No medicine.
Oh how she imagined she’d know what to do! How prepared she thought she’d be! Magazines, websites, videos, advice from her obgyn, stories from other mothers. But none of this is available to her now. None! She’s not going to give birth in a hospital, it’s going to happen right here in this house. In one of the rooms of this house! And the most she can expect is Tom assisting while Olympia holds her hand and looks on in horror. Blankets will be covering the windows. Maybe a T-shirt will be under her ass. She’ll drink from a glass of murky well water.
And that’s it. That’s how it’s going to happen.
She shifts onto her back again. Breathing hard and slow, she stares at the ceiling. She closes her eyes, then opens them again. Can she do this? Can she?
She has to. And so she repeats mantras, words to get her ready.
In the end, it doesn’t matter if it happens in a hospital or on the kitchen floor. Your body knows what to do. Your body knows what to do. Your body knows what to do.
The baby-to-be is all and everything that matters.
Abruptly, as if they’re imitating the sound of the baby Malorie prepares for, she hears the birds cooing outside the front door. She withdraws from her thoughts and turns toward the sound. As she slowly sits up in bed, she hears a knock come from the first floor.
She freezes.
Was that the door? Is it Tom? Did somebody go outside?
She hears it again and, amazed, she sits up. She places a hand on her belly and listens.
It comes again.
Malorie slowly swings her feet to the floor and rises before crossing the room. She stops at the door, one hand on her belly, one on the wood of the frame, and listens.
Another knock. This time it’s louder.
She walks to the head of the stairs and stops again.
Who is it?
Beneath her pajamas, her body feels cold. The baby moves. Malorie feels a little faint. The birds are still making noise.
Is it one of the housemates?
She reenters her bedroom and grabs a flashlight. She walks to Olympia’s room and shines the beam on her bed. She is sleeping. In the room at the end of the hall, she sees Cheryl on the bed.
Malorie walks slowly down the stairs to the living room.
Tom.
Tom is asleep on the carpet. Felix is on the couch.
“Tom,” Malorie says, touching his shoulder. “Tom, wake up.”
Tom rolls to his stomach. Then he looks up, suddenly, at Malorie.
“Tom,” she says.
“Is everything okay?”
“Someone is knocking at the front door.”
“What? Now?”
“Right now.”
Another knock comes. Tom turns his face toward the hall.
“Holy shit. What time is it?”
“I don’t know. Late.”
“Okay.”
Tom gets up quickly. He pauses, as if attempting to wake up entirely, leaving his sleep on the floor. He is fully clothed. Beside where he was sleeping, Malorie sees the crude beginnings of another helmet. Tom turns on the living room lamp.
Then the two are walking toward the front door. They pause in the hall. Another series of knocks come.
“Hello?” a man says.
Malorie grabs Tom’s arm. Tom turns on the hall light.
“Hello?” the man says again.
More knocks follow.
“I need to be let in!” the man says. “I have nowhere else to go. Hello?”
Finally, Tom steps toward the door. From the end of the hall, Malorie sees a shape move. It is Don.
“What’s going on?” he asks.
“Someone is at the door,” Tom says.
Don, hardly awake, looks confused. Then he snaps, “Well, what are you going to do about it?”
More knocks.
“I need a place to go,” the voice says. “I can’t handle being alone out here anymore.”
“I’m going to talk to him,” Tom says.
“We’re not a fucking hostel, Tom,” Don says.
“I’m just going to talk to him.”
Then Don is walking toward them. Malorie hears shuffling from upstairs.
“If anyone is there I could—”
“Who are you?” Tom finally calls.
There is a moment of silence. Then, “Oh, thank God someone is there! My name is Gary.”
“He could be bad,” Don says. “He could be mad.”
Felix and Cheryl appear at the end of the hall. They look exhausted. Jules is here now, too. The dogs are behind him.
“What’s going on, Tom?”
“Hey, Gary,” Tom says, “tell us a little more about yourself?”
The birds are cooing.
“Who is this?” Felix asks.
“My name is Gary, and I’m forty-six years old. I have a brown beard. I haven’t opened my eyes in a long time.”
“I don’t like the sound of his voice,” Cheryl says.
Olympia is here now.
Tom calls, “Why are you outside?”
Gary says, “I had to leave the house I was staying in. The people there were no good. A situation arose.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Don calls.
Gary pauses. Then, “They got violent.”
“That’s not good enough,” Don says to the others. “Don’t open this door.”
“Gary,” Tom calls, “how long have you been out there?”