by Holly Jacobs
Stephan said her name again, but she ignored him. Ignored everything but this pain. It eased off and finally ended, and she took a deep cleansing breath like they’d taught her at childbirth class. She glanced at her watch. “It was just four minutes from the last one.”
“My Land Rover can make it through this, I’m sure. I’ll go next door and get it—”
The thought of Stephan leaving her alone terrified her. “Don’t. I mean, I don’t know that there’s time for you to go get yours. Dad’s Ranger’s in the garage, the key’s on the peg.”
“Then let’s go. Can you make it?”
Stephan wore such a concerned expression, she tried to infuse more certainty in the reply than she felt. “Sure. This is nothing. Remember that time I hurt my foot, then we walked half a mile to get home, and later found out that I wasn’t a wimp, it had been broken? Well, this is nothing compared to that.”
And that statement was a big fat lie.
Slowly, with Stephan’s help, she got off the couch and waddled toward the garage. He got her settled in the car before he got in and slowly pulled out of the garage. It was as if a bucket of water was thrown on the truck, or they were driving under a huge waterfall. He turned the wipers on high and started up the drive, then turned onto the road heading toward Port Clinton.
Maple Grove Road was a desolate section of Heritage Bay. Sparsely populated, with woods on one side, the beach and houses on the other. Years ago, before beachside houses were in vogue, Carolyn’s family had purchased a huge tract of land, as had Stephan’s family, which meant there had been no development on this part of the lake. Most of the time, that was a plus, but tonight, she’d give anything for a gaggle of friendly neighbors.
“Sorry, I can’t go any faster,” Stephan said. He was hunched over the steering wheel, as if leaning forward would help him see through the deluge better as they eased their way up the street.
Ten minutes later, they’d barely made it to the top of Maple Grove Road.
“Stephan, I don’t think we’re going to make it in time. My contractions are coming closer together, and at the rate we’re moving, I’ll be giving birth on Route 2.”
“You’re right. I’ll stop at the Callahans’ place, let them know to go get help—an ambulance, the cops, someone—then we’ll go back to your place and wait.”
It wasn’t exactly the best plan, but Carolyn didn’t want to try to make it the fourteen miles into town in this mess. Maybe she was wrong, maybe this wasn’t labor, maybe it was just those false Braxton-Hicks contractions.
Stephan stopped at their nearest neighbors, at the top of Maple Grove Road, and was soaked by the time he’d taken more than a couple of steps.
“It’s fine,” he said as he climbed back in the truck and started for the cottage. “Mr. Callahan has a truck, and he’s going to head into town, while Mrs. Callahan will wait at the house and keep trying the phone in case it comes on.”
“Good.” That was all she could say in response, because she was swept away into another contraction. Braxton-Hicks, she corrected herself, but she didn’t believe it. She was in labor, in the middle of the worst storms she’d ever seen.
Ten minutes later, they’d made their way back to the cottage, and Stephan helped her into the house between contractions. He tucked her onto the couch, stoked the fire, relit the candles, then went off to borrow some dry clothes of her father’s to change into.
Part of Carolyn was terrified. This wasn’t how her child was supposed to be born, in a cottage, with no electricity, without Ross at her side.
She was supposed to be in the hospital birthing room with her husband feeding her encouragement and ice chips as he reminded her to breathe correctly.
Instead, she was breathing on her own, while Stephan tried to be brave and cover the fact that he looked as if he were going to throw up. “You’re sure you’re comfortable on the couch?”
He’d added more wood to the fire, more for light than heat, but it did drive out the dampness that was left over from their excursion into the storm.
“I’m okay.” She was gripped by another pain, and time started to lose meaning. It was only the smaller and smaller blocks of minutes between pains, when she could collect herself, catch her breath and try not to worry. Just as the trying gave out, another pain would hit and drive all other thoughts away. Wave after wave, they came faster and faster.
Stephan bustled about, putting water on to heat, gathering an assortment of items he laid out on the table. Running to the bathroom to wash his hands, bringing out the alcohol. She sent him into her room for a book. She remembered there was a section on the actual process of birth. He read it voraciously between her contractions.
“Stephan…” she managed to gasp after one particularly rough contraction.
“You’re just going to have to trust me,” he said, understanding her unasked question. “I’ll bring you and the baby through this, I promise. You just have to hold on to me. Believe in me. Believe that Mr. Callahan’s made it into town and reinforcements are on their way.”
At some point, she lost track of everything but the contractions, the baby…and Stephan’s gentle support. “Come on, Caro, you can do it. It’s just like swimming, just ride the wave, relax, it will do the work and bring you into shore.”
“Nice analogy,” she managed, and wanted to laugh, but another contraction caught her and she forgot everything except the baby and the need to push.
And that was a new level to forever, a place where everything was measured by the small windows of time between contractions. Pushing until she couldn’t imagine expending another ounce of energy, then an ebb, when the contraction backed off and let her catch her breath, then another wave, pushing…pushing. There was no embarrassment in front of Stephan, no worries except the pushing.
“Caro, I think that’s the baby’s head. Come on, we’re almost there.”
She pushed again and the pressure was intense. “Back off a bit, the book says I have to manipulate the baby’s shoulders through and after that, it should be…” He worked as he spoke and she held on, fighting the urge to push, to expel the baby.
“There. Now, just one more.” And without waiting for him to finish, she let go and rode that urge to push. And suddenly, the pressure was gone, almost as if it never had been.
“It’s a girl,” Stephan was saying.
“A girl?”
He handed her the baby…her daughter. “A girl.”
She looked from her daughter, her beautiful daughter, to Stephan. “Thank you.”
Carolyn cradled the baby, marveling in her every feature. There’d been no traditional cry, just her daughter, wrapped in a crazy neon beach towel, staring at her with enormous blue eyes. And when Caro started to cry, they were tears of joy….
“…AND I WATCHED YOUR MOM fall in love with you as she held you in that silly towel, until the ambulance finally arrived.”
Watching Carolyn hold the baby he’d helped her bring into the world was one of those moments he’d kept close and savored all these years. It was one of those rare times that people are sometimes blessed with, when all is right in the world, despite the storm, despite everything.
“And I’m going to confess, I fell in love with you, as well. When your mom asked me to be your godfather, I was thrilled because there was a tangible connection to represent what I’d felt for you from that first moment on. You’re loved, Emma. Since the moment you were born, you’ve been loved. You’ve got so many people, so very much waiting here, so fight your way back to it. Your mom believes you can do it. It doesn’t matter what anyone else says, she believes in you. And I know firsthand that having Carolyn Kendal believe in you is a pretty powerful thing. We’re both waiting here for you, so please try.”
Later, when the nurse, who introduced herself as Ann-Marie, bustled in, Stephan asked if she could send someone from physical therapy up to the room. When the man arrived, Stephan asked what sort of movements he should be doing with Emma to h
elp her keep her muscles toned.
Stephan shadowed everyone who came in the room, asking questions, learning what needed to be done. And in between therapists, doctors and nurses, he continued talking to Emma, sharing bits and pieces of himself with her. Saying anything he could think of that might tempt her to come back to them.
CHAPTER FOUR
CAROLYN WOKE IN HER own bed for the first time in two weeks and felt refreshed. She had to admit that Stephan had been right. Sleeping in the chair or on the small sofa in Emma’s room wasn’t quite the same as stretching out in her own bed, or taking a shower in her own bathroom, with her own shampoo and body wash.
This short respite was heaven.
She stood in the shower for a very long time and just let the hot water pound on her back, feeling knots that had been present for weeks start to loosen. She didn’t stir until the water went from hot to lukewarm to freezing. Then, reluctantly she got out.
As anxious as she was to return to the hospital, she took her time dressing then putting the house in order. She went through the mail and weeded out what had to be attended to and what could simply wait. She threw out the quantity of food in her refrigerator that had gone bad, or would go bad soon, then took the bag out to the curb, even though the pickup wouldn’t be for a couple of days.
Rested, cleaned and having enjoyed a few brief moments of normalcy as she did her chores, she found herself humming as she watered her very dry-looking plants. Suddenly, she heard herself, and because she’d had that brief moment of mindless pleasure, she felt an immediate stab of guilt. How could she be happy about anything when Emma was in that hospital?
How could she bustle about the house as if her daughter wasn’t in a hospital bed trying to fight her way out of a coma?
The guilt was a tangible, physical pain. What did she care if every houseplant died or everything in her refrigerator spoiled? Her daughter needed her.
She hurriedly packed a bag with some of Emma’s favorites. Blue, her stuffed dog with the music box inside, and a stack of pictures. Some books on tape. She spotted the ragged edge of Emma’s blanket. Emma felt, at almost six, she was too big to need the comfort of a blanket, but couldn’t seem to resist its siren call. She slept with it every night, secretly tucked under her pillow.
If ever Emma needed comfort, now was the time. Carolyn snatched the blanket from under the pillow and stuffed it into the bag, as well.
Her guilt continued to nag at her, but it altered subtly, turning into a raw bubble of anger coursing through her system. Anger directed at Stephan.
She never should have left, but he’d practically thrown her out. She started to envision all the things that could have happened to Emma while she was away and the anger grew unchecked.
Some small rational part of her knew she wasn’t really mad at Stephan, but at the situation. She was mad as hell that her baby was lying in a hospital fighting for her life. But she couldn’t be mad at Emma, or at the hospital itself, so the rest of her reveled in putting all that anger at Stephan Foster’s feet. After all, Stephan had always thought he knew everything. It was obvious that much hadn’t changed. Here he was, riding in and playing at being some sort of white knight, thinking he knew what was best for her and her daughter.
Well, Carolyn didn’t need to be rescued from her daughter.
She was in a fine state when she finally reached the hospital. But all her irrational anger faded away as she found Stephan gently lifting Emma’s leg, pushing it back, stretching it out.
He was talking to her. “…and whenever your mom was mad, she’d go to Spencer’s Rock. I never really thought about it, but I have no clue why it was called Spencer’s Rock. When you’re better, we’ll have to investigate. We can make it a summer project. Just you and me. What do you think? We’ll find out where Spencer’s Rock got its name. Who knows what we’ll find? Maybe one of the cottages was once owned by someone named Spencer. Or maybe there was a pirate named Spencer who buried his booty under it….”
He switched to Emma’s other leg and started taking it through the range of motions. “Wouldn’t that be great, if we found a pirate’s treasure? You’d like that, wouldn’t you? But no matter where the place got its name, your mom, when she was angry, or hurt, or just needed somewhere to think, well, she’d head out there and just sit on top of it. It was a very big rock, you know. More of a boulder really. She’d sit there and pull her knees up to her chin, and wrap her arms around them. Folded up on herself like that, she’d sit and stare at the water until she calmed down from whatever was bothering her, or figured out whatever she needed to. I wish I could have sent her to Spencer’s Rock today, but she’d never agree to be away from you that long. I wasn’t even sure I could get her to go home for a nap. Your mom is one of the most stubborn women I ever met. I already mentioned that once or twice, though, didn’t I?” He chuckled, obviously finding himself very funny.
He moved to Emma’s right arm. “But hey, I’m pretty sure I read somewhere that stubbornness is an inherited trait, so be stubborn, Emma. You be stubborn, too. Fight your way out of this.”
Carolyn’s anger didn’t just fade, it popped, burst like a child’s balloon. She’d known even as she rode its wave, that she wasn’t really angry about her little girl, who’d been so happy at the thought of spending a day with her father, but at her injury by some drunk.
Angry that Ross could listen to the doctors and simply write off Emma—that he could leave his daughter without a backward glance.
Angry that her own parents wouldn’t give her the support she needed.
Anger. There was so much anger.
Stephan had been the perfect target, mainly because he was here. But watching him with Emma, Carolyn felt nothing but thankfulness that she had such a good friend in her life.
She walked into the room. Stephan spotted her and smiled. “You look better.”
“I feel better, thanks.” In fact, it was the best she’d felt since she’d gotten the call about the accident.
She glanced at Emma’s arm, still in Stephan’s hand, then back at him.
“I called in the physical therapist and had him teach me what sort of exercises needed to be done to keep Emma limber. When she wakes up, she’ll need her strength.”
And that one simple statement, said with such firm conviction, left tears welling in Carolyn’s eyes.
For days, weeks now, she’d sat here and fought with everyone. She’d fought them all, desperate to make them believe that Emma could find her way out of whatever dark place she was in.
Then Stephan came, ready to talk her into leaving, and instead, he’d simply believed in her, believed in Emma, and stayed.
Caro leaned against the cool tiled wall and closed her eyes to let the realization sink in.
He’d just walked in and stayed.
She didn’t need to ask if he’d called his friend for a second opinion. She knew.
“Hey.”
She opened her eyes and peered at her old friend and remembered that he’d always been there for her.
“You okay?”
“I’m fine. You were telling Emma about Spencer’s Rock. I didn’t just go there when I was upset, or needed to think. It’s where we used to meet. Where we…”
Their eyes met, and she knew Stephan was recalling the other reason she’d gone to Spencer’s Rock when they were growing up. “I know.”
1978
CAROLYN WORKED FOR WEEKS preparing her argument, practicing it even.
She was seventeen, and in September she’d start her senior year of high school. Next summer she’d be working and getting ready for college. She was practically an adult and should be able to spend this last summer of freedom doing exactly what she wanted. And what she wanted was to stay in Cleveland and hang out with her friends. She wanted to go to the beach with them, go to the mall, movies, parties—a last real summer vacation.
What she did not want was to come to Heritage Bay for six long weeks, stuck in the middle of nowh
ere, exiled from her friends and all the summertime fun.
She didn’t want to spend her days doing nothing, missing out on all the exciting things she and her friends had planned and talked about for the final three months. She wanted to savor every moment of this last year of high school. She wanted to hold on to it because she knew that once she graduated, everything would change.
Her stomach always did a little somersault at the thought of leaving high school and everything she knew. But last week, when she’d presented her argument in all its logical glory to her parents, would they listen to her reasoned, well-thought-out plan?
No, not them.
Everything she’d so carefully rehearsed had fallen on deaf ears, which is why she found herself here, in Heritage Bay once again. Every summer of her entire life, she’d spent here.
It had only been a few days, and she’d already finished her summer reading for school. Yesterday, her mom had driven her into Port Clinton to the Ida Rupp Library. She couldn’t help but wonder who Ida was, and was she pleased that she’d had a library named after her?
Carolyn sighed, though the sound was lost on the lake-blown breeze. Yes, this was what she was reduced to, sitting on Spencer’s Rock and wondering who Ida Rupp was. Not exactly what she’d had in mind for her last summer of complete freedom.
She unwound her arms from her legs, and picked up one of the seven books she’d checked out. Pride and Prejudice. She’d decided if she had to spend her summer basically by herself, reading Jane Austen would help pass the time.
“Hey, Elf.”
At the unexpected noise, Carolyn jumped, turned and launched herself at Stephan in one fluid motion. The rock came to about his shoulders, so she had a nice bit of height advantage. As she landed on him, he made a very satisfying humph noise as he fell back on the sand and the air whooshed out of his lungs.
“Come on, Caro, you’re squashing me.”
Obviously, she wasn’t squashing him enough, because he sat up, taking both of them into upright position. “You look good.”