Love Will Keep Us Together (Miracle Girls Book 4)

by Anne Dayton

  I walk to my brother’s side and peer over the top of the stall door. A brown horse with three white socks looms over a tiny version of herself. The filly is standing on all four legs, but they’re splayed in a funny, unsure way.

  “Wow,” I whisper. The filly turns my direction and stares at me with rich brown eyes and long, thick lashes. “She’s so tiny.” It’s the most obvious, mundane thing I could have said, but I can’t move past how frail and small she is. It seems impossible to think that she will grow up to be as tall and strong as her mother.

  “Do you think Zoe will like her?” Nick asks, grinning from ear to ear.

  43

  “Zo, did your parents freak out when you got the acceptance letter?” Ana takes a paper bag from her backpack and pulls out a bagel.

  “You got in?” I jump up and run around the table to grab Zoe in my arms. She worked so hard for this. This is huge. “Oh my gosh. Congrats!”

  Zoe pulls away. “Thanks. They got in too.” She gestures at Ana and Christine.

  “You guys all got in? To USC?” I feel my mouth hanging open. I’m not surprised, really, I’m just . . . Wow. They really might do this crazy thing, going off to college together, leaving me . . . where? “That’s so awesome!” I try to sound upbeat and run around and hug the others.

  “So you’re really gonna go?” I sit back down on the bench and look around, praying they can’t hear the fear in my voice. Ana shrugs, and Zoe looks down at the table.

  “I didn’t get much financial aid,” Zoe says quietly. She pulls a cheese sandwich out of her bag. “Dreamy and Ed were really excited for about five minutes, but then we read the fine print. Ed is going to call the financial aid office and talk to them, so we’ll see.”

  “That’s ridiculous!” Christine’s nostrils flare. “You filled out those forms perfectly. Even Ms. Moore said so.”

  “I know. But Ed’s landscaping is back on track, and Dreamy’s got her part-time thing. They make a little too much for me to qualify for any significant help.”

  Something buzzes in Ana’s purse. She reaches in and pulls it out to switch it off, but she freezes when she sees who’s calling.

  “Right back.” She chunks her bagel down and stands up quickly.

  We watch her go, and for a minute we’re all quiet.

  In the far corner of the courtyard I see Ben and some of the other skaters he hangs out with at their usual table. I crane my neck and try to catch his eye, but he’s talking to a redhead wearing a pair of hot-pink Vans. I wonder if he’s heard that I broke up with Tom.

  “Did they say you couldn’t go if you didn’t get more financial aid?” Christine asks, snapping me back to attention.

  “I’m totally still going.” Zoe shakes her head. “I’ll figure it out somehow—take out big loans or whatever. How often do three best friends get into the same school?”

  “Seriously.” Christine lifts her bottle of green tea in a toast. “SoCal, here we come!”

  It is pretty incredible that they did it, actually, but it didn’t happen in a vacuum. Zoe got her grades up this year and really worked hard on her application. Christine’s grades weren’t awesome, but she turned out to be one of those closet SAT geniuses. And Ana, well, they’re probably going to pay her money to attend USC.

  “WHAT?!” Ana screams into her phone. Even from across the courtyard I can hear her perfectly. “Are you serious?!”

  “I hope everything’s okay.” I turn back to the table and see a strange look on Zoe’s face. Ana shrieks, and a moment later she’s at our table, jumping up and down.

  “That was my mom.” Ana’s face is flushed, and her eyes are watering. “I got into Princeton!”

  Without thinking about what I’m doing, I tackle her in a huge hug and feel my own eyes well up with tears. “Oh my gosh! Congratulations! This is so huge!”

  Ana looks like she’s about to hyperventilate. I hand her my water. She takes a sip and starts laughing. I watch her, thinking of all the late nights, her unwavering devotion to such a far-off goal, her pure determination. She did it. She really, really did it. She got into the best school in the country. I look down at the table.

  “So you’re not just a pretty face.” Christine walks over and gives her a hug. Is that the first hug she’s ever initiated?

  Then, for some reason, I turn to Zoe. Her face is plastered with a huge smile, but there’s something sad about it, something lingering around her eyes. “I’m so proud of you, Ana.” She shakes her head and rolls her lips in. “It’s really happening, just like you’ve always planned.”

  Ana squeals, then takes a deep breath and tries to get herself under control. “Well, not exactly like I planned,” she says, laughing a little. “I mean, mostly, but not totally.” I widen my eyes, and she smiles nervously and goes on. “Remember when I said I had some things to tell you guys? Some harebrained plan I’m cooking up?”

  For some reason, I’m not sure I want to hear whatever it is she’s about to tell us, but I nod anyway.

  “It kind of happened because of Maria. But then, I don’t know. I guess it started before then, really. Maybe it had been building for years, and I never realized it.”

  “Ana,” Zoe says with uncharacteristic exasperation, “what on earth are you trying to tell us?”

  Ana takes a few breaths and pushes her palms in a downward motion, like some kind of weird yoga move. “Okay, that call.” She holds up her phone. “That was my mom. Do you know what she did? She saw this huge envelope from Princeton in our mailbox so she opened it and read it.”

  “She opened your mail?” It’s hypocritical of me to judge her, given that I’ve become a grade-A snoop, but still, that’s kind of crazy.

  Ana points at me. “Exactly. You know how intense they are. And that’s my problem.”

  “They’ve always been bonkers. What’s the deal?” Christine narrows her eyes.

  “I’m not going to be a doctor. And I think they might kill me.”

  This time it’s our turn to scream. “WHAT?!” We ask her rapid-fire questions. How can she be so sure? What made her decide? Will her parents still pay for college if she’s not premed? What’s she going to do if she’s not a doctor?

  She laughs at us and holds up her hands. “I don’t know the answers to all of your questions. But I can tell you a few things.” She peels the crust off the edge of her bagel and seems lost in thought for a moment. “When I went to Mexico, I kind of thought I could save Maria with round-the-clock medical attention. I knew the doctors had sent her home to die, but I still believed.” She pinches off a section of dough and squishes it between her fingers. “But nothing I did helped—or even made her feel better. The only thing that actually comforted her was spending time with her, chatting together, telling her stories.” She stops, her lip trembling. I give her a squeeze.

  “I guess that’s when I realized I’d been looking at healing the world in the wrong way.” Zoe rummages through her purse and finds a small package of tissues. Ana takes one and mops up her eyes. “My goals are the same, but I don’t want to do it through medicine anymore.” She nudges me and laughs. “God knows that math and science really aren’t my strength anyway.”

  “What are you going to do then?” I stare at her in wonder. Our sure-footed Ana did something I didn’t think she was capable of. She moved.

  Christine and Zoe peer across the table at her, hanging on every syllable.

  “Well . . .” She collects her shredded bagel and shoves it back into the paper bag. “I guess this is where I need your help. Can any of you tell me how I’m going to make Mom and Papá understand I want to be a writer?”

  44

  I slip out of the youth room, but nobody notices. I drag my hand down the wall as I make my way to the bathroom. There’s a bigger restroom in the new wing, but the old handicap-access two-holer is closest to the youth room.

  I swing open the door. There’s someone in the first stall and an Out of Order sign on the other. I sling my purse on
to the counter and dig inside for my powder and lip balm. It’s probably one of the old ladies from the quilting circle, which means I’ll be waiting forever. They meet in the bridal parlor on Sunday nights, and they’re notorious for gassing up the place.

  I slick my Chapstick on and pucker my lips. Ben and I aren’t exactly on friendly terms again, but it did seem like a good sign that he showed up tonight with Asha. Fritz must be making progress with all the gossipy old busybodies at church.

  A low moaning comes from the stall, and I grimace in the mirror. Okay, that’s just gross. I know they’re old ladies and they probably can’t help it, but still. Maybe I should haul my lazy bones across the church and use the other restroom and leave this poor old gal to her business.

  A ragged gasping breath comes from the stall, and I pause. Is she crying? I shift a few inches to the right and catch a glimpse of the shoes underneath the stall door. Hey, wait a minute. This isn’t some old lady. Who did I see wearing metallic gold ballet flats today?

  There’s another moaning sound. I’m going to have to do something. I don’t want to embarrass this girl if she’s got a stomachache, but if there’s something seriously wrong, I can’t walk away either.

  I take a deep breath, walk over to the stall, and knock quietly. “Are you okay?”

  “Riley?” A desperate, hoarse voice whispers.

  “Asha?” I knock on the door again. “Are you stuck? Do I need to . . . go get help?”

  “No.” I hear her moving on the other side of the door. “Don’t do that. I’m fine.” Through the crack between the door and the frame, I see her unroll some toilet paper and blot her forehead. “I’ve got a stomachache, and I certainly don’t need your help.”

  I study her for a moment. There’s something not quite right about this situation. Asha is acting really out of it. I know she’s mad at me, but this is something else. Why won’t she get up?

  “When are you—”

  “One more month.” She moves around behind the door, rustling her clothes, like she’s pulling up her pants, then pushes the door open. I grab her arm. “Look, I’m fine. You can use the bathroom now.” She leans over and looks at the back of her jeans.

  “Asha?” I peer behind her and blink a few times. The back of her pants is wet. “Are you sure your water didn’t break?”

  “No, it couldn’t have.” She turns around and tries to get a better look the back of her pants. “I went to the doctor on Monday, and everything is fine,” she says louder. “The baby’s coming during summer break. It’s all going to work out, okay?”

  “Okay, okay.” I flush the toilet, lead her to the sink, and lean her against the counter gently. “You’re right.” I try to steady my own nerves as I calm her down. I don’t know much about babies and pregnancy, but I am pretty sure she needs to go to the hospital. How do I convince her of that when she pretty much hates my guts? “I’m sure you’re right. But why don’t I go and get Judy and we’ll see what she thinks.”

  “You can’t.” She starts shaking her head violently. “Oh jeez.” She scrunches her face into a ball and clutches her stomach.

  I grab her hand, and she squeezes it hard. I stay silent and pray like I’ve never prayed before. I can do this. With a little help from above, I can make it through this. I can be strong right now. Asha needs me.

  Her grip on my hand relaxes, and she stares up at me, her lip quivering. “Please don’t go tell all those people, your popular friends. I’m already a joke to them.”

  I shake my head. “I would never. I swear I’m not one of those people.”

  “Promise?”

  And then it comes to me—what I need to do. It’s so simple.

  “I promise.” I hold out my hand and take a deep breath. “Can you walk to my car?” She nods and allows me to slowly pull her away from the counter. I put my arm around her and lead her gently, carefully into the hallway. Once I get her in the van, I grab my phone out of my purse as fast as I can.

  I watch through the window as Ben ducks out into the hallway, away from the youth room. “What, Riley?” His tone is annoyed as he talks into his phone.

  “The baby’s coming.” Asha grips the armrest of the passenger seat with all her might. “Asha and I are in my car in the parking lot. We need you.”

  ***

  We walk into the main entrance, and I thank God for small towns and tiny hospitals. When we take Michael to his appointments in the city, you have to read these complicated hospital maps to figure out what floor, what wing, where on earth you are—and we don’t have that kind of time.

  “Hi, checking in.” I steady Asha with one hand and grab a clipboard with the other. “She’s having a baby.” The receptionist flashes me a fake smile. Okay, maybe that was obvious. The form on the clipboard wants me to detail exactly what kind of injury I have, so I start frantically looking for a different clipboard. Next to me Ben is staring at the brightly colored bulletin board with a blank face.

  “Are you the . . .” The receptionist’s tone is efficient and cold. “Related?” She picks up a red clipboard and hands it to me, then motions at a bored-looking teenager. He pushes a wheelchair over to us at a snail’s pace.

  “I’m a friend of the family.” I nudge Ben forward, but he just blinks a few times. Asha winces, and I help her into the chair. “Ben?” He stares at me as if he doesn’t know what the word Ben means. Obviously I’m on my own here. “This is her brother. He’s the next of kin right now. Her parents will be here in a minute.”

  The receptionist comes around the counter and begins to talk to Asha about how far apart her contractions are and what her health insurance is.

  “Didn’t she already tour the hospital and get set up in the system or something?” I hiss to Ben. I watch Asha nervously. Shouldn’t they wheel her back to a bed, get her into a gown, and then deal with the paperwork?

  “I don’t know.” He stares at her, his eyes wide, and I get the distinct feeling that he might run if I turn my back on him.

  “Okay, okay.” I nudge the nurse aside and grab the handles of the wheelchair. “Let’s wheel her on back, and then we’ll work out the rest of the details.” I feel a few people in the waiting room staring at me.

  Asha reaches back, grabs my hand, and smiles at me, her eyes filled with fear. And even though her belly looks huge on her once-small frame, she suddenly seems so young and vulnerable, almost like a kindergartner on her first day of school.

  “We only need a few more details. . . .” The nurse’s voice drifts as she grabs Asha’s tiny wrist and studies her stopwatch.

  It hits me all at once how alone Asha is. You always picture this moment unfolding so differently. You think of yourself being much older and mentally prepared. Your husband will be there, and maybe some family members too. In your dreams it will be calm and orderly, and you’ll have a painted nursery waiting for your little one back home. This isn’t the way it’s supposed to happen.

  “No.” I stare the nurse down, doing my best to appear uncompromising. “Now. I want to wheel her back now.” Maybe I’m being bossy, and maybe I’m overreacting, but someone needs to fight for Asha right now.

  The nurse rolls her eyes, and we finally begin to wheel Asha to the back of the hospital. We stop at the end of a long hall, and the three of us help her into bed. Where are her parents?

  Just as I’m raising up the back of the bed so Asha can sit up, someone walks in. Thank goodness. They made it. I turn around and gasp. It’s not the Nayars. It’s Pastor Jandel, awkwardly holding a tiny white teddy bear. It’s the kind of thing you bring a five-year-old, and it looks so incongruous in his big hands.

  “Your mom called the prayer chain,” he says to Ben by way of explanation. “I . . .” He looks at Asha with something like fear, but he takes a step closer to her and lays the plush bear on top of the sheet. “I live close, so I rushed right over.” His thinning brown hair is sticking up in the back, and he’s wearing a faded T-shirt from a mission trip, rumpled khaki pants, and of
f-brand flip-flops. “I wanted to say . . . I wanted you to know that we love you, we’re here for you, and we’re praying for you.”

  Asha stares at him for a moment, looking straight into his eyes. She bites her lip, then slowly picks up the teddy bear. “Thank you,” she says, her voice hoarse.

  I stare at him. Somehow when you strip away his suit and his self-confidence, he seems ordinary and vulnerable, like just another concerned dad bumbling his way through the awkward moments of life, trying to do the right thing.

  “Well . . .” Pastor Jandel nods and clears his throat. He doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands now. “I’ll be out in the waiting room,” he says, stepping back toward the door. “In case you need anything. Your parents are on their way.”

  I glance at Ben as soon as he’s gone, but he’s staring at the floor. Asha is still clutching the bear, and suddenly I wish I’d brought something for her myself. Of course that’s stupid because I didn’t know I would be coming here, but holding it seems to give her so much comfort.

  I wipe her forehead with a towel as the nurses start running tests. Asha clutches the bear to her chest, and soon the Nayars rush in. Mrs. Nayar covers Asha’s body in a big hug. Mr. Nayar stops in his tracks.

  “Asha.” Ben’s dad looks like he’s seen a ghost, his jaw clenched. He takes a deep breath, then steps toward the bed. Slowly, he reaches out and puts his hand on Asha’s arm. Asha smiles at him, tears in her eyes.

  “Thank you for calling us,” Mr. Nayar says to me and Ben. “And for . . .” He glances back at Asha and presses his lips together. “For handling everything. You guys saved the day.”

  Ben turns to me and smiles. “Riley saved the day.”

  The Nayars turn as a nurse starts asking them questions. And there, behind the commotion of a new life hasty to make its debut into this crazy mixed-up world, Ben takes my hand, and it feels like heaven.

  “Glad to have you back, Supergirl.”