by Amy Sorrells
I look back toward where Sudie lies in that closed-up casket and try hard to pray like she might’ve prayed, about how the Lord can help me walk straight into a fire without getting burned, about how he can lead me right through a den full of lions without getting eaten alive, about how he can help me keep believing the rising waters threatening my baby will somehow set him free.
32
* * *
“You sure he’s ready?” Gabe asks.
“I’m sure.”
A bean field rolls and curves out toward a thick tree line at the spot on State Road 62 where Gabe steers his Jeep to a stop on the berm. In the backseat, the hawk is quiet in the travel cage, as if he has no recollection of the wide-open air he used to float on, wings hanging on the breeze, the whole sky his.
I get out and hand Gabe Sudie’s long leather gloves. He’s come a long way from being scared to death of the creature just a couple months ago, enough so that he is able to do the handling of the hawk since I’m not even supposed to be out here. But I insisted on coming. I can’t stand sitting home. Nothing to do but worry about every twinge in my belly, or about how in the world to keep the Blairs from getting custody of my baby, or if by some miracle they don’t, how I’ll manage to give him up for adoption.
The hawk watches us, intent, with his amber eyes. When I open the metal door of the crate, he steps one way, then the other, before I toss the towel over the top of him and quick bundle him up. Once he’s wrapped snug, I step aside so Gabe can pull the bundle of him out and cradle him, sure to hold the talons tight together.
“Let’s head that way.” I nod in the direction of the giant cottonwood where I saw the female on the day we rescued him.
We step over the pale-blue chicory, purple corn thistle, and yellow pilot weed, the earth rough and uneven under our feet, and very soggy though it’s been three full days of sunshine since the rains stopped. Gabe’s more worried about me than holding the hawk as I step, awkward from my swollen body.
“I can feel his heart beating,” he says, grinning.
“Let’s stop here.”
The enormous cottonwood is a few yards away, far enough for him to fly to, but close enough that we can watch him if that’s where he chooses to land.
I look at Gabe and he looks at me.
“You ready?” he asks, both of us aware of the deeper meaning of the question.
I nod.
While maintaining his hold on the hawk’s talons, he takes the towel off the top of him. The hawk tilts his head one way, then the other, as if he’s trying to reorient to a place he remembers. I hope this is true. Before we have time to blink, he stretches his wings and thrusts himself up and out of Gabe’s grip, pushing and beating the air back with his wings, flying straight and without a hint of injury to the wing, until he reaches the cover of the cottonwood.
“Adoption isn’t about giving your child away,” Carla had said. “It’s about giving your child life . . . nothing will ever change the fact that you are his mother. . . . You’ll always have him with you, whether in your heart or in your arms. . . .”
I don’t even realize I’m crying until Gabe asks if I’m okay.
“He belongs here. Did you see him? He knows this is his home.”
Will my baby know the same thing with his new family, Lord?
Trust me.
I’m trying, Lord.
Anything is possible with my help, he whispers. I have never forsaken you. Nor will I forsake the child within you.
My baby rolls and kicks inside me, and we stand there for a while just watching the hawk perched on a high limb of the tree. We would never know he’s there if we hadn’t watched him land there ourselves.
Gabe finally breaks the silence. “You know, you remind me of that hawk a little.”
We turn and head back to the car.
“How’s that?”
“You’ve overcome a lot.”
“I guess.” I shrug. “I’ve seen plenty of folks who’ve had it worse.”
“Maybe so. But here’s the thing: the whole time I’ve been learning about your story, I’ve seen some things maybe you haven’t.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve seen the way God’s taken care of you. The way he sent you Sudie a long time ago. Hersch watching out for you. Me showing up at the gas station when I did. Heck, me catching you that first day when you tripped over the sidewalk, and everything in between. Those things aren’t coincidence.”
“They might be.”
“Would you put your stubborn away for a minute and let me finish?” He grabs my hand. “I think God wants you to know he has a plan for all of this. Not just a plan for your baby, but a plan for you, too.”
I never thought about any of this being in God’s plans for me. Always felt like life was just something happening to me for no good reason. But if the Lord was working so many bad things out lately like Mama and me, well . . . “Maybe you’re right, Gabe.”
“I’m always right,” he says, trying to hide a grin.
We get in the car and are about to pull away when I see them on the horizon, two hawks circling, just floating together on the high currents of wind, crossing in front and then behind each other, turning and returning and free.
“Think that’s them?” Gabe asks.
“I’m sure of it.”
33
* * *
“Mmmmmmhhh . . .” I can’t keep quiet as my lower back cramps into a knot in the middle of the refrigerated foods section at the Walmart.
“I don’t know about this, Jaycee. If you’re hurting that bad, we better get back and put your feet up.” Carla eyes me with concern as she tosses several yogurts into the cart.
“Dr. Fitzgerald said I could try.” I’d seen him the day before. Since I’m thirty-nine weeks along, he says the baby will be fine if I go into labor, so I’m free to get up and about.
“Emphasis on the word try.”
“It’s the first big pain I’ve had since Sudie’s funeral. It’s not like I’m going on a jog. I’m fine.”
She eyes me again. “If you say so.”
I force myself to straighten, the knot easing up a little. “Even if it means having this baby in the middle of the canned-food aisle, I’ve got to get a couple new pairs of stretch pants. Nothing fits anymore. Besides that, I can’t stand one more day of looking at the walls of that trailer, nothing to do but worry about those custody papers and everything else.”
“Well, Walmart might not appreciate it if you drop that baby right here on their floor. Stretch pants are one-size-fits-all. I could’ve picked a pair up for you if you weren’t so stubborn.”
“I like to think of it as determined.”
We head to the clothing department and flip through racks of clothes. I hold up a ruffled crop top and giggle, despite another pain ramping up. “Think this’d cover it?”
Carla raises an eyebrow and laughs.
The pain twists its way around to the front of my belly, low and so tight I have to grab hold of a wobbly rack of clothes to keep myself from sitting down right then and there. “Maybe you’re right . . . about this being too much.”
“All right. Take a minute. Breathe through it.” She puts her hands on my shoulders.
“Do you think it’s started?”
“I don’t know. Let’s see how long between this and the next one.” She checks her watch. “It’s 1:17.”
The pain subsides and I put my hands under my belly as if that’ll help hold it up as we walk toward the front of the store. Tears prick my eyes as another pain twists in my back, taking my breath away.
“You okay, young lady?” An older woman, her too-large blue Walmart vest hanging over her humped back, asks as I stop and lean on our cart.
“She’s okay,” Carla answers for me.
“You take care of yourself . . . and that baby, you hear?”
I hear.
No longer caring about the stretch pants, we leave the cart behind and head towa
rd the doors. I fall into the front seat of Carla’s car, never more grateful to get off my feet. That is, until I feel the next pain come. I lean forward and push against the dashboard to offset the pain, but nothing helps.
“I don’t think you’re going to need those stretch pants. It’s 1:22. That’s five minutes—a little less, really. We’re going to the hospital.”
Carla starts the car and squeals out of the parking lot.
“Take it easy.”
“I love you, Jaycee Givens, but not enough for you to mess my car up giving birth in it. So no, I will not take it easy.”
We both burst out laughing at the craziness of it all as she weaves through town, past the diner and Spradley’s gas station, past the old homes and the river and the college, past the state park, and out to the state road that winds and curves to the hospital. Past the place where Mama put the crosses. The same road I drove with Jayden, clinging to life by only a thread in the backseat. What if this is the last time I’m on this road with my baby? What if the Blairs find out I’m in labor?
I don’t have time to worry about that for long. A new pain wrings and twists inside me, reminding me of Sudie squeezing water out of clothes before hanging them on her line outside to dry.
“Can . . . you go . . . faster?”
“Not if you want to get there in one piece.” She pats my leg. “Hang on, darlin’. Just about ten more minutes or so.”
We pass the familiar stretches of corn and bean fields, farmhouses and trailers, strip malls, schools, and then finally the white sign with big red letters: E-M-E-R-G-E-N-C-Y.
Carla veers the car under the Ambulance Only entrance, throws the door open, and hollers, “We’re having a baby here!”
A woman in blue scrubs approaches where I sit, still holding on to the dash. She’s followed by another woman pushing a wheelchair.
“Can you make it to this chair?” the first woman says.
The distance is only a few feet, but it looks like miles. I swing one leg out, then the other. “I think so.” I manage to stand, and a gush of warm liquid drenches my crotch, my thighs.
“Oh, honey,” the one holding the wheelchair says, “I guess you are having a baby today.”
34
* * *
“Where’s the anesthesiologist?” Carla barks at the nurses.
The emergency room workers took me up a special elevator directly to the labor and delivery unit. The benefit of this is that they have me strapped to a monitor in seconds, just like the one Dr. Fitzgerald has in his office that shows the baby’s heartbeat. I listen as they poke my arm and take blood and start fluids.
“His heart sounds strong,” I say to the nurses. It’s as much a question searching for reassurance as it is a statement.
An older nurse with amiable eyes studies the monitors for a moment. She pats my hand and smiles. “It does.”
“The anesthesiologist is finishing up with another patient down the hall,” another nurse says in a voice that sounds a lot like she’s sassing Carla for asking. “He’ll be here next.”
“I hope so,” Carla says.
They probably think she’s my mother.
I don’t have the energy to explain who she is with the pains the way they are. I try and focus on splashes of green and blue light dancing on the wall, afternoon sunlight coming through the window and reflecting off someone’s stethoscope, maybe a monitor. Feels like I’m watching somebody else moaning and carrying on as I fall back against the bed after the next contraction.
“Here’s a little medicine to take the edge off.” A third nurse pushes a syringe full of something into the tube sticking in my arm, and warmth soon flows all over me. Her highlighted brown hair is pulled up in a knot, and she looks hardly older than me. Reminds me of one of the nurses who took care of Jayden. “I’m Amanda. I’ll be with you the rest of the day.”
Better her than the one with the sass.
The next contraction is brutal, but at least I am able to breathe through it and rest easier as it subsides.
“Did you text Gabe?” I ask Carla, who has moved in from the doorway and is standing beside me.
“Yep. He says he’s on his way.”
“I told him he didn’t have to be here for this, but he insisted.”
“Well of course he did, honey.”
He doesn’t have to. He wants to.
“Well, well, well. Looks like we’re going to have a baby today,” Dr. Fitzgerald’s voice booms.
I grin with relief at the sight of his huge smile, his hulky frame.
A dark-skinned doctor I don’t recognize slips into the room behind him.
“’Bout time you showed up, Patel,” Dr. Fitzgerald says over his shoulder, then turns to me. “Let’s get you more comfortable, whatta you say?”
I nod and grip the side rails of the bed as I feel another contraction coming on.
“Let’s sit you up,” one of the nurses says.
How in the world am I supposed to sit up when I feel like I’m tearing in two? But with her help and Carla’s, I’m able to. They lean me over a bedside table and the anesthesiologist, Dr. Patel, gets to work on the epidural. He scrubs a low spot on my back with something cold, followed by a sharp pain and then pressure. The discomfort is minimal compared to the pain searing through my pelvis. When he’s finished, I lay back down and soon feel more warmth of medication washing over my belly, which is soon numb to the pain of the contractions I see rising and falling on the monitor.
“You’ve got a ways to go,” Dr. Fitzgerald says after doing a quick pelvic exam. “You’re at about five centimeters, half effaced.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Means you’re about halfway there. And that you got an epidural in time to do this comfortably.”
“Halfway? That’s it?” All that pain . . .
“First babies can be stubborn sometimes. Don’t worry. Everything’s going perfectly. I’ll be back when it’s time.” He pats my shoulders and leaves the room.
The nurses gather everything up around me and wheel me to another room, this one much larger. On one wall is a bassinet for the baby and monitors just for him. And there’s a whirlpool tub in the corner.
“What’s that for?” I ask the older nurse.
“Some women choose to have their babies in the water.” She shrugs.
I can’t imagine.
“It’s good you have that epidural now,” another nurse says as the three of them work together to hoist me from the cart onto a bigger bed. They put a catheter in me so I don’t have to get up to use the bathroom, adjust the monitor stretched across my belly, and take my vital signs one more time. “Try to get some rest while the contractions do their work.”
Amanda, the nurse who reminds me of the one Jayden had, adjusts a couple of pumps and monitors, pats my other shoulder, and follows the other two out of the room.
Another worker in a different color of scrubs comes in with a cup of ice chips and Carla behind her.
“Don’t eat these all at once,” the aide says. “They’re just here to wet your whistle.” She straightens things up on my bedside table, adjusts the blinds, fluffs the pillows behind my head. “What else can I do to help you be more comfortable?”
“I think I’m fine.” If being scared to death doesn’t count, I’m fine.
“If you think of anything you need, just press your call light. I’m right outside your door. The nurses are watching the baby’s monitor and your contractions at all times.”
“You sure you’re all right?” Carla asks when we are finally alone.
“Better than I was, pain-wise anyway. This epidural is amazing.”
“They are definitely God’s gift to women. I had one with three of the four of mine. The last one came so fast I didn’t have time to get one with him. That might be why we didn’t have any more after him.”
We laugh at that, laughter I’m glad for considering everything that’s happened the last couple of hours. With the pain mostly gon
e, the realization of what’s happening hits me. Even more so half an hour later when the next white coat–clad woman enters the room.
“Hi, Jaycee. I’m Donna Howard. I’m not sure if you remember me—”
“I remember,” I say before she can finish. How could I forget her as the social worker who was there when Jayden died? I look at Carla, who sees what must be dread on my face and scoots closer to the bed to grab my hand.
“Dr. Fitzgerald’s office let me know you’re here. It’s my understanding that you’ve been considering placing your baby for adoption?”
“Dr. Fitzgerald’s office? I don’t remember . . . I’m not sure . . .”
Carla squeezes my hand.
Help me, Lord.
Trust me, he says.
“I understand. I’m not here to tell you what to decide. I’m just here to tell you that I’m aware that you have discussed adoption as an option, and that if in fact you do decide to pursue that direction I’m here to help. I see every mother who might be considering that as soon as I can after they’re admitted.”
“Okay.” I consider telling her about the custody papers, but then decide against it. What could she possibly do to help with that? What can anyone do?
She steps closer to the bed. “I’m sorry about what happened to Jayden.”
She remembers his name. It’s been so long since I’ve heard someone say his name out loud. Tears fill my eyes.
“I’ll help you any way I can, whatever you decide,” she says, then turns and walks out of the room.
“Ms. Givens?” The nurse with the highlighted hair pulled up in the bun steps hesitantly toward the bed.
I hadn’t noticed her come into the room.
“I’m sorry, I overheard what Donna was saying to you. About adoption?”
I search her face, unsure of her intent. Her makeup is applied like the pictures in magazines, her eyebrows shaped and filled. Her nails shine a soft pink, a gel manicure if I’ve ever seen one. Probably thinking I’m just another trailer trash girl who slept with everybody I could and wants to rub it in my face.