by Carrie Mac
The sidewalk in front of the Legion was crowded with smokers standing in knots of two or three, waiting until the last minute to go in. Dad lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply, standing off to the side with us, observing the crowd just about to go in. It was a typical East Van mix: punks with chains and scowls, hipsters with carefully crafted facial hair, old men and women with walkers and stoops and wrinkles, a little group that looked like they’d just come from an office downtown, and another group that looked like they were all longshoremen. The sidewalk started clearing out.
“I hate this shit,” Dad said. He dropped his cigarette and ground it underfoot. The baby was due in four weeks, and I couldn’t have cared less if he never quit smoking. If it was going to help him stay clean and sober, I’d buy him cigarettes myself. “It was nice to meet you, Salix. I wish I’d met you sooner. And I’m sorry for that.”
A couple of days later, Salix and I met Mr. Heidelman outside the Vancouver Symphony Orchestra building. He led us through a back door and along several hallways, until we ended up in the theater, where the entire orchestra was rehearsing a Mozart concerto, which I would not have known if Mr. Heidelman had not told me what it was. When it ended, the conductor waved Salix onto the stage.
“This is it,” she whispered. “I might vomit. If I do, can we just pretend that it never happened?”
“Climb up to the top and don’t drop the flamingo wineglass. All the way to the top. You can see the city lights from up there. You can do it. And the view will be worth it.”
“Don’t drop the flamingo glass,” Salix said. “Got it.”
“Kick off your flip-flops,” I said. “It’ll make it easier to climb.”
“Done.” She glanced down at her boots, polished to a shine.
She put her hand on mine. She was trembling.
I squeezed her hand. “Tell me ten things you can see from here.”
“A scuffed-up floor.” She looked up. “Exit signs. An empty theater. The stage. Lights. Musicians. The conductor.” She took a long, slow breath. “My violin. My hand. You.”
“Better now?” I let go of her hand.
“A bit, yeah.” She kissed me on the cheek. “Thank you.”
Salix followed Mr. Heidelman up the stairs and into the spotlight.
“Good morning, everyone,” he said. “May I introduce you to a fine young violinist, Salix Bradley.”
The conductor was a large man, balding, with a bushy gray beard, red-framed glasses perched at the end of his nose. “What are you going to play for us, my dear?”
“I’m going to play the first movement and…” Salix paused. I could see her swallow, and then swallow again. She glanced around. “The first movement.”
My insides ached for her. Vicarious nerves.
She took a breath and gave her head a little shake. “The first movement and the cadenza of Beethoven’s Concerto in D Major, opus sixty-one.” She lifted her violin and readied herself to play.
I wouldn’t even have been able to get up there. I wouldn’t even have been able to climb the steps. My legs would have been too weak. And if I had made it to the stage, I would have just curled up into a ball and trembled until someone carried me off. It was a miracle to me that Salix could be up there. And it was a surprise to see her be nervous. She just was not that person to me. She was strong and brave. But there she was, scared of something.
I gripped the chair, my stomach churning. She looked so small standing still on that gigantic stage, with the rows and rows and rows of musicians staring at her, and the bright, hot lights suspended way up above, glaring down.
Salix stood, frozen. It felt like an hour passed, even though it could only have been seconds before she lowered her violin.
“You can do it,” I whispered. “You can do it.”
Salix looked in my direction. The stage lights were so bright that she couldn’t actually see me. But maybe she didn’t need to. Her shoulders rose. She took a deep breath in. Just when I thought I might have to run to the bathroom to vomit, she set her violin under her chin and turned back to the orchestra.
“And then I’m going to play an original composition of mine,” Salix said.
“Whenever you’re ready.” The conductor smiled.
Salix put the bow to the strings and made a note, and then another. Then she stopped.
“Sorry.” Salix gave her head another little shake. “Nerves.”
“A matter of course. Take your time.”
Salix adjusted her violin and let out a long breath. Then she closed her eyes. I was hardly able to breathe.
Salix began to play.
The music was much larger than I had ever heard from her before. The acoustics of the theater lifted the notes up and out until the sound nearly filled the space. I had heard Salix practice this piece for weeks now, but it was as if I was hearing it for the first time. Every note danced in perfect form, and even I knew that she was playing it flawlessly.
The musicians listened intently. There were about a hundred of them, and they all held their instruments in their laps, but not at ease, more as if they had to stop from playing along with her.
When she finished, the silence wasn’t quiet at all. The musicians murmured among themselves, and behind me Mr. Heidelman let out a low whistle.
The conductor gave a little twirl of his wrist. Continue.
“I wrote this for my girlfriend, Maeve, who sometimes lets fear get the best of her. It’s called ‘Fear Itself.’ ”
I let out my breath, not knowing that I’d been holding it. She hadn’t told me that she was writing something for me. At first the notes were long and mournful and almost made me want to cry. And then the tempo quickened, and the song fell open and spread out, and for a moment I didn’t like it at all. Not because it was bad, but because it wasn’t as beautiful as the beginning, and I couldn’t tell where it was going. The notes were so many raindrops, falling. But then Salix closed her eyes and swayed, and collected the song into something calm and beautiful, and it was a warm, glowing orb, something I could imagine holding in my hand.
Finished, she lowered her violin and bowed. The orchestra members leapt to their feet, clapping and cheering and whistling, all of them. I sat there for a moment, stunned. But then I leapt to my feet too, clapping so hard that my palms stung.
“Brava!” Mr. Heidelman shouted. And then we were both yelling. “Brava, Salix! Brava!”
Claire took Owen to get his cast taken off the next morning. He wanted to go swimming without it to celebrate. I had the bright idea to use the wagon to bring all the beach stuff down to the van, rather than carry armload after armload. Even with Salix helping, it was a task that felt like it went on forever: towels and flippers and masks, beach balls and inflatable dolphins, umbrellas, chairs, buckets, shovels, sunscreen, hats. And then all the food. While Salix and I packed the van, Claire was gathering sandwiches and carrots and berries and muffins and piling it all into the cooler.
I had an idea that I hadn’t told anyone about yet. Seeing Salix in front of that orchestra had inspired me. She had felt all the hard feelings, but she had done the hard thing anyway. She just did it. She was prepared to handle whatever happened. Or maybe not prepared, but at least willing to do it and hope for the best. Feel the fear. Do it anyway. So when everyone else was buckled in and Claire was about to wedge herself behind the steering wheel, I put my hand on the door.
“I’ll drive.”
“You’ll what?” Claire said.
“I’ll drive. If that’s okay with you?”
“Of course!”
“We’re all going to die!” Corbin screamed from the backseat.
“Save our souls!” Owen said.
“Enough.” Claire handed me the keys and went around to the passenger side. She put her swollen bare feet up on the dash and pulled her skirt up to her hips. “Hallelujah. Let’s go.”
“You can do it, Maeve,” Salix said.
I steered the van out of the garage and down the alley
to the street, where I had to suddenly stomp on the brakes to avoid hitting a cyclist who was zooming down the hill on the sidewalk.
“Holy shit!” Corbin hollered. “You almost hit that guy!”
“Language,” Claire said. “She didn’t hit him. You’re doing fine, Maeve.”
“He’s supposed to be on the road! Not the sidewalk.” I gripped the wheel, my breath caught in my throat. And then I undid my seat belt and got out of the van. Sure, feel the fear and do it anyway. Theoretically. But in real life? “I changed my mind. Someone else drive.”
But no one else got out. I leaned in. Four sets of eyes gazed back at me.
“Get back in and drive us to the lake, Maeve.” Claire patted the seat. “Everyone makes mistakes. Next time don’t forget that there is a sidewalk at the end of the alley.”
“I almost killed him.”
“But you didn’t,” Salix said. “A near miss is a miss. They happen all the time. Let’s go.”
Owen stuck Hibou up to the window and made her wave with a stubby wing. “Hibou will drive if you want.”
“She’d probably be better at it than me.” But all the same, I got back in.
“I’ll drive,” Corbin said.
“You can have a turn in the parking lot at the lake,” Claire said. “If it’s not too busy.”
—
Claire directed me to the upper parking lot, which was about half full.
“This’ll do.” Claire slid her swollen feet back into her flip-flops and heaved herself out of the van. “I want to go for a swim first, but then the boys and I can come back for a drive.”
“Yes!” Corbin said.
“Not me,” Owen said. “It’s not legal.”
“Up to you. Maybe Hibou will want to give it a try.” Claire slung her purse over her shoulder and headed for the trail, a pronounced waddle in her step. “You guys bring the wagon with everything. I’m going to dunk my gigantic puffy self in some nice cool water.”
—
Salix and I swam to the middle of the lake and floated on our backs, watching the clouds move slowly across the bright blue sky. When we finally came out of the water, Claire laid out sandwiches and cherries and carrot sticks and cheese and chips and salsa.
“I am so hungry,” she said as she filled her plate. “And can you pour me some iced tea from the thermos?”
I poured her a cup, which she downed in one go. And then I filled it up again.
“Thank you.” She belched. “Heartburn.” She sat in a chair, flopped her head back, and groaned, her belly gleaming in the sunlight. “I just want to be naked and floating.”
“The floating you can do,” I said. “But your favorite lifeguard is here and I doubt he’d let you take off your bikini.”
“Is he?” Claire twisted in her seat to look at the lifeguard tower. “The one with the stick up his ass and a thing for young girls in bikinis?”
The lifeguard turned his head in our direction, as if he could hear us talking about him. Claire waved, and he waved back, which made us all laugh.
—
When the boys were hungry enough to get out of the water, Claire told Corbin that if he wanted to go drive the van, he’d better be quick about it. “I don’t think we’ll stay much longer. My back really hurts.”
“Can I sit in the driver’s seat just by myself this time?”
“No. You sit on my lap.”
“I can’t sit on your lap.”
“Fine, we can push the seat back and you can stand between my knees. But no pedals. I’m in charge of those. Help me up, Corbin.” He gave her a hand. “I want to take a nap. In a real bed.” She reached for her sarong and knotted it under her belly. “Owen? Last chance.”
Owen shook his head miserably.
“Another time.” Claire kissed the top of his head.
“We can go for one last swim,” I told him. “You and me.”
—
When we got out of the water to help Salix pack up, Corbin came running across the sand. “Maeve! Maeve! Help!”
The lifeguard hopped down from his perch, shielding his eyes from the sun. “What’s the matter?”
“The baby!” Corbin shouted.
“What?”
“The baby!” Corbin skidded to a stop. “Mom’s having the baby right now!”
The lifeguard jogged over. “What’s going on?”
“My mom is having a baby in the parking lot,” Corbin said.
“I’ll get the first-aid kit,” the lifeguard said, very quietly. “And the sat phone.”
“You can call 911 on that?” I screamed as he jogged away. He turned back for a moment and gave me a thumbs-up.
“Claire cannot have the baby here.” I shook my head. “Not in a parking lot.” No. This was not happening. Not happening. Not happening!
“It is happening!” Corbin hollered. “She said so!”
Had I said that out loud? What do we do? We stood in a loose circle, every single one of us with our hands dangling at our sides. Every single one of us wide-eyed and staring at each other. It was not happening. Get her to the hospital. How long did we all stand around, dumbfounded, while Claire was all by herself at the van?
“We have to go.” No one moved. “We have to get her to the hospital!”
“She can’t have a baby in the van!” Owen wailed. “She’s supposed to be at home.”
“She hates hospitals,” Corbin said.
“It doesn’t matter. She’s going.” I pushed Owen toward our jumble of beach stuff. “Owen, just throw everything into the wagon. Salix, you help Owen. Corbin, you come with me.”
Salix stood by the table, not moving.
“Salix!”
“Yes?” She glanced around, blinking. “Yes. Got it. We’ll meet you at the van.”
Think, Maeve. Don’t feel. Just get her to the hospital. That’s all you have to worry about. The ambulance will come and they’ll take her. She’ll be fine. The baby will be fine.
I grabbed Corbin’s hand and we ran across the beach and down the trail. The lifeguard followed behind, bellowing about how he’d only had five minutes on emergency childbirth in his advanced first aid course.
That was more than I’d had.
—
I found Claire leaning into the back of the van, swaying and moaning. She shrugged me off when I touched her.
“Claire? What’s happening?”
“Baby.”
“No.” No, no, no, no. There had to be a way to stop this. Not yet, baby. Not right here. Not now. Not with me. Not without Dad. Not without the midwives, or a doctor, or a paramedic. Or a firefighter! Even a police officer. Where was the ambulance? Where was everybody?
“You can’t have the baby here, Claire,” I said. “I’ll help you into the backseat. Owen and Salix will be here in a minute. We’ll drive you to the hospital in Squamish if the ambulance isn’t here by then.”
“No.”
“No?”
“This baby is coming now.”
The lifeguard set his first-aid kit down beside the van and stood back, arms folded. “Shit.”
“Baby.” Claire rocked her hips. “Mmm. Hmm. Baby.”
“Okay, hold on. We have to get you to the hospital. Hey!” The lifeguard pretended not to hear. “Hey! Help me get her into the van.” I took her arms, but Claire shook me off again.
“Don’t! Don’t touch me.” She braced herself against the van and groaned, this time a low, primal rumble. “Not going. Staying here.”
None of the many first-aid classes I had taken had covered what to do when a woman was in labor, not for even five minutes in between splints and burns.
Think about the childbirth books. Stages of labor. Fetal stations. Think about everything that I read about when I thought Dad would be a no-show. What did the midwife say last week?
Baby is nice and low, Claire. Baby is all set.
Trust the mother if she says it’s too late to get to the hospital. Make the mother as comfortable as poss
ible. If a birth is happening quickly, that usually means all is well, unless the baby is preterm—
“Is it too early?” The baby was due in three weeks, right? “Are we in trouble? Is the baby in trouble?”
Push away the worst thoughts. Push away the worst ones. Push them away.
Claire shook her head.
“But three weeks is too early!”
“Now. Now, now, now, now.”
“Okay. Okay.” I spun in a circle, stunned. I’d read too much and not enough. I could not do this. But I had to. It was happening with or without me, and I wasn’t about to abandon Claire.
The lifeguard sat on the curb now, staring at Claire, his face pale.
Finally, something stuck out. When the urge to push begins, birth is imminent.
“Are you feeling pushy?”
“Yes.” Claire looked up and focused on me with clear, wide eyes. “This baby is coming right now, Maeve.”
“I’m sure the ambulance is almost here. Just hold on. Okay? The hospital is only ten minutes away.”
“Now. Here.”
“You can’t make it to the hospital? Really? Just try. Please? Just wait?”
“No.” Claire groaned again. “The first-aid kit—”
“The lifeguard brought his.”
Claire shook her head. “Find ours.”
“You put it back in?”
She nodded.
I leaned past Claire and dug around in the back. A sleeping bag, a soccer ball, several pieces of Lego, a set of tire chains. And the first-aid kit. I swept everything else out of the back.
“Corbin, spread out the sleeping bag.”
I could hear the rumble of the wagon approaching, and Salix’s voice. “We’re here!”
“Bring me the towels!”
The lifeguard kept staring.
“Do something!” I shouted at him. “Find out what’s taking so long! We need an ambulance now.”
“No ambulance,” Claire growled. She sucked in a huge breath and let out a loud, low bellow. My stomach twisted into a hard knot. Knots. What if there’s one in the cord? Or if it’s wrapped around the baby’s neck? What if it rips? What if something goes wrong? What if this baby ends up dead?
The Glover family is devastated to announce that their baby died at birth, after being born in the back of a filthy van—
