Rough Around the Edges

by Marie Ferrarella

  Why didn’t they have cabs prowling the streets here? She’d heard they did that in the big cities, why was that a restricted practice? For that matter, where was a police car when you needed one? If she’d gone through that light, she bet one would have popped out of the ground with a pre-printed ticket on the dashboard.

  Maybe that wasn’t fair, but she didn’t feel very fair right now. She felt angry and cheated and in pain.

  The rain lashed at her from all directions, pushed around by the wind that went first one way, then another. Kitt struggled to keep her orientation. She started to feel dizzy.

  Thoughts began to slip in and out of her head like pulses of lights on a faulty circuit.

  Maybe she could find a phone and call 911. The police were bound to get here faster than any cab she’d call.

  Now all she had to do was find a phone.

  Now all she had to do was see in this godforsaken awful weather, she amended. It seemed as if actual sheets of rain were coming down, wiping out any visibility beyond two, maybe three feet. Squinting, Kitt could barely make out the traffic signal across the street.

  A haloed green ball of light shone like a feeble beacon. Kitt stepped off the curb, praying she could get across the street before another contraction hit, incapacitating her. Biting her lower lip, her head down against the wind, she tried to cross the intersection as quickly as possible.

  Her own bulk combined with the lashing rain slowed her down. The light turned yellow just as she’d made it hardly more than halfway across the street. Pushing herself, she strove to move faster. Her eyes were half closed, trying to keep the rain at bay.

  The squeal of brakes from the oncoming vehicle had her screaming in response. The next second, there was water hitting her not just from above, but from the street as well, drenching her legs as her foot made contact with the sidewalk.

  Everything started to swirl around in her head. Kitt reached out to steady herself, but there was nothing to grab onto. She vaguely thought she heard a man’s voice shouting at her.

  Or maybe that was to her, she wasn’t sure. It didn’t seem important.

  Her outstretched hands made contact with cement. Hard. Tearing at the fleshy part of her palms and making them sting.

  She’d fallen.

  The thought telegraphed itself through her brain at the same instant the pain registered. The next second, she felt someone cradling her.

  “Are you all right?” There was a hint of a lilting accent in the deep voice. There was more than a hint of concern.

  With effort, Kitt managed to bring the world back into focus. Some man she’d never seen was holding her against him.

  “No, I’m not all right. I’m pregnant,” she snapped. Angry at the world at large and frightened, Kitt tried to sit up. She couldn’t. The man asking the stupid question was holding her.

  My God, he’d almost hit a pregnant woman with his van, O’Rourke thought, trying to shake off the numbing fear the realization created. Rapidly pulling his wits about him, O’Rourke looked at her, searching for signs of bleeding.

  “You came out of nowhere.”

  “I came out of my car,” she contradicted him curtly. “And I was trying to cross the street. Didn’t anyone ever teach you how to drive?” She yanked her arm away from him and tried vainly to gain her feet. She felt like a turtle flipped onto its back. A huge, pregnant turtle.

  “I didn’t hit you, did I?” Swiftly, O’Rourke ran his hands up and down her limbs, checking for any damage. “I mean—”

  Where the hell did he come off, trying to touch her? What was wrong with him? Again she tried to get to her feet, but between the rain, her labor pains and the exhaustion that was sinking in, it was beginning to feel like an impossible feat.

  “Look, I’m in labor.” At least she could manage to push his hands away, which she did. “I would really, really prefer if you didn’t try to cop a feel or mug me right now.”

  O’Rourke sat back on his heels, ignoring the rain falling into his eyes. “I’m just checking for broken bones—” His mouth fell open. “Labor?”

  She bit her lower lip, trying very hard to focus on something other than the pain. Trying very hard not to get hysterical.

  “Yes, labor,” she ground out.

  What the hell was she doing wandering around in her condition? “You shouldn’t be out on a night like this.” O’Rourke looked around, trying to spot someone who might have been with her. But there was no one on the street and only one car had passed since he’d darted out of his van. “Especially not alone.”

  “Not my choice,” she bit off. Turning, she tried to get to her knees. The pain had her gasping. And then suddenly, just like that, in the middle of her contraction, she was airborne. The pain left. The surprise didn’t. The stranger had picked her up.

  Rising to his feet, O’Rourke couldn’t help marveling at the woman in his arms. She didn’t feel as if she weighed enough to be having a baby, not even sopping wet. But there certainly was no arguing with the huge mound that met his eye. The woman was definitely swollen with life. Stepping back with her, he took momentary shelter under the awning of a shop that sold bridal gowns.

  O’Rourke glanced down the length of the block. He saw a car, its hazard lights on, in the opposite intersection. “Is that your car?”

  Kitt nodded her head. “It’s dead. I need 911. An ambulance,” she added when he said nothing.

  The pain came again, harder and faster than before. Bent on breaking her in half from the inside out. Without realizing it, Kitt dug her fingers into his arm, squeezing hard.

  Even through his jacket, he could feel the intensity of her grasp. For a little woman, her strength was surprising.

  “How far apart are they?” She looked at him with wide, dazed eyes. “The contractions,” he prompted. “How far apart are you having them?”

  Her breath and voice returned as the pain receded. She all but went limp in the stranger’s arms. “I haven’t timed them.”

  “Guess.”

  She said nothing, but grasped his arm again, harder this time.

  “Okay, I’ll guess for you,” O’Rourke said, a sinking feeling taking hold of the pit of his stomach. “Not far apart at all.”

  Released from the contraction’s viselike grip, Kitt began to pant. That had been an exceedingly hard one. How much worse was this going to get? She was afraid to find out. Really afraid.

  “Good guess,” she rasped, trying valiantly to maintain a brave front. “Do you have a cell phone?”

  “Not yet.” It was something he’d been promising himself to get. Now there didn’t seem to be any reason. Not if they deported him.

  She closed her eyes, searching for strength. It only made the spinning in her head intensify. Kitt opened her eyes again, looking directly at the man who was still holding her.

  “Great, the only other person in Southern California without a cell phone and I had to run into him.” She looked toward what she’d thought was a public phone from across the street. But there was an Out of Order sign taped across it. “We need to get to a phone. I need an ambulance.”

  He heard the hitch of rising hysteria in her voice. And then she was clutching at him again, her nails digging into his chest this time. Less than one minute had elapsed between contractions. She was going to give birth any second.

  “You need more than that, ma’am.” O’Rourke looked around, but everything looked closed for the night. “You’re having the baby.”

  “That’s what I’m trying to tell you.”

  “Now,” he emphasized. He saw panic beginning to etch its way into her features even though he’d only put into words what he knew she had to already be thinking. “Don’t worry, I’ll help you,” he promised.

  There was no place else to go. He had to put her in the back of his van. At least she could lie down there. As long as he pushed back some of the computer equipment he’d packed on the van’s floor.

  “Are you a doctor?” she asked warily.r />
  Something else his mother had wished unsuccessfully. O’Rourke smiled as he shook his head.

  “No, a brother.”

  Her head was swimming again. Kitt desperately tried to make sense of what she was hearing. Rain was falling in her face again. They had moved out from under the shelter of the awning. Was that a good thing?

  “You mean like some religious order?”

  Leaning her against him, he did a quick balancing act and opened the rear doors of his van. “No, like a sibling who saw a fair number of his brothers and sisters come into the world.”

  “This isn’t exactly a spectator sport,” she said.

  As gently as possible, he lay her on the floor of his van, then hopped up in beside her. There was no blanket available. Stripping off his jacket, O’Rourke turned it inside out and bunched it up, creating a makeshift pillow for her head.

  Lifting her head slightly, he slipped his jacket beneath her. “Don’t worry, I know what to do.” At least, he hoped he remembered. He gave the woman what he hoped was his most confident smile. “My mother used to give birth so fast, there was no time to get her to the doctor or have the midwife come to her.”

  Kitt could feel another contraction taking root. She licked incredibly dry lips and wished she was six again. Six and sitting in her family room, watching cartoons. Or eighteen and taking her college boards. Any place but here, any time but now.

  “So you helped?” she heard herself ask as she mentally tried to scramble away from the pain there was no escaping.

  O’Rourke saw the look in her eyes and took her hand, holding it tight. She held it tighter. “I was the oldest of six.”

  She felt as if she was in a doomed race. Kitt began to breathe hard. “You’re sure you’re…not some…weirdo who gets…off…on this kind of thing?”

  She was pretty, he thought. Even in pain, with her blond hair pasted against her face, she was pretty. Leaning forward, he brushed the wet hair from her forehead, wishing there was some way to make her comfortable. “Not very trusting, are you?”

  That was a laugh. “I have absolutely no reason to be-e-e-e.” Arching, she rose off the floor and screamed the last part against his ear.

  O’Rourke took a deep breath, shaking his head as if that could help him get rid of the ringing. “So much for tuning pianos,” he quipped, drawing back. She was shaking. The only thing he had to offer her was his sweater. “I know it’s not comfortable, but it’s the best I can do right now.”

  Her eyes widened as she saw him stripping off the sweater. He was some kind of weirdo. A weirdo with what looked like a washboard stomach.

  Her purse, where was her purse? She had pepper spray in there if she could just get to it. “What are you doing?”

  He tucked his sweater around her upper torso as best he could. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing. “Trying to keep you warm.”

  He sat back on his heels, taking her hand again. “What’s your name?”

  “Kitt—with two t’s. Kitt Dawson.”

  “Please to meet you, Kitt with two t’s.” Shifting his hand so that hers slipped into his, he shook it. “I’m Shawn Michael O’Rourke.”

  It was coming. Another contraction. She tried to brace herself. “That’s some mouthful.”

  He grasped her hand again, sensing another contraction was about to seize her. “My friends call me O’Rourke.”

  Her eyes met his. It was blurry inside his van. “And are we going to be friends?”

  He grinned. “Well, Kitt-with-two-t’s, we’re certainly going to be something after tonight.”

  In response, Kitt screamed again.

  Chapter Two

  Kitt’s scream echoed in his head, making his ears ring.

  “I guess this means it’s showtime, so to speak,” O’Rourke said, bracing himself.

  He only hoped he was up to this.

  True, he’d helped his mother when it came to be her time, but Sarah O’Rourke gave birth so easily it was almost as if she were a mother hen laying eggs. There was nary a whimper out of her, not even once. Just biting down on what she’d come to call her “birthing stick” and within a half an hour, O’Rourke found himself with a new little brother or sister. He always felt that his mother had simply had him in attendance, off to the side, on the off chance that something went wrong. He’d held her hand, mostly, and mopped her brow.

  His father was never around for the momentous occasions. James O’Rourke was too busy trying to earn enough money to support all the hungry little mouths he and Sarah kept bringing into the world.

  Standing there, holding his mother’s hand, O’Rourke had thought little of it then. It was just the circle of life continuing, nothing more. The impact of it was never as great as it was at this moment. This was some strange woman he was helping.

  What if…?

  O’Rourke refused to let his mind go there. He had no time for “what-ifs.” The woman was screaming again like a bloody banshee, arching so that she looked as if she was trying to execute some incredibly convoluted yoga position from the inside out.

  O’Rourke tried to think, to remember. His mother had always seemed so calm about it.

  “Gravity’ll help you, Kitt.” Suddenly inspired, he grasped Kitt by the shoulders and positioned her so that her shoulders were propped up against the wall of boxes in the van.

  Wearing a thin cotton blouse that was soaked clear down to the skin, Kitt felt the rough cardboard digging into her back. For the first time, as the twisting corkscrew of pain abated for a moment, she noticed her surroundings. There were boxes everywhere. Big boxes. Was he some kind of bootlegger?

  “What…what is all this?” She tried to crane her neck, her hands resting protectively around her swollen belly. “Are…you…a…smuggler?”

  O’Rourke bit back a laugh. “Why? Do I look like a smuggler?”

  She looked at him with eyes that were beginning to well up with pain again. “You…look…” She searched for a word. “Dangerous.”

  He’d certainly never thought of himself in that light. “Dangerous?”

  She hadn’t meant to insult him. He was trying to help her. “The…good…kind of…dangerous.”

  Amusement curved his mouth even as she clutched at his hand again, squeezing his fingers hard. “There’s a good kind?”

  “Yes…like you.” With his black hair and bright blue eyes, half naked, he made her think of some kind of tortured, poetic hero. “Dangerous…the kind who…lives…on the edge.” She blew out a long, cleansing breath, knowing another contraction was about to smash into her. She talked quickly, wanting to get it all out before she couldn’t. “Makes a woman’s heart flutter. That’s my problem. I’m attracted to the window dressing—only to find out that the sale’s been over…for months.”

  The pain was making her delirious, O’Rourke decided. Maybe this wasn’t such a piece of cake as he’d hoped. Stories he’d heard from his mother about two-day-long labors came back to him.

  He looked past the woman’s head toward the front of the van. Maybe there was time to drive her to some hospital after all.

  Kitt grabbed his attention and his arm, digging in her nails and crying out.

  And then again, maybe not, he amended.

  “I’m breaking,” she screamed to him. “I’m…breaking…in half…. Someone’s…taking one leg…and pulling it…one way…and…the other’s…snapping…off.”

  He’d heard his mother describe it that way. It was when his brother Donovan had made his appearance in the world. Donovan had come in at just under twelve pounds. His father’s chest had stayed puffed up for a week despite his mother’s choice words about the experience.

  “Nobody’s pulling either leg, Kitt,” he told her as gently as he could while still keeping his voice raised so that she could hear him. “It’s your body telling you it’s almost time.”

  “Almost time?” she echoed incredulously, able to focus on his face for a second. “My body’s…in…overtime! I’ve
been…in…agony since before…I…left…the house.”

  He didn’t doubt it. She looked like a strong woman, despite her small frame. Good breeding stock, his grandmother would have probably called her. He figured maybe he should put what she was going through in perspective for Kitt. “Women have been known to be in labor for thirty-six hours.”

  That’s not what she wanted to hear at a time like this, when she felt like a ceremonial wishbone. “If I’m going to die,” she ground out between tightly clenched teeth, “you’re…going with me.”

  He laughed as he wiped an unexpected bead of perspiration on his forehead with the back of his wrist. “Not at your best under pressure, are you, Kitt-with-two-t’s?”

  “Yes,” she gasped as the pain began again. “I am…but there’s only…so much…pressure a person should…have to…take.” Her eyes flew open. This was the worst ever. She didn’t know if she could get past this latest wave. “Oh-God-oh-God-oh-God.”

  He could tell by the way she was arching her back that this one had to be a doozy. He had to get her to focus her attention on something else.

  “Now, you listen to me. Look at me.” When she didn’t, he took her chin in his hand and physically made her look in his direction. “Right here, focus your eyes and look at me.” O’Rourke pointed to his own eyes as he released her face. “We’re going to have this baby and we’re going to be done with it right quick, do you hear me? When I say ‘push’ I want you to bear down and push to the count of ten and then stop. Ready?” He said it with firm authority, belying his own queasy feelings.

  She panted several times before she had enough energy to answer. “Ready.”

  “Okay.” He braced himself. “Now push. Two-three-four…” He continued counting until he reached ten. “Okay, stop.”

  As if all the air had been let out of her, Kitt collapsed, her head rolling to the side. She lay so still O’Rourke thought she’d fainted until he saw her tense again. Another contraction had taken hold, he thought. “Bear down, Kitt, bear down.”

  “I am bearing down,” she spat out, her entire face scrunching up.