Almost Forever (42 page)

“No!” He seemed to realize he had shouted the word, and lowered his voice to a near whisper. “There's no need for that. No need at all.”

“But there
is.
”

His jaw was set. “I've said all I'm going to say on this subject. Drop it. Just let it go.”

She stared at him, thinking about walls, the walls they'd breached for a golden time. The walls that were so high and impenetrable now. Andie felt as if she were clawing at those walls, raking her nails bloody. But they were made of stone,
impervious to her feeble efforts to batter them down with her two soft hands.

And she felt so tired. Tired and huge and ponderous. The baby seemed to drain her, to demand everything of her. She didn't have enough of herself left right now to keep battling Clay like this. And it couldn't be good for the baby, all this tension and frustration. She had to take care of herself, not allow herself to become so upset.

She met his eyes. “All right, Clay. Have it your way.”

She saw relief on his face—and something else, too. What was it? Disappointment? Despair?

She didn't know, was just too tired to try anymore to keep fighting and find out.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

“No. I just want a nap. A long nap.”

He was suddenly all solicitude, helping her to lie down in the bed, fluffing her pillows. When she was settled, he touched her cheek. “You have to take care of yourself.” He echoed her own thoughts.

“I know.” She sighed, understanding with a stab of regret that his kindness, his attentiveness, were her rewards for not saying what needed to be said. She thought of all those years they'd been enemies. Had she been wiser then than now, to keep him at bay with hostility? Had something inside her always known how dangerous it would be to give her heart to a man like him, a man who refused even to believe that the very special love she bore him was real?

Gently he asked, “Are you going to be okay?”

“Yes, I'm fine.”

“There's a gym in the basement. I thought maybe I'd—”

She completed his sentence for him. “Go work off a little tension?”

“Yeah. More or less.”

“Sounds like a great idea. Do some sit-ups for me.” She closed her eyes.

His lips brushed her forehead. “I will.” He left her and moved around the room, changing into shorts, she imagined, getting ready to go. She heard the door close behind him just as another contraction took hold down inside her. But it faded quickly. Not real labor. Surely not.

Minutes later, she was asleep.

 

When Clay returned, they ordered room service and watched a movie. The contractions Andie had been experiencing became more frequent and pronounced as the evening went by. It became impossible to hide them from Clay. He wanted to call the doctor in Meadow Valley.

Andie soothed him. They should wait until tomorrow. If the contractions were still happening in the morning, they would get hold of the doctor somehow, and ask his advice before she got on a plane. But it was very possible that a good night's rest would make all the difference. And really, she was getting along in the pregnancy. These were probably the normal contractions that a mother often felt in her last month as her body begin readying itself to give birth.

Rather unwillingly, Clay accepted her judgment about it.

They went to bed at dusk, planning to be up before dawn since their flight was an early one.

But in the middle of the night, Andie awoke from a dream where some awful, cackling, witchlike person was pressing on her stomach. She dragged herself to a sitting position and pushed her hair away from her face.

Clay, who had lain down next to her at bedtime, sat up beside her.

“What is it?”

“Nothing, really. I just…I think I want to go to the bath
room, that's all.” She slid off the far side of the bed and edged her way toward the bathroom.

And then something stunning happened. Her uterus contracted, from the top down. It was the most incredible thing she had ever experienced. She could feel it, moving like a living thing, over her extended belly and down to the depths of her.

“Oh!”

“My God. Andie, what—?”

And then something gave. Inside. She looked down. There was liquid trickling between her legs.

Clay was out of the bed and at her side in seconds. He put his arm around her shoulders, pulled her close against his solid strength. “What? Tell me. Please, Andie.”

“I think…”

“What?”

“I think my water just broke.”

“W
hat are you telling me?” Clay demanded.

The doctor regarded him warily, probably because he'd sounded so harsh. She was an attractive red-haired woman with a stethoscope around her neck and a white jacket over her clothes. She wore a name tag: Dr. A. F. Johannson, Obstetrics and Gynecology.

Clay reminded himself that he needed this woman on his side. “I'm sorry, Dr. Johannson. I'm…not at my best right now.”

The doctor's freckled face relaxed. “I understand. And what I'm telling you is that your wife is in active labor.”

Clay blinked and shook his head. He'd known that
something
was happening, of course. He didn't have to be a doctor to understand that the baby was probably coming. But the mad rush through the dark streets to the nearest hospital hadn't left him a lot of room for thinking. And now, actually hearing the word
labor
made it suddenly all too real.

Clay struggled to recall what all those books had told him. “
Active
labor?” he asked rather idiotically.

“Yes,” Doctor Johannson replied. And then she began speaking calmly and clearly about the high quality of care the obstetrics wing of this particular hospital would provide, about nonstress tests, about effacement and dilatation, about the baby's presentation and the frequency of Andie's contractions. Clay hardly understood a word of it. All those books he'd read to be prepared for this moment were totally useless to him now that the moment was actually here.

All he could say was, “Is she all right? Is the baby all right? It's early. She's not due for—”

“A few weeks yet—we know. But so far, we're doing just great. The baby seems to be okay and is in a fine position. And Andie's a real trooper.”

“A trooper.” Clay looked at Dr. Johannson as if he'd never heard that word before.

The doctor gave him an understanding smile. “What I'm saying is, so far, so good.”

“Can I go be with her now? I've filled out every damn form they shoved under my nose.”

“Yes. She's in our labor room at this point. You may go in there as you are. But when the time comes to move Andie to delivery, you'll have to scrub down and wear a gown.”

“Fine. Whatever. Where is she?”

Clay was led down two or three hallways to a big room with several beds in it. There was a woman in one of the beds moaning and crying out in a language Clay didn't understand. Andie lay in another bed, on her side, turned away from him.

He went to her. “Andie?”

She opened her eyes and forced a smile. Her face looked so tired, swollen and oily with sweat. A contraction gripped her. She moaned and her hand clawed for his. He gave it and
then somehow managed to murmur something soothing and soft as she ground his bones together with her grip.

When the contraction passed, she panted, “Clay, I'm sorry. You were right. I make such bad, thoughtless decisions. I shouldn't have come here, should I? I should have stayed home, not put myself and the poor baby under such stress.”

He agreed with her. In fact, he feared he would always nurse a certain resentment against her for her reckless foolishness in all this. She was just like Jeff, doing what she wanted, no matter what the consequences. But now was not the time to think of all that.

He repeated what the doctor had told him. “They say it's going to be all right, Andie. They say the baby is fine.”

“But what if—?”

“Shh.” He made his voice tender. “No
what ifs.
The baby is fine and you're fine. That's what matters now. Relax.”

“They hooked me up to a monitor before they brought me in here.”

“And?”

“They said what you said. No signs of fetal distress.”

“See?” He smoothed sweat-damp hair back from her face. “What did I tell you?”

Andie didn't get a chance to answer, because another contraction took her voice away. Her hand was in his. He didn't let go. He concentrated on what he'd learned in their childbirth classes and forgot all the reasons he was frustrated with her.

Andie needed him. And so did the baby. And for now, that was all that mattered.

 

They stayed in that room for four and a half hours.

For Clay, everything blended together. The whole world centered down to the woman moaning and wailing from the other bed, Andie's clutching hand and those strange, dream
like periods that came between the contractions. Then, Andie would ask Clay to rub her back or she would take sips of water or even stagger to the commode behind the door at one end of the room.

And then, at last, Dr. Johannson returned, examined Andie and said that she could start pushing, something Andie had been begging Clay to let her do for what seemed like half a lifetime. Since this was Andie's first baby, she started pushing right there in the labor room.

When Clay could actually see a tiny bit of the baby's head between contractions, Dr. Johannson, who was sticking close by now, said it was time to for Andie to be moved.

Clay was led away to a place where he could scrub his hands. Then, wearing hospital greens, he was taken to the delivery room where Andie already was.

It was there that he truly began to understand why, for generation upon generation, labor and birth had been the province of women. It was simply too much for the average guy to take.

But somehow Clay did take it. And in the end, he was caught up in the excitement, the sense of exhilaration, as each of Andie's contractions brought the baby closer to the world. The doctor stayed beside Andie, monitoring the baby's heart rate after each contraction.

And Andie seemed changed now, totally exhausted, yet suffused with a hot, powerful kind of energy. When the baby's head had crowned and no longer sank back inside between contractions, things moved with alarming rapidity. At the last minute, tearing seemed imminent, so the episiotomy they'd hoped to avoid was performed, after all. Andie took it well, though Clay found he had to look away.

The rest was fast. The head emerged, red and angry, wet with blood and fluids. The doctor guided the shoulders out. The rest of the baby followed quickly.

It was a
she.
Clay, who had been allowed to catch the tiny body as it emerged, could hardly believe that he was holding her. Her eyes were scrunched closed. And she let out a big, angry wail.

“A girl,” said the delivery nurse, who quickly scooped the child away from him. “Skinny, from lack of finishing time. But the lungs are just fine from the sound of that wail.”

The afterbirth came as they clamped the cord. Clay only stared, stuck midway between awe and nausea. Then they laid the tiny, messy creature on Andie's breast while down below the doctor went to work sewing up the incision she'd made. “Emily,” Clay heard Andie say in a soft voice. “We'll call her Emily.” She looked for Clay, found him. “Is that okay with you?”

He nodded, since right then his throat was too tight to allow words to come.

 

Clay spent the next half hour on the phone, calling Andie's mother and his mother, and, of course, Ruth Ann. He assured them all that both Andie and the new baby were fine and said he didn't know how long it would be until they came home. A few days, at the very least.

His aunt Thelma was ready to hop the next flight south, but Clay convinced her to wait until at least tomorrow when they'd have a better idea of how long Andie and the baby would have to be in the hospital.

When he hung up from the final call, Clay dropped into the plastic hospital chair that was right there by the phone and stared at the wall for a few minutes.

“Hey, fella, you through?”

There was a man standing over him, waiting to use the phone.

“Yeah. Sure. Go ahead.” Clay staggered to his feet.

He wandered off down the hall like a man in a trance.
After walking for several minutes, he took an elevator down two floors and then, by instinct perhaps, found himself at the door to the cafeteria.

Clay went through the line and bought scrambled eggs, wheat toast and a big cup of black coffee. He sat down and ate. The toast was slightly soggy and the eggs reminded him of something he used to play with as a kid—Goofy Putty, he thought it was called. But it was eleven in the morning and he hadn't eaten since early last night. After everything that had happened, his body craved fuel.

When the food was gone, he went back to the obstetrics floor. The nurse told him where Andie was, that they'd just moved her to one of the private rooms. The nurse pointed out the room.

Clay went in and found Andie asleep. He stood over her for a few moments, thinking how drained she looked and yet peaceful, too.

Her right hand was outside the blanket, the hearts-of-gold bracelet gleaming there along with the plastic identity band the hospital had snapped on. When they'd first arrived in emergency, the admitting clerk had tried to convince Andie to give the gold bracelet to Clay for safekeeping, or at least allow the hospital to store it in their safe.

“No way,” Andie had informed the clerk. “This is my lucky bracelet.”

The clerk had given in.

Clay stared at the linked hearts, feeling a little bit guilty. He'd jumped to conclusions about that bracelet at first. In fact, if he hadn't asked her where it came from, he probably would have been eaten up with jealousy when she wouldn't part with it. He'd have been positive that she cherished it because an old flame had given it to her. And in reality, the “old flame” had only been Ruth Ann.

He should be more understanding of her—he could see that. And yet, she
was
reckless. She did throw herself into things, never considering the cost.

Because of her ill-considered decisions, Madeline had been compelled to endure even more suffering. And the baby had been forced into the world ahead of time.

Both Madeline and the baby would survive.

But look at Jeff. A sharp pain twisted inside him at the thought of the dead man. In the end, Jeff hadn't survived the consequences of his own recklessness.

Jeff had been dangerous to know, in the truest sense of the word. He'd left heartbreak in his wake.

And Andie was the same.

A small sigh escaped Andie's lips. She turned her head on the pillow but didn't open her eyes.

Clay watched her, as it seemed he had always watched her, his emotions all tangled and knotted inside him. Bemused. Aching. Confused. Resentful. So many feelings, so much turmoil in his life. Because of her.

Yet to consider his world without her now was to imagine emptiness. A blasted, forsaken terrain.

So he wouldn't consider that. Ever. She belonged with him, and he with her. Eventually, this anger and hurt he felt every time he looked at her would fade. Time would do that.

They didn't need to do any more talking, as she seemed to think. They didn't need to dredge up all the hurtful details of her brief love affair with his ex-best friend.

They just needed to forget it. It was over. That was all.

Clay bent and lightly kissed his wife's forehead. She mumbled something and turned to her side, tugging at the blanket with one hand. He helped her, pulling up the cover and tucking it around her chin.

She murmured something else. It sounded like “Thanks.”

“You're welcome.” He hardly breathed the words. And then he quietly left the room.

He went to see Emily next. They'd cleaned her up and she was in the nursery. They told him he could look through the observation window. Or, if he would scrub down again and put on another gown, they'd let him in among the rows of tiny beds to hold her.

Clay washed and dressed in green. And then they let him in with her. He stood over her and looked down at her, all swaddled up tight in a white blanket. Then the nursery aide lifted her and handed her over.

She was so light, like a warm puff of air in his arms.

A tiny red fist wearing an armband like Andie's broke free of the blankets and waved at him. Clay touched that fist, so soft and wrinkled and powdery dry with its perfect tiny nails. It instantly opened and closed around his finger in a strong, needful grip.

“Yes,” he whispered. “Yes, I'm here. I'll always be here.”

And Emily opened her eyes. She looked at him. Something happened in the deepest part of him. It was as if she reached down into him with that tiny perfect hand of hers and took hold of his heart.

He saw Andie in the shape of her jaw and the curve of her mouth. Perhaps he even saw Jeff around the eyes. But those were physical things, insignificant to Clay against the enormity of what he looked at.

He looked at Emily. A person in her own right. And she looked back at him.

He bent close to her so that the baby smell of her surrounded him and he whispered his vow to her. “I won't leave you. I'm right here. You will have what matters. A mother and a father to love you and pay attention to you and teach you what life should be.”

She seemed to grip his finger all the tighter. He rubbed her hand against his own cheek. She made a little sound, a gurgling, cooing noise.

Clay looked up. The aide was watching him, a fatuous smile on her face.

“You'll be a good father,” the woman said quietly. “I can tell just by watching you. And your daughter is a beautiful child.”

 

Three days later, Andie and Emily were released from the hospital. Before they left, Clay signed the birth certificate as he had sworn he would do. Thelma, who had flown down the day before, was there to help with the mountain of equipment having a new baby seemed to require.

They rode straight to the airport and boarded the plane for home. The flight was uneventful, aside from the fuss the flight attendants made of the newborn.

At home, since Della and Ruth Ann had been hard at work getting things ready, all was in order. It was decided that during these first days, Emily would stay near her mother in the master bedroom. Della had bought a bassinet for this purpose. With great pomp and ceremony, mother and daughter were installed in their beds.