Chapter 3 - The Voice That Stayed on the Line
The phone buzzed against my palm before I could decide who to call.
I stared at the screen through a blur I didn't want to admit was tears. Unknown number, local area code. For a second I almost let it go to voicemail. My thumb was slick. The kitchen tile was cold under my socks. The front doorway was still empty, blue door pulled shut now, the click of it louder than it should have been.
I answered on the third buzz. "Hello?"
A pause. Road noise behind her, a turn signal ticking. A woman's voice, breathy but steady. "Claire?"
Something in the way she said my name made my throat close. Not rushed. Not pitying. Like she already knew.
"Yeah," I said. My voice sounded thin. "Yeah, this is Claire."
"You're not doing this alone."
I didn't answer right away. The words landed too direct. I leaned my hip harder into the counter, gripped the edge with my free hand. The contraction before had faded to a dull ache low in my back, and I was in that in-between space where I could almost pretend I was fine.
"I —" I started, then stopped. The duffel bag was still by the door where Blake had left it. Gray and navy. Packed for three days. I could see the zipper pull from here.
She waited. She didn't fill it. The turn signal stopped clicking.
"How long has he been gone?" she asked.
I glanced at the microwave clock. 10:42. He'd left at — when? The car door. The slam. My hands shaking on the counter. I tried to back it up.
"Ten minutes?" I said. "Maybe twelve. He said he'd be back fast."
"Blake?" she said.
I nodded before I remembered she couldn't see me. "Yeah."
Another small silence. I heard her exhale. "Tell me where he went, honey. Just say it plain."
My cheeks burned. Saying it out loud made it real in a way living it hadn't yet. I pressed my fingers into the laminate.
"He took his mom to the mall," I said. "She wanted — she said ten minutes. Drop us at the mall first. And he just... he went."
I heard the shift in her breathing. Not shock. Focus.
"And you told him?" she asked. "About the contractions?"
"Six minutes apart," I said quickly. "I told him. My doctor said don't wait. I told him I needed him now."
The last word cracked. I hated that. I turned so I was facing the counter, forehead almost touching the cabinet above. The dark phone on the counter — no, my phone in my hand — felt hot now. Blake's keys were still there beside where the phone had been. Small, dark. He'd left them. He'd left me.
"Okay. Okay, Claire, listen to me," she said. Her voice dropped a little, closer. "I'm already in the car. I'm turning around. I'm coming to you."
"You don't have to —" I started automatically.
"I'm coming to you," she repeated, firmer. No room in it. "Are you still in the kitchen?"
"Yeah."
"Stay put. Don't try to carry that bag. Don't try to drive."
Another tightening started then, low and mean, wrapping from my back to the front. I sucked air in through my nose, bent over the counter. The edge dug into my forearms.
"Ah — hold on," I whispered.
"I'm here," she said immediately. "I'm right here. Breathe with me. Don't hold it."
I tried. In for four through my nose, out slow through my mouth. The way the class had taught. Her breathing came through the speaker, steady, giving me something to match. The tiles swam and then steadied.
"Good," she said when it eased. "How far apart now? Are you timing?"
"No," I admitted. "I was watching the door."
"That's okay. Start now. When this one ended — what time is it?"
I lifted my head, squinted at the green numbers. "10:44."
"Good. That's your mark. When the next one starts, you tell me. I'm staying on till I get there."
My knees felt watery. I slid down just enough to rest my weight on the stool by the island, dragging it with my foot. The phone cord — no cord, just my hand cramping from holding too tight. I switched ears.
"You don't even know my address," I said.
"Then you better tell me," she said, and for the first time there was something almost like a smile in it.
I gave it to her. Street number, cross street by the elementary school. She repeated it back. I heard her tap it into her GPS, the automated voice confirming in the background.
"Eight minutes out," she said. "Maybe seven if this light cooperates. You keep that phone in your hand. You don't get up unless you have to. Understand?"
"Yeah," I whispered.
"And Claire?"
May you like
"Yeah?"
"You did right calling out. Don't you go quiet on me now."
