A Different Blue(113)

my back and lower belly had been cramping steadily since we had stopped at the rest area. Maybe

it was the stress of the trip, or all the R words raining down without relief, or maybe it was

simply time. Two weeks early wasn't really considered early. It was considered full term. And I

had a sneaking suspicion I was in labor.

“I'm going to pull off wherever I can find a hotel. We're still three hours out, maybe more at

this speed, and I've had enough,” Wilson sighed, squinting to make out road signs.

“We have to keep going,” I insisted, gripping the armrest as a wave of pressure moved through

my lower body.

“Why?” Wilson didn't look at me, he was so intent on the road ahead.

“Because I really don't want to have a baby in a Super 8 Motel.”

“Bugger!” Wilson's head swiveled toward me, his eyes wide with horror.

“I'm not in any pain. Not really. It's just uncomfortable. And it's been going on for about

three hours. Just keep going and we'll be fine.”

The next three hours were the longest three hours of my life – Wilson's too, I'm guessing. He

was white around the lips, and his face was haggard by the time we saw the Vegas lights smeared

like an oil spill beyond the windshield, a muted rainbow in a sea of black. I had timed my

contractions, and they had grown steady and increasingly painful at about five minutes apart. I

had no idea what that meant, or how far I had to go. But we were both too tired to go home and

wait for it to get worse. Getting to the hospital was a feat in itself. Some of the roads were

knee deep in water, and the rain wasn't letting up.

We pulled into the parking garage, and Wilson was out and at my door before I could get my seat

belt off. Together we made our way to Labor and Delivery, breathing a small sigh of relief that

we had made it. Visions of highways births had been our constant companion for three long hours.

I'm sure it was a relief for Wilson to turn me over to the perky blonde nurse who oozed

competency. She got me settled in a room, set out a gown, and told me she'd be back momentarily.

Wilson turned and walked toward the door. Panic bubbled up in my chest as I watched him leave.

My fear made me bold.

“Will you stay with me?” The words came out in a jumble and my face felt hot with shame that I

had even uttered them. But I had, and I didn't want to take them back. He was frozen in place,

his hand still resting on the door handle.

“Please.” I didn't know if he heard the final plea, and I had to close my eyes so I didn't see

his response. I was afraid to see him shrink, to see his eyes shift away, to hear him make

excuses.

The bed shifted, and I opened my eyes to see him sitting beside me. His eyebrows were drawn

together and his grey-eyed gaze was filled with apprehension. But he didn't fidget or shrink,

and his eyes held mine.

“Are you sure?”

“I can't do this alone, Wilson. I wouldn't ask . . . but . . . I don't . . . have anyone else.

” I bit down on my lip, stifling the urge to shamelessly beg. His face softened, and the worry

in his eyes faded.

“Then I'll stay.” He slid his hand into mine and held it tightly. His hand was large and cool,

his fingertips calloused. My relief was so intense that I couldn't immediately respond for fear