“She’s contracting,” Evie said, after a few—five?—silent minutes had passed. “How is the bleeding?”
“I can’t see any bleeding,” I said. “But my hand is in there, it’s hard to tell.”
“Take your hand out, Floss. I’ll keep massaging from the outside. We need to know what is happening.”
I hesitated. “Are you sure?”
She nodded.
“Okay.” Slowly, I released the neck of the uterus, and a gush of blood followed my hand.
“So?”
“It’s heavy.”
Evie pushed me out of the way, reaching inside Elizabeth now with an ungloved hand. I massaged Elizabeth’s abdomen. Her uterus felt spongy. Panic hit; a fist to the gut. Contract, Elizabeth! Contract. I kneaded the fundus aggressively. Elizabeth was drenched in sweat and pale. Too pale. She was in shock. “Evie—should I try to get the baby to suckle, do you think?” I asked. “To help the uterus contract?”
Evie was barely visible at the end of the bed, but I saw her shake her head. I could hear her panting with effort. It would be okay. It had to be okay.
A minute passed, then another.
We continued massaging, inside and out, in silence.
Ten minutes passed.
Evie’s panting slowed, then stopped.
Fifteen minutes passed.
My breathing also quieted.
Elizabeth was still, like she was asleep.
The silence was eerie. I watched what I could see of Evie’s face, waiting for direction. Her frown, etched so deeply into her forehead before, had disappeared, replaced by a … a different expression.
“Evie?” I asked. There was a wobble in my voice that, for some reason, I wanted to conceal. As if its presence were admitting something I wasn’t ready to admit. “What … what do you want me to do?”
Evie met my eye over Elizabeth’s belly. Her expression was frighteningly blank.
“Nothing, Floss. I don’t want you to do anything.” Her eyes closed. “She’s gone.”
19
Neva
I was awake most of the night. After Patrick drifted off to sleep, I wondered about what he’d said. Was it possible that the father could swoop in and demand fatherly rights? I’d said no definitively when Patrick asked, but … if he were to find out … perhaps that was exactly what he’d do? Perhaps that was the reason I was keeping this secret? If so, my secret, like a rolling snowball, now had the power to hurt Patrick too.
When I arrived at the birthing center the next morning, Anne took one look at me and ordered me into one of the birthing suites for a nap. No one was in labor and she wanted to make sure I was rested enough to do a delivery if someone did come in. Usually I would have protested, but not today. The appeal of catching a few winks was too hard to resist.
When I woke, the sun was high in the sky. A chorus of highpitched giggles rang in the hallway and then the door opened and Patrick appeared beside the bed. He kissed my mouth. “Good morning, princess.”
“Don’t let the princesses in the hallway hear you call me that.”
“Ah, but you’re the crown princess.” He kissed my nose. “Can I get in?”
I ignored the stirring in my loins that screamed yes, Yes, YES, and instead arranged my features in what I hoped was a skeptical expression. “Are you a mother in labor?”
“You guys get into bed with the clients? How unprofessional. Not to mention unhygienic.”
I chuckled. “Oh, I have a joke.”
“Hit me.”
“What’s the difference between a pregnant woman and a model? Nothing, if the pregnant woman’s boyfriend knows what’s good for him.”
Patrick smiled softly. “But you’re more beautiful than a model, pregnant or not.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. Hopeless charmer.
“So … is this where we’re going to have this baby, then?” Patrick swaggered over to the chair and picked up a pillow, inspecting it playfully.