Summer Sunsets

by Maria Rachel Hooley

  “Devin, it’s beautiful.”

  “So are you,” I say, gently setting her on the bed. Once her head touches the pillow, I lie next to her, feeling my heart start to speed up. It always does when I’m around her. Somehow I think it always will.

  For a moment, we just stare at each other. Then, as I shift from lying on my side, I rise above her and slowly lower myself so my lips touch hers. I stroke the sides of her face, feeling myself getting lost in all she is.

  Her fingers reach for my tux jacket and begin tugging it off before reaching for the buttons on my white shirt. I pull back slightly so I can see her face, liking the way her closed eyes suggest a peace I wasn’t sure I’d ever see on her face again, not with all the stress we’ve been under.

  “Skye?” My voice sounds rough, and I know it’s all the emotions that are bursting inside me. “Look at me, please.”

  Her eyes slowly open, and her lips part slightly, but she doesn’t say anything. She’s waiting for me. I smile and brush my fingers across her cheek and down her throat, amazed at her beauty. She shudders at my touch, and that broadens my grin because I know she feels the connection, too. She feels what I feel.

  “I love you,” I whisper. “I’ve always loved you.”

  “I love you, too,” she says, drawing me closer so I’ll kiss her again.

  In the heat of our lips meeting, I feel her unbuttoning my shirt, and I feel myself slipping out of my clothes before I ease the dress from Skye. As usual, she’s so beautiful it takes my breath away, but I can tell she’s self-conscious just by the way her hand lingers over her stomach.

  “What’s the matter?” I touch her hand. “Why are you trying so hard to hide your stomach?”

  “It’s kind of embarrassing.”

  “What? That you’re pregnant?” I lay my hand on top of hers and twine our fingers.

  She shrugs. “I’m used to having a flat tummy. It feels strange for you to look at me now that I have an alien in me.”

  I burst out laughing, thinking of that old horror film. Only Skye would make that connection. “You’re not carrying an alien, I’m sure.”

  “How do you know? Maybe you’re an alien, too.” She reaches up and tousles my hair.

  “Very funny.”

  “I thought so,” she quips.

  I lean close and kiss her again, my hand still resting on her belly.

  Suddenly I feel her body stiffen, and I draw back, unsure what to make of it. A huge smile crosses her face, and she inhales sharply. “Skye? What is it?”

  “Didn’t you feel that?” Her fingers wiggle beneath mine.

  “Feel what?” Although I’m used to Skye getting side-tracked, this is unusual even for her—and a little unnerving. What’s is going on?

  Without saying a word, she lifts my hand from atop hers and pushes my palm flat against her stomach. When I start to say something and move, she shakes her head and murmurs, “Just wait. You’ll understand.”

  So I wait. I’m ready to give up when I feel the slightest brush from beneath her skin, and I tense. “What in the world?”

  She smiles. “So it wasn’t just me. You feel it, too, don’t you?”

  Half-thinking it’s my imagination, I wait, and there it is again—the slightest stroke against my palm, so weird and foreign, like the alien she mentioned.

  “Yeah,” I say cautiously, trying to imagine the baby moving inside her. Yeah, Skye is small, but our child is now definitely big enough to move, and when he or she does, there’s a possibility Skye will feel it. I hadn’t expected it.

  “Okay, maybe I was wrong and you are carrying an alien.

  “So not funny.” She elbows me.

  “It’s incredible, Skye,” I say, pushing my hand more firmly against her, waiting for another brush. This time, it’s a bit harder. “Amazing.”

  “Yeah, I know.” She sets her hand atop mine. “It feels so weird on the inside, like my stomach is suddenly shifting. I can’t even begin to explain it.”

  I stroke her skin, wondering if he can feel that from the other side. It’s kind of hard to tell because Skye immediately begins squirming, demonstrating that she definitely feels it. “What are you doing?” she gasps, between giggles.

  “Trying to see if our son can feel that.”

  “It doesn’t matter if our daughter feels it. It tickles!” She grabs my hand to still it.

  “Party pooper!” I pretend to pout.

  “I think you need a little distraction.”

  With that, she leans close and kisses me, hard and heavy—nothing like the romantic sort that happened in front of the wedding guests. This tells me exactly what she has on her mind, and I’m not arguing.

  The world slows to half-speed as I touch her and revel in joining our bodies, and by the time we’ve spent ourselves, we’re both sweaty and tired. Instead of lingering in bed, Skye grabs her robe from the closet and slips it on.

  “Where are you going?” I ask, propping myself up on one elbow.

  “To get some water. You want anything?” She ties the robe closed, which is really too bad because I was enjoying the view.

  “Just you.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Poor you. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  Although I roll to my side and try to find sleep, it feels wrong just to lie in this bed all by myself, and no matter if I turn to the other side, flip on my back, or even roll onto my stomach, it doesn’t stop me from thinking about the other side of the bed, now empty.

  It’s taking a long time for her to get a drink so I stand, tug a pair of jeans on, and head toward the kitchen to find Skye standing there. Yes, there is a glass of water nearby, but what she’s focusing on is the card from her father, still unopened in her hand. Part of me wishes she would just throw it away and be done with it. She deserves better.

  But Skye’s not going to do that. No, her fingers peel up under the envelope flap and tug it up so she can ease the card out and open it. For a few seconds, I debate whether I should clear my throat so she’ll see me standing there—or should I just leave, or maybe just walk in without warning? Instead, I stand there, waiting, unsure what to do because I sense this is a private moment for Skye.

  She reads the card, and her expression abruptly changes as tears pool in her eyes and flow down her face, which is about all I can stand. Taking a deep breath, I slip into the room and stand next to her, leaning against the counter.

  “All right. So you read the card. What did he say?”

  Brushing a hand across her face, she tries to hide the tears, not that it matters. I’ve seen him do this to her too often, and it infuriates me. “That he’s sorry, and all he wants is a chance to be there for his grandchild like he was never there for me.”

  My shoulders sink and I want to shake Skye and tell her he has no right—that he hasn’t had any rights to her since he walked out—but that would only make us argue. No matter how much water flows under the bridge, part of her still tries to see the good in him.

  “So what does that mean?” I ask, stepping in front of her. I reach down and set my finger just beneath her chin. In her dark eyes, I see the old Skye, and she worries me.

  My wife shakes her head. “I wish I knew.”

  Disgusted, I take the card from her. “Well, it doesn’t matter. This doesn’t matter. You matter and so does the baby, so let’s focus on that.” I nod to the glass. “Did you get all the water you wanted?”

  She peers toward the glass and absently nods. “Yeah.”

  “Good. Then I’m taking you back to bed.” With that, I sweep her into my arms away from the past to a place only Skye and I exist.

  Chapter Twenty

  The weeks slip past as I settle into the new job. While I’d rather pay for everything on my own, I’m smart enough to know this salary isn’t going to take care of everything, especially not with a baby due in a month, so my parents have been helping us out so Skye can stay home. I figure she’ll want to work once the baby is born and will quickly grow
tired of being stuck in a house with an infant who only speaks in globs of sound, not words.

  That means that right now Skye has a lot of time on her hands during the day—time to redecorate everything three times. I swear, the furniture rearranges itself at least once a week, and I usually find out only by tripping over something, usually the couch or coffee table. I’ve suggested Skye really shouldn’t be moving things because of the baby, but she’s never been all that big on listening to me or anyone else, so I’m pretty sure me saying anything isn’t going to do any good.

  Since she moved the furniture last week, I should be safe as I carry a pizza box and a two-liter of soda into the house. As I walk to the kitchen, I look around the living room, looking for Skye, but she’s nowhere to be found, which unnerves me. Usually, she’s buzzing around the apartment, doing something.

  “Skye? Where are you?” I call, setting the box on the counter. “I brought dinner.” My stomach growls, and I think about opening the box but decide to wait, figuring she’ll emerge out at any moment. Pizza, especially loaded with supreme toppings, is Skye’s guilty pleasure, and on our budget, we don’t eat out very often.

  I grab the paper plates from the pantry and set them next to the box before turning toward the doorway. I listen for a minute, thinking she’ll say something, but only silence answers. “Skye? Did you hear me?” I set my hands on my hips, straining to hear a reply.

  Silence. Something just isn’t right.

  I frown, heading toward the bedroom. Sweat beads at my temples, and suddenly the room feels stuffy, like I’m suffocating. I reach the bedroom and find it dark. The only light filters in around drawn curtains, and that’s not much.

  “Are you in here, Skye?”

  Instead of answering, my wife shifts in bed, and I hear the covers rustling. The frown deepens as I edge closer to the bed and sit at her side. I can barely see her lying there, her long, dark hair spilling like dark ribbons around her face.

  “Skye?” Bending close, I stroke her face, and she flinches. “You okay?”

  “Yeah,” she manages, curling into a ball, which is kind of weird for Skye. She tends to take up as much of the bed as possible when she sleeps—and I won’t even talk about what she does with covers.

  “So what are you doing in bed this early?” I brush the hair from around her face, and that’s when I realize she’s sweating. “And why are you wrapping yourself in this blanket? You’re burning up.”

  “I don’t…feel well. My stomach is bothering me.”

  At the sound of her words, my back and shoulders tense. “What do you mean?”

  She winces, and I recognize for the first time the level of her discomfort. “It keeps cramping up.”

  “Do you think something could be wrong?” I ask, mentally calculating the days left until the baby is due—thirty. She can’t possibly be going into labor early, can she?

  “I think maybe I just ate something I shouldn’t have, and it’s making me feel sick.” She pulls the blanket off, probably finally feeling the effects of the warmth.

  “Let me turn on the light so I can get a look at you.” I know she’ll probably argue, so I just lean over the nightstand and turn on the lamp. As the bulb glows to life, I turn my attention to Skye, and while I’m not expecting her to look great, but she’s a lot paler than I’d like, and the sweat glossing her skin doesn’t do much to make me feel any better.

  “Okay, maybe it is food poisoning, but I think we need to get you to the hospital and make sure.”

  She closes her eyes. “I’d rather just stay here. The cramping is bad.”

  I nod. “Yeah, I get that. Don’t worry about walking. I’ve got you covered.” I finish throwing back the blanket, slip my arms beneath her body, and carry her. Granted, the baby has made her a little heavier, but it’s nothing I can handle.

  While I’m thinking Skye will probably fight me on this—her stubborn streak tends to go on forever—she rests her head against my chest and closes her eyes, yet another reasons to be concerned because if she’s too tired to show her true nature, something is going on.

  Luckily, my keys are in my pants pocket, so all I have to do is lock the door and trudge down the stairs. Once I’ve set her inside the Jeep, I start the brief drive to the emergency room.

  Glancing at my watch, I see it’s only a little before six, and while I think about calling Helen and Warren, I decide against it, at least until I know what we’re dealing with. I know they’re both going to have a million questions, and I’d rather have answers than not.

  I park and start to pick Skye up, but she shakes her head. “I’ll walk this time.” She gets out of the Jeep on shaky legs, and I hover nearby, worried she’s going to pass out. Food poisoning, hell. This is something else entirely.

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah.”

  Unconvinced, I slip my arm around her for my own peace of mind, and we make our way to the entrance. Once inside, we head to the triage desk, and as I look around, I’m grateful there are only a handful of people because that will mean Skye gets seen soon.

  “May I help you?” a mid-twenties woman with a badge that reads “Gloria” asks.

  I nod towards Skye. “My wife is thirty-six weeks pregnant, and she’s feeling sick, almost like she has food poisoning. Her stomach is cramping. I want to make sure she’s okay.”

  Gloria nods and shoves a clipboard, at me. “Here. Fill these out and come back to the desk when you’re done.”

  “Thank you.” I take the clipboard and we head toward the rows of metal chairs. Although I’m anything but grateful for the delay, I did expect to get paperwork shoved at me, and I scramble through filling it out as best I can as Skye rests her head on my shoulder, half-dozing as her hands clutch her stomach.

  When I finish filling out the paperwork, I ease from under Skye, waking her as gently as possible, and take the clipboard back to the desk. Gloria is typing as I approach, and it’s only when I clear my throat she finally turns and reaches for the paperwork without meeting my eyes.

  “Have a seat, and as soon as a doctor is free, we’ll get your wife back to an examination room.”

  “Thank you.” I shove my hands into my pockets and go back to where Skye sits, but before I can even get there, I see Skye sit up straight, her mouth gaping, and I don’t understand.

  “Skye? What’s wrong?” I hasten my steps.

  She blinks a couple of times and looks down as water seeps from her jeans. “I think my water broke.”

  In that instant, it seems everyone is watching us, and I don’t have to say anything to get a doctor. The nurses appear quickly around Skye, buzzing with questions as I step back and watch them quickly load her onto a wheelchair. Yet instead of going into one of the emergency exam rooms, they wheel her a different direction.

  “Wait. Where are you taking her?” I ask, following.

  “Labor and Delivery.”

  My mind is spinning. “She’s not due for another four weeks.” I’m still trying to figure out what’s going to happen now that her water has broken.

  “It doesn’t matter when she was due. Once the water breaks, that baby is coming out. She needs to go upstairs now.” The nurse stops the wheelchair in front of an elevator and punches the button.

  For a few seconds, I just stand there in complete shock, trying to take all this in. “But what does that mean for our baby?” My heart is ramming in my chest, and I can barely breathe.

  “I can’t say. All I know is that your doctor will be called, and you’re going to be a daddy today, not four weeks from now.” The nurse looks at Skye and frowns at her pale face. “You okay, honey?”

  “My stomach hurts.”

  “I know. We’ll get you to labor and delivery so your doctor can take a look at you.” The elevator doors open, and we all slip inside. As the car starts moving, I lean against the paneled wall, grateful to have something to support me because right now my world is spinning out of control, and I know I’m not ready for thi
s, it’s not because I’m not ready to be a father—I’m ready for that—but seeing Skye like this terrifies me. I can’t stand for her to be in this kind of pain, and thinking about what’s going on with our baby only makes it all so much worse.

  What if Skye actually loses the baby? She’ll never get over that. Once again, I think about calling Helen and Warren as well as my parents, but as I reach for the cell, I realize I still don’t have anything to tell them. They’re going to ask me a million questions I can’t answer.

  The elevator doors slip open at the second floor, and the nurse checks to make sure the hall is clear before wheeling Skye out and heading for the nurses’ desk ahead.

  “What have we got, Sally?” another nurse asks, coming to meet her.

  “A twenty-three-year-old woman at thirty-six weeks. She came in with complaints of abdominal pain, and her water just broke.”

  The other nurse nods wearily. “There’s something in the water. We have twenty other women right now. Put her in four. It’s the last one we have open.”

  Sally nods. “Will do.”

  Then the other nurse leaves, and I keep following Sally into a small room with one chair and a bed. As the wheelchair rolls to a stop, Skye starts to get up, but Sally quickly sets her hand on Skye’s shoulder.

  “Easy there. Just stay sitting for a second.”

  Skye grimaces, and I can tell the pain is doing a number on her. Her breathing is shallow, and she’s sweating profusely. Sally takes one look at her and opens a cabinet to pull out a hospital gown she snaps together before handing to Skye.

  “Do you need some help getting this on?” Sally asks.

  “I’ll help,” I say, standing and hedging toward Skye.

  Sally nods and heads for the door. “All right, then. One of the nurses will be right in to examine you.” She points to the counter. “And I left a couple of towels there, too.”