Somebody Like You

by Beth K. Vogt

  He paused beside the Mustang’s passenger door. “Why? Don’t answer that. You want me to go get one?”

  “No. Yes. No. Let’s just go. And if I soak your bucket seat, I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not worried about the seat, Haley.”

  fifteen

  “Mr. Ames?”

  Stephen pulled his attention away from his iPad—and the Weather Channel’s view of the mess of snow and ice and backed-up traffic along I-70—and stood, closing the space between him and the nurses’ desk. “Yes?”

  “The doctor decided to admit your wife.”

  “Haley isn’t my wife.” He rested his hands on the counter. “She is—was—married to my brother.”

  The nurse flipped through some papers anchored to a plastic clipboard. “Oh. That’s right. Mrs. Ames is a widow. My apologies. Then your sister-in-law is being admitted to L and D.”

  “She’s in labor?”

  “I’m sorry. Your sister-in-law will have to authorize any further release of information.”

  “You’re kidding, right? I drove her here!”

  “Being someone’s chauffeur doesn’t automatically give you access to legally protected medical information.” The nurse slipped the chart back into a slot on the desk.

  “I’m the baby’s uncle. They’re okay, aren’t they? Has anything happened since I dropped them off fifteen minutes ago?”

  “I’ll go back and check with your sister-in-law, and if she’s okay with it, we’ll let you know what’s going on—or even bring you back to see her.”

  “Thanks.”

  Thanks for nothing. He was consigned to one of the padded mustard-yellow chairs lining the walls at the entrance to the hospital birthing center. The woman was doing her job—and she was as effective as a five-hundred-pound defensive lineman in a set of purple scrubs. All he could do was wait, watch the Weather Channel to gauge if there was a chance Claire could make it back, and keep praying.

  It was a good half hour before the nurse escorted him to Haley’s birthing room. During that time the weather in the mountains only got worse. Stephen paused outside the door.

  Please, God, help me know what to say—and what not to say.

  In the muted lighting, Haley rested, half-reclined in a hospital bed, with her head back against a pillow, her tummy covered with a soft-looking white blanket. Wires came out from underneath the blanket, connected to a briefcase-size machine beside her bed that was spitting out a paper graph covered with lines forming a continuous flow of peaks and valleys. Stephen trained his eyes on her face, noticing how the lashes of her closed eyes rested against her skin. How her top teeth worried her full bottom lip. That way, he could ignore the needle lodged in her arm, with a tube running to a clear bag of fluid hanging from a metal stand at the head of her bed.

  “Hey, you.”

  “Hey, Rogers.” Shadows deepened Haley’s blue eyes. “Looks like I’m staying until this little guy is born. I’m premature—just barely. I’m waiting for the doctor to come in and pronounce my official sentence.”

  “How you feeling?”

  “Unprepared.”

  He might as well tell her straight up—that’s the way Haley liked it. “Claire’s stranded in the mountains.”

  “What?” Haley’s attempt to sit up was hindered by all the monitoring paraphernalia. “Was there an accident?”

  “No—nothing like that. But there is snow—enough to close the tunnel. I’ve been watching the Weather Channel and checking updates on my iPad.”

  “I’m not in active labor, so it’s okay.” Even as she spoke, a wince marred her face.

  “Is there such a thing as inactive labor?”

  “Very funny.”

  The door swung open and a woman wearing sage green scrubs and a long white coat entered the room. She glanced at Haley and Stephen. “Mr. and Mrs. Ames, I’m Dr. Axelson—”

  “I’m the brother-in-law.”

  “He’s the uncle.”

  The physician paused, as if processing the information. “Okay, then. Mrs. Ames, I’m Dr. Campbell’s partner—and the OB on call. I want to discuss your current situation and our plan for you.”

  “All right.”

  “Obviously we admitted you because your membranes ruptured and you started to leak fluid. You’re still only two to three centimeters. Our goal is to try and stop your labor, if we can, while giving you some medication through the IV to fight infection and also to help your baby’s lungs mature.”

  “I’m not really in labor, am I? I’m not having contractions.”

  “Mrs. Ames, that roller-coaster pattern on the paper indicates you’re having contractions—albeit irregular ones. If we don’t do anything, it’s probable you’ll go into actual labor. Even if we can buy two or three more days, we give the medicine a chance to work and mature your baby’s lungs faster.”

  “And if the baby’s born now?”

  “Then we’re equipped here to deal with premature births.”

  Haley’s gaze never wavered. “What kind of problems are you concerned about?”

  “At this altitude, the more mature a baby’s lungs, the less likely he’ll need oxygen or have breathing problems.” The doctor offered a smile. “But that’s not our concern now. Based on our preliminary exam, it looks like you might be dilating. I’d like to order an ultrasound to assess that more accurately.”

  “Whatever you need to do.” Haley pushed herself taller in the bed, as if gaining a better position to battle premature labor. “Does my doctor know what’s going on?”

  “I’ll keep Dr. Campbell updated.”

  After the doctor left, Stephen moved closer to the bed, resting a hand on the curved railing. “Need anything?”

  “Probably need that going-to-the-hospital suitcase now. I’m going to try and call Lily—she’s the instructor for my childbirth classes. She volunteered to be available if I needed her when I went into labor. I’ll ask her to be on alert.”

  “Sounds like a plan. I can go get the suitcase for you.” Driving back to her house, picking up a suitcase—that was simple enough. “Just tell me where it is.”

  “I already told you: I didn’t pack one yet.” She stopped. Inhaled, long and slow. “Sorry. I’m a little tense. It was on my to-do list—the one I hadn’t gotten around to writing. But I could use a toothbrush and toothpaste. And my robe. My childbirth instructor gave us a list of things to bring—for me and for the baby—but don’t worry about that yet. Maybe one outfit and a baby blanket. Do you think you should put the car seat in the car?”

  “Let’s just get through today, okay? The baby’s not riding in a car today. Do you want anything to eat?”

  “I’m on a diet of ice chips—and whatever that stuff is.” She motioned to the fluid in the IV bag. “But get yourself something to eat. I’m good here.”

  Stephen wanted to say something to reassure Haley. Comfort her somehow. He reached over and touched the side of her face, causing her to startle. He drew his hand back.

  “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  “And I’ll be right here.” She motioned to her cell phone where it lay on the side table next to a plastic pitcher of water. “I need to call my mom. My brothers. I’ll check in with Claire. Hassle her for missing the fun. Looks like I’ve got some phone calls to make.”

  Stephen backed toward the door. Should he offer to pray for her when she’d just rebuffed a slight touch meant in brother-in-law kindness? “You make your phone calls. I’ll go grab your toothbrush.”

  “Thanks.”

  “That’s what I’m here for.”

  During the drive to Haley’s, Stephen debated calling both his parents—opting to beg God to stop Haley’s labor.

  As he walked through the garage, he grabbed a backpack hanging on a hook. That would do for a suitcase. Now all he needed to do was figure out what to pack. The basics were easy: toothbrush, toothpaste, shampoo—and women liked conditioner, too.

  Wait a minute. Hadn’t he seen
a hospital bag checklist posted on Haley’s fridge? He found it next to a schedule for the shooting range, which was next to the tree house diagram; grabbed a few Ziploc bags from the pantry; and headed for Haley’s bedroom.

  After tossing the list on the bed, he collected Haley’s toothbrush, a tube of Crest, dental floss, and deodorant in a gallon-size Ziploc bag. Put shampoo and conditioner he found in her shower in another one. Where was Haley’s robe? Nothing on the back of the door. He rifled through the clothes in her closet. Weren’t women supposed to have closets packed tight with clothes? Haley obviously didn’t know that rule. But among the few hangers of tops and pants—did the woman own a dress?—he found a robe. It had to be Sam’s. What woman wore a blue Turkish cotton robe fraying around the hem?

  Okay. Time to consult the list.

  Nursing bras.

  Nursing pads.

  Maternity underwear.

  He scanned the list again. Swiped his hand down his face. Folded the list in half and tucked it into the backpack. Not going to happen. Once it stopped snowing in the mountains and Claire got back into town, he’d hand off the list to her.

  Stephen got all the way to the car when he realized he had nothing for his nephew. He tossed the bag in the front seat and ran back to the baby’s room. A laundry basket piled with infant-size clothes sat beside the crib. He grabbed the outfit on top—something with grinning monkeys all over it—and took a blanket, too.

  A quick check of his phone confirmed it had been almost forty minutes since he left the hospital. No time to stop and get something to eat. He grabbed a jar of peanuts, an open bag of M&M’s, and a can of Sprite from the fridge, and ran back to the car.

  He’d backed the Mustang halfway out of the driveway when he realized he’d forgotten one of the most important things of all. He shoved the car into park, ran into the house again, and returned with Haley’s camera, which he’d found after ransacking both her bedroom closet and front hall closet. When his nephew arrived, he’d make sure to get pictures. Lots of pictures.

  sixteen

  “Haley, what is going on?”

  At the sound of Stephen’s voice, Haley’s eyes darted to his face and then back to the silver-rimmed clock hanging on the wall at the end of her hospital bed. “Not . . . talking . . .” She zeroed in on the second hand of the clock, huffing short breaths of air as the contraction peaked.

  Stephen was wise enough to be quiet, remaining at the foot of the bed. When Haley closed her eyes, Nikki, the labor and delivery nurse helping her through the contraction, encouraged her to rest and then lowered the volume on the fetal heart rate monitor before leaving the room.

  “The medicine’s not slowing down my contractions.” Haley hoped she sounded nonchalant. “I’m not sure how far dilated I am now, but my contractions are getting stronger and closer together.”

  “You’re having the baby?”

  “I’m not in charge.” She knew another contraction would pounce within minutes. “Dr. Campbell has been alerted. The anesthesiologist came by to talk about the possibility of an epidural. But I’m going to try and do this the old-fashioned, no-medication way—or at least no more than what they’ve already pumped into me. The L and D nurse said she’d coach me . . .” She paused, the tightening increasing from her back and progressing around to the front of her stomach. “Sorry . . . gotta focus . . .”

  All of her attention centered on the circular path of the clock’s red second hand, each tick counting off a second of the contraction—and the now very real possibility of her baby being born. Today. Or tomorrow.

  Too soon.

  Just do the next thing. Survive the next second. And the next.

  The nurse reentered the room as the contraction waned. “Now that your husband is here—”

  Haley interrupted the assumption. “Brother-in-law.”

  “Uncle.” Stephen’s pronouncement overrode hers. “The baby’s uncle. Her husband was my brother.”

  “Are you coaching her?”

  “No!” Haley struggled to sit up. “I’m good on my own. You’re here. And Dr. Campbell should be coming in. I’ll be fine.”

  “I’m here because I drove her to the hospital . . . and then I went back and got her stuff—well, some of it.” Stephen motioned to the backpack he’d sat in the corner of the room.

  Stephen Ames was babbling. Just a bit—but babbling nonetheless.

  The nurse stayed framed in the doorway. “I came to check on you, but since your—”

  Haley and Stephen spoke in unison. “Brother-in-law.”

  “—brother-in-law is here, I’ll check on my other mom-to-be, okay? Press the buzzer if you need me.”

  “Will do.” Haley had never expected a clock to become her lifeline. And couldn’t everyone just stop talking . . . stop making assumptions . . . or at least stop expecting her to be part of the conversation?

  After readjusting the strap around her tummy and reading the strip of paper being spit out by the machine beside the hospital bed, Nikki left, the door to the birthing room swishing shut. Stephen stood at the end of the bed, blocking the view of the clock.

  She stared at Stephen. Nope. She couldn’t see through him. “I need you to move.”

  “What?” Stephen looked right, then left.

  “You’re blocking the clock—and I’m using it as my focal point. I need it. Now.”

  “Sorry.”

  He moved to the head of the bed, standing beside her like some silent sentry as the contraction ebbed and flowed. When she closed her eyes and took a long inhale, she realized Stephen was patting her shoulder.

  “What do you want?”

  “I’m just . . . patting your shoulder.”

  “I know that. Why?”

  “I thought it would help.”

  “It doesn’t. Right now I don’t want anyone to touch me, much less pat me.”

  He stepped away, hands dropping to his sides. “Okay. No more patting.”

  “Sorry. Labor is a bit rough.” How many times would she have to apologize to Stephen before this was over? She stretched her neck—left, then right. If only she dared to ask him to rub her lower back. But that was something a husband did—not a brother-in-law. “The ice chips are nice, though.”

  “I’m your man.”

  No. No, he wasn’t. Why did he keep saying that? She hissed as another contraction attacked her body. “Whoa. Somebody just upped . . . the ante.” When she gripped the metal bed rail, her hand collided with Stephen’s. He adjusted the position of his hand so she could clasp his fingers and squeeze, tightening her grip with each passing second of the contraction. When she exhaled, he exhaled with her, shaking out his hand.

  “Quite a grip you’ve got.”

  “Sorry.”

  “No apologies needed. I’ll have feeling back in my fingers before the next contraction—I think.”

  “Not that I’m holding your hand again.”

  But when she tensed for the next contraction, Stephen took her hand in his. “Squeeze as hard as you like.”

  Haley didn’t argue. When the contraction ebbed, Stephen shook his hand in the air, as if he was trying to get the blood flowing to his fingers again.

  “Very funny, Rogers.”

  He hid his hand behind his back. “So did you talk to Lily? Is she going to be here?”

  Haley averted her eyes. “I left a voice mail.”

  “What?”

  “She didn’t answer—there’s nothing else I could do. I left a message, explaining what was going on. It’s fine. I’m fine. Like I said, the nurse and Dr. Campbell will get me through this.”

  She tensed as another contraction hit, repeating the pattern of starting in her back and wrapping around her stomach. At least Stephen couldn’t ask any more questions now—and if he brought it up again, she’d tell him how unwise it was to argue with a laboring woman.

  Twenty minutes later, they had established a pattern, complete with Stephen matching her breath for breath.

  �
�You coach a woman through childbirth before?” She savored the cool relief of ice chips, licking her lips and wishing she could gulp down an entire glass of water.

  “Nope. You’re my first.”

  “You sure act like you know what you’re doing.”

  “Faking it. I saw what you were doing—and I’m just reminding you to keep on doing it.”

  A few minutes later, Nikki returned, watching as Haley and Stephen performed their contraction hand-clutch routine. “She’s going to bring you to your knees.”

  Stephen didn’t waver. “I’m still standing.”

  “They use techniques like that in torture, but we don’t encourage it during labor. Next contraction, just cross your middle finger over your forefinger so the knuckles aren’t next to each other, and let her squeeze those two fingers.”

  As Haley released a breath, Stephen shook out his hand. “Thanks. Duly noted.”

  Haley gathered the fragments of her sense of humor. “I am not torturing this man. He volunteered.”

  An hour later, when Dr. Campbell arrived, life had faded to nothing more than the span of the clock face and the sound of Stephen’s voice.

  “I hear you’re doing great, Haley.” The doctor shook Stephen’s hand. “I understand you’re the substitute coach. It’s obvious we haven’t stopped your labor, Haley. You’re contracting every three to four minutes on the monitor. And the expression on your face tells me the contractions are painful and strong.”

  “. . . Not going to argue . . . with you on that point.”

  “We’ll stop the medicine; then I’ll get the nurse so I can examine you and see how far dilated you are. You two keep up the good work until I get back.”

  After the doctor’s exam, Stephen reentered the room, his gaze straying to the waiting baby warmer.

  Haley rushed the words before the next contraction. “Looks like I’ll take it from here. The doctor says I’m at six centimeters, but because I’m early, I only need to get to about eight. After that, I’ll start pushing.” She drew in a slow breath, forcing a smile, ignoring how her bottom lip trembled. “Nikki’s here to coach me. Thanks for all the help.”