Sunset Beach(86)

“Delirious,” Drue said. She pulled back into traffic. “Can you put the address in your phone so I can get directions? I don’t want to get lost.”

After several minutes had passed, Drue pulled into the parking lot of the midrise office building that Wendy pointed out. “Her office is on the fourth floor.”

Her face contorted again and she gasped and grabbed Drue’s arm. “Another cramp.”

Drue’s heart was pounding in her chest. She couldn’t think straight. “What should I do? Can you walk?”

Wendy nodded. “I think so.” She clutched Drue’s arm tighter. “I’m scared,” she whispered.

Drue pulled up to the curb, put the Bronco in park and jumped out. “Me too.”

A uniformed security guard marched up, his hand extended like a stop sign. “Ma’am? Did you see the yellow curb? This is a no-parking zone. You can’t—”

“Fuck off,” Drue said, opening the passenger door and taking Wendy’s hand. “This woman is four months pregnant and she’s having contractions. I’m taking her in to Dr. Dillard’s office. Unless you want her to bleed to death right here on your yellow curb?”

She dropped the keys into the speechless guard’s outstretched hand. “Just park it somewhere, okay?”

Wendy didn’t speak again until they were in the elevator. She was still clinging to Drue’s arm and leaning heavily against her. “They’re probably not contractions and I wasn’t going to bleed to death,” she said.

“He didn’t know that. And neither did I,” Drue replied. Her hands were shaking as she watched the lighted numbers on the control panel change during their agonizingly slow ascent. “Who puts an obstetrician’s office on the fourth floor?” she demanded. “How many babies have been delivered in this thing?”



* * *



Drue had never been good at waiting, especially in spaces that were dubbed waiting rooms, which, for her, had an unfortunate association with all the hours she’d spent in rooms like this one during Sherri’s final weeks of illness.

“Hi,” she said, approaching the reception desk. “I brought Wendy Campbell in about thirty minutes ago? Can you tell me what’s going on?”

The clerk looked up from her computer screen. “Sorry. Patient privacy regulations.”

Drue leaned across the high polished wooden countertop. “I’m not some random stranger. Mrs. Campbell is my stepmother, and I’m really concerned about her and the baby. Look, you don’t have to say anything. Just nod yes or no. Is she okay?”

The clerk glanced around, then, pursing her lips, gave an almost imperceptible nod.

“Good,” Drue said. “Thanks.”

Brice rushed into the waiting room fifteen minutes later.

“Dad.” Drue jumped up.

“Where is she?” Brice asked. “How is she?”

“In with the doctor. They won’t tell me anything.”



* * *



She’d skimmed the pages of a year’s worth of Parents magazine and was starting to have strong opinions on co-sleeping, toilet training and caring for cracked nipples when the door to the back office finally opened an hour later and Brice emerged with Wendy on his arm.

“She’s fine,” Brice said, before Drue had a chance to ask. “The baby’s fine too.”

Wendy offered her a wan smile. “See? Crisis averted.”

“The doctor says it’s premature labor,” Brice said. “Not that unusual in a higher-risk pregnancy.”

“The baby’s heartbeat is strong, and he’s perfect,” Wendy added.

“So what happens now?” Drue asked, following them out into the hallway. “I mean, how do you stop a baby from coming?”

“Bed rest,” Brice said. “I’m taking her home now.”

“Do you want me to come too? I could, I don’t know, hang out or boil water or whatever.”

“No,” Wendy and Brice said in unison.

“But thanks,” Wendy said, softening. “I’m just going to go to bed and hibernate for a while.”

“And I’m going to stick around and watch her for the rest of the day,” Brice added. He threw his free arm around his daughter. “Come on now, close it up. Family hugs. Right?”

Wendy nodded and extended her arm to Drue with a questioning look. “Total family hugs,” Drue said, closing the circle.





41


Drue was too shaken to return to work after leaving the doctor’s office. She called Marianne and told her she intended to take the rest of the day off.

“How’s Wendy?” she asked. “Your dad said she’s not coming back to work for a while?”

“She and the baby seem to be fine,” Drue said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Drue’s cell phone pinged while she was stopped at a light on Central Avenue. The text was from Corey.

How about a swim tonight? Need to check on progress with your knee rehab.

She texted him a thumbs-up emoji. Just before the light changed she glanced to her right. The blocks along that section of Central were lined with antiques and vintage shops, and she loved “window-shopping” during her commute home. Today, on the sidewalk in front of a shop that specialized in mid-century modern, she noticed a glamorous glass-topped rattan dining table with four matching chairs arrayed around it. The seat cushions were covered in a wild jungle-print fabric.