Chapter 11 - He Tried to Bring Her In With Him
I heard his voice before I saw his face.
It came through the half-closed door, too loud for the hallway, the way Blake got when he was nervous and trying to sound in charge. "We're family, we're both with her." And then hers, sharper. "I'm his mother. I'm not sitting out there."
Another contraction was building then. I felt it start low in my back, that tightening band. My friend's hand was already on my shoulder. She leaned in close. "Stay with me," she said quietly. "Look at me, Claire. Breathe out."
I tried to keep my eyes on her. The monitor beeped steady and fast. My gown was damp with sweat. The IV tugged when I shifted. Through the crack in the door I could see movement, sneakers and white pants, and I heard a different voice cut in, calm and flat.
A nurse stepped into the room and pulled the door almost shut behind her. She was older, short graying hair pulled back, her badge clipped straight. She checked the monitor first, then me, her hand light on my arm.
"How far apart?" she asked my friend.
"About two minutes. Last one was almost ninety seconds."
The nurse nodded and turned up the volume on nothing, just watched the strip coming out. Outside, his mother said something I couldn't make out, and Blake said, "Come on."
I gripped the bed rail as the contraction peaked. I couldn't speak. I just breathed through my nose and let it out slow, the way they'd shown me downstairs. My friend counted under her breath. "Four, five, six. Good. You're doing it."
When it eased, I dropped back against the pillow. My whole body was shaking.
The nurse waited until my breathing settled. "Claire, who's staying with you?" she asked.
I looked at my friend. I didn't have to think. "Her," I said. My voice sounded hoarse. "She's been here."
The nurse gave a short nod. "One support person in active labor. That's our policy for this room." She looked toward the door. "I'll let them know."
"No, wait," I whispered. It came out before I could stop it. "Is that — is he out there?"
"Your husband and an older woman," she said. "They just got here."
My friend squeezed my hand. The door opened a few inches again and Blake slipped half inside before the nurse stopped him with her palm up. He looked wrong in that room, his dark jacket still on over his gray shirt, his hair damp. His eyes found mine and went wide.
"Claire," he said. "Jesus. I'm here."
Behind him, his mother tried to step around him in her beige coat, her dark handbag clutched up against her chest. "Blake, tell her I'm coming in," she said, loud enough for the whole hallway.
The nurse blocked the doorway with her body, polite but solid. "Sir, I need you to step back to the line. Only one person can be in here right now. You'll need to choose."
"She's my wife," Blake said. "That's me. I'm staying."
"Then she'll need to wait outside," the nurse said, glancing at his mother.
"What?" His mother’s voice rose. "After everything this morning? I rode all the way here. You can't keep a grandmother out."
A tech pushed a cart past in the hall. Someone called a room number over the speaker. The nurse didn't move. "Ma'am, there's a waiting area around the corner, second door on the left. Chairs, water. I'll have someone update you. I need this hallway clear."
"I don't need water," his mother said. "I need to be with my son."
Blake looked back at her, then at me. He held up both hands. "Mom. Just — just wait there. I'll come get you. Ten minutes."
"You said that at the mall," I said.
It came out quiet. I hadn't planned to say it. The room went still except for the monitor.
Blake froze in the doorway. His face changed. "Claire, I'm sorry," he said. He stepped closer to the bed, his hands empty at his sides. "The lot was packed and then the bus — I'm sorry. I got home and you were gone. The bag was gone. I drove as fast as I could."
Another tightening started. I turned my face away from him toward my friend. She was already moving, her hand back on my shoulder, her voice steady. "Here it comes. In through your nose."
I rode it with my eyes shut, my fingers digging into the sheet. I heard him breathing near the bed, too fast, and the nurse saying, "Sir, if you're staying, jacket off, wash your hands, stand on this side. Don't touch the monitors."
When the contraction broke, I opened my eyes and he was there at my left, his jacket gone, his sleeves pushed up. He reached for my hand and then stopped, his palm hovering.
"Can I?" he asked.
I nodded once because I didn't have the air to argue. His hand was cold. Mine was sweating. He held on too tight at first, then loosened when my friend touched his wrist lightly.
"Like this," she said. "Let her squeeze you. Don't squeeze back."
His mother was still talking in the hallway, muffled now. "This is wrong. I'm telling you, this is wrong." A chair scraped. A door clicked.
Blake glanced toward the sound, then back at me. "I'm here now," he said softly. "I'm not leaving."
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I stared at the ceiling tiles. The next one was already coming, building under the last one with barely a rest between. The nurse moved to the foot of the bed and checked something I couldn't see. She met my friend's eyes and gave a small shake of her head. Not yet, but close.
I tightened my grip on his hand as the pain rose again, and he winced but didn't pull away.
