Crazy Girl(87)

Her gaze met mine, a frown capturing her features. “I think I’m just being paranoid.”

“About what?”

“I don’t think the baby has moved since yesterday.” She shook her head. “I haven’t felt it move today, even after two cups of coffee.”

“Then we should go to the hospital.”

“I might just be overthinking it. I was stressed out last night.”

“Doesn’t matter,” I told her as I stood and pushed in my chair. “Better to get this checked out.”

She nodded in agreement as she stood, fear and worry strewn across her face. After asking the owners of the B&B where the nearest hospital was, we left. She refused to let me call Allen, not wanting to worry him unless absolutely necessary. As we drove to the hospital, I squeezed her hand. “I’m sure everything is fine,” I assured her. And that was the truth, I truly thought everything would be fine.

I was so very wrong.



The nurse spoke to Deanna in a hushed voice, as if whispering to her would somehow soften the horror of this day. Deanna was despondent, numbly moving and following the directions that were given to her. I stood, on the ready, wanting to do whatever I could to help. Mostly, I held her hand, and from time to time I would bend and kiss her head.

There was so much wrong with this day.

How could life be this unfair?

“You can wait until your husband arrives. There’s no rush,” the nurse told her.

“No.” She shook her head. “Let’s get started.”

“Deanna,” I gasped. “Allen would want to be here.”

Looking up at me, her eyes held a certainty I’d never seen before; a cold strength that only happens when someone has been broken so badly the only choice they have is to be strong.

“Hannah.” She squeezed my hand. “I need to do this before he gets here. I know my husband. This would break him.”

I struggled, wanting to argue with her and insist she wait, wrestling back my sadness, refusing to let it take me down. I would be strong for my friend. If this was her choice, I would support her. I would be here for her.

Once they’d given her the Pitocin to induce her into labor, they broke her water. The contractions came fast and with each one Deanna would rear back, stiffening her body as she fought the pain, her face twisting in agony. To my best friend’s credit, she held strong until the contractions were about two minutes apart.

And then she sobbed.

She was a raging body of hurt—not just physically. I wished my body possessed the ability to hold her, soothe her until the pain eased. Her forehead was slick with sweat, and I dabbed it with a cool washcloth. With each contraction, she’d squeeze my other hand and I’d squeeze back. I had no words. I had no idea what to say. All I could do was try my best to make her feel I was there because nothing I could have said would have made her feel any better.

The nurse checked her again. Standing, her latex gloves popped as she pulled them off. “I’m going to page Dr. Rao and let her know you are ready.”

“I’m going to try Allen one more time,” I informed her before grabbing my phone. I called him, but it went straight to voicemail. I’d spoken to him just after Deanna’s ultrasound in the emergency room. Just after I’d watched my dearest friend discover the life inside of her was lifeless. She also discovered it was a boy. When I’d told Allen, my heart squeezing, he’d been quiet.

“I’ll be there as fast as I can,” he’d spoken gruffly.

That was twelve hours ago.

When the doctor, a short woman with blonde hair tied up in a ponytail, came in and introduced herself, I tossed my phone back in my bag. Allen would be here. He had to be. I knew Deanna wanted to do it without him, but they needed each other now more than ever. After the doctor checked Deanna, she agreed it was time for her to start pushing.

Deanna fell apart, her body racked with pain as she wailed. I pulled her head to my chest and held her as she sobbed, her warm tears soaking through my shirt. “My baby,” she croaked. “My beautiful baby.”

I clenched my eyes closed where she couldn’t see, forbidding myself to cry, her anguish seeping into me.

“Deanna,” Dr. Rao said softly. “The baby is crowning. It’s time to push.”

Deanna’s hand clutched my arm as she pulled herself into my body, her head finding the crook of my neck and shoulder. “I can’t, Hannah. I can’t do this,” she rasped quietly. “I don’t want to see him dead. Not my baby.”

My chest convulsed as I lost my battle and began to cry. My friend’s pain was choking me, and I’d have given my life in that moment to take it from her, to somehow give my life so her child would live and all would be right. I felt useless. The nurses and doctor kept speaking, but it was all white noise. She wasn’t listening, and neither was I. She was crippled by her pain and fear. I couldn’t blame her, not at all. But she had to do this, no matter how horrific it was. I blinked as I thought about what to say; my words had to be strong and assertive. I had to help her fight her pain and move forward. But how? Who was I to rally her for this war when I could barely conquer my own small battles? I searched inside myself, for a voice, for an answer. And there he was; a flicker of thought that hit me almost as if he’d been in the dark part of my mind waiting for a pivotal moment to appear.