“God Bless…”
“Thanks,” said Jimmy Joe. “I sure do ‘preciate it. Y’all have a Merry Christmas, now. Safe trip… Ten-four.” He signed off with a lump in his throat and tears in his eyes.
For a moment he just sat there holding the mike while all that flood of emotions and feelings just sort of rolled over him like a great big wave, and when it receded, he felt calm again. Peaceful. As if somebody had put out a hand and touched him and said to him, “Son, everything’s gonna be okay.”
He took a big breath and huffed it out, then dialed in channel 9 and went through his “Mayday, Mayday!” thing once more. He thought he heard some faint mumbles and crackles in response, but since it wasn’t clear enough to be any use to him, he hung the mike back on its hook and left the channel open with the volume turned up loud.
There wasn’t any sound coming from his sleeper, so he turned on the regular radio and found a pretty clear station playing Christmas music, which he left on low just to provide some cover noise in case Mirabella still needed the privacy.
Then he started going over in his mind what she and the baby were going to need, making sure he had everything ready. Thank God, he thought, for his comfortable sleeper and for the reliability of his good ol’ diesel engine. They had the most important things-warmth and shelter and a comfortable bed. Towels and bedding for her; soft, clean flannel shirts to wrap the baby in. The first-aid kit, with scissors and disinfectant and all kinds of stuff to tie off the cord. Even a plastic squeeze bottle that held eyewash-which he dumped out-in case he needed something to suction out the baby’s nose and mouth.
As far as he could see he had everything except water for boiling, but what the heck-he always had wondered what all that hot water was supposed to be for. So it looked like he was ready. Ready as he was ever going to be.
On the radio Garth Brooks was singing “Silent Night.” Jimmy Joe smiled a little, remembering what Mirabella had said about never having heard of him, and turned it up some more so she could hear it.
This is the calm before the storm, he thought, rubbing his eyes.
Then for some reason he remembered that Mirabella had mentioned she wore contacts. He wondered if she’d thought about them, and whether she might want to take them out and put them away for safekeeping. He wondered just how blind she was without them. There was so much about her he didn’t know.
He reached through the curtain and knocked lightly on the side of the closet. “Hey, how you doin’ in there?” He listened, and when he didn’t hear any urgent orders to keep out, went ahead and pulled back the curtain.
She was lying on her side with her back to him, knees drawn up slightly and her head resting on her arm. He could see the pale curve of her cheek, and her hair pooling like spilled wine on the pillow behind her. He thought for a moment she might be sleeping, until he saw that her hand was moving over her belly in slow, caressing circles. He went to sit on the mattress beside her, being careful not to jostle her too much, and reached over to smooth back the wisps of hair from her face. He felt dampness, but didn’t know whether it was sweat or tears. Either way, he felt his throat tighten.
“Everything okay?” he asked huskily. “Feelin’ better now?”
She sniffed and nodded, moving her head slightly so he could see she had her eyes closed. Then she whispered something, and he had to lean closer to hear. “Make a mess…” was all he caught. He didn’t know whether to laugh or to strangle her.
“Marybell,” he said with an incredulous snort, “you really are the limit, you know that?”
The exasperation in his voice startled her enough so she opened her eyes and craned her head around so she could look at him, frowning. “Why?”
“You always this hard on yourself?”
The frown turned into uncertainty; she looked as vulnerable as a scolded child. “What…do you mean?”
With restraint and tenderness he brushed his knuckles across her eyebrows, using his thumb to smooth out the worry-creases between them. “Look at you-here you are, doing probably the most fantastic and wonderful thing it’s possible for any human being to do, and you’re worried about makin’ a mess? Woman, what am I gonna do with you?” She drew a quivering sniff and didn’t say anything. He cocked his head to one side and teasingly asked, “Tell me the truth-did you seriously think you were gonna have a baby without makin’ a mess?”
“I sure did mean to try,” she muttered.
It felt good to laugh.
While he was doing that, he also had a strong desire to gather her into his arms and kiss her, but he was pretty sure it was the last thing she would have welcomed. Instead, he remembered to ask her about her contacts.
“I already took them out,” she told him, struggling to sit up. “They’re in my overnight bag.” She paused to glare at him. “And don’t you dare lose them.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said humbly, and was delighted when she socked him right smartly in the arm.
By the time he’d helped her get herself turned around so her legs were dangling off the edge of the bed, though, he could see the shine of sweat on her skin. He watched her as she sat gripping the edge of the mattress and breathing hard, slowly rocking herself, and then he reached out and gently wiped her forehead with the palm of his hand.
His throat ached when she sighed and murmured, “That feels good.”
“Wish I had some cool water,” he mumbled.
She took a breath and then surprised him with a soft laugh. “Do you know…that I planned to have this baby in a tub full of water?”
“A
“It’s called a birthing tub. It’s the latest thing. It’s supposed to make it a lot easier for… both them the mother and the baby. I had it all…planned. Oh…
“Why don’t you go ahead and holler?” he grunted when he’d gotten his arms around her and her weight settled against his chest. “I don’t mind, and it might make you feel better.” He doubted she even heard him.
Later when the crisis had passed, though still in pain, she tried again to tell him-almost, it seemed to him, as if she were compelled. As if it was terribly important to her, as if he wouldn’t know she hadn’t meant it to be like this.
“I had it planned,” she whispered. “I did…everything right. Everything.”
Not everything, he thought. And because it had been making so much noise in his head for so long, and because he didn’t think she was really going to hear him anyway, he went ahead and asked it, in a harsh and raspy voice that wasn’t even his.
“What about the father? He have any part in this plan of yours?”
Her head pumped wildly back and forth. “No-he’s not supposed to. That’s not the way it works-” Her breath gushed from her in a cleansing torrent. “Oh…God. They’re starting again. They…sort of slowed down for a while, when I was lying down. Now it’s like…there’s no time in between. I can’t rest. It doesn’t stop. I can’t…do this!”
What could he do then but soothe her and calm her and get her settled down and focused again? But he was left feeling confused and guilty, and his questions were still unanswered.
He lost track of time. Or rather, to be more precise, he stopped letting himself think in terms of time. Instead, he started thinking about what they were doing as sort of like climbing a mountain, a great big mountain that was made up of a lot of little mountains. All he had to do was keep climbing the little mountains, one at a time, all the time keeping his eye on the big one, which a lot of the time seemed like it wasn’t getting any closer. But he knew if he just kept climbing the little ones, sooner or later he was gonna get to the top.
He tried sharing his mountain image with Mirabella, but she wasn’t in any frame of mind to appreciate it. She was having about all she could handle just getting over the “little hills”-although when he used that phrase to describe one of her contractions, for some reason, she tried to hit him.
He did his best to keep her relaxed, touched her when she would let him, massaging her back or her legs, rubbing her neck or her feet, depending on the mood she was in. He tried telling her not to think about the contractions, but to think instead about nice things, like good smells and bright colors and her favorite food, which she told him was chocolate-covered cherries. He told her his was macaroni and cheese, but didn’t think she was
