manage to mumble, “Don’t know… I’m gonna have to get back to you on that.”
“Okay…he says check and tell him what you see. Then he wants to know if you’ve got somethin’ to catch the baby with.”
“Yeah,” said Jimmy Joe, “I got that.” He took a deep breath and felt better. “Tell him I think I’ve got everything ready. Got plenty of clean towels. Got a pretty good first-aid kit-antiseptic and bandages, scissors, stuff like that. Ask him if there’s anything else I oughta have.” Besides an ambulance and a couple of experienced paramedics, he thought.
There was another pause. “Doc says sounds like you got it pretty well covered. Wants you to check her and get back to him.”
“Right… Ten-four.” He pulled the mike cord out as far as it would go and draped it over the back of the seat so he would have it within arm’s reach when he needed it, then eased himself back into the sleeper and sat down on the bed beside Mirabella. “How you doin’?” he asked, his throat husky.
She rested, propped on both elbows, and glared at him. “How do you
“Guess you heard all that.” She nodded, watching him. “I’m gonna have to look.” And again she nodded.
And then she closed her eyes and groaned, “Well…be quick about it, dammit!” as another powerful contraction overtook her.
Funny, he’d been dreading that moment so. But she didn’t seem to mind it when he gently and carefully drew her nightgown up and eased her legs apart-barely seemed aware of him at all, in fact. Instincts a lot more compelling than modesty were driving her now.
A moment later he was back on the radio, his heart beating like a jackhammer. “Can’t see anything yet,” he panted. Behind him, all inhibitions apparently forgotten, Mirabella was making all the noise he could ever have wanted, and more.
Pause. “Okay, doc says get back to him when you see the head. Oh-and he says, don’t let her lie on her back. Says you should get her as upright as possible-get gravity workin’ for you.”
“Right.” Back to Mirabella. He settled himself behind her, supporting her with his body, and whispered in her ear, “You’re doin’ fine, darlin’. Just got a little bit more work to do… That’s right…just a little bit more.”
How much more could she do? he wondered. He’d never in his life seen anybody work so hard. Her hair was soaking wet with sweat, and he knew his arms would bear the imprint of her fingers for a long time to come. He began to get scared again. It seemed such an impossible thing she was trying to do, and it didn’t do any good at all to remind himself that it had been done a few billion times before. What if she couldn’t do it? What if…
And then…there it was.
“I see it!” he shouted into the mike. “I can see the head.” He was laughing, crying a little, too, maybe. Trying to hold on to the mike and Mirabella at the same time.
“Doc says, you sure it’s the head?”
“Yes, I’m sure… Hey, darlin’, you hear that? We got a head!”
“Doc wants to know, is it facin’ up or down?”
“Can’t tell yet… One more push, darlin’…one more…one more…”
“Down! It’s facing down!”
“Doc says-”
“No, wait-it’s turning! It’s turning to one side!”
“Doc says that’s okay-that’s good.”
“One more…”
I will kill him, Mirabella thought. If I survive this.
She was on fire. Burning. Splitting in half.
And then-suddenly there was relief.
“The head’s out! Darlin’, you hear that? The head’s out!”
“Just a little bit more-let’s get the shoulders out-come on, now, one more good one…”
“Doc says you gotta clear the airways!”
Silence.
“Hey-what’s happenin’ out there? Talk to me…talk to me!”
And then she heard it. A faint gurgling, then a tiny, rasping cry. As the cry grew louder and stronger, a sob struggled up through her exhausted body. More sobs…laughter and sobs. She struggled to sit up, reaching for the purplish, squinting thing in Jimmy Joe’s hands.
It was so tiny, slippery wet, all waving arms and frantic wails. He held it for a moment, then laid it carefully, almost reverently on her belly. She touched it-oh, God, what an incredible thing! Soothed and cradled it with her hands. And the wails quieted to soft mewings.
Jimmy Joe knelt beside her, and she felt his body quaking as his arms came around her, helping her, holding her up so she could see better.
“Merry Christmas,” he whispered brokenly. “Say hello to your baby girl.”
Chapter 11
1-40-Texas
“I can’t believe it,” Mirabella whispered as she gazed down at her daughter’s tiny head, dwarfed by the breast she was so eagerly nuzzling-so tiny and yet, so utterly perfect. “A girl…”
She thought of the waiting nursery she’d decorated in primary colors and Disney characters. Thank God she didn’t believe in genderizing, and had always hated pastels. But still…
She shook her head and laughed softly. “Here, all this time I’d been planning on a boy-”
“Yeah, well, my daddy had a saying,” Jimmy Joe murmured, lightly stroking the baby’s head with a wondering finger. “You want to make God laugh?” He glanced up at her and for the first time in a long time she saw his dimple. “Just. make a plan.”
“Huh,” said Mirabella absently, and smiled. She wondered briefly that it didn’t seem at all strange to her, that juxtaposition of her baby’s head, her naked breast, and Jimmy Joe’s hand, or even that it had been he who’d shown her how to get the baby to nurse. But then it was a night for wonders.
She didn’t remember very much about the immediate aftermath of her baby’s birth. In a fog of exhaustion, exhilaration and awe, she’d been only dimly aware of Jimmy Joe…tying and cutting the cord, wrapping the baby in one of his own shirts, following instructions shouted over the radio. She thought there’d been some bad moments when he’d worried about bleeding, and it seemed to her that was when the voice on the radio had told him to try to start the baby nursing. And he’d shown her how, by tickling one tiny cheek so that the baby had turned her mouth instinctively, like a baby bird, toward the waiting nipple.
Then Mirabella had felt the most amazing, excruciating tingling sensations, tingles that radiated from her nipples outward and through her entire body. There had been more contractions, but not too terrible or lasting too long. The placenta had been delivered, the bleeding stopped, and soon after that the voice on the radio had gone away. She’d been vaguely aware of someone wrapping her in clean towels and warm blankets, of her sweat-damp nightshirt being pulled gently over her head, and her arms being guided into the sleeves of a warm flannel shirt. How strange and wonderful it had felt to be fussed over and coddled.
She remembered saying, “Look at us-we match,” gazing at the incredibly beautiful, absolutely perfect little face nestled in a bunting of farmer’s plaid and laughing tearfully, and that Jimmy Joe had laughed too, the same way,
