The woman smiled. “Parla italiano?”
“Enough to order coffee.”
“What else? Sfogliatelle maybe?”
“Too rich for me this morning. How about a brioche?”
She put my pastry in a bag and turned to make my caffè.
“There was a young boy sweeping the sidewalk earlier, Anthony?”
“Sì, my grandson.”
“Is he here?”
“He’s at school now.”
“He mentioned a woman, Sloane. He said she came here for breakfast the last couple of days.”
The woman turned around and studied me. “Who are you?”
“A good friend of hers.”
She shook her head. “I don’t know her.”
I pulled the same photo out that I’d shown the boy. “Are you sure you haven’t seen her?” I asked, handing it to her.
Before she could respond, we heard sirens. I turned toward the window and saw an ambulance pull up near the door that led to the building’s elevators.
I tossed a twenty on the counter and raced out. “I’m a trained first responder,” I shouted. “Can I help?”
“Woman called 9-1-1,” one of the paramedics answered. “Bleeding. Maybe a miscarriage.”
I gripped the rail in the elevator after he motioned for me to get on, and counted every ding as it seemed to take ten minutes to reach the twentieth floor.
“This way,” one of them shouted, rushing down the hallway.
“Paramedics,” one of the guys shouted, pounding on the door.
“Did the victim give a name?” I asked one of the other guys.
He looked at his phone. “Sloane?”
I pushed the guy standing at the door out of the way and slammed my body into it. It swung open, and I raced over to where I saw Sloane’s crumpled body on the floor.
“Don’t move her!” shouted one of the other guys.
“She’s pregnant. About six months,” I shouted back, checking the vitals of the unconscious woman I loved with every fiber of my being.
“I got a pulse,” said one of the other guys. “A lot of blood,” he muttered, motioning with his head. “You know her?”
“I’m the baby’s father.” They were about to lift her onto the gurney when Sloane opened her eyes.
“Tackle?”
“Hi, peanut.” I leaned down and kissed her forehead. “We’re gonna get you over to the hospital.”
“The baby?”
“The baby is going to be fine, and so are you.”
“We are?”
“Yep.”
“How…how did you find me?” Her eyes closed, and her head fell to the side.
“Who’s this guy?” asked one of the men who’d stayed with the ambulance when I went to get in with her.
“The baby’s father,” answered the EMT who’d checked her pulse.
“Ride up front,” said the first guy.
“He’s a first responder.”
“Quit arguing and let’s go!” shouted the driver.
I got in, the door slammed closed, and I took Sloane’s hand in mine.
A woman in a white coat opened the curtain and walked over to the bed in the emergency room bay. “She lost a lot of blood, but every test we ran indicated the baby is fine. I understand you’re the father?”
“That’s right.”
“I’m Dr. Phillips, and this is Audrey, the tech who will do the ultrasound.” The woman wheeled a large cart in behind her.
“Hello, Sloane. I’m Dr. Phillips. We’re going to take a peek at your baby.”
I squeezed the hand I’d been holding and leaned down to kiss her forehead. “It’s nice to see those beautiful blue eyes looking back at me.”
“You’re here.”
The tech moved the blanket and sheet back and folded the hospital gown the nurses had changed her into while she’d slipped in and out of consciousness.
She spread gel on her tummy, and Sloane hissed. “That’s cold.”
“Sorry,” the tech mumbled.
The screen was turned in such a way that neither Sloane nor I could see it, but the tech and doctor could.
“Do you know whether you’re having a boy or a girl?” Dr. Phillips asked.
“No,” Sloane answered.
“Do you want to know?”
She looked up at me.
“It’s up to you, peanut.”
She bit her bottom lip, and I leaned in closer. “If you want to wait, it’s okay with me,” I whispered.
“I want to know,” she whispered back.
The doctor repositioned the machine so we could see the screen.
“Oh, wow,” I gasped, gazing at the tiny human appearing in 3D. I could even see his or her face. I looked down at Sloane, whose eyes were filled with tears.
“It’s amazing, isn’t it?” she murmured.
I brushed at the moisture forming at the corner of my eye. “Miraculous.”
“Last time I’ll ask. Are you sure you want to know?”
I looked at Sloane, who nodded.
“Based on what I see, or don’t see here,”—she pointed to the screen—“I’d say you’re having a little girl.”
I didn’t care if Sloane was mad at me, not speaking to me, whatever it was that made her hide from me, I leaned down and kissed her lips. “Congratulations, little mama.”
Sloane brought her arm up, wrapped it around my neck, and I kissed her again.
When the tech left, the doctor pulled a chair near the side of the gurney. “The bleeding you experienced was caused by placenta previa. Are you familiar with the term?”
Both Sloane and I shook our heads.
“In simpler terms, it means the placenta is either fully or partially covering the cervix. In your case, it’s between full and partial. Three-quarters, if you will. I’m not concerned about you carrying the baby to full term, but in order to do that, you’ll have to remain on bed rest for the duration.”
“Okay,” I heard Sloane whisper.
“I want to keep you overnight, just to be sure, but you should be able to return home tomorrow.”
“Okay,” she repeated.
“Any questions?” The doctor looked from me to Sloane and back again. I had a million but doubted she was looking for anything unrelated to what she’d just told us. “No? We’ll see about getting you up to a regular room as soon as possible. I’ll be back by later, either here or there, but hopefully there.”
When the doctor left and pulled the curtain closed behind her, Sloane closed her eyes.
I stroked her hair. “Get some rest, peanut.”
“Tackle, I…”
“Shh. Just rest for now. I’ll be here when you wake up.”
“My parents…”
“They’re here. I called them. Do you want me to have them come in?”
“Not yet.” Her eyes drifted
