Girls in Trouble (2 page)

The pain zigzags down Sara’s spine, stronger, more intense, making
her suck in a breath like Jell-O through a straw. She tries to roll herself into a ball, to get away from the pain, but she’s too big, and anyway, she knows there’s no escape from this. “Hurry,” Abby tells Jack. She touches his shoulder with one hand, and there’s something new in her voice, something urgent that makes Jack look at Sara for the first time. There’s sweat beaded on his lip even though the car is so cold it’s practically freezing. His lips are chapped and his shirt is unpressed. “Okay, baby girl,” he says. Baby girl. She hears it in wonder and for a moment the pain fades. Baby girl. He used to call her that all the time, making her groan, making her friends giggle. He wouldn’t let her pick up anything heavy or go anywhere by herself because he’d worry what might happen. Once, he even reached out to hold her hand when they were crossing a street, just as if she were six.
Baby girl
. At sixteen, she’s no baby, but still, hearing him call her one now is comfort. Now she wishes he would call her that again, but instead, he’s hunkered over the wheel, weaving in and out among the other cars, like an accident getting ready to happen.

A new bolt of pain shoots along her spine and Sara feels like laughing because her doctor is clearly wrong. Her baby isn’t going to take eighteen hours to be born. Her baby is coming now and there’s nothing anyone can do about it.

There ahead of them is the hospital. There’s St. Elizabeth’s. Big and squat and brown and full of traffic, people, and doctors. Jack pulls up by the ER. “I’ll let you get out, park, and find you,” he says. His voice sounds like someone she no longer knows. Sara squints out at the front door, panic rising in her throat. She can’t breathe. She can’t move. She can’t survive. Frantic, she tries to speak. “I don’t see them,” she suddenly rasps. “Where’s Eva and George?” Abby tightens; Jack snaps the wheel around. It’s the first time she’s spoken those names in the car because of the way Jack and Abby react, but she can’t help it now. It feels like there’s too much at stake for her. Another bolt of pain curls her over. Sara tries to sit up, and finds, to her surprise, that the pain won’t let her. “Easy, honey,” Abby soothes, jumping out of the car, opening Sara’s door.

It’s a shock to feel all that heat. Things waver in the shiny air and for a moment Sara is listing. For a moment she thinks her whole life is a mirage about to pass. She tries to arc her legs out of the car and the pain forces her
down, insistent and angry, a line of pure fire making her still.
I can’t survive this
, she thinks in wonder. “Sara?” Abby bends toward Sara. “Honey, here’s a hand,” Abby says, and Sara grasps at her mother’s fingers. She holds on tight and pulls herself up and she’s suddenly dizzy, and another cramp grabs her,
whomp
. And
whomp
again and
whomp
, and she tries to breathe, to stand, and she can’t do either. She buckles over. “Sara?” says Jack, his voice cracking. Huh-huh, hee-hee, ho-ho, Sara pants and the pain, insistent as a fist, suddenly collapses her into Abby’s arms.

A
nurse sped Sara down the corridors, skimming along a bright green line. “It’s okay,” Abby said, racing alongside. The wheelchair bumped and Sara screamed, soaked with sweat, terrified.
I won’t die until they get here
, she told herself. Faces blurred past her, but she didn’t recognize a single one of them. Her panic spiked like fever.

“What can I do?” Abby pleaded. She tried to grab on to Sara’s hands, but Sara was digging them into her thighs, against the pain.

“Where’s Eva?” Sara cried, bunching over. “Where’s George? They said they’d be here! They promised!”
I can’t do this without them
, she thought.
I’ll die
.

Abby’s face hardened and got that distant look. “Here’s Dad,” she said, and Sara heard his steps, then she felt his hand on her shoulder, a touch, before he took it away.

“Here we are,” said the nurse, pushing through a set of grey doors marked
DELIVERY
, into a small white room.
Where’s Eva?
Sara thought, as the nurse helped her out of her dress and into a flowery johnny. “Up we go,” said the nurse, gently guiding Sara onto a long green table.
Where’s Eva?
Sara thought, keeping her eyes on the door, right up until the pain hurtled deeper and she shut her eyes.
Where’s Eva and George?

“Smile, you’re going to get a baby out of this, Mrs. Rothman,” the
nurse said, and for a moment, out of habit, Sara looked at her mother, the only Mrs. Rothman she knew.

Next door, someone was screaming, wild shrieks splashing into the room, making Abby blanch and Jack look down at his sneakers. A new nurse wrapped a monitor belt about her belly, a fat band of white, a clumsy plastic buckle. A machine whirred and beeped next to her, a green line forked up and down on the screen at each contraction.

“Do your breathing,” the nurse admonished. The scream tore into the room again and Sara was so frightened, her breath stopped. “Breathe, I told you,” the nurse repeated.

The woman next door shrieked again. “Is she dying?” Sara asked.

The nurse tightened the monitor belt. “That woman’s Orthodox Jewish and she won’t take any medication.”

“What medication? Give me some medication!” Sara screamed, a wire of pain cutting across her belly. The Orthodox woman screamed in harmony.

The nurse took a blood pressure cuff and wrapped it calmly around Sara’s arm. “The doctor will be here any second. Now you
breathe
.”

Sara panicked. Her mind was so fogged with fear and pain, she had forgotten everything she knew. The breathing Eva had helped her with. The lucky charm George had given her to keep in her pocket, a small silvery angel she loved. Where was the charm? Where were they? She needed them. She looked desperately at the door.

“Concentrate, Sara,” Abby said. “Every time you get a contraction, focus on me.”

The nurse glanced at Sara and then, resigned, she gripped Sara’s hand. “Purse your lips,” she ordered. “Pant. Hoo-hoo hee-hee.” Sara tried it, but the nurse’s face was smooth and calm, and Sara’s felt as if it were crumpled like a ball of paper. “Hoo-hoo,” panted Abby encouragingly. Jack leaned against the wall, closing his eyes, defeated, and then there was a new fist of pain, and Sara bolted up. “Hoo-hoo, hee-hee,” the nurse urged.

“Get her an epidural!” Abby said, her voice growing insistent. The nurse ignored Abby. “Get her something! What’s the matter with you!” Abby said, and the nurse looked at the monitor again and her face turned soft, sympathetic. “It’s too late,” the nurse said.

Abby moved closer to Sara, brushing back Sara’s wet hair. “I’m right here,” Abby said to Sara. She made low, soothing noises, clucks of her tongue. “I’m right here.”

The nurse glanced at Sara’s chart, frowning. Then she looked evenly at Jack and Abby. “So. You’re going in the delivery room? You’re the adoptive parents?”

“We’re the
real
parents,” Abby said. “Sara’s real parents.” She held Sara’s hand.

A doctor Sara didn’t know whisked in, six younger people behind him, all of them in green scrubs. “Where’s my doctor?” Sara said. Her doctor was a woman, young and sympathetic. This doctor was male and older and had a blue Band-Aid on his nose, a bad omen if she ever saw one.

“In delivery. I’m Dr. Chasen. Don’t you worry, I’ve delivered hundreds of babies.”

“No, no,” Sara cried. She didn’t trust this doctor, didn’t like the way he was beckoning the other people forward. “Check the centimeters,” he said to them, and Sara locked her legs as another pain shot through her. “What’s going on?” Abby said. “Who are all these people?”

“This is a teaching hospital,” Dr. Chasen said quietly. He put his hands on Sara’s legs. “Don’t worry. You won’t even notice them. You’re going to be so busy, a flying saucer could land in here with us and you wouldn’t notice that either.” The students laughed, a sparkling of sound, and then Dr. Chasen parted Sara’s legs and quickly, before she could protest, thrust his hand up inside of her and drew it out. Humiliated, she jerked away. “You’re going to have your baby now,” he said, then he turned to the nurse. “Get my girl into delivery,” he said, and Sara shivered because she didn’t feel like anyone’s girl, not his, not her parents’, not Danny’s anymore, either. He whisked out of the room, the students trailing.

“It’s going to be okay, honey,” Abby said.

“Where’s Eva and George?” Sara screamed and Jack drew back.

Abby was purposefully putting on a long green gown, tying on a mask. Someone was pushing Sara’s hair into a cap. Hands and bodies were about her. “It’s showtime, folks,” said the nurse, undoing Sara’s monitor. The gurney was wheeled back in. The nurse lifted Sara onto it. A wire of pain tightened across Sara’s belly. It owned her now.

“I can’t do this!” Sara shouted, and then she was settled on the gurney and as soon as it moved, she felt something pound within her, deep and insistent, and stunned, she searched for help. She’d apologize for anything, she’d do anything, be anything, if only this pain would stop.
Please
, she thought, squeezing her eyes shut.
Oh God, please
, and then, zooming into the room was Eva, in a blue summer dress, her long, pale hair flying about her in a silken sheet. There was George, tall and bald and all in black, with a silver bolo tie. He was holding Eva’s hand and Sara felt so relieved she started to cry.

“Oh, sweetie, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—traffic was so horrible!” Eva cried.

“We’re here now,” George said, “we’re here!” He dropped Eva’s hand and took Sara’s. His hands were big and warm, covering hers, and Sara burst into fresh tears.

“Don’t cry, don’t cry. It’s all going to be wonderful.” Eva leaned down. She glowed like a pearl. “How do you feel? What’s happening?” Eva asked, bending toward Sara.

“She’s going into delivery, that’s what’s happening,” Abby said sharply, and Eva looked at Abby and Jack for the first time.

“Abby. Jack,” Eva said, nodding. Jack nodded back.

“Let’s go, let’s go—” the nurse said. “Get into scrubs if you’re coming,” she said to Eva and George. “Looks like it’s going to be a full house.”

“I’ll be in the waiting room, honey.” Jack touched Sara’s shoulder awkwardly.

“Daddy—” she said, panicking.

“You’ll be fine,” he said, but his voice sounded unsure to her. It made her more panicky.

“Daddy—” she repeated, but when she looked up, he was gone.

The nurse handed Eva and George scrubs. She began wheeling the gurney, out of the room, down the hall. Abby was keeping pace, stroking Sara’s hair, her shoulders, murmuring something that Sara couldn’t hear. Sara heard the nurse’s voice, but she couldn’t make out what she was saying, either. She heard the Orthodox woman screaming again. How could anyone scream like that and not be torn in two? And then Sara noticed another sound, like a thousand angry bees humming about her head. She felt the air thickening,
heating up around her. She looked up and saw two new doors. Abby was beside her again, scooping up one of Sara’s hands, holding it tight. “I won’t leave you,” Abby said. “We’ll get through this together,” and the bees grew louder, angrier, until they seemed to be screaming, too, and Sara, terrified, jerked her hand from her mother’s and screamed, “I just want Eva!”

“I’m here, I’m here!” Eva, in green scrubs, was running, catching up with Sara. She waved her hand at George, stopping him in his tracks.

Abby froze. “Honey—” she said. “This is crazy—”

Abby looked like a statue to her, like Lot’s wife, who had turned into salt the moment she had looked for something she shouldn’t have, so sad and hurt, it made Sara ache. “Mommy?” she said, and then her gurney pushed through the double doors, and the thought disappeared in a bolt of pain, and she flung a hand out and grabbed Eva’s, holding on as if her life depended upon it.

Everything in the delivery room seemed to be bathed in blue light. Sara was lifted up onto a table, her feet put in stirrups. Masked faces lowered toward her, peering. Frantic, she searched for Eva. “Right here,” Eva said. Sara locked eyes and gripped Eva’s hand. “It’s okay,” Eva breathed to her. “Do like we practiced. Remember?” Sara tried to remember. Tried to put herself back in Eva’s sun-splashed house, in Eva’s yellow living room where they had sat and talked and planned, in Eva’s big backyard where they had lounged on chaises and sipped peppermint tea and measured Sara’s belly as it grew.

“Push!” the doctor ordered. She wouldn’t look at him, wouldn’t look at the students peering down at her. “Good girl,” the doctor said, “now push again. A better one this time.” Where was her doctor? Why was she the one to get stuck with this stranger?

“Get mad at the baby!” he shouted at her. “Push that baby out! Get mad! Get even!”

Eva leaned down so close to Sara she could whisper in her ear. “You can do it.”

“Sara, you’re not getting mad enough,” the doctor said, “I need you to
push
.”

She pushed, dissolving.

“Push, goddammit!” the doctor said. Something was being torn from her body, and then Sara was suddenly flying away, leaving her body, floating up. She was moving deeper and deeper into a white-hot core.
So this is how you do this
, she thought,
this is how you die
. And then she felt something boring out of her, she felt herself spinning back down into her body, and what was pushing out of her was as big as the scream she couldn’t contain, and then she pushed and wept and screamed and the baby was born.