse, loss of consciousness. It’s been about twenty minutes since the injury. We’re not sure how long she’s been laboring. She’s having contractions about a minute apart.”

  “Inside.” A white-haired man points to the doors. There’s another man holding the door. “Everybody scrub up.”

  I carry Kelly inside and lay her gently on the gurney they’ve brought to the door. She’s whisked off to another room. The lights are on here, and I can hear the metallic chugging of a generator outside, earning its keep.

  Tucker stands shoulder to shoulder with two of the other men, waiting to wash up so he can help. He looks at me. “Scrub up.”

  I do as I’m told, soap up to my elbows.

  Tucker turns to another fireman. “You need to find all the bedding you can, and start thinking about a way to warm the baby. Assuming he’s fine, he’s going to need to stay warm.”

  I break in. “If he’s not?”

  “We’ll cross the bridge when we need to, Andrew. Like I said, babies get born all over the place.”

  The gray-haired man must be the chief. He nods. “They don’t wait for us to be ready. They like to make it complicated. Announce their arrival with some drama.”

  “If they can find formula, be thinking about that also. You might have to bottle feed him till Kelly’s able.”

  I dry my hands, slip into latex gloves. I can’t stop shaking.

  This is not how this was supposed to go.

  39: Coming Around Again

  I SEE BRIGHT, WARM LIGHT and feel a strong, deep urge to push. Nothing’s in focus.

  “There she is! She’s conscious! Kelly, Kelly Jo Jo, come back to us!”

  Tucker. Tucker hollers at me.

  “I need to push.” That’s all I can say.

  “Okay, gents, let’s help her. Tyler, if you’ll lift her head and shoulders up. Mind the left side; that’s where the wounds are.”

  “Where’s Andrew?” My voice sounds tiny and scratchy.

  “He’s right here. Are you ready to push?”

  I close my eyes tight and push, hard.

  Someone else’s voice. “Tell her one more good push. He’s crowning already. You all got here just in time.”

  “Kelly, push again—hardest you ever have—and we’ll be done. This guy wants to be born.”

  The other voice again. “Get ready with support for the baby. We don’t know what we’ve got here. Could need to be vented.”

  More voices. “Do we have a pediatric vent? Did we find it?”

  “Yeah, I got it. I got the peds line ready too.”

  “Think about where you start fluids on a baby. And if we need a line, it may need to be a mainline. Just be ready. Think on your feet, friends.”

  “Ready to push, Kelly? Now, hon, push hard, push hard. Push!”

  I push again. I feel a stabbing sharp pain behind my breast. “Andrew! It hurts. Andrew!”

  And finally, I hear him. I feel his hand in mine, squeezing it, reassuring me. “I’m here, Kelly. I’m here. Push through it. It’s okay.”

  Tucker’s voice. “She’s got to be done on this one. That rib could be perforating her lung on the other side. I couldn’t tell how shattered it was by the bullet.”

  I push and push, and it feels like forever, but suddenly everyone’s voices speak all at once. “Hey, here we go, yes! Kelly, you did it! He’s h
ere! Okay, quickly guys. Umbilical and vitals, stat.”

  An unfamiliar voice speaks up. “Please tell me we can transport. Any word on that?”

  “Hey! Andrew! Kelly! Kelly Jo Jo, you have a healthy baby girl!”

  I hear this. A girl! “A girl?”

  “She’s talking. That’s good. She must be stabilizing a little. We can push fluids hard on the trip to Seaside.”

  “A girl. She’s looking good. She’s pinking up.” I can tell these things are spoken in my direction.

  “Andrew?” I call.

  “I’m right here.”

  “Go hold her. I don’t want her to be alone.”

  As he goes to do this, deep relief floods me, washing over the stabbing pain I still feel in my abdomen and all up my side.

  “I’ll stay with her, Kelly,” he says. “You stay with me.”

  “She’s losing consciousness. Her blood pressure is low. Let’s try…”

  Everything washes away in a sigh, turning to gray water and tears on my cheeks. The pain ebbs.

  40: Sweet and Lowdown

  THE NURSE WANTED HER ON THE WARMING TABLE, all swaddled up, but I just want to hold her. The tears stream down my cheeks as I look at her. That’s me. Andy Pettigrew, master of the universe, king of the box office, reduced to a trembling mess.

  I got to bottle feed her already. I have no idea what to call her. Kelly hasn’t regained consciousness. Her name’s got to be a team decision. The doctors said Kelly’ll wake up soon, since mostly it was the blood pressure and lost blood, and they’ve put four units into her since we got here. It doesn’t look like we’ll have to airlift anyone to Portland, after all, which is good. The weather’s still shitty.

  Kelly broke a rib. The bullet broke her rib, actually. But she didn’t perforate her lung, like we thought she might have, so we were very lucky.

  I look at my little girl without a name. She’s fine. She hums, and I love it, but the nurses don’t. They say it’s a breathing problem. But the humming that no one except me likes, it’s starting to subside. Kelly’s going to miss it. I tried to record it on my phone. When she wakes up I’ll play it for her.

  The baby was delivered at thirty-seven weeks and a few days, pretty much full-term, so that was not the biggest concern of the event. No one mentioned it to me until we were back here in the NICU, but baby girl had the umbilical cord wrapped around her neck. Maybe arriving on the scene a little early was good. That situation could have gone all to hell even without any of this crazy drama.

  Mari’s in jail, but on the psych ward. They had to hold her in the little lock up in Cannon Beach for a night, and the deputy had to clear five boxes of paper towels out of the holding cell to do it. Shows you how often they have trouble.

  I need to close my eyes. If the nurse comes in, I’ll ask her to stay with the baby. I can just sleep for a couple minutes, then when Kelly comes around I can function.

  I don’t pray, not usually. But right now I lay myself down on the vinyl of the lounger, and I call out to whoever it is that let me keep my Kelly and my baby, and I say thank you, God. Thank you for the second and third and millionth chances you’ve given me to figure out my ridiculous, self-absorbed life. Thank you for letting me find these amazing creatures and for not scaring them off, and for being able to keep them safe even when someone wanted to hurt us. Thank you, universe. I owe you. I owe you big.

  41: Waking Up

  I OPEN MY EYES, and everything makes sense, suddenly. It’s been a fog for I don’t know how long. The pain nudges me in the familiar spot under my arm, but it’s just a nudge and not an ice pick between the ribs.

  The room is cute. There are three quilts hung up, all green and blue and purples. Lots of teddy bears and flowers.

  “Andrew?” I call, though not really, because I have no voice. It’s all scratch. I look around the room again.

  He’s asleep in the lounger. Out. He has dark, dark circles under his closed eyes. He’s here. I’m safe.

  “The baby? Where’s the baby?” Again, it’s a scratchy nothing. I do a quick survey and find the call button on the side of the bed. I press it once, gently.

  A big lady with big hair and very red lipstick strolls in. She wears red and black scrubs. Her smile gets wider when she sees I’m awake. “There you are, lady! Welcome back!”

  She glides over and puts her hand to my wrist. She checks my pupils with a little light. I motion to my throat.

  “Water. Got it.” She gets the pitcher and pours me a glass. “You pushed the call button?”

  I nod. “My baby?” It’s a peep, a scratchy peep, but I can talk now.

  “Would you like to meet her?”

  “How long has it been?”

  “You haven’t missed much. It’s been about six hours since you got here. You lost a lot of blood; your blood pressure was low. The doctor sedated you for a bit too.”

  “Has she eaten?”

  “Andrew bottle fed her, but you can try nursing her. You all didn’t get to choose how that went down, did you?”

  She’s on a first name basis with Andrew. I smile. It’s good that they like each other. Nurses rule the maternity wing.

  “I’ll go get her out of the nursery.”

  She glides out. I love how calm she is.

  Andrew hasn’t woken up yet. I wiggle my toes. Maybe I can get up and wake him.

  But I don’t know if I’m in one piece. I take stock head to toe. No C-section scar. That’s good. I remember the pushing. Good.

  My arm hurts. There’s a big bandage. The gun. The searing pain in my arm. I was shot. And there’s a big bandage on my side, under my arm. That one I don’t even touch. It still throbs and reminds me it’s there.

  Mari. I don’t know what happened to her. But it’s quiet here. I feel safe, even though the wounds throb. Other than these injuries, there’s just general soreness. And sensations I remember from the early days of being a mother. I take another drink through the straw.

  “Andrew?” It sounds better, more like a word. Maybe I should just let him sleep.

  The nurse comes in. “Here she is, Baby Girl Pettigrew.”

  She hands me my baby. She wears a little knit blue, pink, and white cap. She has hair, dark and thick. Her eyes are open, blinking and confused. She and I just got here. We’re both trying to catch up to all these other people who know what’s been going on for longer.

  I touch her tiny fingers. Her nails. Someone clipped them already. That’s good.

  “You want to try?” The nurse looks at me.

  “Sure. I’m Kelly, by the way.”

  “I’m Regina. Nice to meet you, Mrs. Pettigrew.”

  “Mrs. Almost-Pettigrew,” Andrew chimes in. He’s awake. God, I love his voice. I want to squeeze him.

  “Please, just Kelly,” I say to her, but she’s already walking out the door.

  “Give the nursing a try. The doctor gave it the okay. I’m going to give you all a minute.” She waves over her shoulder.

  “I changed her already.” He comes to my side. I grab his arm and pull him to me.

  “Oh, Andrew.” I kiss him, hold him around the neck. “I love you so much.”

  “Hi, love. I’m so glad to see those bright eyes of yours again.” He kisses me deeply.

  “Where’s Tessa? Is she okay? Where are the boys?” I can’t stand to think that someone was so close to us and could have hurt anyone else.

  “Tessa’s fine. She’s here. So are the boys. Tucker has some serious connections. He flew your folks and the boys in as soon as the weather began to even hint at clearing.”

  He presses his forehead to mine, then leans down and plants a little kiss on the baby’s forehead. “Welcome to the family, baby without a name. This is your mama, Mrs. Almost-Pettigrew.” He sits next to me. “So, you’re doing this? Are you feeling well enough?”

  “I feel tons better. I feel awake. So, yeah, we’re doing this. Time for baby to eat.”

  It takes a minute for the little one to fig
ure out it’s dinner time, but we get the hang of it. Andrew sits, very quiet, rubs my elbow once in a while.

  “See? We’ve got it all figured out.”

  “You need to take it as it comes, Kelly. If you need a rest, I’ve already bottle fed her, so she’s not being picky. No confusion. She’s brilliant already.”

  “She needs a name.”

  “Yes, yes, she does. I know what I want her middle name to be, if that’s okay.”

  “What?”

  “Emily. For my friend.” He looks straight at me. Emily was the friend Andrew lost right after he left home for Hollywood. Losing her was very hard on him.

  “I like that a lot. First name ideas?”

  “I got nothin’. I’ve been busy saving the world. Though I understand you took someone out with a fireplace poker.”

  “Yes, I did.” I close my eyes. I don’t know how to feel about Mari. Her brother, her tragedy—she was clearly sick. But that rage and fear, the threat she posed to my family, I don’t know when I’ll be able to hear her name without a rush of emotions.

  “We’re safe from her,” Andrew soothes. “She’s on the psych wing of the county jail. She’ll get help. You didn’t completely wreck her; we just slowed her way down.”

  “I didn’t know I was capable of that.”

  “I’ll remember not to make you mad.” He strokes my hair, tucks a strand behind my ear, kisses me softly on the lips.

  The baby fusses. “Time to change sides. This one could be a little tricky.”

  “Your bad wing. I’ll help hold her.” He scoots closer, puts a hand under her tiny, swaddled bundle of a body. She’s a lot smaller than the boys were. Both of them were overdue. She’s my early bird.

  “She’s light. How much does she weigh?”

  “She’s holding her own. Five pounds, fifteen ounces.” Proud daddy sticking up for her.

  “What day is it?”

  “January twenty-fifth.”

  “Three fives. Maybe there’s a name in there somewhere,” I muse.

  “No Cinco Pettigrew.”

  Hunter and Beau come charging in. “Mom!”