Chapter 9 - The Calls He Did Not Answer
The monitor beeped in a steady line and the nurse adjusted the strap under my sweater. My contractions were coming closer now, and I had to breathe through each one with my eyes closed. The labor room was dim compared to our bright kitchen that morning, just a lamp over the bed and daylight pushing around the blinds.
The nurse, Dana, checked the tracing and then looked at the empty chair by the bed. My gray and navy duffel sat on the floor under the window. My dark phone sat on the rolling tray, screen up.
"Can I call him directly?" she asked. "Sometimes husbands pick up for a hospital number."
I nodded because I didn't have a better idea. My ally sat on the other side of the bed, her hand near my elbow but not touching. She'd been quiet since triage, letting the nurses work.
Dana used the room phone and dialed the number I gave her. I heard it ring through the speaker. Once. Twice. Then his voicemail. His voice, normal and hurried, the way he'd sounded that morning in the kitchen. Leave a message and I'll call you back.
She left a short message with the hospital name and room number and hung up. "We’ll try again in a bit," she said, and wrote something on the whiteboard.
I picked up my phone to check what I already knew. One outgoing call to Blake with no answer. One text thread. His last message sat there from earlier, after he'd left through the blue front door.
I'll be back fast.
I stared at those four words until they blurred. He'd said it hurried to me in the entryway while his mother waited by the duffel, and then he'd typed it again like typing it made it true. No time stamp after that. No I'm on my way. No I'm parking.
My ally leaned in and looked at the screen. "Show her," she said quietly to me.
I turned the phone so Dana could see it. She read it without comment, then looked at the call log above it. Three calls from me. Two straight to voicemail. One that had rung longer before it cut off.
"He left his keys that morning," I said. I hadn't meant to say it. "They were on the kitchen counter. He left them when he left."
Dana nodded like she'd heard stranger things. "The car stayed home?"
"Yes," I said. Another contraction started building, low and tight. I gripped the bed rail and breathed until it passed. The monitor ticked faster and then slowed.
When I could talk again, I pressed his number myself. My hands were shaking enough that I almost dropped the phone on the tray. My ally steadied it for me.
It rang. Someone picked up on the third ring.
For a second I thought it was him. Then I heard her voice. His mother.
"Hello? Claire?" she said, like she was surprised, with mall noise behind her. An announcement over speakers. A cart rolling.
"It's me," I said. "Where's Blake? I'm at the hospital. I'm in labor."
"Oh honey, we're just finishing up," she said. "He ran into the store for me. Just ten minutes, you know how the lines are. He'll call you right back."
"I need him now," I said. My voice sounded thin. "Please put him on."
"He's not right here, honey," she said. "Don't get yourself worked up. That’s not good for the baby. We'll head over soon."
The line clicked before I could answer. I looked at the screen. Call ended. One minute twelve seconds.
I set the phone in my lap and stared at it. My ally didn't reach for it. Dana was adjusting the IV, pretending not to listen, which I was grateful for.
"He had her answer," my ally said softly. Not angry. Just stating it.
I nodded. I felt another contraction coming and I braced. I breathed in through my nose and out through my mouth, the way the class instructor had taught us, the way Blake was supposed to count for me. The monitor showed the peak climb. Dana watched it and then watched me.
"Good," she said. "Just like that."
When it eased, I was sweating under my sweater. My hair was coming loose from where I'd tied it back that morning. I didn't fix it.
I opened the thread again and typed with one thumb: In labor room. Nurse called. Please come now.
I watched the message send. No dots. No reply.
I called once more. Straight to voicemail again. I didn't leave another message. There was nothing left to say that I hadn't already said leaning on that kitchen counter: don't delay, I need you now.
My ally put her hand over mine. "You don't have to keep calling," she said.
I knew she was right. Each call was taking energy I needed for what was coming. My body was doing work whether he answered or not. The nurse needed me present, not staring at a phone waiting for a man who'd left his keys on the counter and walked out with his mother.
I pressed the side button and the screen went dark. I set the phone face-down on the rolling tray, next to the plastic cup of ice chips. Out of reach but still there.
"I’m stopping," I told Dana. "I need to focus on this."
She nodded and moved the tray back a little, so I wouldn't knock it during a contraction. "Good plan," she said. "We've got you. You're progressing well."
May you like
Another contraction took hold, stronger than the last. I turned onto my side and gripped the rail and breathed through it. My ally counted quietly for me, one to ten, and I held her count like a rope.
When it passed, I looked at the empty chair once, and then I didn't look at it again. The phone stayed dark on the tray. The room stayed just us.
