by Judy Baer
“Oh, please do, Molly,” Penny said. “This will be such an awesome record for our family. Pete has relatives in Australia. They’ll go wild when they see this.”
I’m planning to go wild myself.
“I’ll be asking you questions,” the man continued as if I hadn’t responded at all. “I’ll toss them out and you answer the best you can. When we talk about massage, just start rubbing Penny’s foot or something, okay?”
“I normally rub a mother’s back.”
“Okay. Feet, legs, back, whatever trips their trigger.”
“Women have back labor,” I said testily. “They don’t have foot labor.”
“Okay, cool. Rub her back. Just make it look realistic.”
“Whatever I do will be realistic. There will be a baby born here shortly, you know.”
Fortunately, Penny’s labor began to progress rapidly and it wasn’t long until Penny, Pete, strangers with cumbersome video cameras and I drove to Bradshaw Medical.
If the documentary makers had hoped to record the birthing event as it would normally play out, they were foiled at the outset. Someone had put the staff on alert that we were about to arrive. Even the woman at the registration desk had redone her makeup and hair and was as gushingly sweet as I’d ever seen her. She brought out a wheelchair with a flourish and proceeded to take Penny to her room to negotiate a little more camera time. Everyone on staff who had ever dreamed of being on television managed to make a cameo appearance as we made our way to the birthing room by popping through doors or leaning forward into the camera as we passed. Even Tony succumbed to the lure of momentary stardom and intentionally sauntered in front of the camera to smile at Penny when they arrived on the obstetrics floor.
I, on the other hand, made sure that I was as inconsequential and innocuous as possible. I’d even slipped into my plainest pale blue clothing so as not to stand out in the crowd. How was I to know that on film, that choice only made my hair look redder and wilder than ever and that I was like a candle with a bright, out-of-control flame at its tip?
While everyone else acted like the video crew was a group of visiting rock stars, Dr. Reynolds approached them as if they were lice on a dog. And I was the most offensive louse of all.
“I’m sorry, sir.” I began to apologize. “I know this is upsetting to you but…”
The look he gave me could have frozen molten lava. I’ve never known blue eyes to be as frigid as the ones he had for me.
I opened my mouth to say something but shut it again. There was no use trying to defend myself to this man, none whatsoever. My only job is to be the best doula and birthing coach I can be to Penny. No scathing looks from Clay Reynolds are going to stop me from that.
“Molly,” Penny beckoned me over once we were in the room. “What’s wrong with Dr. Reynolds? Isn’t he feeling well? He looks very pale.”
It is an odd turn of events when the patient worries about the doctor’s well-being. Penny, however, was justified in her observation. Clay was pasty and his eyes had taken on a haunted expression that seemed vastly out of proportion to what was happening around him.
“What are you doing now, Molly?” one of the camera crew asked. Every move I made was of interest to them. I live in fear of needing to go to the bathroom.
“Rubbing Penny’s shoulders. She finds it relaxing.” I looked into the camera, trying to appear happy rather than miserable. “I try ahead of time to discover which things are comforting to a mother. She also likes ice packs on the back of her neck, grape Popsicles and Elvis music, particularly ‘All Shook Up.’”
At that moment Clay walked in and strode toward the bed. “Penny, I just want to check…”
“Hey, Doc, give us another minute with the doula, okay?” the cameraman said. “I’ve got another question—”
Clay rounded on the man and I thought he was going to say or do something that we’d all regret later but managed to pull it together just in time. “Sorry, friend, but my patient and this baby come first in my book. If you don’t mind…”
Reluctantly the man backed away.
“Into the hall,” Clay snapped. “Take the three-ring circus into the hallway, please.”
“Go ahead, Molly, answer the man’s questions,” Penny encouraged. “I don’t need you right now.”
“But I’m not here to—”
“Go,” Clay ordered sharply. “This is not the time or place for a crowd.”
So we went.
Unfortunately, the more unobtrusive I tried to become, the more interested in me the video crew seemed to be. If things could get worse, I didn’t know how. The only ones who seemed to be enjoying this were Penny and Pete, who were thrilled with the idea of a professional videotape of their baby’s birth.
James Peter Higgins was born at 2:15 a.m. The crew interviewed the proud papa while I made sure Penny didn’t need me any longer and managed to exit the room unobserved. By using hidden stairwells I escaped the hospital unnoticed. The film crew would have to find me tomorrow if they wanted to debrief me.
Unfortunately one person had noticed me leave and he was lying in wait beside my car.
Clay leaned against the driver’s door looking ominous.
“Clay, I…”
“I realize that you weren’t responsible for this, Molly.” His voice was low and dangerous, but he was imperturbably calm. That was even more alarming than his fury. “It doesn’t change the fact that we had a fiasco on our hands in there tonight.”
“It wasn’t a fiasco!” I was exhausted and my fuse short. “Penny and Peter are ecstatic. Their baby is perfect and beautiful. The crew was not terribly intrusive, and I believe it will be a good documentary. Just because you don’t believe in the subject matter, doesn’t mean it’s unimportant. Maybe this is more about your ego than anything else. You want everyone to believe that the doctor always knows best, right?”
His expression darkened but he didn’t lash out. “It will promote a dangerous practice. Birthing rooms should not have a carnival atmosphere.”
“I do not promote a ‘carnival atmosphere.’ That’s just insulting!” My distress turned to fury. “You are so unfair!”
“And you are innocent and naive. You have no idea what can happen—”
“But you do?” The pilot light on my Irish temper began to heat. “I know you’re well educated and have a medical degree but sometime you’ve got to realize that birth is natural. Women have assisted other women with the miracle for hundreds of years, all around the world. Maybe it’s you who is out of touch, have you ever thought of that?”
He looked at me pityingly.
Pity rubs me the wrong way, like petting a cat from tail to head rather than the other way around.
“Just stay out of my way, Molly. That’s all I ask.” He pushed himself away from my car, rolled the knots from his shoulders and rubbed his neck. Then he walked away, leaving me sputtering furiously.
Not only was I angry, but worse, I was hurt. I stared at his retreating back knowing that something that could have been quite wonderful had slipped through my hands. Then I got into my car and drove two blocks before pulling over to have a good, hard cry.
I’d gotten Clay’s message loud and clear. He wants me out of his way and his life. What will make him happiest is to never see me again.
I hiccuped, blew my nose and was grateful for the darkness. If a filming crew turned up now to ask me what the doula was doing, I’d have frightened them all away.
I was thankful, for the moment at least, that Clay didn’t know what was happening behind the scenes concerning Doula Central. Charles, in his enthusiasm, had encouraged several other obstetricians to call me with their questions. I was beginning to get the feeling that the center was coming together without me, like bees swarming everywhere to become a cloud. I hope I don’t get stung.
What adds insult to the injury of falling in love with Clay and knowing he wants nothing to do with me is being forced to tolerate Hugh and Lissy’s sappy court
ship. It is, unfortunately, happening right under my nose.
Hugh: “Get me some lemonade, will you, sweetie?”
Lissy: “Of course, darling. Can I share yours or should I get my own?”
Hugh: “My lips are yours, lovie.”
Lissy: “Hughy, you are so cute.”
Hugh: “You’re the cute one….”
Molly: “Stop it! My teeth are rotting from all the sugary drivel! If you’re going to act like love-birds, do it somewhere that I can’t hear it. I’m getting nauseous.”
“Temper, temper, sis,” Hugh chided. “We can’t help it if you’re disenchanted with love. You don’t want a man like Clay Reynolds, anyway. You deserve better.”
“Who said I ‘wanted’ him at all?”
“‘My only love sprang from my only hate! Too early seen unknown, and known too late.’” Tony stopped eating Hägen-Daz out of a carton long enough to quote a little Shakespeare.
I turned on him. “How can you stand this mushy, lovey-dovey talk?”
“I’m a poet at heart, remember? I’ve started writing love sonnets just for the fun of it. I like the form. I’m hoping these two will inspire me.”
I flung myself onto the couch, and Hildy came over to investigate my distress. She stuck her cold, wet nose into my neck, then licked away the errant tear that had escaped and run down my cheek. “I’m surrounded by dysfunction and no one else sees it.”
“You’re the one who has been wearing the same sweats for three days,” Hugh pointed out. “And eating nothing but tapioca pudding and pepper jack cheese.”
“I’m not hungry for anything else, thank you very much.”
“I’ve known you a long time, Molly. That’s all you ever eat when you’re depressed or in love.”
“Tapioca pudding?” Tony sounded horrified. “Maybe we aren’t suited for each other after all. I don’t like tapioca pudding.”
“You mean there is a food you don’t like?” Lissy came at Tony with a spoon and took a bite of his ice cream.
“Stop it, all of you!”
Hugh put a finger to his lips. “We’ll go outside and leave you to mope, Molly. Let us know when you’re done.” And they all trooped cheerfully out the back door to my patio. Even Hildy and Geranium followed them, leaving me to stew in my own juices.
“Lord,” I murmured when they’d gone, “forgive me for this mood I’m in. If Clay isn’t the man for me—and it’s become perfectly clear that he isn’t—help me to accept that and move forward. I don’t want a war on Bradshaw turf. My life’s in Your hands. I forget that sometimes. Fortunately You never fail to remember me.”
I sighed and sat up. I needed to apologize to my friends for my grumpy, petulant behavior. Then I’ll figure out what to do, now that I’ve given my heart to someone who doesn’t want it.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
I quit making tapioca on day six, the day in the meeting room at Bradshaw Medical that I saw some raw footage of the documentary video and a few snippets of rough cut from the first day’s filming. Clay lurked in the background, hovering near the door in order to escape quickly if he couldn’t tolerate what he saw.
“It’s amazing!” I blurted before remembering that I was one of only a few laypeople viewing the video. The rest were Bradshaw’s elite—the board and the heads of several departments.
Charles Hancock and Emily, who’d been invited as a guest, nodded in agreement. Emily wiped a tear from her eye as the room erupted in applause.
“I wasn’t sure they could actually capture what happens between a mother and her doula,” I admitted, “but it’s there already. The film will be beautiful.”
One of the older doctors on staff, Dr. Francis, turned to me. “Why haven’t we seen more of you, Molly? Mothers should be clamoring for your services. It makes perfect sense to me.”
“That’s something I wanted to mention.” Charles Hancock stood to take the floor. Much to my chagrin, he told the entire group about our conversation, the ideas I had for implementing Doula Central, and he forcefully endorsed the idea.
“According to Molly, this could be up and running in no time. She knows practically every doula in the city already, or knows someone who does. Office space, a database, a few flyers in the Obstetrics Department and Molly’s expertise in implementing her vision, why—”
“It’s not quite that easy, sir.” I tried to stop him, but Charles began waxing eloquent about the birth of his son.
“It also makes our job a little easier,” Dr. Wickler, a pediatrician, commented agreeably. “The fewer C-sections the better, I say.” He glanced up as a woman with a coffee cart entered the room. Several people got up to head for the pastries, still discussing the film. Emily and I worked our way toward a quiet corner of the room. Clay was no longer present, but I had no idea when he’d chosen to leave.
“It’s a hit!” Emily tented her fingers and put them under her chin. “Isn’t it wonderful?”
“I had no idea they’d make sense of all that footage, but they managed. Clay didn’t make it easy for them.”
“How are things going?” Emily asked. “Better?”
“If you’re referring to Clay, no. Everything else is great.”
“Have you seen him since…you know?”
Emily’s husband had brought home the word that Clay Bradshaw had put up a fierce argument over the documentary and had indicated that he would have nothing to do with encouraging doulas for his patients. He’d been so adamant that Charles had warned her that if the documentary wasn’t “something really special” it was likely that Clay’s attitude would douse any keenness there’d been for the idea.
Fortunately—or unfortunately, depending on one’s perspective—the video is remarkably good.
I didn’t want to discuss Clay, so I asked the question most sure to divert Emily’s attention. “How’s the baby?”
“Adorable, of course. Perfect. Brilliant. Amazing.” Emily grinned. “Did you expect anything less?”
“You’re glowing.”
“I didn’t know I could be this happy, Molly. I feel so…complete.” She looked me over with a keen eye. “And you feel very incomplete right now. All the sparkle and zest you usually exude has dimmed.”
“Just a disappointment or two, that’s all. I’ll get over it.”
I put my hand on Emily’s arm. “The last thing you need to do is worry about me. I’ll be fine. I made the mistake of building up my hopes over someone who wasn’t as interested in me as I was in him, that’s all. It doesn’t matter. It was over before it even started.”
What I didn’t add was that her husband had probably put the final nail in the coffin of any relationship with Clay. Because of Charles, I can probably get what I want—a doula clearinghouse at Bradshaw—but it will be at Clay’s expense and over his protests.
I left the hospital not feeling any better than I had when I’d arrived. Even the wonderful reception to the film hadn’t cheered me as much as I’d hoped. Clay’s disapproval of the whole process had tarnished my enthusiasm more than I cared to admit.
I suppose that’s why I didn’t greet them with much eagerness when Lissy and my brother Hugh arrived at my house, holding hands and acting gooey as caramel on a hot day. It didn’t seem to matter, however. They were too giddy to notice my gloom.
Hugh looks happier than I’ve seen him in months and Lissy positively radiates joy.
“What’s up?” I untangled myself from Hildy, who’d been lying beside me on the couch.
“We wanted to tell you first. Hugh and I are getting married!”
I looked from my brother to my friend, thunder-struck. “But you’ve barely started to date! How can you know…”
They hung on to each other like Velcro as Hugh spoke. “Sis, Lissy and I have dated everyone who is wrong for us. After all that experience, it’s easy to tell when someone is right. Besides, it’s not like we just met. We’ve both hung out at your house for years.”
“I’ll give you that. You’v
e been eating my food and commandeering my television remote longer than I care to think about. Maybe you are slow learners. Why didn’t you figure it out earlier? You could have avoided that whole tree incident which, by the way, you may never live down.”
“A small price to pay for love.” Hugh kissed Lissy on the tip of the nose.
“When’s the big day?”
“Soon,” Lissy said. “Will you be my bridesmaid?” She flung her arms around me. “Now you’ll be my sister-in-law as well as my best friend!”
Hugh then embraced both of us at once, engaging us in an emotional group hug. That’s when Tony walked in.
“A lovefest without me? What’s going on?” Without asking the reason for this outpouring of affection, he congenially slapped my brother on the back. Hugh lost his footing and the lump of us toppled over and sprawled onto the couch.
“That was fun,” Tony commented. “What are we celebrating?”
“Hugh and Lissy are getting married.”
“‘In time the savage bull doth bear the yoke,’” Tony recited. “Congratulations.”
Lissy gave him a dirty look. “You could have picked a better quote, Tony. I’m hardly a yoke to be borne.”
He grinned at her. “‘All that glisters is not gold.’”
Lissy ignored him. “Isn’t it wonderful?”
“It couldn’t have happened to a nicer, more gullible person.”
Lissy swatted at him. “Behave.”
“I can’t. I’m in a pretty good mood myself.” He turned to look at me. “My sister thinks she’s pregnant.” His dark brown eyes sparkled. “I’m going to be an uncle.”
I felt tears come to my eyes. “Oh, Tony, I’m so happy for her.”
“She told me to tell you that you were right about that ‘deferred hope’ thing.”
“I thought she didn’t believe it.”
“She looked the verse up in the Bible because she wanted to read it in context.”
“And?”
“I’m not quite sure. Gina said that one verse just led to another until she’d read several chapters. She told me it was time she got reacquainted with her faith. Gina has always depended on herself and she’s beginning to realize that it’s not enough.” Tony looked thoughtful. “So God used this barren time to bring my sister around to Him again.
