We Are Not Like Them(78)

The woman squats down, her kind eyes level to mine. “I can’t find it. We can use mine. What’s the number?”

I only knew three numbers by heart. Lou’s home number, which is the same number I had growing up; Riley’s cell, which has miraculously stayed the same all these years; and Kevin’s cell, which I only know because he made me memorize it. Part of his training was making the family memorize important numbers. I squeak out Kevin’s number and watch the woman punch it into her own phone.

“It went to voice mail.”

Of course it did. He’s not going to answer some random number and listen to someone scream at him again.

“Who else can I call?”

Before I can answer, a chain saw slices right through my stomach, cutting me in half. I roll over, an inhuman sound coming out of my mouth. I start bargaining with God, thinking of all the things I’ll trade for Chase to be okay. It’s a short-lived exercise, because the answer is everything, anything.

“Call 911!” the woman commands the pimply teenager, and he seems happy to be told what to do.

I think I’m nodding, though maybe my head isn’t even moving. I’m squeezing my eyes shut against the agony. I sense the small crowd forming around us, staring at me with concern and pity, and a dash of excitement too, at being front row for an emergency, a story to tell later.

“Try my husband again,” I manage.

The woman dutifully complies. “Still no answer, hon.”

I could give her Riley’s cell: 215-555-4810… 215-555-4810. I’ve dialed it more than I’ve dialed Kevin’s number, more than my own home phone. I’ve called it from pay phones and random guys’ cell phones to let her know when our favorite song came on in some bar during a boring date. But no. I can’t call Riley. Why? In the haze of pain it’s hard to think straight. I’m done. But done with what? Done with Riley? I wasn’t gonna call her again. Ever. The hard line had felt good, a sense of righteous satisfaction. Now that reasoning doesn’t make sense. Riley’s my best friend? The thought forms itself into a question.

“Anyone else, honey?” The woman asks, a frantic pitch to her voice. One of her little girls whimpers.

“My best friend… Call Riley,” I manage. From a distance, over the sound of my own labored panting, I can faintly hear Riley say hello to Judy through the phone. I’m not sure how I know the woman’s name is Judy. She must have told me.

“I think your friend has gone into labor,” Judy explains. I need Judy to take those words back. Hearing them out loud makes it real. When I’m seized by another crippling contraction, I focus on Judy’s three girls, all of them with white-blond hair and wide eyes like baby deer. The little one who was whimpering has stopped. She’s now staring at me, along with her sisters, as if I’m an animal in a zoo as she slurps loudly out of a Little Mermaid cup. Judy holds the phone down, and Riley’s voice is closer now, right in my ear.

“Jenny, it’s going to be okay. I’m going to find Kevin and we’ll meet you at the hospital. Okay, Jenny? You’re going to be fine. He’s going to be fine.” I’m so happy to hear Riley’s voice, even if she’s lying to me again. I’m not going to be fine. But there’s a chance Chase could be. He has to be. There’s no other outcome that I can bear.

The small crowd that’s gathered gives way to the paramedics, who lift me into an ambulance.

The paramedics tell me we’re headed to St. Mary, and this is the first thing that’s brought me peace in what feels like hours. Annie’s hospital. If I can’t deliver downtown, as I planned, this is the next best option. I have no idea if she’s working, but at least my sister-in-law can put in a good word with the staff, make sure we receive the best care.

My relief is so short-lived it’s barely enough time to remember the feeling. Another wave of staggering pain washes over me, like a riptide pulling me under. There’s no point in fighting. How is it possible that my body is capable of so much agony? As soon as I can breathe again, I ask what’s happening, if the baby is okay. The two paramedics respond in a soothing, even tone that makes me want to kick them in the teeth. How dare they be so calm at a time like this? They’re not gonna tell me what’s really happening anyway. They won’t tell me that Chase is in trouble, but I know. Riley’s not the only one with the tingles.

Minutes, seconds, or hours after we arrive at the hospital, Kevin bursts through the flimsy curtain surrounding my bed in the ER. The paramedics gave me a shot of something. It’s dulled the sensations, or maybe I’ve grown used to them.

“Babe, are you okay?” Kevin asks, panic pulsing off him. He practically slams into the bed and pats me frantically with both hands, as if checking for injuries. He looks like he does right before he’s going to be sick, pale and shaky.

I’m hit hard with a surge of love for him right then, and relief, and sympathy; it’s all there swirling around, making me dizzy. I want to spare him the truth, so I don’t say anything at all. I simply grab his hand. When we touch, something unspoken passes between us, a solidarity that gives me strength.

We turn, still holding on to each other, as a stocky man in a crisp white coat comes through the curtain. “I’m Dr. Atunde, the ob-gyn resident on duty tonight.”

My stomach sinks, taking in the doctor, his dark skin. Kevin stiffens like he’s having the same thought. What if this doctor recognizes my husband from the news? Will it impact how hard he works to save our baby? No, that’s impossible. Doctors don’t do that. They took oaths not to do that. They save terrorists and serial killers.