Skinny Dipping

by Connie Brockway

  “Mimi?” Sarah’s muffled voice sounded painfully young and uncertain.

  “You’ll figure it out, Sarah. Promise.”

  “I don’t think I can.”

  Mimi’s heart flopped over and melted. “Then we will, Sarah. We’ll figure it out, I promise, but first you have to have her,” Mimi said, brushing the hair away from her face. “Come on, Sarah. You don’t really want Prescott to deliver your baby, do you?”

  “Prescott is not delivering any babies!” Prescott said loudly.

  In all the commotion, Prescott had disappeared. Now he emerged from the stairwell leading to the tower, his cell phone in one hand and his ultracompact notebook in the other. He held them up in the air as if to display their worthlessness. “I thought I might be able to get a connection if I was high enough, but I’m not getting satellite or microwave.”

  Good old Prescott. While the other men—and Birgie—were sitting on their butts doing nothing, at least he’d been trying to do something. “Thanks, Prescott,” Mimi said.

  His cheeks turned pink and he looked over at Sarah, all swollen of face and form, and said, “Okay, Sarah. You’ve had your Big Moment. Now get your ass off the stool and go to the hospital and have the baby.”

  Amazingly, she did. Without further protest, Sarah got off the stool, wiped her nose with the back of her hand, and began lumbering down the front hall. The Olson women fell in behind her, like nursery insects attending a queen termite.

  Chapter Forty-five

  The first hour wasn’t bad; Sarah wasn’t in active labor. Mimi and Sarah and Prescott sat in the Fawn Creek Hospital’s “pre-birthing room,” cozily lit with floor lamps and outfitted with overstuffed armchairs. They sucked on Popsicles and joked and watched television (Fawn Creek Hospital had a dedicated cable feed). Sarah told them about the new baby names she’d decided upon, Mignonette for a girl and Prescott for a boy. Both Prescott and Mimi declared themselves flattered, but while poor old Prescott actually seemed to believe Sarah was going to name her son Prescott, Mimi silently wondered how long Sarah’s sentimental mood would last.

  The answer was until Sarah had her first real contraction.

  Sarah stopped in the middle of saying how much she liked Bill—another romantic exaggeration—cocked her head as one listening for the unwelcome arrival of an unpleasant relative, and said, “What was that?”

  “What was what?” Prescott asked, looking around.

  Sarah waited for long minutes, shrugged, and was in the middle of relaxing back against the pillows when she bolted up. “That.” She pressed her hand to her stomach.

  Mimi pushed the button to call the nurse. The woman swept in a minute later and hustled Mimi and Prescott out of the room while she examined Sarah. She called them back shortly thereafter and said, “She’s gone into labor. Which is good. We’ll just let nature take its course and see where things stand in a little while.” She turned to Prescott and Mimi. “Did she attend any birth classes?”

  Mimi looked at Sarah. “Tell her.”

  Sarah’s mouth took on a mutinous tilt. “I didn’t see the point,” she said. “I read all about it. I went to the medical school and read the entire first-year curriculum on obstetrics.”

  “Attending a birth and giving birth is not the same thing,” the nurse pronounced.

  “Why would I need to go to—” Sarah’s eyes widened in astonishment. “Now, that hurts!”

  “And that’s why you go to birthing classes, honey.”

  “Hey!” Mimi said. “That’s my sister, and in case you haven’t noticed, she’s not having a great time, here.”

  “Down, Big Sister. She’ll do fine. She just might have had a finer time if she knew what to expect.” She turned to Sarah and redeemed herself a little by smiling. “You hang in there. As soon as you’re a little further along, we’ll give you an epidural. I’ll be back to check on you a little later.”

  “How do you think she knew I was the big sister?” Mimi asked when she’d gone.

  “I.. want…my…mother!”

  Mimi’s chin fell off her palm, jerking her awake. She looked around, dazed. She’d been dreaming she’d been skinny-dipping with a pod of singing whales. Instead, she was sitting at a round table in the hospital waiting room at the end of a long corridor, at the opposite end of which Sarah was shrieking. Not an “I’m terrified” shriek, but an “I will bring down the hospital with my bare hands if you don’t get me what I want” shriek.

  A virago had replaced the bewildered, amenable Sarah of some hours ago.

  Mimi glanced at the wall clock. They’d been here ten hours.

  She shoved herself to her feet and moaned. Her right arm was dead and her neck hurt. Prescott was sprawled over the green plastic-covered sofa, his mouth hanging open, snoring. She wanted to tiptoe over and remove the bolt from his eyebrow. She knew this was more a manufactured impulse rather than a true desire; she just didn’t want to deal with Sarah.

  She toyed with the idea of rousing Prescott and sending him in to Sarah, but that would be cowardly. Besides, Sarah had thrown things at Prescott the last time he’d been in to “cajol and hearten” her. She hadn’t yet tried to physically assault Mimi. She trudged dutifully down the hallway.

  “Mimi. Mimi!” Sarah called. “Is that you skulking around out there?”

  “Yup!” Mimi answered, determinedly perky as she entered the room. She winced when she saw Sarah. Her face was pale and damp, her beautiful ash blond hair was all dull and matted up on the side, dark circles ringed her eyes, and her lips looked dry. An IV connected her to a bag suspended above the bed. They’d started her on Pitocin a few hours ago when her labor had begun petering out. The poor kid looked exhausted. But determined. God love her, you had to give her that. Sarah Charbonneau Werner had never known failure, and she wasn’t going to start now.

  “Hi, Sarah.”

  “You were sleeping, weren’t you?” Sarah accused her.

  “I’m sorry. How are you doing?”

  “I don’t have good labor. Whatever the hell that is supposed to be.” She gave Mimi an angry look. “Let me tell you, Mimi, from where I’m sitting, there is no good labor.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Abruptly, Sarah waved away her protest. “I want you to call Mother.”

  “What?”

  “I want Mother. Call her.”

  “After all these months of routing your email through Singapore, getting Prescott to fake an international cell phone number for you to call from, and swearing the last thing you wanted was Solange involved, how can you lie there now and tell me you want me to call her?” Mimi asked, her hands on her hips.

  “I changed my mind.” Sarah didn’t even have the grace to look sheepish. “Call her.”

  “As a matter—”

  “Good Lord!” Sarah jerked straight up in the bed.

  Mimi hurried to Sarah’s side. “What is it?”

  Sarah grimaced, froze, then blew out a long, unsteady breath, waited expectantly, and then eased herself back. “Just an extra-big jolt. Now, what were you saying?”

  Mimi studied her closely. She seemed okay. “I already called Mom.”

  “What?”

  “I called her this morning. She and your dad were in Cancún but they were going right to the airport and get a flight out, so they should be here anytime now.”

  Rather than going limp with gratitude, Sarah’s expression turned thunderous. “How dare you? What gave you the right to interfere in my life?”

  Mimi’s jaw dropped. Literally dropped. “Me? Interfere in your life? You’re the one who showed up on my doorstep.”

  Sarah sniffed. “Technically, I showed up on Prescott’s doorstep.”

  “Semantics!” Mimi declared. “And that’s what gave me the right to interfere. That and the fact that you’re my sister, and she’s our mother. An executive decision had to be made about allowing her to fulfill her role, and I made it since you were not in any state to do so and haven’t been in any sta
te for the last four months as far as I can tell,” she said. “And, besides which, you just told me to call her. I simply did what you wanted a little earlier than you wanted it.”

  “Sophism!” cried Sarah.

  “Deal with it,” Mimi ground out.

  “If you—sweet Mary, Mother of God!” Sarah seized Mimi’s wrist, digging her nails into her skin.

  “Ouch!” Mimi yelped, grabbing the buzzer from the bedside and ramming her thumb repeatedly into the call button. “What is it? What’s wrong? Sarah? Sarah!”

  Sarah’s round-eyed gaze found hers. “I think I’m having good labor.”

  “Very good labor,” the OB nurse declared approvingly. “The anesthetist is right down the hall. We’ll get him in here, give you your epidural, and in a little while you’ll be holding your baby. We’ll be right back.”

  “You okay?” Mimi asked Sarah.

  “Well, the nurse seems to think so,” Sarah said sourly. Her face started to squeeze up in pain again. Mimi hated that.

  “Pant,” she said.

  “What?”

  “Pant. They always pant on the television.”

  Sarah started to say something but stopped and started panting. The anesthetist, a grandfatherly man with a mane of white hair, came in pushing a tray. “Ready for your epidural, Ms. Werner?”

  “Yes! Oh, yes!”

  “That’s fine. Now, if you’d care to step out for a minute, Ms….” He glanced at the nurse.

  “Olson,” Mimi muttered.

  “Olson,” he finished, “I’ll get her started, and then you can come back in.”

  “No!” Sarah said. “Please, can’t she stay? Mimi, stay.”

  The anesthetist shrugged. Mimi stayed while they rolled Sarah to her side and opened the back of her gown. “Okay, I’m just going to swab the area, and then you’ll—Oh. Oh, my.” He closed the back of her gown.

  Sarah, another contraction obviously coming on, twisted her head around. “What happened to that shot? Come on! Let’s get the lead out! I can feel another contraction starting!”

  “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I can’t give you an epidural, Ms. Olson.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  “You have a pimple at the injection site.”

  “A pimple?” Mimi asked.

  “So find another site!” Sarah said.

  “It’s not that easy, I’m afraid,” he said sadly. “The area we give the injection in is small and it’s been compromised.”

  “Compromised?”

  “By infection in the vicinity. The pimple.”

  “The pimple?” Mimi repeated.

  The anesthetist nodded. “A pimple is an infection.”

  “You’re not going to give me something for this pain because I have a pimple?” Sarah’s voice rose on the last word. “What am I supposed to do?”

  “You’ll have your baby without having an epidural.”

  “She’ll be just fine,” Dr. Youngstrum, the family physician who’d admitted first Prescott, then Joe, said. “Yes, I wish she wasn’t retaining so much fluid, but I’m not too concerned. She’s young and healthy. And the baby’s vitals are good.”

  “Prescott! Where the hell are you?” Sarah’s voice thundered from the room, reverberating down the hall.

  “It takes some women that way,” the doctor said. “Honest, it’s perfectly normal. She doesn’t mean anything by it.” She tilted her head and regarded Mimi curiously. “You sort of end up in the middle of a lot of things, don’t you?”

  “It’s a recent curse,” Mimi agreed dolefully.

  Assured she’d be called as soon as it was time for Sarah to push, Mimi decided to look for the computer the nurse had said was set up in the family waiting room so friends could get updates as they happened. She passed Prescott on his way to Sarah’s room. They traded glances but didn’t bother speaking, soldiers on the frontline of motherhood.

  She found the ancient laptop as promised and typed in her e-mail address. She needed to tell Joe. She didn’t overthink it. She didn’t second-guess it. She wanted Joe to share the birth of Sarah’s baby with her—even if it was from a distance. It wasn’t a satisfying way to have a relationship. A year ago, Mimi would have seen only the benefits of having a lover who wasn’t around making demands all the time. But now, it just didn’t do the trick. It was unsatisfying. She wanted Joe. With her. All the time.

  Her Hotmail inbox came up and she glanced through the messages, stopping when she saw Joe’s address. She looked at the date. It had been sent yesterday. The subject line was simple: On my way.

  She clicked open the message:

  Dear Mimi,

  The family that owns the company we were in the process of buying has decided not to sell. I’m out of a job. I’ll be there by tomorrow. I love you. I can’t wait to see you. You have to say the same thing the minute you see me. You do, you know. Love me. Because, you do. Don’t you?

  Love, Joe

  Mimi’s pulse started to race. She doubted Joe—eloquent, sophisticated Joe—had ever written such a rattled, giddy, unsophisticated missive. The darling. Of course she loved him.

  Chapter Forty-six

  The elevator opened and disgorged the Olsons. Not some of the Olsons, but all of the Olsons. They milled around until they spied Mimi coming out of the family waiting room. She went to meet them. “Hey,” she said, “what’s up? It’s only eleven. We aren’t due at the lawyers’ for another three hours.”

  “We came to see how Sarah is,” Johanna said.

  “Besides,” Charlie said, “it looks like there’s some real weather working itself up. There’s tornado watches posted all over the north part of the state. You can see the lightning in the west. We didn’t wanta take a chance we couldn’t get in.”

  “Why?” Mimi asked, meeting her great-uncle’s eye. “That eager to sign off on the place?”

  “Don’t see any point in delaying,” he replied gruffly, his cheeks reddening. At least he had the grace to look sheepish.

  “How’s Sarah?” Johanna asked, frowning heavily at Mimi. Mustn’t upset Charlie. “Is the baby a boy or girl?”

  Mimi abandoned the Chez Ducky issue. It wasn’t Charlie’s fault they were selling. Only partially his fault. And hers. “We don’t know yet. The baby hasn’t been born.”

  “Poor Sarah. At least nowadays you don’t have to go through the crap we did,” Johanna said.

  “Actually, she does. She has this huge pimple on her back…” Mimi decided it wasn’t important. “They can’t give her anything for her contractions.”

  The Olson women commenced sympathetic clucking.

  “I know some good Norwegian skulling songs that really make you wanta pull,” Naomi suggested.

  “Thanks, Naomi, but we want her to push, not pull,” said Mimi. “I guess she’s doing okay. Prescott’s with her right now. I was just going to grab a snack. She swore if I brought food into the room, she’d get off the table and shove it—”

  A bellow from down the hall brought the conversation to an abrupt halt.

  “I remember that,” Johanna murmured.

  “Me, too,” said Naomi, casting an accusing glance at Half-Uncle Bill.

  “Not me,” said Birgie. “And glad of it.”

  Mimi, who’d heard it all before, moved on. “What are you planning on doing until the meeting?”

  “We thought we’d head to Buonfiglio’s for pizza,” Bill said. Buonfiglio’s was new in town and had the distinction of being the first new establishment in Fawn Creek in the last five years.

  The elevator doors chimed preparatory to opening, and the Olsons shuffled to the side of the foyer. When the doors slid open, half a dozen occupants were revealed. A small, top-heavy woman darted out, her head snapping right and left, like a pullet on the lookout for bugs.

  “Hi, Mom,” Mimi said.

  Tom, Mary, and—good Lord, they’d brought Grandmother Werner—emerged from the elevator and stopped dead. Mary looked like she was considering slipping ba
ck into the elevator, but the doors closed behind her, trapping her. For a minute, no one said anything. The Olsons stood on one side of the vestibule, the Werners on the other, Mimi in between. It was weird standing between two families who had nothing in common except her. They eyed each other like two tribes of indigent people who’d heard rumors of the other’s existence but until now had never quite believed it.

  Solange was the first to move, walking past Mimi and up to Charlie. “Hello, Charles. It’s been a long time.”

  “Solange, you’re as pretty as ever,” Charlie said, taking both her hands in his and beaming. Solange beamed back.

  Mimi heard the collective unhinging of a dozen jaws. Including hers.

  Solange apparently heard them, too. “Oh, for the love of heaven. Just because John and I divorced doesn’t mean I wasn’t fond of the Olsons. Some more than others.” She smiled at Charlie again.

  “I never did understand that divorcing a whole family bit,” Charlie said. “Plenty of other Olson exes are still part of the family. Come to Chez Ducky every year…” He trailed off, his face falling.

  “We saw things differently,” Solange said.

  “Very differently.”

  Now that Mimi thought about it, Solange had never said anything specifically negative about any Olsons. Except her dad. Johanna, who wasn’t looking thrilled that Charlie was still gripping Solange’s hands, shoved her way to Charlie’s side.

  Looking amused, and a little flattered, Solange disengaged with businesslike expedience and turned to Mimi. “Now, where’s Sarah?”

  “Is the baby here yet?” Tom asked anxiously.

  At this, a chorus of questions and reassurances jumbled together into unintelligible chattering, interrupted by Imogene Werner’s imperious voice. “Who are all these people?”

  Mimi shot Solange a questioning look.

  “She was in Cancún with us.”

  “Everyone’s fine!” Mimi shouted. “Sarah is fine. The baby hasn’t been born yet. Sarah’s not pushing yet. Why don’t I take Mom and Tom down to her room while you introduce yourselves to one another?”