by Tarah Benner
At first, Lark thought Bernie was leaving to get some secret weapon to help Portia muscle through the last stretch, but after nearly a minute, she still hadn’t returned.
Portia was moaning and groaning, and Lark began to feel real concern. Where was Bernie? She couldn’t leave Portia out there alone. None of them knew what they were doing, and she was nearly at the finish line.
Feeling panicky, Lark got to her feet and scrambled into the bathroom after her. It was dark apart from a single candle, and in the light of the dancing flame, Lark could see her own fear reflected in Bernie’s big brown eyes.
“What’s going on?” Lark whispered, snapping the door shut behind her.
Bernie opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out.
“What’s wrong?” asked Lark. “Is it the baby? Is she breech? Is Portia in trouble?”
“No, no . . . I mean, I don’t know!” Bernie cried, pacing between the toilet and sink.
For the first time since Portia’s contractions had started, Lark realized how truly panicked Bernie was. Gone was her calm, cheerful demeanor. Her beautiful blond waves were frizzy and disheveled. She was sweaty and anxious and looked as though she were on the verge of a total meltdown.
“I can’t do this, Lark,” she murmured, her eyes filling with tears.
“What?”
“I thought I could do it, but I can’t.”
“It’s a little late now!” Lark cried, feeling Bernie’s anxiety jabbing at the edges of her psyche.
“I know, I know!” Bernie groaned. “But the thing is . . . I don’t know what to do from here.”
“What are you talking about? You read the book!”
“You can’t learn to deliver a baby from a book!” Bernie snapped, looking at Lark as though she were insane. “I had to act like I knew what I was doing so Portia didn’t freak out, but I thought I’d just be backup! She’s five weeks early, Lark! I thought we’d have a doctor and equipment and —”
“But we don’t!”
“I know!” Bernie threw up her hands in exasperation. “What are we gonna do? Any dummy can support the mother through the labor. It’s the fucking birth that’s the scary part! I’m not a doctor, Lark! I’ve only read one book on this shit.”
This wasn’t happening, Lark thought. Bernie couldn’t chicken out — not right then. None of them had read the stupid book. They weren’t equipped to take over. It was her, or it was no one.
“It’s okay,” said Lark. “It’s okay. You just need to calm down.”
“I am calm!” Bernie screamed. “This is calm compared to how I feel inside.”
“Hey . . . You need to pull your shit together,” said Lark. “You’ve done really, really good so far. We just have to keep going.”
“I know, but —” Bernie glanced around wildly. “What if I fuck this up and the kid dies? What if Portia dies? What if she hemorrhages, or —”
“Hey! Snap out of it!” yelled Lark.
Bernie stopped talking.
“Look. You’ve done a great job getting her to this point. And the truth is that baby is coming whether you’re ready or not.” Lark softened her voice and took both of Bernie’s hands. “Get out there. Portia needs you. We all need you. You can do this.”
Bernie stared at her for several seconds before dragging in a deep breath and nodding. Lark waited a beat to make sure that she was really calm and then opened the bathroom door. They walked out into the living room and froze. They had just emerged on one of the strangest scenes Lark had ever witnessed.
Axel was gripping Portia’s knees, yelling like a high-school football coach. He was red in the face and spraying her with spit, and Simjay looked utterly terrified.
Portia was crying soft pained sobs, but it looked as though Axel had the situation under control. Portia was pushing and screaming like a champ, and it seemed that they were making progress.
“Eight . . . nine . . . ten . . . NEXT SET!” Axel yelled. “One . . . two . . . three . . .”
Bernie stifled a laugh.
Simjay was seated to Portia’s right, offering quiet affirmations in a Bernie-like voice. Soren, meanwhile, was pacing tight circles around them, his nose buried in the baby book as he shouted suggestions at Axel.
“Holy shit,” Bernie breathed, looking at Lark in shock. Lark laughed. She couldn’t believe it either.
“Push, dammit!” Axel yelled, a vein throbbing near his temple as he bent down to check the baby’s progress.
“Shut up!” Portia screamed. “Shut up! Shut up! Shut up, you stupid motherfucker!”
“I need another push!” Axel bellowed. “In three — two — one!”
Portia might have been angry, but she did what she was told. Her eyes clamped shut and she gritted her teeth, pushing and swearing with all her might. Simjay nodded in encouragement, and Soren flipped to the next page.
“Here we go!” Axel yelled, lifting Portia’s sheet and staring with a mixture of revolt and amazement at what was going on down there. “You jus’ need to —”
Then his eyes nearly popped out of his head. “Holy shit. Holy shit goddamn.” He turned to Soren. “What does the book say about . . .” He turned back to Portia. “Shit. Shit. I see the head. I see — the — head.”
“She’s crowning,” said Simjay. “Holy shit, she’s crowning!”
“Out of the way!” Bernie panted, sliding between Portia’s knees and shoving Axel back. He looked as though he’d just been hit over the head with a frying pan, and his eyes were glazed with shock.
“Almost there!” Bernie yelled. “Okay, Portia . . . Ease up just a bit . . . You’re doing great.”
Portia let out a shredded battle cry, and Bernie bent closer.
“Blankets! I need — Simjay!”
“Huh? Yeah!”
“I need you!” Bernie screamed.
Simjay stumbled to his feet and grabbed the stack of blankets by the fire. He scrambled to Bernie’s side, holding them out away from his body.
“Come on, Portia,” Bernie groaned. “I’m nearly at the shoulders. Come on!”
Portia’s face scrunched in pain, and she let out another scream.
“Simjay! Help me!” Bernie cried.
Simjay dived in, nearly face-planting between Portia’s spread knees. He thrust his arms under Bernie’s, and a look of awe stretched across his face.
A tiny human appeared, covered in gunk, and Lark felt herself go weak in the knees. The baby was miserable, wrinkled, and alien looking, but it was definitely a baby.
“Oh god!” Simjay yelled, holding the newborn like a grenade. The umbilical cord was still stretching between mother and baby, and he clearly had no idea what to do. “Oh god! Oh god!”
“I’ll take him,” said Lark automatically, moving to close the distance between them.
Simjay was practically beside himself as he handed the baby over to Lark, who took him — her — reverently in her arms.
As Lark watched, the baby squirmed, and her mouth opened in a lusty scream.
“It’s a girl!” Lark cried. “It’s a girl!”
“A girl!” Bernie repeated, gripping Portia’s knees with excitement.
Lark didn’t know what to do. The baby had all kinds of nasty gunk all over her head, but all Lark could see were her tiny perfect features.
“Bring her here,” said Portia weakly.
Lark wiped the baby off the best she could, grabbed a clean towel, and set her on Portia’s chest.
“A girl?” Portia mumbled, tears still swimming in her eyes as she looked down at her daughter.
Lark nodded.
In that moment, Portia looked so unlike Portia that Lark could hardly believe it. She was staring at her daughter with a look of adoration — a look that could only be described as transformative.
But then Portia’s eyes clamped shut, and she let out a painful yell. Lark glanced at Bernie, but Bernie looked just as confused.
“Bernie . . .” said Lark, steadying the baby as Portia�
��s head buckled forward.
But Bernie was already one step ahead. She was looking down between Portia’s knees with a grave expression on her face.
“What is it?” asked Lark, gently picking up the baby and handing her off to Soren so that they could cut the umbilical cord.
Bernie shook her head. “Something’s wrong.”
“What?” said Lark, looking from Portia to Bernie in alarm.
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know? What’s she doing?”
“I can’t believe it,” Bernie muttered, shaking her head in bewilderment. “She’s . . .” Bernie’s eyes widened. “Oh my god.”
A jolt of dread shredded Lark’s insides, and she waited in bewilderment for Bernie to say something that made sense. Portia was moaning with her eyes shut in pain, and Lark felt a horrible lurch of helplessness as she struggled to figure out what to do.
“She’s having another contraction,” said Bernie.
“Why —”
But then Bernie’s look of horror gave way to surprise. Her frown spread slowly into a smile of awe, and Lark wondered if Bernie had finally snapped.
“Portia. I need you to push again,” she said in a calm but firm voice. “You’re having another baby.”
“What?” Portia screamed, her eyes flying open with a look of pure revolt.
“You’re having twins,” said Bernie, who was hardly able to talk around her enormous smile.
“No.”
“Yes!”
“Holy hell,” Portia breathed, sitting back with a groan. “You have got to be kidding meeeee!” She buckled as another contraction rolled through her, and Simjay let out an excited whoop.
“Come on, people,” said Bernie. “We’ve gotta go again.” She glanced over at Soren, who was staring down at the baby in his arms with a look of wonder. “Keep that baby warm. Hypothermia is the biggest —”
But Bernie never finished her sentence. Portia was pushing on instinct, and Lark thought she might pass out as the baby’s head appeared.
Bernie reached down and yelled at Portia to push again, but as the baby’s head and shoulders cleared the birth canal, Lark knew instantly that something really was wrong.
While the first baby had come out looking flushed and healthy, the younger twin was a sickly bluish-gray all over. Bernie went to work fiddling with something around the baby’s neck, and Lark realized with a burst of panic that the umbilical cord was wrapped around the baby’s airways.
Portia gave another push, and the baby slid out like a limp glob of goo. Simjay moved in for support while Bernie frantically tried to loop the cord over the baby’s neck.
Lark’s heart constricted. The baby did not look good. She wasn’t moving, and Lark could tell by her grayish pallor that she wasn’t getting enough oxygen.
Finally, Bernie managed to slip the cord over the baby’s head, and Axel snatched up the scissors and a clothes pin to clamp the cord. Bernie lifted the newborn away from Portia and blew gently on her face.
“What’re you doin’?” Axel yelled.
“Trying to get her to breathe.”
“What’s wrong with her?” asked Portia, straining to get a good look at her baby.
“It’s okay,” said Soren, scooting another pillow under Portia and carefully transferring the first baby to her arms. “It’s gonna be okay.”
The first-born baby was cranky and confused, but at the moment, that seemed like a blessing.
“What’s the matter?” Portia repeated, unable to enjoy holding her first daughter when her second was in peril.
But Bernie didn’t answer. She was kneeling on the ground with her thighs pressed together. She had flipped the baby over and was gently patting her on the back.
“It’s not working,” she said under her breath.
Lark just stood there, paralyzed by fear. She had no idea what to do. The first baby was screaming at the top of her lungs, and Lark wanted to do the same.
“She’s not breathing,” said Bernie, who sounded close to tears. She carefully flipped the baby back over and ran her fingers over her nose and mouth. Nothing happened.
“Slap it on the back again!” said Axel.
“I tried that,” Bernie cried.
“What’s happening?” yelled Portia, startling the newborn in her arms and eliciting an even louder howl.
Just then, Simjay seemed to swoop in out of nowhere. One minute he was hanging back watching the scene unfold; the next he had lifted the baby out of Bernie’s arms and set her on the ground. “I got this.”
“What are you —”
But Simjay didn’t answer. He was bending over the tiny human, administering CPR. It was one of the saddest, most horrific things Lark had ever witnessed. The baby was so tiny that Simjay could only perform chest compressions with his fingers, and when he covered the baby’s airways and gave a quick breath, Lark saw her chest rise and fall.
This went on for what felt like hours, though Lark was sure it had only been minutes. Tears were trailing down Bernie’s cheeks, and Portia was frozen in terror.
“Simjay . . .” Soren began.
It was all too horrible. The baby was turning more blue by the second, and nothing seemed to be working.
But then Simjay sat up, and a noise somewhere between a choke and a gasp issued from the baby’s mouth. Simjay’s eyes widened in shock, and that tiny gasp morphed into a scream.
Bernie and Lark locked eyes, and Bernie let out a gasp of relief. The baby’s first cry became a series of frantic howls, and Portia closed her eyes and sobbed.
Bernie scooped up the baby and dried her off. Portia handed the first baby over to Lark, and Bernie passed Portia her newest daughter.
“Oh my god,” said Portia, her face overcome with elation.
“Oh my god!” Bernie echoed. She turned toward Simjay, who looked as though he’d just been struck by lightning. “You saved her!”
“Well, I . . . I used to be a lifeguard,” Simjay stammered, feigning a modest shrug as Bernie threw herself at him and covered his mouth in an ecstatic kiss.
Simjay let out a note of surprise and wrapped his bloody, gunky arms around her. Bernie squealed and threw her whole body against his, knocking him over and causing Axel to grumble.
Bernie pulled away from Simjay with a satisfied smack of lips, looking flushed and a little embarrassed. She straightened her clothes and joined the rest of them crowding around Portia as she nuzzled her second baby girl.
Despite her rather rough start in the world, the second baby seemed genuinely fine. She was bright eyed and breathing on her own, and when it was her turn to nurse, she latched on hungrily and immediately knew what to do.
“Have you thought about names?” Bernie asked Portia.
Portia, who had been staring down at her daughter with a mix of wonder and bewilderment, quirked an eyebrow. “I guess I should name the little suckers, shouldn’t I?”
“Yeah,” said Bernie. “Baby one and baby two might get old after a while.”
“I like Quinn,” said Portia. “Quinn and Clara.”
“Awww,” Bernie sighed. “Which is which?”
“This is Quinn,” said Portia, giving baby number two a squeeze. She nodded over to the baby in Lark’s arms. “That’s Clara.”
“Quinn and Clara,” Bernie mused. “I love that.”
“You haven’t even heard the best part,” said Portia.
“The best part?” Bernie repeated. “Ummm, the best part is these cute little fingers and toes!”
“I need Simjay for this,” said Portia, casting around for the guys, whom Bernie had banished to the kitchen. “Hey, Sim, get in here!”
“Coming! I’m coming!” Simjay called, bursting back in a little too eagerly. He glanced down at the baby attached to Portia’s boob, flushed, and then dragged his gaze up to her face. “What is it?”
“I’ve decided on names,” said Portia in a businesslike tone.
“Oh yeah?” said
Simjay, as if he were wondering where this was going.
“This is Quinn,” said Portia, tipping the baby forward just a bit. “And this is Clara.” She nodded at Clara.
Simjay’s eyebrows lifted, and Lark was sure that he would have let out an “aww” to rival Bernie’s had it not been for Soren and Axel’s sudden reappearance.
“Clara Mitchell Wong and Quinn Simonne Wong.”
Portia looked from Bernie to Simjay. Bernie seemed to melt into a puddle of goo, and when Simjay didn’t react, Portia gave a haughty shrug. “Simjay isn’t really a girl’s name, is it? And Bernadette’s kind of a mouthful . . . I liked your last name better.”
“Oh my god!” Bernie squeaked, looking as though she might faint out of sheer joy.
“Easy,” said Portia. “No need to get all gooey.”
“Too late!” Bernie cried, collapsing over Portia and Quinn and enveloping them both in a wide-armed hug.
“Wait . . .” said Simjay in disbelief. “You named a baby after me?”
“You saved her life,” said Portia. “It seemed to fit.”
“We’re going to be godparents!” said Bernie, stumbling over to Simjay and throwing her arms around him next.
“I didn’t say that,” Portia muttered, setting Quinn gently on the pallet beside her and tugging Clara into her arms.
“You didn’t have to,” said Simjay, swooping down with one arm still wrapped around Bernie and planting a kiss on Quinn’s tiny raven head. “We volunteer!”
Portia looked as though she wanted to gag, but Lark knew her heart wasn’t really in it. Whether Portia liked it or not, they were in this together — a strange, disjointed family of six escaped felons, one dog, and two perfect tiny babies.
25
Soren
Thanksgiving came and went with all of them holed up in the little cabin by the lake. Simjay had managed to scavenge some boxed mashed potatoes, canned green beans, and some weird turkey-and-gravy stew, so they had an improvised Thanksgiving meal huddled around the living room.
Nobody slept much during the first few days of the twins’ lives. The cabin was constantly filled with the shrill howl of babies. Quinn and Clara were out of sync in their sleeping patterns, and whenever one twin woke up, the other woke up, too.
