Chaser (Dive Bar #3)(26)

It was all I could do just to meet her eyes in what I hoped was a supportive way, but I felt totally useless. Jean’s fingers squeezed tighter and tighter. She could break my hand for all I cared. Grind my bones down to dust. At least then I’d be doing something.

Finally, she nodded. “All right.”

“I’m assuming you want Mr.…” The nurse nodded in my direction.

“Eric,” said Jean. “His name is Eric and yes, I want him to come in.”

“Come with me, please,” directed the nurse. “We’ll get you prepped.”

She took me into another room and gave me a hair cover and a white coverall thing to wear. A few ties and it was covering up my existing apparel. This was a good thing—the designer jeans and flashy shirt I had been wearing behind the bar really didn’t fit the occasion. I got it all done as quickly as possible. Away from Jean, I almost wanted to hurl. It was easier to be brave when she was right there needing someone to be strong and keep their shit together.

“Eric, if you’re ready I’ll take you in,” said the nurse, reappearing.

Frankly, if we were going to wait until I was genuinely ready for something like this, it would be another twenty years or so. And involve Joe buying me another dozen books on the subject. And me getting a couple of shots of liquid courage for good measure. That last was a particularly good idea. Where was a barkeep when I needed one?

But there was no alternative, so I simply nodded, and off we went.

A green sheet hung halfway across Jean’s body, blocking our view of everything from her chest down. She too wore one of the hairnets, along with a hospital gown. A heart monitor thing had been clipped onto one finger and a drip inserted into the back of her hand. I stood beside her, still not vomiting despite all the busy medical people, the sight of syringes and blades, and the smell of antiseptic. Yay me.

“Don’t touch anything green,” directed the nurse. I’m not sure what her name was. In fact, I don’t even think I was seeing straight.

I grasped Jean’s hand, my palm maybe slightly sweaty. “Can you feel anything?”

“Nothing down below,” she said. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

“Yes.”

“You don’t look so good.” Concerned eyes gazed up at me. “Are you going to faint?”

The doctor chuckled. “We’re not picking you up if you do.”

“Some hospital this is,” I mumbled, before saying in a firmer voice, “I’m fine. Are they getting your baby out for you, or what?”

“Don’t you worry about us,” said the doctor, giving me a quick look. She wore a surgical mask, but I think a smile was happening beneath it. “You just concentrate on staying upright.”

Christ. “I’m fine, really.”

Jean gave my fingers a squeeze. Dammit. I was meant to be comforting her, not the other way around.

“You still haven’t given me your final decision on her name.” I forced a smile. “It’s not too late, you can still use one of my extraordinarily helpful suggestions.”

“Very kind.” Her pretty face had relaxed since the anesthetics had kicked in, but worry still filled her hazy gaze. The woman seemed sort of stoned. “Can you see anything?”

“No.”

Beyond that sheet, things were happening. Things I did not want to know about and definitely didn’t want to see. Whatever they were talking about and doing, I blocked out. Only Jean mattered.

“You’ll look after her, right? When she comes out?”

“Absolutely. Didn’t I tell you about those books I read on this? I’m probably better qualified than the doctor.”

Her smile was only fleeting, but it was better than nothing. “I can’t move.”

“I’ll look after her.”

She took a deep breath, eyes liquid. “Okay.”

“You’re going to be fine.”

“Everything’s going well,” confirmed the nurse. “Keep her calm, Eric.”

“Right, sure,” I said. “Ah, how about Wilhelmena?”

“W-what?” asked Jean.

“Or Henrietta. That’s a good one.”

Her face creased. “Where are you even getting these?”

“Not a fan of the classics? Something more hippy, maybe?” I rubbed her knuckles with the pad of my thumb. “Like Rainbow or Sparrow or River.”

No reply.

“I know! How about Moon Unit or Diva?”

“So much no,” she whispered.

“Oh come on, those are Frank Zappa’s daughter’s names,” I said. “If it’s good enough for Frank—”

“Can you see her yet?”

“Not yet.” I concentrated on keeping both of us calm. Nice and relaxed. Everything good. “I really think you’re being too harsh on my choices of baby names.”

The nurse snorted.

Jean huffed out a breath. “I don’t even know who Frank Zappa is.”

“He’s one of the greats of American music,” I said. “How can you not know Frank Zappa?”

“Don’t let them take her away from me.”

I nodded. “No one’s taking her anywhere. Got it. Ready to hear all about the greatness of Zappa?”