by Carolyn Zane
“Why?” Abigail asked, afraid of the answer.
“Baaack pain.”
“Uh-oh.” Abigail clutched Justin’s arm in alarm.
“I’ve got 9:07.” Justin rubbed the back of his neck. “Five minutes apart.”
Abigail gnawed her lip and glanced uneasily at Jen. “What does that mean?”
Justin exhaled. “Shoot, I don’t know. I tried to tune out everything the midwife-in-law said after the part about the water breaking.”
“Some doctor you turned out to be,” Chaz griped. “Anybody here know anything about childbirth, you know, just in case?”
“I see good episode of House last month. Very informative,” Isuzu said.
“I saw that!” Chaz said. “But I don’t think the mother lived on that one, did she?”
“When my nephew was born, I was at a Knicks game,” Justin said.
“When I was a kid, our dog had puppies . . .” Abigail offered. “Not the same, though, huh?”
“No.” They all agreed, it wasn’t the same.
“Five minutes between contractions is generally the time a woman should head to the hospital,” Bernard offered. “It’s usually best to deliver within 24 hours of the water breaking. To avoid infection.”
Mouths agog, everyone turned to stare at Bernard.
12
Bernie,” Abigail said and peered through the diffused light into the strange old man’s face, “why do I get the feeling there is more to you than meets the eye?” They’d aimed the flashlight straight up and topped it with the sushi container to create a makeshift lamp.
He chuckled. “I reckon you could say that about most folks, huh?”
“But how do you know so much about labor?” Justin asked aloud what the rest were thinking.
“Long story.” He shrugged. “I don’t like to talk about it all that much. It’s your garden-variety sob story.”
“Ah.” Abigail picked a stick up and began poking around in the rubble. She pulled out a child’s T-shirt, shook it off, and smoothed it over her knee. It had a fuzzy giraffe on the front. It was so small. And soft. She wondered who it had belonged to. And if they were all right. Justin reached up to trace the giraffe’s soft neck.
“Anyway,” Bernie continued, seeming unable to resist his captive audience, “I used to be a doctor. OBG in fact.”
Justin gave Abigail’s hand an imperceptible nudge with his finger. It was a message. He wasn’t sure if he should believe Bernie. Abigail nudged him back. She wasn’t either.
Bernie propped his forearms on his thighs and squinted at the flashlight. “Used to be a respectable kind of guy. The kind of guy you’d call a workaholic. Got married. Had a couple of kids. Nice house, nice cars. The whole ball of wax. But I was so busy working to get all that stuff, I didn’t have any time to maintain it. So, the wife ran off with the guy who taught her self-defense class; the kids hated me because they didn’t know me; the house and most everything else went to them in the divorce settlement; and because I couldn’t stop working long enough to deal with the pain, I hit the bottle.”
Chaz made an empathetic sound in his throat, and Isuzu reached over and patted his shoe. The fact that he was wearing two different shoes had Abigail wincing.
Bernie’s wheezy laughter was mirthless. “Got so dependent on booze I couldn’t function at work.” There was a definite catch in his gravelly voice when he could finally continue. “Lost a young mother during what should have been a routine C-section. It . . . it was . . .” He dragged a sleeve over his face and struggled to compose himself. “Vowed to never deliver another baby as long as I lived.”
Abigail glanced at Jen for her reaction, but as usual, Jen didn’t appear disgusted or appalled. Just sympathetic. And sad for Bernie.
“Malpractice accusations, lawsuits, criminal trial, a little prison time, and here I am. Ruined, shameful, lost, unable to cope, you name it. Just . . . taking each day as it comes until I can check out. Thought maybe today was my ticket to hell, but I didn’t have the guts to stay outside.” Again, he fell silent, and no one had anything to add.
Selma had amazing night vision. Ever since her second cataract surgery, it was like a miracle. She could read without glasses and see fine print better than she could when she was half her age. So, when it came to navigating a debris strewn wheat field at warp speeds, she was a regular Dale Earnhardt, Jr.
Luckily, the tornado’s swath did not include long stretches of Route 66, and Selma made good time over to Exit 5 and onto Fisher’s Mill Highway. Eventually, they had to stop shy of Sycamore Drive and the high school, but they were light years closer than they had been before Selma decided to 4-wheel-it in a rear-wheel drive. Jerking the Olds to a stop behind a smashed up school bus, she and Guadalupe threw open their doors and hit the ground running. Ahead, the gymnasium area was brightly lit, and it was obvious that the paramedics had been hard at work for a while.
“No,” Guadalupe whimpered, bracing herself for the worst. “No, no, no.” She pressed her knuckles to her lips.
“It’s okay, honey. Try not to panic,” Selma said, panting, trotting, and trying to keep up. It was easy enough to say, but she’d been in Guadalupe’s shoes before—in fact the circumstances were eerily similar—and knew that staying calm was next to impossible.
“Elsa!” Guadalupe began shouting from a block away as she rushed toward the school. “Elsa! Elsa, donde esta?” She was crying now and making no effort to hide her growing hysteria.
“Mama!” Elsa screamed from the parking lot, and charged toward her mother and flung herself into Guadalupe’s waiting arms. Her eyes were puffy and her nose was red and she was jerking from the kind of body-wracking hiccups that come with hard crying. “It was s . . . so horrible! So terrifying! I c . . . can’t believe . . . I’m alive.”
“Elsa, Elsa, oh, thank God you are all right!”
Elsa’s beautiful prom dress was dirty and torn, but she was—except for an odd bruise here and there, and some serious emotional trauma—injury-free.
“What is it, hija?” Guadalupe peered into Elsa’s eyes as the child was crying so hard her guttural babblings were now impossible to understand.
Elsa tried to speak, but had to stop twice to pull herself together. “Two . . . of the kids are dead, mama,” she cried, her voice guttural with horror. “And, others are missing and so many are hurt.”
“Muerto?” Guadalupe gasped. “No!”
“Yes, mama. But they are not telling us who, until their parents arrive. But I think I know, Mama . . . I think . . . I know.”
Selma hung her head and began to pray. Because if anyone would know exactly how they felt, it was Selma Louise Tully.
Everyone was on edge. And not just because they’d just barely escaped with their lives from a history-making tornado. And, not just because of the terrible stench of manure that had blown in from a local dairy or the occasional startling collapses of now rickety buildings. No, at the moment, everyone was feeling the stress because Jen had begun labor in earnest. She was a true champion, clearly in terrible pain, but handling it with a strength and grace that was amazing, given the situation. Luckily, the battery in the flashlight was still going strong, and the emergency crews were gaining ground in their direction. Everyone had hope that it wouldn’t be long now. But that didn’t relieve the torment that plagued Jen every sixty seconds.
“Bernard,” Abigail asked, agitated, “Isn’t there something we can do to help her with the pain?”
“No,” he said with a grunt. “Not without an anesthesiologist on hand. Just keep breathing like you’re doing,” he said to Jen. “Pick something to focus on.”
“Here,” Abigail said and spread the tiny shirt with the little giraffe on Jen’s knees. “Look at this and—”
“Hee, hee, hoo,” Jen breathed.
“Atta girl,” Bernard praised. “You’re doing fine.”
“It hurts so bad, Bernie,” Jen gasped between contractions.
“You do seem to be p
rogressing pretty fast. How many weeks along are you?”
“Almost thirty-eight.”
“Hmm. Could be worse.” Bernie bent down and dug through his grocery bag.
“Found this in the same place I found the sushi. Can’t believe it didn’t break.” He held up a bottle of sake.
Bernard handed the bottle to Chaz. “I was gonna tip it later, but I think we oughta bust it open now.”
“I’m not sure now is the time to party, my man,” Chaz said, staring at the bottle he suddenly found in his hands.
“Not to drink. To scrub.”
“No, thank you.” Chaz tossed the bottle to Justin.
Justin lifted his hand and caught the bottle with a thwack against his palm. “What are you trying to say, Bernie?”
“Just that you might want to have sterile hands. In case you have to deliver the baby.”
Selma was driving Elsa and Guadalupe back to her place when she spotted a young man walking down one of the back roads that was reasonably debris free. Slowing the Olds to a crawl, she peered at his face as he squinted over his shoulder and into her headlights. She rolled her window down and poked her head out. “Bob Ray? Bob Ray Lathrop? It that you, honey?”
“Ms. Tully?” He held a hand up over his eyes to shield them from the glare until he came around to her side of the car.
“Sure is, sweetheart. Do you need a ride home?”
Bob Ray sighed up at the sky. “Ms. Tully, I’m not sure I even have a home anymore.”
“Get in and we’ll go see. If you don’t have a place to stay, I’ll take you and your family home with me.”
Weary to the bone, Bob Ray didn’t argue. He came around the other side of the car and got into the front seat. “Hi.” He turned around and gave a little wave to Guadalupe and Elsa who were snuggled together in the back seat.
“Hi, Bob Ray,” Guadalupe said.
“How are you doing, sweetheart?” Selma asked. “And where is that wife and baby of yours?”
He choked back a spate of tears. “I—I don’t have any idea. I was at work. I think they were at home when the tornado hit.”
“Oh, honey.” Selma reached out and gave his thigh a thumping with her free hand. “That’s gotta be scary.”
For the first time in his life, Bob Ray Lathrop felt the need to get real. His father and Ms. Tully’s son, Paul, had been close friends, and Bob Ray had grown up knowing he was special to Selma. “I’m terrified. I have just been to hell and back and am not sure what is—or is not—waiting at home. And, because of that, I have probably never been better.”
Selma’s brows disappeared under her short bangs. “Now that is not what I expected to hear tonight, of all nights.”
“Not how I expected to answer, ma’am. But tonight I think I finally learned a terrible but invaluable lesson at the School of Hard Knocks. I finally figured out exactly what is important to me. And I’m just praying that my wake-up call didn’t come too late.”
“Sometimes, it takes everything turning upside down to show you what is right-side up. I have had similar epiphanies in my day.”
“I know, ma’am. I remember.”
13
Atta girl. That’s right,” Bernie said, as he coached Jen from over Justin and Abigail’s shoulders. “One more and you’re done. Justin, get ready.”
Try as she might to wait for the professionals, after midnight, Jen finally had to give in to her urges to push. And scream. They’d all scrambled to assemble a bed of sorts from the PetSmart pile and Chaz had run back to the cleaners for another load of battered, but still usable, dry cleaning. Abigail was holding the flashlight, and Justin was supporting her baby’s head.
Jen tensed, her entire body bunching. Then, with one amazing shriek, she pushed her son into Justin’s hands.
“I got him! I got him!” Justin was laughing and his smile was huge. “He’s a slippery cuss. What should I do now, Bernie?” Arms waving in the sudden lack of confinement, the baby was squirming and bleating like a lamb.
“Put him up on mama’s tummy and let’s get his nose and mouth cleared out and get him covered up. Chaz? Get that blouse you got from the cleaners?” Bernie pointed to the plastic-wrapped garments Chaz had brought over earlier. “That cotton blouse oughta do the trick. Zuzu? Wipe him down real good with that. Do his nose, like I showed you. Chaz, let’s get something we can wrap him in when she’s done. Abigail, hold the light up a little higher, that’s right. Good.”
“Oh my goodness!” Abigail stared at the baby, suddenly overcome with emotion. “Oh, Jen!” she breathed. “He’s so . . . beautiful!” She laughed and cried and tried not to drop the flashlight as she moved the beam to the baby’s face. Abigail glanced around and could see that everyone was brimming with happy relief, just as she was. Mother and baby were alive! It was a miracle. “Do we need to cut the cord?” Abigail asked Bernie.
“No hurry on that. Let him get used to breathing on his own first.”
“How is he?” Jen asked, peering down at the top of her baby’s head. She was exhausted, but smiling.
Bernie leaned forward. “Looks like he’s pinking up real nice. Good job, team. You’re all quick studies.” He slapped his thighs with the palms of his dirty hands. “Looks like you got a healthy, strapping boy, far as I can tell. Hard to perform an Apgar out here, but I don’t think you have anything to worry about with him being a preemie. He’s gotta be a six- or seven-pounder, easy. Chaz, bunch up some of that laundry, will ya? Put it behind mama’s head so she can get a look at her boy. Justin, grab that blanket and put it over mama and the baby now.”
As everyone quickly and efficiently did their job, long-awaited help finally emerged from the shadows. A policeman led two EMTs through the rubble and over to their group, his radio crackling with cross traffic. “We got some reports of screams coming from this area and—” The officer stopped talking when he saw the baby and laughed. “Well, if this isn’t a pleasant surprise after everything else I’ve seen tonight. Come on, guys! Over here.”
All smiles, the EMTs got to work checking Jen and the baby and getting her ready to transport. Heavy equipment must have been clearing the area while they were all otherwise occupied, because Abigail was amazed to discover there was now a maneuverable path down the middle of Homestead Avenue for the ambulance.
When had that happened?
Behind the front loader tractor, a siren squawked and another EMT backed in as close as possible and parked. The back doors of the ambulance were thrown open and a gurney was pulled out and carried over to Jen.
“Besides mother and baby, it’s just you four?” The police officer asked, indicating Justin, Abigail, Chaz, and Isuzu.
“Actually, it’s—” Hands on his hips, Justin paused and glanced around for Bernie.
Puzzled, Abigail’s gaze followed his gaze with her own. Funny. Bernie was here just a minute ago, but he seemed to have vanished. Squinting into the darkness, they both took several quick turns around the area where they’d delivered the baby, but Bernie—also known as Dr. Bernard Blumenfeld— was gone. Clearly, that’s how he wanted it.
“Yes,” Justin said and cast a knowing glance at Abigail. “Everyone else walked out earlier and as far as we know, the businesses were all closed and locked and there were no other people in the mall.”
“Good.” The officer radioed his findings in and then said, “Right now, the Red Cross has set up an area in the hospital parking lot for people to go and sign a survivors’ list to help everyone check on loved ones. They tried that out up in Dakota during a nasty flood, and it worked really well. Their voluntary sign-in list is really helpful and it’s growing. If you’d like, I can give you all a ride to the hospital.”
“Yes, please,” Abigail said. Justin took her arm and they paused to talk to Jen for a moment before she was lifted into the ambulance. She reached out for Abigail’s hand.
“Thank you, all,” Jen said. “So much.”
“I don’t think any of us will ever forget yo
ur baby’s birthday, huh?” Abigail said with a smile.
“Where are you taking her?” Justin asked the paramedic.
“Rawston Legacy is southwest of the high school and— amazingly—it was just this side of the tornado’s path. Even though she’s not an emergency, they can take her in the maternity ward.” Turning to Jen, he asked, “Ma’am, is there anyone you need to notify about the baby?”
“Yes! My husband. Please. If you can, have him meet me at the hospital. His name is Danny Strohacker and his cell phone isn’t working.”
“We’ve been hearing a lot of that tonight. Cell phone reception is intermittent at best,” the policeman said. “Could I get his name again?” The officer relayed a message to be on the lookout for Danny and to have him meet Jen and his son at the hospital.
“His son.” Jen lay back and smiled at the baby. “He’s gonna love that.”
After stopping a number of times to assist people in need and to help clear debris from the road, Selma, Bob Ray, Guadalupe and Elsa finally made it to Hollingsworth Boulevard, the four-lane thoroughfare that ran by Barnaby Estates. As they slowly wove down the street, they were all shocked at the horrendous wreckage over here in Bob Ray’s neck of the woods. Upended and tossed on their tops and sides, single- and double-wide mobile homes were strewn about like the cars of a hobbyist’s Lionel model train wreck.
“How am I even going to find my place?” Bob Ray stared in disbelief, his nose pressed up against the glass. Aside from the full moon, there was only a little diffused light coming from his neighbors’ Coleman lanterns and auto headlights as they worked through their rubble.
“Are you sure you want to go in there? I see that there are paramedics in there with your neighbors now,” Selma said. They all knew she was thinking that finding Heather and Robbie’s bodies would undo Bob Ray. “Yes, ma’am. My family may need me, and I have to try to get to them before any more time passes.”