My Lucky Stars

by Michele Paige Holmes

  Maddie returned, holding Jane’s pillow under her arm and dragging Jane’s comforter behind her.

  “You said you think your friend is bleeding?” the operator asked.

  “Yes,” Tara said. “There’s blood on the rug near her hip.”

  “Is there any other liquid? Is the rug wet?”

  Tara let go of Jane’s hand and touched the bath mat. It was soaked, though there was no sign of any water having been run in the shower or tub recently. “It is wet,” she said. “Is that bad?”

  As if in answer to Tara’s question, Jane moaned.

  “Mommy.” Maddie tried to push her way past Tara.

  “No,” Tara said. “I need you to watch out the window for the ambulance. They’re coming to help your mommy.”

  When Maddie hesitated to obey, Tara gave her a little push. “Go! That’s what your mommy needs you to do.”

  Maddie dropped the blanket and pillow and ran from the room.

  “It’s likely her water broke,” the dispatcher was saying. “What I want you to do now—”

  “They’re here!” Maddie shouted.

  “Already?” Given the distance to the nearest fire station, that seemed impossible, but Tara heard the sirens out front. “Thank goodness.” She wasn’t sure how they’d managed to come so quickly, but she was grateful. “They’re here,” she said to the operator.

  “I’ll stay on the line until they’re with you,” he said.

  “Let them in,” Tara called to Maddie. To Jane she spoke softer. “Help is coming, Jane. Don’t you have those kids yet or do anything scary. You hear?”

  Less than a minute later, two paramedics entered the room. Tara jumped up and moved out of the way as the first one knelt next to Jane. The second, a woman, set down a large box and opened it, revealing a tray of sterile instruments.

  Tara backed out of the room and almost backed into Maddie just as the first paramedic untied Jane’s robe and threw it wide, revealing her blood-soaked underclothes.

  “Mommy,” Maddie cried. “Why is he taking off Mommy’s clothes?”

  Tara turned to Maddie, picked her up, and carried her into the bedroom, where a third paramedic was rolling in a gurney.

  “They’re going to check on your brother and sister,” Tara explained to Maddie. “And to hear their heartbeats, they have to listen to your mommy’s tummy.” Tara carried Maddie out of the room, down the hall, and into the living room. She set her on the floor but kept her hand. “Let’s say a prayer.”

  Maddie nodded and knelt beside Tara at the side of the couch. Tara bowed her head and began. “Heavenly Father. We are grateful the ambulance came so quickly. Please bless the paramedics. Please bless Maddie’s mommy and her baby brother and sister. Help them be okay.” She was about to close, when Maddie nudged her and reminded her to bless her dad as well. Tara added Peter to her list of requests and closed the prayer. When she’d finished, Maddie threw her arms around her neck.

  “I’m glad you learned to pray.”

  “Me too,” Tara said, hoping the little faith she had was enough. If not, let Maddie’s be sufficient.

  Unsure what to do next, she sat on the couch and held Maddie tight. That the paramedics had not whisked Jane away in the ambulance frightened her. She was breathing—and bleeding. How bad is it? Tara strained to hear any sounds from the bedroom, while at the same time hoping Maddie wouldn’t.

  None of the three paramedics had emerged yet, but the sound of another car in the driveway startled Tara into action. Keeping a hold of Maddie, she went to the still-open front door and saw a woman from the Relief Society, the one who had asked a million questions the first week Tara attended church, emerging from her Oldsmobile.

  “Is everything all right?” the woman, Sister What’s-Her-Name, asked.

  “No,” Tara blurted, suddenly glad to have someone else here with her. “I think Jane fell. We found her when we came home from kindergarten graduation.” And ice cream, her conscience shouted. Why didn’t I call Jane first?

  “The paramedics are here, but they haven’t come out of her room yet. I thought they’d probably take her right to the hospital, but . . .” Tears flooded Tara’s eyes. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Addison,” the woman called, turning to her car. Tara followed her gaze and saw her elderly husband emerge slowly from the passenger side. She’d asked Jane about them once, and Jane had explained that they were married, though it was a second marriage for both, and Addison was ten years his wife’s senior. Tara thought he looked about twenty years older. Jane had said that was because he’d had a stroke two years ago that he had never fully recovered from. Also according to Jane, the Sheffields—ah, that’s their name—were two of the nicest people in the ward.

  Tara watched as Addison shuffled toward them.

  “We were on the way home from the doctor a few minutes ago,” his wife explained. “But I had a feeling we should stop by and check on Jane.”

  “Oh, thank you,” Tara said and had never meant a thank-you more in her life. She stepped back from the doorway so they could come in.

  “Which way?” Brother Sheffield asked then looked toward the hall and started that direction before Tara could answer.

  She wasn’t at all certain he should be going down there. Shouldn’t we stay out of the paramedics’ way?

  Sister Sheffield took Maddie’s hand and led her to the kitchen. “You graduated from kindergarten today? How exciting. Will you tell me all about it?”

  Tara hesitated a half second then followed Addison. She reached Jane’s room just after he did then stopped in the doorway and brought a hand over her mouth as she gasped at the scene within.

  The paramedics had moved Jane to the bed, and all three were around her, each working frantically—two on Jane, the other one on the blue, unmoving baby that had just emerged from her.

  This wasn’t supposed to happen. It’s too early.

  “No,” she cried, reaching toward Brother Sheffield as he moved toward the bed.

  Her hand missed the back of his shirt, and before she could try again, he’d pulled his keys out of his pocket and was untwisting a vial of something that dangled from the chain.

  “Clergy,” he said to the paramedics working on Jane, then he edged around them to the top of the bed.

  “Hurry,” one paramedic said. Tara wasn’t sure whether he was speaking to Brother Sheffield or his coworker. A minute later, the second, dead-looking baby was delivered.

  Tara stood transfixed and horrified yet unable to tear her eyes from the two blue babies, Jane’s still form, and the blood everywhere.

  Brother Sheffield put a drop of whatever was in the vial on top of Jane’s head, then he placed his hands on her head and began a prayer different from any Tara had heard before. He called upon God to bless Jane through him and the priesthood. He blessed her that the bleeding would stop and she would live. It was a simple, urgent prayer. Brother Sheffield finished quickly and moved on to one of the babies, placing one finger on its tiny head.

  In the distance, Tara heard another siren wail. Before Brother Sheffield had finished with the second baby, another team of paramedics rushed in. Tara backed into the wall but couldn’t seem to leave the room.

  The babies, already being hooked up to tubes and wires, were whisked away by two separate teams as Brother Sheffield said, “Amen.” Another female paramedic joined the man already working on Jane.

  “Placental abruption. Still hemorrhaging,” he said. His tone indicated how serious this was.

  Two paramedics lifted Jane on the gurney and wheeled her from the room while the other two continued to work on her. The IV bag brushed Tara as they passed.

  “I want to go! I want to go too! Mommy!” Maddie was thrashing against Sister Sheffield’s grip as she watched them wheel Jane away.

  As soon as the gurney was out of her way and had cleared the front door, Tara ran to Maddie. “It’s all right,” she said, folding her in her arms. “They’re taking her to th
e hospital.” She’ll be all right. As she thought the words, Tara glanced over her shoulder and saw Addison Sheffield making his way toward them. A moment ago he had stood straight and spoken clearly. Now his limp seemed more pronounced than usual, and his words were garbled as he called to his wife. Will Jane be all right? she wanted to ask. Did you just heal her—like Jesus healed people? Is it real? Does that power still exist?

  Halfway down the hall, Addison stumbled and fell.

  Sister Sheffield ran to her husband, exclaiming over him.

  The first ambulance, carrying one of the babies, tore out of the cul-de-sac, its siren screaming. The second one was right behind.

  “Is he all right?” Tara asked.

  Sister Sheffield nodded. “He’s not used to so much excitement and doesn’t usually move so fast. He’ll be okay, but I need to get him home.” She waved her hand toward Tara. “You go now. See to Jane. As soon as I can, I’ll send someone for Maddie.”

  Tara took a split second to decide whether or not she should take Maddie to the hospital. She weighed inflicting more trauma on the little girl—who had already seen more than enough—with not being there for Jane, and decided it was more important they were both there. Just in case she— The thought was too appalling to finish.

  “Thank you,” Tara called to Sister Sheffield, promising herself she’d never again think of her as the nosy question lady. Tara took Maddie’s hand, grabbed her purse off the counter, and ran to the car. She scooped up Maddie and dumped her into her booster. “Can you buckle yourself?”

  Maddie nodded and began pulling the belt across her lap. Tara jumped into the car and started it. She pulled out of the driveway and drove after the third ambulance—the one carrying Jane—which was still in sight but quite a bit ahead.

  Maddie’s sobs continued from the backseat. Tara had to slow for a red light, so she hit the button for the top to go up.

  “Mommy had her babies,” Maddie managed to get out between sniffles.

  “She did,” Tara said, not wanting to elaborate or even think about the way those babies had looked. She couldn’t imagine that they’d make it. But Jane . . . Jane has to.

  “Daddy needs to give them a blessing,” Maddie said.

  “Brother Sheffield did that.” Tara stepped on the gas the instant the light turned green.

  “He did?” Maddie leaned forward, gripping the back of Tara’s seat.

  “Are you buckled tight?” Tara asked. She watched in the rearview mirror as Maddie nodded.

  “Brother Sheffield blessed Ella and Easton?”

  “Yes.” Tara changed lanes to pass a slower car so she wouldn’t lose sight of the ambulance.

  “And Mommy too?”

  “Your mom too.” Up ahead another light turned yellow. Tara swore under her breath and hit the brake.

  The crying from the backseat ceased. “Then they’re going to get better.” Maddie sat up tall in her seat. “Heavenly Father will fix them. Let’s go see Mommy now.”

  Tara looked up and met Maddie’s eyes in the mirror. They were bright from her tears, but there was a calm assurance there too.

  Oh, to be like a child, Tara thought, remembering the scriptures in both the Bible and the Book of Mormon that she’d read about that. She never really understood those references, or that concept before, but now she did. She turned in her seat and reached for Maddie’s hand.

  Please help me have the faith of this child.

  Thirty-Two

  Tara thanked the teenager who had stayed with Maddie for a good part of the night then watched from the doorway as she walked to her mother’s car. Half wishing the girl would have stayed longer—Who’s going to stay with me?—Tara closed the front door and wandered into the kitchen. The last thing she’d eaten was ice cream with Maddie at noon. In more ways than one, that seemed like a lifetime ago.

  Absently, Tara took a clean glass from the dishwasher then opened a cupboard and stood up on tiptoes, reaching for a bottle on the highest shelf. After a couple of tries, her fingers grasped the neck, and she pulled it down, only to discover it was empty, a note rolled up inside replacing the original contents—a bottle of sherry she’d brought with her from Los Angeles. Tara stared at the bottle a moment, as if not quite sure of what she was seeing, then unscrewed the lid and tipped the bottle, carefully reaching a finger inside to retrieve the note.

  Tara,

  I don’t know why you are feeling so discouraged at this particular moment, but whatever it is, you can’t let it beat you. You’ve come so far. This isn’t what you need or want. You’re stronger than you think you are, and you know where to go for real help.

  Love,

  Jane

  Tara crumpled the note in her hand then instantly smoothed it flat and held it close to her heart as her tears began again. Oh, Jane. I turn to you for help. She tried not to think of the last time she’d seen Jane—after two transfusions and just before they rushed her in for an emergency hysterectomy. Tara had stayed at the hospital all during the surgery, waiting to hear better news, to know that her best friend would be all right. But even after the surgery Jane wasn’t all right, and the doctors hadn’t been able to say when or if she would be.

  Tara placed her hands on the counter and leaned over it, sobbing silently. She’d never felt more alone or afraid in her life. Never had she needed Jane more.

  The computer in the family room chimed, and Tara looked at the clock, realizing suddenly what the noise meant. Peter was calling.

  Oh no. How was it that she’d all but forgotten him today? She’d explained Jane’s situation to the hospital staff and somehow hoped they would take care of contacting Peter, though she’d known that wasn’t really the case. And now I’ll have to tell him—the person who loves and needs Jane even more than I do. Wiping her eyes, Tara hurried to the computer and logged on to Skype.

  Peter’s face appeared a moment later. He was wearing his army fatigues and smiling—until he saw Tara’s face instead of Jane’s. He spoke first.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Tara didn’t know where to begin. She opened her mouth twice before a rush of words finally came out. “Jane fell, and her water broke, and the placenta tore away.” She knew she was telling it all wrong. She should have started elsewhere—with the babies. “Ella and Easton are doing well. They’re early, of course, and it was close at the beginning, and it’s too early to know if—” I shouldn’t tell him about that now. Tara searched for the most encouraging thing she could say. “Jane had been taking that medicine for the babies’ lungs, so they’re doing pretty good . . . all things considered.”

  “How is Jane?” Peter’s face had crumpled from the handsome, confident man Tara knew to someone completely terrified.

  “Pretty bad.” Fresh tears fell from Tara’s eyes, and she brought a hand to her mouth, trying to contain her sobs. “But she’s got the best doctors. She’s had two transfusions, and—and she had to have surgery.” Tara doubted any of that mattered to Peter. Like her, what he wanted to hear was that Jane would be okay. She has to be, Tara thought for the hundredth time today. This was the twenty-first century. Women didn’t die from childbirth—

  Very often. The doctor’s chilling words came back to her. Jane had an unusual set of circumstances working against her. She’d been carrying twins. It was her first pregnancy. She was thirty-five. Preterm labor had been threatening for weeks. All things adding up to an unthinkable chain of events that started with a fall, her water breaking, and the placenta tearing away from the uterine wall.

  Leading to severe hemorrhaging, a coma, and possible death. Tara couldn’t bring herself to repeat those awful words to Peter.

  But she wiped her eyes, took a deep breath, and told him the facts as simply and delicately as possible. By the time she’d finished, his eyes were watering, his brow creased, and the pain lining his face made it look like he had aged ten years.

  “How is Maddie taking all of this?” Peter asked after he had taken a couple of minut
es to compose himself.

  Tara smiled through her tears. “Your daughter is amazing. She has the faith—”

  “Of a little child,” Peter finished, nodding his head as if he knew exactly what Tara was talking about.

  “She wanted you to come home and bless Jane and the babies,” Tara said. “When I told her Brother Sheffield had already done that, she was very relieved.”

  “I’ll get the next flight possible.” Peter’s voice was gruff again.

  “In two weeks?” Tara asked. She was pretty certain Jane had said that, regardless of circumstances back home, Peter had to stay to complete his assignment.

  “Tomorrow or the next day,” he said. “I’m not here to fly missions.” He held up his scarred hand, reminding Tara of the many surgeries he’d had to fix it after a crash in the Iraqi desert several years earlier. “My reflexes aren’t quick enough anymore. I’ve been here instructing, and they can all do without me now.”

  “Let me know when your flight comes in,” Tara said.

  Peter shook his head. “I’ll get someone else to pick me up. You’ve got enough to do. Just take care of Maddie—and Jane.”

  “I will.” Tara felt tears building again and could see that Peter was in much the same state. They ended the call, and once more, she was left alone in the dark house.

  For several minutes she sat, numb and unmoving, staring at the blank screen of the computer. Jane’s note lay beside it on the desk, and Tara picked up the paper again, doing her best to smooth out the earlier wrinkles.

  You know where to go for real help.

  Jane’s words seemed to jump off the page at her. Jane wasn’t referring to herself. She meant for me to pray. How many times today have I already prayed?

  For Jane.

  Of course, for Jane. Tara scoffed at her own thought. Jane was the one who needed the help, who needed a miracle.

  As do you.

  Tara froze, her fingers still covering the paper. Beneath her blouse, she felt her heartbeat escalate. The voice she’d just heard wasn’t hers.

  You know where to go for real help. I’m here. I’m listening.