The beach house was new. I could smell fresh paint as we walked through the front door. Though the layout was the same, the appliances, the butcher-block countertops, the fixtures, everything was shining and new looking. “You wanted to get some supplies for the nursery. You were nesting,” he explained, smiling down at me lovingly. “Do you know what that means?”
“I read about it,” I acknowledged.
He smiled, cupping my face in his hands. “I knew better than to argue with you.”
I searched his eyes for serenity even as his words sunk in. “Did you say… nursery?”
He led me forward and pushed open the door to the smallest bedroom, just past the kitchen.
My breath caught in my chest.
The tiny room that had resembled a dirty closet in the future was illuminated by the window that faced the setting sun. The walls were painted yellow with delicate, whimsical flowers detailed along the ceiling and floor in ivory, green, and light blue.
A wooden cradle, antiqued white, hung from adjacent pedestals and matched a small chest of drawers against the wall. The floor was deep oak, having never seen the abuse of a sander or paintbrush.
“You painted the flowers in here. You were such an artist.” He traced his finger over a flower, lifting his eyes to mine. “I thought that I’d never see this place again.”
“West,” I breathed, gripping the plaster wall and trembling. He gathered me in his arms and carried me past the small living room and into the master bedroom.
After lowering me gently onto the bed, he brushed his palms together as though they were damp. He ran his fingers through his hair as I squirmed and bit through another contraction.
“How far apart are they?” I asked, the back of my neck moist with sweat.
He retrieved a gold pocket watch from the dresser, nodding. “You just had a contraction. I’ll start now timing them now.”
I took a calming breath, desperately trying to recall the chapters that I read about that detailed an emergency birth. “Everything has to be really clean… the baby doesn’t have a very good immune system-”
“Unless she’s immortal,” he said evenly, hurrying to the bathroom that I was relieved still existed.
“She’s going to be really slippery,” I cried, gripping the bedspread and widening my eyes. “Oh my God,” I sobbed, holding my breath. The pain lingered longer in my back than before. West returned in seconds, moving next to me. “My back,” I breathed, catching his hand in midair and gripping his fingers with all my strength. “My back feels like it’s breaking,” I said tearfully, twisting in agony.
“That was less than a minute,” he said, his voice cracking as he watched the ticking hands of his pocket watch. “She’s coming. Roam-”
“I need to… push, the pressure,” I cried, dropping back to the pillow and cringing at the ceiling. Panic hit with force, and I panted, staring at him in horror. “West! I’m so afraid, I can’t do this!”
His shoulders rose and fell in a deep breath, and he nodded. “Yes, you can. You’re not alone. Breathe, baby,” he soothed, lowering his lips to my forehead. “I’m going to get a few things from the kitchen. I’ll be back before the next one. Roam.”
“Don’t leave me!” I begged, and he caught my chin in his hands, his eyes locking in mine. I trusted him more than I trusted anyone in the entire world, and I couldn’t bear for him to be even as far as the kitchen.
“Roam. Breathe. Listen to me. Don’t push. Not yet.”
“Okay,” I breathed, my knuckles cracking as I twisted the polyester material of the bedspread in my fingers. I began to tremble before shaking violently, my teeth rattling uncontrollably inside my mouth.
I’m trapped in a nightmare…
But this is real.
True to his word, he returned in less than thirty seconds. “I’m going to put a pillow under your back, to help prop you up a little.”
Humility rushed through my body at the worst possible moment. I widened my eyes, shaking my head at him, unyielding. My knees locked together as I backed against the headboard. “I can’t let you do this, West, I can’t let you-”
“Roam-”
“I can’t!” I screamed, trying desperately to sit up. Another horrible pain began at the base of my spine and serrated its way down to my thighs and around my center.
“Roam!” His voice startled me, and he gripped my shoulders, fixing his gaze in mine. “Listen to me. You need help. You can’t do this by yourself. You’re my wife, this is our child. I will not lose you again, and I will not lose our baby. You are everything… she is everything.”
His even voice broke through the terror in my mind. My chin quivered as more tears tumbled over my cheeks.
I had decided that I wouldn’t be that dramatic woman in labor, punching her husband and cursing his existence. I’d read everything there was to read, watched YouTube videos of live births, and felt that the more educated I was, the calmer I could be during the process.
Wrapping my hands around his forearms, I threw my head back and screamed.
I lost all sense of myself as West pulled my dress over my head, tucking a sheet over me. The pain and pressure were worse than getting the numbers, worse than drowning, and it happened continuously, every forty-five to sixty seconds. I nearly jumped out of my skin when a blond curl fell over my eyes, forgetting that I was in a stranger’s body.
“You’re doing fine, baby, you’re so strong. Just focus,” he hushed, helping me through each horrific contraction.
Attempting to breathe through the agony proved more distracting than anything. As each contraction built, the impending pain was more frightening than the pain itself. I listened to West’s comforting words as he promised that it would be over soon.
Lying back against the pillows, I moaned, my throat aching from my tortured screams. Time suffered along slowly, and I soon lost count of the number of contractions that I’d had. I tried to focus on my baby’s face, on what she would look like when I finally held her.
“She won’t be able to breathe,” I exhaled, my words an incoherent jumble between contractions. Another was building, and I fought to control my fear. “You have to clean her airways-”
“I know,” he assured me, the fear in his own voice unmistakable. He’d gathered towels, a large bowl, long-handled shears, and a baster. “She’ll be fine,” he said, gentling his tone. “I can take care of her. We just have to get her out here, with us,” he said, forcing a reassuring smile my way as he brushed his fingers over my wet hair.
Push.
The urge was sudden and overwhelming. I obeyed my body before I could form the words to warn him.
“Jesus… wait… Roam, her head… she’s coming,” he stammered, readying himself with a towel. I quaked beneath the pressure, sobbing as the burning pain intensified with every moment. “Her head… I have her head,” he choked, lifting his eyes to mine. “I have her head in my hands, baby, now her shoulders, you can do this,” he soothed.
“Oh God, it hurts so much,” I sobbed, realizing that there was no going back. He nodded, his hand securely between my legs.
“You’re amazing. Just push… ready, one… two…”
He stopped speaking, and I heard a watery, sucking sound. I turned my head to where the bowl had been, realizing that the baster was gone.
“Now,” I told him. I held the headboard behind my shoulders, pulling as I rammed my back against the wood for leverage.
With mind-numbing, fiery pressure, I knew the moment that she came out of me.
I knew the moment that she was born.
West wrapped the white towel around the crying infant in his hands, smiling wider than I’d ever seen him smile. He gasped, allowing seconds of silent awe to pass between the three of us.
“A girl, Roam,” he hushed, lifting his eyes to mine. “She’s our daughter.”
I stared at him, panting, unable to close my mouth or speak. Tears spilled from his dark blue eyes, and he wiped at them with
his shoulders, his hands were covered in blood.
“Don’t let her go,” I whispered helplessly, and he shook his head, gazing down at her.
“Never. We’ll never let her go.” He carried her to me, and I cradled my arms, sobbing with relief as he tucked her against me. “There’s more for me to do, baby,” he explained. I focused on the odd, tugging feeling below my navel, I watched him reach for the bloody, gray-blue cord.
I understood. As I tried to respond, the baby in my arms let out a pitiful yowl before breaking into a full-on cry.
I gasped, laughing, unable to see her clearly through my tears.
“She’s crying… that’s good,” I said, hiccupping as I stared down at our child in my arms. Bursting with frantic laughter, my chest convulsed with sobbing breaths. “Of course you’re crying, aren’t you? You’re mine.”
I gazed at our daughter, tracing my finger over her milky white skin.
She was born.
The child meant to fulfill the prophecy, the one who would destroy the evil world that Troy came from, was there.
She moved in slow animation, wriggling and turning. I lifted the edge of the white towel and gently brushed her eyebrows and cheeks, careful with her fragile features. West worked beneath me, cleaning and cutting, and I dared not look at what he was doing for fear of missing a single moment of our daughter’s life.
Our daughter. I touched her matted hair, breathing with laughter at the color. “West, her hair is red,” I breathed, finally lifted my eyes to him. He stared at us both, his gaze unwavering.
“Your grandmother did too. Annie’s,” he corrected softly.
“What’s her name?” I asked, listening to her cry again. This time she tightened her tiny fists, her fingers turning bright white.
He knelt next to the bed, reaching to cover my hand over her tiny shoulders. “You said that you’d know her name when you saw her,” he answered, his voice breaking at some memory that I didn’t possess.
Words that were lost in time, spoken in love between him and his wife.
I drew the outline of her perfect face with my finger, sighing deeply. “You name her, West. You’ve waited longer than I have. You saved her. You saved us both.”
He exhaled sharply, and I watched him fight with the tears that betrayed his calm control. Finally, he gave in, letting them slide down his cheeks.
“Her name is Eva,” he said confidently, as though there wasn’t another name in the world for the beautiful girl in our arms.
I smiled, reaching for his cheek. He pressed his lips to the palm of my hand.
“That’s it,” I whispered, nodding. “That’s her name.”
Chapter Twelve
West and I held Eva in our arms until the sun disappeared into the ocean. He carried the cradle into our bedroom and placed it next to the bed.
“I’m never putting her down,” I said softly, gesturing to the cradle.
He smiled, whispering words of love to both Eva and me as he pressed kisses to my lips and to her tiny fingers. “Do you feel ready to try to feed her?” he asked, and I nodded uncertainly, letting her sleep for as long as she wanted to.
We discussed how I would breastfeed her, how we would protect her, and what we would do if Troy was still immortal. We counted her toes, giggled at her chubby knees, and marveled at her cherubic face.
“She has freckles,” he pointed out. “They’re so tiny, just a splash across her nose. God, she’s pretty, Roam.”
As though she heard her father’s voice, she stirred, opening her eyes and giving us the first clear view of their color.
I gasped, lifting my own eyes to West’s. “They’re…”
“Green. Your green,” he finished. “Exactly like yours.”
Every time I thought about the fact that I was living in someone else’s body, in some other life and time, I quickly shut that door in my mind.
I finally let him put her in the cradle and help me to the bathroom. The shower was an amenity Annie had insisted on when he had the cottage built. I laughed as West ran back and forth between the shower and the cradle, checking on Eva every ten to fifteen seconds while she slept.
We washed her together and bundled her in a fresh, cloth diaper. The layette that Annie had prepared for her on first day at home was enormous, and she was too tiny to fit into anything but a small, white sleeping gown.
I found a nightgown for myself, in awe of the collection of clothing that Annie had. “You must have a good job,” I said, pushing past dress after dress in the closet. “She has so many nice dresses.”
“I fixed boats on the island and taxi the property owners back and forth. They all know you and love you. You’re sweet and charming… and they tip graciously.”
“West,” I breathed, pulling a black, halter cocktail dress from the back. “This is gorgeous. The chiffon, the detail…”
“You need to be resting,” he teased, rocking Eva tenderly in his arms. “Nightgown now, fashion show later.”
“I could be a fifties housewife,” I said with a smirk, slipping into a short, peach nightgown. The bathroom had been well stocked with feminine necessities. Annie’s a planner. Perfect.
“No,” he answered softly, tucking the baby into the cradle. “You’re going to be a teacher, remember?”
I nodded, sighing as I made my way back to the bed. He’d put fresh, clean sheets on the mattress, and exhaustion took over. I smoothed my hands down my sides, trying to remember how long it’d take for my stomach to shrink back down. As I did, I remembered my dream of West laying over me and kissing me on the bed…
Good morning, baby.
“This was the nightgown from my dream,” I realized with a shiver, the cold reality making me reach for Eva. “Do you think it’s over, West? The prophecy?”
He tucked the blanket around us, fluffing the pillows at my back. “If her birth didn’t fulfill the prophecy, then we have to hide Troy away. But not here. I won’t have him anywhere near you or Eva,” he explained, gently cupping his hand over her warm head.
I thought of Logan’s promise to take him through another fountain. “Did Logan tell you that he planned to travel through another fountain with Troy? I refuse to let him do that.” I squared my jaw, shaking my head adamantly. “Logan deserves to go home. He’s done enough to help.”
West considered my words, quietly holding us in his arms. “I have to go get them. Do you feel well enough to wait here?”
I smiled, adjusting the clean blankets around me. “West, I’m so tired… but I’ve never felt better than this moment. I know that… that I’m Annie… but she feels like mine, and-”
“You’re Roam,” he corrected firmly. “And she is yours. Ours.”
I nodded, cradling her protectively. “She’s hungry,” I guessed, feeling her grow more restless by the moment.
“Maybe you can try to feed her now, without the pressure of anyone around,” he added, and I could feel his reluctance to leave.
“I’ll try. Go and get them, I’ll be fine,” I promised as Eva began to breathe rapidly, her eyes pinched closed in a dream. She sighed, her chest rising and falling normally again. I gazed at her. “I’ll take care of her. I’ll give her anything she needs,” I vowed, the sincerity in my tone forcing him to smile my way.
“I know the feeling,” he agreed, kissing me again. His lips lingered on mine as he spoke. “I love you, Roam.”
“I love you, West,” I breathed, smiling at the tickle of his beard against my cheek.
After he left, I settled in the big bed and listened to the waves pound against the shore just outside. Every time I dozed off, I’d jump, quickly searching for the baby in my arms.
Surreal. There was no other word to describe having woken up on Thanksgiving morning seventeen-years-old and twelve weeks pregnant, only to be holding my healthy baby girl in my arms twenty-four hours later… and fifty-seven years earlier.
Gazing at Eva, I watched her purse her lips and suckle in her sleep, counting the
hours since I’d given birth to her.
She’s less than four hours old. How much does she weigh? We need to take her to a pediatrician.
Morgan should hold her. I thought of Morgan and my dad, anxiety taking over. I tried to concoct a feasible scenario that would explain the baby belonging to me.
Impossible. West will have to keep her, I realized, sickened at the thought of being away from Eva or West. As I began rationalizing reasons to stay in 1955, Eva stirred and started to cry.
I had read everything that I could about pregnancy and delivery, but nothing about breastfeeding. Awkwardly, I lifted the baby to my breast, imitating what I’d seen in movies. She panted and reached, stirring uncomfortably and crying harder. I rocked her, trying soothing words that sounded unfamiliar to my ears.
“It’s okay,” I sang softly, startled.
I can sing.
My singing voice was something that Morgan had described after my fourth grade Christmas pageant as “mice being electrocuted.” When it never improved, I moved onto the books and the pool and gave up on the choir.
I rocked my daughter in my arms, recalling the lyrics to a song that my father had sung to me when I was little about a place called Moonlight Bay. My voice reached notes that I had no idea were within my grasp. I carried through the chorus, smiling as Eva curled into my arms to sleep again.
“That was beautiful,” West said softly, and his words drew my attention to the doorway and made me smile.
“I can sing… well, Annie can,” I said, careful not to wake Eva as she slept. “Are Logan and Violet okay?”
“Right here.”
Logan stepped in the bedroom, Violet following behind him.
“Where’s Troy?”
“He’s tied up outside and gagged so no one can hear him.” West glanced at Violet, and she gave him a dirty look. “Violet won’t let me try to kill him. If he’s mortal, he can’t lead us to the door if he’s dead.”
“Don’t talk about it in front of the baby,” Violet scolded, waving a silencing hand in West’s direction. “Is she awake?”
“She just fell back to sleep.” I watched Logan as he stared at the bundle in my arms. Somehow his stranger’s face made it easier to be holding West’s baby against my breast. “I tried to feed her, but she just cried and… I don’t know what I’m doing….”
Fall (Roam Series, Book Two) Page 11
