With her head settled on her pillows, a faint smile came to Claire’s lips. “No, I like brown”—“I like brown”—“a lot.” Her eyes closed.
Meredith set the box on the floor, placed the pillows next to Claire and covered her with a blanket. Gathering Claire’s dinner dishes, she thought about Claire’s words. Yes, Meredith remembered the stories of Claire’s hair. She also knew the color of Tony’s eyes. It went without saying—Claire definitely liked brown.
Tomorrow, Meredith had a new goal—Claire’s hair would return to the beautiful shiny chestnut color she had in college. As she turned off the light and closed Claire’s door, Meredith giggled. Her job description was ever changing—soon she could add beautician to her résumé.
It's not so important who starts the game but who finishes it.
—John Wooden
The tropical sky darkened; hues of orange and red faded to black. Tony looked out toward the now calm sea as the ball of fire which warmed their world, once again, found its home below the horizon. As evidence of the ravaging the sea had endured at the hands of the tropical storm, seaweed and driftwood littered the normally pristine white sand surrounding the lagoon. The shore wasn’t its only victim. Palm trees lay precariously strewn across paths, over one another, all around the island, downed by the strong winds.
Tony paced between the windows and Claire’s delivery bed. Their mattress needed to be replaced, what difference did it make if their baby was born upon it? Madeline exchanged the cool compress on Claire’s forehead for a cooler one and fed Claire ice chips. Tony watched; however, his attention was divided between his wife and the men he’d sent out to sea. Every so often, he’d look out toward the water hoping—praying—for signs of Francis and Phil. Nearly two hours earlier, he’d received a call saying they were on their way back with Dr. Gilbert. The trip usually lasted thirty to forty minutes, so they should’ve arrived over an hour ago. Occasionally, Tony’s gaze would meet Madeline’s. Though she didn’t say a word, he knew by her furrowed brow that she too was worried. He just didn’t know if it were solely because of Francis, who’d warned them hundreds of times about navigating a boat after dark, or if it was also about Claire.
Claire’s stifled cries brought Tony away from the reflective glass panes to their brightly lit suite. Every light in their room was on, along with multiple additional lamps that Tony had retrieved from around the house. Claire’s contractions were occurring closer and closer together. He knelt beside her bed, kissed her cheek, and waited for her response. One moment, she wanted him near—the next moment, she didn’t want to be touched. At one time during the evening, Madeline cornered Tony in the bathroom, while he dampened more cloths for Claire’s head. “Monsieur, what Madame el is saying and feeling, it is normal. She needs you to stay strong.”
Tony nodded. He didn’t know what normal was anymore. His whole world was different than he’d ever foreseen. The addition of their child would only further propel it into an oblivion he never before knew existed, and as for strength—he could do that. It was his thing. If he could endure the pain he saw in Claire’s eyes in her stead, then he would without hesitation.
“You don’t have to be strong,” Tony encouraged. “Scream if you need to scream.” This time, she took his hand and squeezed. For a moment, he considered screaming. Never before had his petite, gentle wife exhibited so much strength. He worried the bones in his fingers may not survive; and then all at once, her grip lessened and the clouds of pain floated away revealing shiny emerald eyes as tears slipped down her cheeks.
“Where’s Dr. Gilbert?”
“He’ll be here soon.” Did he sound confident? Tony hoped he did. He tried multiple times to contact Phil by phone, but Tony knew the phones had poor reception when out to sea. The only way to make contact was the two-way radio. The transmitter and receiver were in the boathouse. Earlier, Tony mentioned going to the boathouse and trying to reach them, but Claire’s sudden look of panic stopped him in his tracks. She was determined that he needed to be with her. Didn’t she understand, he was useless, and Dr. Gilbert was the one she needed?
“Tony? Tony!?”
“I’m right here.”
Her face contorted as she made a sound he’d never heard.
“I’m right here. What can I do?” he asked.
Breathing through the pain, she spoke in but a whisper, “There’s so much pressure.”
Madeline lifted the sheet and felt between Claire’s legs. When her hand emerged, it was covered in blood. Tony felt his own blood drain from his face. Mercifully, he was on his knees. If he’d been standing, Tony feared his show of strength would fail as he’d be prone on the floor.
Madeline looked directly into his eyes. “Monsieur, we’re going to bring your bébé into this world.”
Tony nodded—at least he thought he did.
Madeline emphasized, “Now, Monsieur!”