Mine (22 page)

Two quick raps sounded on the door—Amelia’s signature knock—then she let herself in.

“C? You ready?”

She must have heard Courtney’s muttered curses and followed them to the kitchen. When she got to the doorway, she stopped in her tracks. Courtney could feel her stare.

“Courtney? What’s the matter?”

Courtney was sure that everything about her screamed “frantic.” She was hunched over the answering machine on the kitchen counter, anxiously poking at the buttons, panic souring her blood. The machine whirred and then Courtney punched a button again. Static issued from the speaker.

“No,” she said, her teeth clenched. “No, no, no…” More punching of buttons ensued.

“Courtney, what’s going on? What are you doing?”

Without looking up, she gave an angry explanation. “The stupid car dealer called and left a message that it was time for the Ford to have its oil changed.”

Amelia said nothing.

“What, they didn’t get the memo?” Courtney’s anger built, simmering almost tangibly just under the surface of her skin. “Don’t they know their precious vehicle was cut in half on the thruway by a semi and that my girlfriend was inside? If they want to change the oil, they can go to the fucking junkyard and do it!”

Courtney suspected later that Amelia had been waiting for that moment, knew it would come sooner or later and just stood on the sidelines waiting until it inevitably happened. Courtney had tried her hardest to be so strong, so tough. She’d put on a mask of stoicism, especially in front of Theresa’s parents, from the day after the accident, and she’d kept it in place for weeks and weeks. Now, finally, it was slipping and Amelia seemed to know it, seemed almost ready for it. She stood still and silent, waiting as Courtney continued poking at the black plastic.

“And I got so mad at the goddamn idiots that I punched at the buttons on the machine because I couldn’t erase the fucking thing fast enough and I…” Her voice cracked, going from fury to anguish in a split second. For the first time since her arrival, she looked up and met Amelia’s gaze. “I think I erased Theresa’s message by mistake, the outgoing one.”

She hadn’t been able to bring herself to delete what she felt was one of the last snippets of Theresa’s voice she’d ever hear, and this seemed an inexplicably cruel turn of events. To prove her point, Courtney pushed Rewind and then Play one more time. The static filled the room yet again, punctuating her loss with a generic, empty buzz. With a tormented growl, Courtney picked the square black box up, yanking its cord from the outlet, and hurled it at the wall, where it shattered. Her chest rising and falling so rapidly, hyperventilation was a danger, she pressed a hand to her aching heart and looked to Amelia once more, her eyes welling. “Oh, God. Oh, God, Amelia.”

Amelia dropped her purse and rushed forward, wrapping her arms around her as Courtney’s legs decided to no longer hold her weight. Both women slid to the linoleum floor, the sound of Courtney’s keening, pain-filled wail echoing through the entire house as Amelia held her and rocked her gently.

“Oh, God, she’s gone. Oh, Meel, my Theresa is gone. She’s gone. What am I going to do? Oh, my God, Theresa...”

Courtney had completely fallen apart that day, finally, and it took Amelia and Mark and Courtney’s family months to help clean up the fallout. Another collapse was the last thing Courtney needed, and she was reasonably sure Amelia never wanted to see one again.

When Courtney finally turned to look at Amelia now, she wondered if her friend could see the strange combination of excited hope and worried dread that she felt swirling around in her stomach, in her head. Her voice was as small as a frightened child’s as she returned to the question Amelia had posed. “Yeah. I think it could be more than like.” She blinked several times, no idea what else to say.

“And that scares you?”

“That terrifies me.”

Chapter Fifteen

By Saturday morning, Rachel’s mind was a jumbled mess. She wanted nothing more than to spend some time at Happy Acres, quietly walking the dogs, breathing in the crisp fall air, and allowing her brain to clear, but she was due at the hospital by seven and there was no time for meditating. Courtney, clients, her father, her sister about to give birth—it all tumbled in her head like a giant Chex Mix and there was nothing she could do to sort it all out. There was simply no time.

She liked the feel of the scrubs, though. They were like wearing pajamas. Her brother-in-law, Greg, smiled at her from across the small waiting room where they sat and waited to be called in. He wasn’t a big man, standing an inch or two shorter than Rachel. His thinning blond hair was covered by the scrub cap, but his goatee was neat and his face was clean-shaven. Rachel was weirdly touched that he’d shaved for the birth of his child. Using one finger, he pushed his wire-rimmed glasses higher on his nose. Echoing her earlier thoughts, he said, “These are cool, huh?” He pulled at the sky blue shirt he sported. “I wonder if we get to keep them.”

“I hope so. They’ll make a pretty cool souvenir.” She watched him as he fidgeted, shifting in his seat. He was nervous, and that only made her affection for him swell.

“I think they’re kind of sexy,” he confided in a conspiratorial whisper.

Rachel chuckled, recalling all the doctor fantasies she’d entertained in her life—women in lab coats, women in scrubs of all colors. “So do I,” she responded, casually crossing her legs.

“How is it that you’re so calm, cool, and collected?” he asked her. “Aren’t you nervous at all?”

“Of course I am.” The truth was, Rachel felt completely jittery inside, like she had a stomach full of slithering snakes. Her heart was hammering in her chest and adrenaline was rushing through her system as if she’d ingested too much caffeine. She was excited and nervous and thrilled and terrified all at once. Her exterior, however, showed none of these things. It was a skill she’d perfected over the years.
Never let ’em see you sweat.
Unlike Greg, her hands were steady and her knee was not bouncing up and down. As she sat calmly in the orange plastic chair in her scrubs, matching booties covering her shoes, anybody walking by would simply assume she was a doctor chatting with an anxiously expectant father in the waiting room of the maternity ward.

Greg scanned her. “Yeah, well, you suck,” he said, but the affection in his tone took any sting from the words.

Before she could make any reassurances, a nurse caught their attention. “Mr. Shipman? Ms. Hart? We’re ready for you.”

“Oh, God,” slipped out before Rachel could catch it.

Greg glanced at her, and the wash of relief was plainly obvious in his features. “Come on, Aunt Rachel,” he said, putting an arm around her. “Let’s go witness the birth of our own flesh and blood.”

The operating room was sterile in every sense of the word…the color, the smell, the sounds. All of it cold, white, and clean. They followed the nurse around the stretcher in the center of the room to the head, where Emily lay sprawled out like a crucified prisoner. IV lines pierced her arms, which were strapped down, but her face was beaming and only brightened as her husband and sister came into view to stand near the head of the gurney.

“Hi, guys,” she said, her voice a cheerful whisper. “I’m so glad you’re here.” Her hair was tousled and her shoulders were bare, but she looked radiant. Greg leaned forward and kissed her softly on the lips.

Rachel took her place on the opposite side of Emily’s head from Greg, slightly shell-shocked by the endlessly beeping equipment piled in neat stacks. She scanned over the anesthesiologist, deciding he looked capable and older than twenty-five, unlike Emily’s OB/GYN, whose boyishly good looks made him seem as if he’d just graduated from college.

Small stools had been placed on the floor on either side of Emily’s head for the spectators. A screen made of the same blue material as the scrubs was erected at her chest so that if Rachel sat on the stool, she couldn’t see the procedure. Deciding that was exactly what it was for, she took a seat and smiled at her sister’s glowing face.

“Nervous?” Emily knew her sister well and her smile said as much.

“No. No, of course not.” Rachel smirked at the lie. “Okay. A little. You?”

“Not at all.”

“Good.” She looked from one person to another in the room, making mental notes on each of them.

“Stop it,” Emily reprimanded her playfully.

“Stop what?”

“Sizing up the crew to decide if they’re good enough to operate on me.”

Rachel felt properly chastised as Greg chuckled. She had been the protector of her little sister for more than thirty years. She wasn’t about to stop now.

“Emily?” Only the doctor’s eyes were visible—a bright, festive green framed by dark eyebrows and thick lashes that instantly reminded Rachel of Courtney’s—as he got his patient’s attention. “We’re ready to begin. How’re you doing?”

It didn’t seem possible, but Emily’s smile grew bigger. “I’m ready to have this baby, Doc.”

“Good. Then let’s get started.” With a curt nod, he turned his attention back to the other doctor across the table. There were also two nurses in addition to the anesthesiologist who was standing behind Emily’s head and carefully monitoring the beeping equipment.

Greg had one hand holding Emily’s and his other hand at the top of her head, stroking her forehead with his thumb. They looked so sweet and in love that Rachel felt a lump form in her throat, much to her own surprise, simultaneously happy for them and sad for herself. Not for the first time, she wished Courtney were there with her.

Shaking what she deemed selfish thoughts from her head, she turned to the blue fabric screen. After a moment or two of deliberation, she pushed herself up a couple inches off the stool. The shining silver scalpel covered in her sister’s crimson blood was all she needed to see to drop her butt back onto the seat with a thud. She swallowed hard and met Emily’s gaze.

“It’s okay, Raich. You don’t have to look. It’s enough just to have you here.”

Rachel nodded, blinking rapidly. Across the bed, Greg seemed to be debating the view as well. He also inched up to peek just a smidge over the top of the screen. Then he sat back down and looked pensive. Rachel smiled at him.

“It’s a little daunting,” she said, meeting his gaze with a slightly worried expression.

“You know what?” he asked. “This is like being at the Grand Canyon, but not ever getting close enough to look over the edge. When will we have this chance again? Probably never, right?”

His words seeped into Rachel’s brain, into her heart, and she knew he was right. A life was beginning today, a life that carried her own blood in its veins, and she was here, in the front row, to witness the birth, something she might never have the chance to do again.

“You’re absolutely right.” With a quick nod, she stood up, as did Greg, as if they’d done a silent count to three.

Rachel wondered how she would have reacted if she hadn’t been able to actually see the baby right then. Not all of it, but a little arm, a tiny shoulder. If those hadn’t been visible, the sight of her sister’s torso flayed open and her insides exposed might have sent her collapsing to the ground in a heap of dry heaves. Instead, she was astonished to find herself mesmerized by the sight before her.

“Oh, wow,” Greg muttered.

Rachel breathed out a lengthy “Ohhhhh” as she watched the procedure, and she would have been hard-pressed to not call it entrancing. “Oh, my God,” she whispered. “Emily...” She grasped her sister’s hand as she watched.

“Can you see him? Her?” Emily was quietly excited.

Rachel nodded, watching in enthralled fascination as she leaned forward, the fabric screen now touching her torso. Greg mirrored her position. Before either of them could say a word, the doctor in front of Rachel pulled the baby out of the opening in Emily’s midsection and held it up.

It was a girl.

She was shaking like a little leaf and her skin was grayish blue. She was covered in slimy crud with wet chunks and pieces of placenta stuck to her tiny body. She had a shocking mop of black hair that was matted to her little skull and she was in desperate need of a bath.

She was also the most beautiful sight Rachel had ever seen.

Much to her own amazement, tears filled her eyes and a lump threatened to close up her throat. Awe caused her to bring her fingers to her lips as she stood there, staring. The level of emotion she felt astounded her, as it wasn’t something she’d felt often in her life. She prided herself on her ability to remain in control, to keep a tight rein on things like sentiment. But this…this touched her in inexplicable ways, and she felt the hot trail of salt water running down her cheeks. “She’s beautiful, Emily. My God. She’s so beautiful.” Her words caught in her throat and she squeezed her sister’s hand so tightly, she was surprised Emily didn’t complain.

The nurse whisked the baby girl to the corner of the room where she was weighed and measured and cleaned up a little bit while the doctors turned their attention back to the hole before them that was Emily’s belly.

As Greg and Emily cuddled and kissed, awash in happiness over their new addition, Rachel’s hand was still holding Emily’s and she squeezed it tightly, her emotions overflowing.

Less than an hour later it was barely noon, but Rachel was scanning for an exit from the hospital. Emily was tired, as was the baby. Greg was ecstatic but descending rapidly from his high, and there were just more people in the hospital room than Rachel cared to be confined with. She tolerated her mother, was civil to her father, and somehow managed to escape before anybody was able to rope her into a lengthy conversation. Besides, she had too much on her mind to come across as anything other than distracted. She wanted to find a way to relax a bit. She wanted to analyze her thoughts and figure out why witnessing the birth of her niece made her feel so open, so emotional, so completely different, and why she wished nothing more than for Courtney to have been there with her to see it all.