311 Pelican Court. Debbie Macomber
since they were teenagers.
After five rings, Kelly and Paul’s answering machine came on. Hoping she sounded collected and in control, Maryellen left a message. “Kelly, hi. Listen, it looks like I’m going into labor. I haven’t called Dr. Abner yet and I’m sure there’s loads of time, but I thought you should know.” Then, not wanting her sister to guess how panicky she was beginning to feel, Maryellen added, “Mom won’t be back from that librarians’ meeting until this afternoon, so when you’re available maybe you could give me a call. I…I don’t have anyone to drive me to the hospital.” Any pretense of composure vanished by the time she replaced the receiver in its cradle.
As Maryellen turned away from the phone, she felt a pain so sharp it nearly doubled her over. Almost immediately water gushed from between her legs. Amniotic fluid.
Maryellen stood in a puddle of water and tried to think clearly. Fearing any movement might endanger her child, she stretched out one hand for the phone, then hesitated, not knowing whom to call.
Suddenly it became obvious. She had to get the number from directory assistance. As she punched it out, she prayed Jon was home and close to a phone.
When there was no answer at his house, she nearly wept with frustration. Panic started to set in; warding it off, she forced herself to remain calm. On the off chance that he was working, she dialed The Lighthouse restaurant.
The woman who answered was polite and friendly. Maryellen was put on hold. After an eternity, Jon came on the line, and his clipped greeting said he wasn’t happy to be called away from whatever he was doing.
Frightened, near desperate, Maryellen whispered hoarsely, “Jon…I need help—”
She wasn’t allowed to finish. “Where are you?”
“Home. My water broke.”
“I’ll be there in five minutes.”
Her relief was overwhelming. She blinked rapidly to keep from breaking into grateful tears. “Thank you,” she began, but the line had already gone dead.
Only a few minutes later she heard a car door slam outside her small rental house. By then, she’d called Dr. Abner and learned that her instincts had been right; he wanted her to go directly to the hospital’s birthing center.
Jon didn’t bother to knock but came barreling in the front door. He had on his white chef’s shirt and pants, both of which were stained. Obviously she’d caught him in the middle of the midday rush. She hadn’t seen him in weeks. The last time had been early in the summer when they’d agreed to visitation, and despite the frantic way his gaze darted to her now, he looked wonderful. By conventional standards Jon wasn’t a handsome man. His features were too sharp, his face long and narrow, his nose almost hawklike, but Maryellen had learned a harsh lesson when it came to attractive men. At first glance, Jon wasn’t going to cause hearts to flutter; it was only on closer examination that she’d recognized the strength of character she found so compelling.
“Hi,” she said weakly, staring down at the floor and the watery mess she was standing in.
“So you’ve got yourself in a little predicament here.” His smile warmed her.
“Were you serious about wanting to see Katie’s birth?” she asked. The panic was completely gone now that he was here.
“I’d like that if it’s possible.”
“Looks like you’ve just been nominated to drive me to the hospital’s birthing center.”
In three quick strides he was across the room and scooped her into his arms as if her considerable weight was of little consequence.
She wanted to protest, to suggest she was too heavy for him, but she didn’t. For the first time since she’d tried to reach her mother, Maryellen felt protected. Safe. He helped her change clothes and then carried her out the door.
He carefully placed her inside his vehicle. “Is your suitcase packed?” he asked.
She nodded. “All except my toothbrush.”
“I’ll grab that and your overnight bag and be right back.”
He left her and returned just as she was having a contraction. They’d gotten much stronger in the minutes since her water broke. Closing her eyes, she tilted her head back and exhaled, trying to remember everything she’d learned in her birthing class.
Jon was in the driver’s seat beside her when she opened her eyes again.
“You okay?” he asked.
He’d gone pale, she noticed. She attempted to reassure him with a smile.
Later, Maryellen remembered almost nothing about the ride from Cedar Cove into Silverdale and the birthing center. Jon didn’t speak, and she didn’t, either, concentrating on the breathing techniques she’d learned while he drove, expertly weaving through traffic.
When they arrived at the center, there seemed to be all kinds of activity going on around her. She was stripped, prepped, helped into bed and had a fetal monitor attached. Jon disappeared, and she wondered if he’d dropped her off and then left again. She supposed that made sense, since she’d clearly called him in the middle of his shift.
Then she was alone in a comfortable room with every modern device to distract her from the pain. There was soft music and a television with VCR should she care to watch, but none of that interested her.
The contractions were far more intense than anyone could have warned her. She mentally counted the seconds as each contraction came over her, working its way from her back to her front, tightening her belly.
“Maryellen?” Jon’s voice was low.
Her eyes flew open and she found him standing in the doorway. Her relief and gratitude were instantaneous. Propping herself up on one elbow, she asked hopefully, “Can you stay?”
“If that’s what you want.”
She did. Until that moment, she hadn’t realized how much she wanted him with her, how much she needed him. Not just anyone. Him.
Coming all the way into the room, he sat on the chair by her side and studied the monitor as it recorded her labor. Although he hadn’t attended a single birthing class, he seemed to know exactly what to say and do to comfort her. When she moved onto her side, he rubbed her back and whispered reassurances. His voice was encouraging as he repeatedly told her what a good job she was doing.
The length and intensity of the contractions continued, and in the middle of one that lasted almost a minute—the longest minute of her life—the pain overwhelmed her. She whimpered softly.
“Do something!” Jon demanded of the nurse who happened to step into the room just then. “She can’t take this pain.”
The woman smiled benevolently. “Maryellen has opted for a natural birth. We’re simply respecting her wishes.”
“I’m okay,” Maryellen said, but she wondered how long she could hold out. “Would it be all right if I held your hand?”
Jon was on his feet and leaning toward her. He braced his elbow against the bed and offered her his hand. From that moment on, she clung to him. When it was time to bear down, Jon was with her, his head close to her own, his arm around her shoulders. Dr. Abner arrived, and that assured her it wouldn’t be much longer.
Jon introduced himself and then in a low, soothing voice, continued to offer Maryellen encouragement and support. Leaning against him, she strained, pushing this child from her body and panting wildly between pains.
With the next contraction she gripped Jon’s hand and pushed, groaning with the effort. Sweat poured off her. Then all at once, her daughter slipped free. Maryellen gasped as she heard Catherine Grace’s fragile cry.
Pride and love filled Maryellen and her eyes brimmed with tears. She smiled tremulously at Jon and was surprised to