Five Minutes To Midnight

by C. B. Stagg

  “I’m Kait… ” I stopped. I’d always wanted a nickname but my father said it wasn’t proper, so I was always ‘Kaitlin’ wherever I went. Kaitlin, Kaitlin, Kaitlin. “I’m Katy. Katy West—”

  “Well, Katy West, what brings you to Seabrook?”

  That’s where I was? I looked down at my pasty white skin, which had probably keyed Cara Jo in on the fact that I wasn’t from the area. That, and I had no idea who she was or how to pronounce the name of her establishment.

  “Well, I’m not sure yet.” It was the truth, and the truth was about all I had to my name at the moment. “Hey, how did you know I was preg—” I stopped. I’d never said it aloud, and it felt foreign on my tongue.

  “Well, it was no big mystery. When I asked if someone would be joinin’ ya, your words said no, but when you said it, your hands flew to your belly, saying something else entirely.” I looked down and noticed my hands were still there, cradling the bump that seemed to have doubled in size during the last few days.

  “When are you due?”

  A smile crept onto my face, happy at being able to talk about my miracle with joy and enthusiasm, instead of fear and shame. Though I hadn’t seen a doctor yet, the calculations had been easy enough, only having the one possible conception date. “Sometime right after the New Year.” I shook my head. It seemed like a lifetime away.

  “And no ring means… ?” The old woman’s intrusion into my highly private new life probably should have offended me, but her voice was kind, and her face was soft.

  “No ring,” I sighed, “means no husband. And while we’re at it, no parents or family either. It’s just me and this little peanut.” I patted my growing belly, feeling the flutters and flops I’d only recently noticed. How will I live without this feeling once the baby is born? “I’m here because I have nowhere else to go. I need to find a hotel—a cheap one. And I need a job. And, I guess, a doctor.”

  Elbows on the table, I rested my chin in my hands and breathed deeply, trying to ward off the panic bubbling up inside of me.

  “Hey, Roy?” the woman yelled, absently waving at an older couple leaving the restaurant, hollering she’d see them next week. Within seconds an older man, bald on top but making up for it in the back, and sporting a Hawaiian shirt, cargo shorts, and socks with sandals, appeared beside Cara Jo.

  “Woman, don’t be hollering like that. You’ll scare the customers away.” His tone was smooth as silk, like the man who voiced movie trailers.

  “Hush your mouth, old man.” She whopped him in the gut with a dish towel she'd summoned to her hands like magic, but he grabbed it from her and threw it on the bar behind him with a grin. “I want you to meet Katy. She’s gonna be our new waitress.”

  Excuse me, what? Shocked as I was, I stayed silent. I was curious to see where this was going.

  The old man sized me up. “You got any food service experience?” Finally, a topic I was comfortable talking about.

  “Yes, sir. I’ve worked as a hostess and waitress at Rolling Hills Country Club right outside of Austin for the last few years. I even headed up catering teams for small events in the summers and around the holidays.” I exhaled, relieved my years at such a thankless job serving snotty, rich folks were finally serving a purpose.

  “All right.” The man clapped his hands together, catching me off guard again. “Good enough for me.”

  “Also, she’ll be moving into Anne’s old place and helping with the park, too. I’ll need you to make sure things are in good order. Let me get Katy fed, and we’ll start moving her in, so shoo. Time’s a-wastin’.”

  He smiled, shaking his head slightly. As Roy Perrilloux shuffled off, I heard, “Welcome to the family, Katy.”

  Anne’s old place ended up being an Airstream Overlander trailer, a giant, aluminum monstrosity manufactured in the early 1970’s, but restored to cottage-like cuteness. It sported a full bathroom in the back, a living room couch that made out into a queen-sized bed in the front, with a full kitchen and two twin beds sandwiched in between. Sweet little curtains covered each window, a precious blue and yellow checkered pattern covered the floor, and there was a miniature floor-to-ceiling cabinet that could easily serve as a closet, pantry, or both. It was old on the outside, tiny on the inside, and perfect all around.

  It was home.

  And it was also located about ten yards out the back door of the diner.

  “Mrs. Perrilloux, what did you mean by helping with the park?” I’d stopped to take a break after pulling around and unloading the contents of my car into my new living space.

  “Oh, please, call me Cara Jo. We only have about fifteen spots, but this land back here serves as an RV park.” She pointed out the window. “Anne, God rest her soul, handled park reservations and minded to the tenants’ needs as they arose.”

  Ten RVs were scattered about the park, with spaces of varying sizes in between, like teeth in a snaggly mouth. All but a few of the travel trailers and campers looked to be permanent fixtures, more like real homes than something that could pick up and roll away at a moment’s notice.

  “The phone in the Airstream receives calls from the RV Park number from three to five in the afternoon. Those are the hours listed on the sign out front and on our new website. All other times, the calls go to a voicemail you’ll need to check once in the morning and then again before you go to bed. This line has another number you can use as your personal line, but if you don’t answer in four rings, it’ll also go to the RV voicemail. I’ll bring you the booking calendar in a bit.”

  I started unpacking my few belongings while Cara Jo piddled around, checking the gas burning stove and taking inventory of the refrigerator. “Instead of an hourly wage, you get to live here for free, but you get to keep all your tips. You can fill this here kitchen with anything you find in the diner kitchen and eat all your meals at the diner for all we care. Anything else you need, you’ll use your tip money for. Also, as manager of the RV Park, you get $500/ a month.”

  I stared at her, not even believing the words coming from her mouth.

  “You’re kidding me, right?”

  “What? Is it not enough?” She chewed on her lip, no doubt estimating my wages and completely misinterpreting my concern.

  “No, I mean… ” I failed to staunch the tears that seemed to come more easily as of late. “It seems too good to be true. Are you an angel? Do you have wings back there?” I made a mock move to look behind her. “Seriously, you and Roy must be my guardian angels. I have been praying somehow I would find my way out of this messy, crazy maze I now call my life and poof! Here you are.”

  In two steps, Cara Jo pulled me into her arms, where she held me, strong and tight. “When I was a little older than you, I had to rely on the kindness of strangers to rescue me from a terrible situation. I’d be dead if it weren’t for the care and concern of a handful of folks, most I’d never even met before. I always said that, if given the chance, I’d do the same for someone else. The minute you stepped foot in my diner, I knew you were my someone else.”

  I probably should have loosened my hold on the woman, but I couldn’t, starved as I was for human contact.

  “Tonight, you rest. Tomorrow, we’ll find you a doctor and see that you and your baby are healthy. Then we’ll worry about the rest, but no more worrying for you. It’s not good for the baby. Roy and I need a hobby, so let us do the worrying for now, okay?”

  I nodded, not trusting my voice, as I clung to my new and incredibly unexpected lifeline.

  Part 5

  “To expect the unexpected shows a thoroughly modern intellect.”

  -Oscar Wilde

  “Ms. West, would you like us to bring your mom in for the ultrasound?”

  Dr. Sullivan, my OB, had completed the examination and I was on my way to radiology to see my little jellybean. I nodded without a second thought. Cara Jo and I had only been acquainted for a few weeks, but I already thought of her as family so, of course, I’d want her to be with me when I saw my
baby for the first time.

  Soon, she was ushered in by a young girl dressed in scrubs with a juvenile print—storks flying through pink and blue clouds—reminding me it was possible I could know the sex of the baby in a matter of a few minutes. One year ago, if someone told me I’d be in an OB/GYN office about to see my child for the first time, even if only on a screen, I’d have thought them completely insane. It never ceased to amaze me how one decision could alter a life so drastically.

  Cara Jo immediately took up by my side and, with her wide grin firmly in place, grabbed my hand. Her eyes were glued to the screen.

  At first I saw nothing, but then, as the technician glided her magic wand across my even more protruding, jelly-covered stomach, the monitor came to life.

  “Well, Ms. West, if you’ll look right there,” she pointed, “you can see a baby. And if you look right here,’” she slid her finger a little to the left, “you can see another baby.”

  Cara Jo burst into tears. “Twins, Katy! We’re having TWINS!” Still holding my hand, she bounced on the balls of her feet, kissing my hand as she let her tears flow unabashedly.

  I glanced from her elated expression back to the screen, and sure enough, I could make out two little babyish-shaped bodies floating on the screen. I wasn’t growing one human, but two… which explained why one day my clothes fit and the next day I appeared to have swallowed a volleyball.

  Cara Jo wiped my face and placed a kiss on my forehead, an expression of endearment not yet shared between the two of us, but not unwelcome. Her emotional response at the news lessened the blow for me and for that distraction, I was grateful.

  “Can you hear that?” The room fell still while the tech turned a dial, filling the room with what sounded like hard rain on a tin roof. “Those are your babies’ heartbeats.” I closed my eyes and held on to Cara Jo as if my life depended on it, letting the sound of the lives growing in my belly wash over me. The pitter-patter had a calming effect, evidence of their blooming strength.

  “And, what about gender, Ms. West? Do you want to know?” She rolled her wand across my abdomen again, changing the angle and route several times, before freezing the screen and clicking a mouse. “I’m 99% sure on the one I’ll call Baby A and about 70% on Baby B.”

  “It’s up to you, sweetheart, but I’d like to know so I can crochet.”

  I laughed. “Yes, please tell us.”

  “Okay, Baby A is most definitely a boy.” She pointed at what I supposed was a penis, but who really knew? “And while Baby B is being a little less cooperative, I do believe on delivery day, you’ll be welcoming one of each. Baby B, if you’ll look right here, you can see it.” I nodded, having no clue what I was looking for. “Where Baby A has clearly defined male organs, Baby B shows signs of labial striping. Now, I can’t tell you for sure, but I’m rarely wrong.” The confidence and pride in her voice pushed any doubt I had aside. I believed her.

  A boy and a girl.

  Wow.

  Toward the end of the ultrasound, Dr. Sullivan joined us. “Ms. West, you seem to be about twenty-three weeks along. Your weight is good, no protein in your urine, so let’s set up another appointment in four weeks.” As the doctor spoke, she was looking at the images the other woman printed for me to take and I could tell she kept flipping back to one in particular.

  “Candy, pull up image 923 please.” A frozen image appeared, and she zoomed and scrolled around. “Ms. West, I’m noticing something here.” She pointed, but I’d given up trying to see what they saw. It was no surprise one needed a special degree to read the images ultrasound technology could provide. “It’s probably nothing—a shadow if I had to guess—but let’s have you come back in two weeks instead of the usual four to get a closer look and to check if anything changes.”

  We all shook hands, and I thanked them when they handed me a stack of fuzzy black and white images. Once we’d hit the elevator, I stopped dead. “Wait. Oh my gosh, I never paid!” Horrified at my embarrassing oversight, I turned to rush back in, but Cara Jo hooked me around the arm, causing us to go round and round a few steps.

  “No, no, I took care of it all while you were in the examination room.” My head fell to the side as I looked at my new friend.

  “What do you mean you took care of it?” I’d never priced out the cost of having a baby, but I couldn’t imagine a diner owner who lived in a trailer on Galveston Bay could swing it, out of pocket. But again, I bit my tongue. If I’d learned nothing else about my new little diner family, I at least knew Cara Jo and Roy weren’t always initially forthcoming. But eventually, in their own time, they’d let me in on things. Patience was the key to living with my two new surrogate parents, and luckily, I had all the time in the world to wait.

  Once we were in Roy’s truck and headed back in the direction of the diner, as I knew she would, Cara Jo started to explain. “Anne was my oldest and dearest friend from back when I lived in East Texas. Bless her heart, she was always so giving—always taking care of others expecting nothing in return—but when she fell ill, she had no one to care for her.”

  Kaitlin would have jumped in with a comment or question, but Katy knew to sit back and wait. Events were unfolding, and I wasn’t one to ruin a perfectly good Cara Jo story.

  “That’s when we renovated the Airstream and moved her out of the city and down here, where we could look after her.” She sighed, thinking about her friend.

  Sensing the story had reached its conclusion, I reached for her hand. “I’m sorry for your loss. I can tell you two were close and it’s clear you really loved her.”

  She nodded. “I did. She was like a sister to me. The thing is, Anne had no children of her own. She led a full, yet simple life, and ended up leaving us a healthy sum of money. So, when I say I took care of it, what I really mean is, Anne’s savings could pay for these two babies and then some. So if there’s one thing you don’t need to be worrying about, it’s medical costs.”

  “Wow.” Placing my palms together, I looked into the heavens. “Thank you, Miss Anne. Please watch over these babies.”

  Cara Jo smiled. Cupping her free hand over mine, she joined my prayer of thanks. “Amen.” She looked my way, her features softening as she spoke. “I told you not to worry anymore. You stopped being alone the moment you walked into my diner. Relax, grow those babies, and let someone else shoulder the burden for a while.”

  The next day, stuck to the industrial coffee maker—my first stop in the diner each morning—I found a Post-it note. Mountains aren’t made to move, they’re made to climb.

  Part 6

  “I believe that tomorrow is another day and I believe in miracles.”

  -Audrey Hepburn

  I floated on air for two glorious weeks, loving my new life of anonymity in the sleepy little seaside town I called home. But as the saying goes, what goes up must come down. As I neared the end of my second trimester, I was convinced the babies were both training to become CrossFit instructors. I had a ‘Goats in Trees’ calendar I’d picked up at Walgreens for half price, and I meticulously crossed off the days as they passed. I grew more and more petrified at the idea of becoming a mother, yet elated to finally look into the eyes of the tiny humans who’d been using my womb as their own personal MMA ring for weeks now.

  The week twenty-five appointment was on us before we knew it, and for the ultrasound, considerably more people filed into the room this time around. Climbing onto the table, I felt a whole new type of stress, one that came along with being solely responsible for lives other than my own.

  Cara Jo dutifully took up residence at my side, my buoy in this new and exciting tumultuous sea. The ultrasound itself was anticlimactic... several clicks, measurements, and quiet conversation neither Cara Jo nor I were privy to. But when all was said and done, and we were asked to join the doctor in her personal office, it was a sure sign my world was about to be rocked yet again.

  “There’s very little amniotic fluid in either sac.” She paused as if feeding me inform
ation in smaller chunks would make it easier to digest. “Baby A’s kidneys are three times the size they should be at this stage of development. Baby B’s situation looks better, but not by much.”

  My babies technically had eleven more weeks until they could be classified as full-term and, while it would be the fight of their lives, I knew they could be born and have a chance at survival. “So, what are you telling me?”

  “I’m not going to sugarcoat this. It’s clear we’re dealing with renal abnormalities, and—”

  I shook my head, interrupting the woman. “Speak in terms a high school graduate can understand.” Cara Jo stood behind me, hands on my shoulders. She loved these babies almost as much as I did. Was she comforting herself or me?

  “Baby A’s kidneys are not functioning. Nonfunctioning kidneys are not conducive to life. There’s a 99% chance he will not survive outside of the womb.”

  I stared straight ahead, not allowing my thoughts to go down the rabbit hole until I had all the facts, all the answers. “And Baby B?” I waited, chilled by the way my small voice resonated through the small room.

  “Baby B only has one kidney, and it seems to be working overtime to do the job of two. I’d say she has a better chance of survival, maybe 10%, but even that might be a little generous. Katy, I don’t want you to give up hope, but—”

  “Stop. Just stop.” I held my hand out, shaking my head. “You don’t want me to give up hope?” My eyes flashed to Dr. Sullivan, but I remained calm, running my hands over my oversized stomach.

  “I’m an eighteen-year-old unwed mother who had sex one time in her life and became pregnant with twins. I have busted my ass and relied on virtual strangers to provide a home and a life for these babies, preparing myself for the challenge of a lifetime in raising them, playing the roles of mom and dad. Now you give my baby boy a death sentence? Then tell me that my other child, my precious angel of a daughter, will probably die too?” The smooth and even tone of my voice surprised me, given the gravity of the new situation in which I’d found myself. “I don’t know, Dr. Sullivan, if the best thing to be doling out right now is hope… unless it comes with the business card of a funeral home.”