*
The phone was ringing. Lil had finished hanging the washing and was sitting in front of me. She was available to talk, she wanted me to share this with her. She sat, ignoring the shrill, metallic ring of the phone.
I snatched it up. “Hello? Floss speaking.”
“Mom, it’s me.”
“Grace.” Lil sighed, picked up the laundry basket, and left the room. Discreetly, I picked up my purse and tucked the envelope farther inside, out of sight. “Are you all right?”
“I’m wonderful. You’ll never guess what? I did a delivery with Neva last night.”
“You did?”
“I was short a birth partner, so she said she’d do it. It was wonderful, Mom. I was so proud of her. Oh, and listen to this: She brought a man with her. A gorgeous man.”
In the kitchen, Lil was not exactly slamming cupboard doors, but certainly closing them firmly. “She brought a man to the birth?”
“Yes. A pediatrician.”
“Oh.” I wasn’t following, but from Grace’s triumphant tone, I got the sense that she would fill me in.
“Something was going on between them. Something romantic. I’m sure of it.”
“You think he’s the father?”
“No.” Her tone dipped. “No, I don’t think that. At least, I don’t see any reason that she’d hide it if he was. He’s single. Respectable. As I said, gorgeous. It’s a shame, because he was lovely. A good match for Neva.”
“Why is it a shame?” I asked.
“Call me a dreamer, but I’m still hoping the baby’s father will swoop in and everyone will live happily ever after. I can’t help but feel that the child will be missing out, not having the opportunity to know its real father.”
“Like … you missed out?” I spoke carefully, trying to keep the waver out of my voice.
“This is different, Mom. It’s preventable. My father died—you didn’t pretend he’d never existed. What Neva is doing to her baby—denying it a chance to know its father—that’d be pretty hard to forgive. And I don’t want Neva to destroy her relationship with her child before it’s even born.”
Grace chatted awhile longer, and then we signed off. But after I hung up, the room began to blur. A throbbing pain hammered in my chest, and my hands coiled around the base of my throat, over the pain. I couldn’t breathe. I tilted my head from one side to another, trying to find Lil. A sharp rattle came from somewhere—from me?—and then there it was—her face. Even amidst my alarm, the sight of her soothed me.
“Floss?” Lil’s voice rang out. “Darling, what is it?”
Another great rasp came from me, stealing the last of my breath. I pointed at my chest, where the fire raged. I managed to suck in a short breath. “I think … I think I’m having a heart attack.”
13
Neva
“Looks great, Annabelle. Does it feel better?”
It was late afternoon and I was teaching a breast-feeding clinic at the birthing center. I was exhausted. I’d finished up at Mom’s place about 6 A.M. but when I’d arrived at my apartment an hour later, I found I couldn’t sleep. I’d called Grace a couple of times to find out how Gillian and the baby were doing, but she must have been busy. I hadn’t wanted to disturb Patrick for the second time in twenty-four hours, so I just waited for news. It was hard to focus on the task at hand, but luckily, my muscle memory for these clinics was good enough to fake it.
“It feels a million times better. Neva, you are a lifesaver.”
“If it hurts, take her off immediately and relatch. It’s meant to feel one hundred percent comfortable.”
Around the room, all the mothers and babies were nursing comfortably. “You’re all A-plus students. Breast-feeding doesn’t always come easily. It’s a learned skill; every mom-and-baby unit is unique. But you’ve all done brilliantly. We’re about done; I’m just going to grab some samples of the nipple cream I told you about. Feel free to exchange numbers while I’m gone. Other moms are invaluable when it comes to sharing knowledge.”
In the corridor, I opened the cupboard where the samples were kept and began rifling through.
“There you are.”
I spun around. Patrick stood by the front desk with Anne. He was dressed in suit trousers and a rumpled shirt under his white coat. He looked as tired as I felt.
“There you are!”
I crossed the room and, without a thought, wrapped my arms around his neck. Patrick stiffened at first. It wasn’t like me to hug. But after the emotion of last night, I still didn’t entirely feel like me. “How’s Gillian? How’s the baby?”
When I drew back, Patrick looked amused. “Wow. A hug?”
I blushed. “Hormones.”
“Ah.” Patrick nodded. “Gillian and the baby are both doing fine. How ’bout I update you over dinner?”
“Do they even serve food at The Hip?”
“Who said anything about The Hip?”
Anne became preoccupied with her computer screen. I frowned. Who said anything about The Hip? No one, I suppose, but … we only ever went to The Hip. In fact, other than when Patrick’s father died, when I spent the day at his mother’s place, I don’t think I’d ever seen Patrick anywhere other than the hospital, my apartment, and The Hip.
“So … what time are you off?” he asked.
“Seven thirty. But—”
“Great.” Patrick signed a document, closed a manila folder, and handed it to Anne. “I’ll pick you up then.”
He left the room and I felt my eyebrows soar. Pick me up? Usually Sean, Patrick, and I just sloped down to The Hip one by one as we came off shift and joined whoever was already perched at the bar. We left in a similar way, usually when we’d had too much to drink. No one ever picked anyone up. And, now that I thought of it, no one ever ate dinner.
“Neva.” Anne’s voice interrupted my thoughts.
“Yes?”
“Just had a buzz from the clinic. One of the women needs help reattaching her baby.”
“Oh.” I waved at her as I hurried into the room. “Yes. Thanks, Anne.”