“Jesus!” Brad said.
“Dad, why don’t you step aside?” Isabel said as I swept the other leg out. Nice and chunky, those legs. Now Melissa had the lower half of the baby pretty much dangling out of her. “Easy, now, Melissa,” I said. “You’re amazing. Almost there. Don’t push right now . . . just let your uterus do the work. You’re doing great.”
Gently, slowly, I rotated the baby and slid one finger in to help the shoulder deliver. “Nice job,” Isabel murmured. Another slow rotation to the other side, and the other shoulder delivered smoothly. All that was left was the head.
“My baby,” Melissa said. “Oh, my God, my baby.”
“Nice size, too,” Isabel said. “You’re a hero, Melissa.”
“I am never getting pregnant,” Ophelia said.
Now was the hardest part. Because the head was the biggest part of the baby, and it was coming last, it wouldn’t be molded, the way a headfirst baby’s would after such a long labor. Melissa would need help here. “Nice big push, Melissa,” I said, and she did, full of renewed energy. When the baby’s neck and hairline appeared, I slid my forearm under the baby, positioning my index finger against her right cheek, my middle finger against her left. Then I rested my other hand on the baby’s back, my forefinger and ring finger over each shoulder, my middle finger at the base of the baby’s skull.
“I’m gonna give a tiny bit of help here,” Isabel said. “Just going to put some pressure on your belly, Melissa.” She looked down at me. “Ready?”
“Yep. Give us a nice push, Melissa! Last one!”
She pushed, keening. Isabel pressed down, and I pressed my fingers on the baby’s cheeks, angled my arms up to maneuver the head, and just like that, she was born.
“It’s a girl!” I said, putting her on Melissa’s chest.
“My baby! Oh, my God, my baby is here! Hi, baby!”
“A girl?” Brad said from somewhere behind me. “Oh, wow, babe!” I felt him move closer to me to look between Melissa’s legs. “Holy God,” he muttered, because yes, she was a little gory at the moment. She’d just given birth, and that baby was not small! “Will she ever be normal again?”
“Sir? Let’s have you sit down over here,” Jane said as he wobbled.
“I’ll clean her up,” Isabel murmured, and I stood up, my lower legs asleep from having been down there so long, and went to Melissa’s free side.
“You did it,” I said, and she lifted her shining face to look at me. “That was really something, Melissa. I’m proud of you.”
“Thank you, Lillie,” she said. Tears were streaming down her face. “That means so much to me.”
Ophelia was looking at the baby quizzically. “Guess I’m the pretty one,” she said. “Hey, there, baby. I’m your sister.”
“What’s her name?” I asked.
“Orialis Melody Spencer Fairchild,” Melissa announced.
“Oh, God, Missy,” Ophelia said. “Orialis? It sounds like a medication.” I couldn’t help snorting.
“It goes with Ophelia,” Melissa said. “And her middle name is Melody. Yours is Harmony. Get it?”
“I get it,” Ophelia said, rolling her eyes, but she was smiling, too.
Orialis was . . . well, all babies are beautiful, right? She had very thick hair, but also a receding hairline, a hooked nose and puffy lips, and . . . well . . . hey! She’d been being squished by contractions for a day and a half. She’d pretty up.
“She looks like Nicolas Cage,” Ophelia pronounced. “And she looks like she could beat me in a fight.”
“Oh, stop,” said Melissa. “She’s beautiful.” She was drunk on hormones, adrenaline and exhaustion.
Orialis Melody Spencer Fairchild weighed nine pounds, three ounces and was twenty-two inches long. With her genes, she would turn gorgeous, I had no doubt. Still, there was a wee bit of pleasure in handing her to Brad after I’d swaddled her and watching a look of confusion come over his face.
“She does look like Nicolas Cage,” he said. “After a bender.”
“I think she looks exactly like you,” I said, keeping my tone warm.
“She’s huge,” he said. “Is this normal?”
“She’s on the larger side, which makes Melissa’s delivery even more heroic, but she seems perfectly healthy,” I said. “Family picture?”
“Not . . . not right now,” Melissa said. She glanced at Bradley. “Maybe just of Orialis, Ophelia and me,” she said, reaching to hold her child. “Hashtag girl-power.”
“There’s still time to rethink the name,” Ophelia said. “Another Shakespeare name? Goneril, maybe? Cressida? Anything would be better than Orialis.”
I sure did like that kid. I winked at her, and she grinned back.
“It goes with Ophelia quite nicely,” Melissa said, staring at her daughter. “Ophelia, come get in this picture. Bradley? Can you take a few?”
After fifteen minutes, I offered to take a picture of the four of them, and they accepted. But I could read Brad’s body language, and with Nic Cage’s face staring up from an infant’s body, I had a feeling that Brad wasn’t going to make the best girl dad to Orialis.
* * *
Sure enough, a month after he became a father for the second time, my ex-husband knocked on my door, suitcase in hand. It was nearly a year to the day after he’d told me he wanted a divorce.
“Are you here to tell me about the church of the Latter-day Saints, or are you selling essential oils?” I asked, not opening the door.
“Lillie. How are you?”
“Fine,” I said. I didn’t open the door. Zeus stood at my side, wagging, the dopey dog. “Attack,” I whispered. He looked at me and smiled his doggy smile.
“Can I come in?” Brad asked. “I have a lot to say.”
“You can say it from there,” I said.
“I guess I deserve that,” he said, looking up at me from beneath a furrowed brow, his freaky blue eyes penitent. “Lillie, there are no excuses for what I did, but there are reasons.”
I rolled my eyes.
“I’d like to apologize,” he said. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, and, well . . . I don’t think Melissa and I are going to work out.”
“You’re leaving your wife a month after she gave birth?” I asked.
“It was a mutual agreement,” he said.
“So she kicked you out.”
“I like to think of it as coming home to my true wife. I had a breakdown, Lillie. I haven’t been myself. I’ve always loved you. I miss our family. I want to live with you and Dylan again. Share the holidays again. My parents miss you so much, and I . . . I’ve learned so much about myself.”
I looked at my watch. “You done?” I asked.
“So can we try again? Please? Twenty years is worth a second chance, as you said.”
Looking at his familiar, handsome face, I did remember the now-distant longing for the past. I thought I’d done such a great job creating our life, our home, our family. I remembered feeling so special because Brad Fairchild of the amazing blue eyes and classic bone structure, this son of Beacon Hill, had chosen me, the down-to-earth daughter of a hardworking fisherman.
“You never deserved me, Brad,” I said. “And you know what? You didn’t deserve Melissa, either. I’m glad she dumped you.”
“But you hate her!” he said.
“Nah. Not anymore,” I answered. “As for you, I’m sorry, Brad. You’re just not worth it.” I smiled. “But we’ll always be Dylan’s parents.”
“Well, where am I supposed to go?” Brad asked. “Can I at least rent the studio from you?”
“The prenup was that good, huh? I’m guessing you can’t afford to rent the studio, and even if you could, I wouldn’t have you here. Go home to your mommy,” I told him. “Now. You’re on Silva property, and you’re trespassing. Time for you to go.”
With a disappointed sigh and a tragic face, Brad turned around and trudged back to his Jaguar.