by Karen Booth
“Chris. Oh my God. I’m so sorry. I turned my phone off and then you left that message for Bryce. We got in the car right away. Where is she?”
A nurse came out from behind the nurse’s station. “Is this family? Only family for the delivery.”
Not this. The last thing I was equipped to do was argue with the nurse. “Yes.”
“Yes. I’m his daughter,” Sam blurted. She whipped around, her blonde curls going everywhere, and pointed at Bryce. “This is his nephew. From England. He just flew in.”
Fuck. Nothing like a complicated lie, Sam.
Bryce’s face turned crimson and he instantly shook his head “no”. He grabbed Sam and kissed her on the forehead. “I’ll be in the waiting room.” He gave me the high sign and retreated to the exit.
“Come on. She’s ready to push.” I stopped when I opened the door, pulling Sam into a hug. “I’m glad you made it. We couldn’t do this without you.”
“That means a lot to me. It really does.” She gestured with a nod of her head. “Hurry up.”
The nurses were tending to Claire, Margo holding her hand and looking directly into her eyes, breathing with her. Another nurse stood positioned between the stirrups.
That’s good. I suppose somebody should be there to catch the baby.
“The doctor is on his way, Dad,” Margo said.
Claire turned, starting to cry as soon as she saw Sam. “You’re here.”
Sam rushed to her side. “Oh my God, Mom. Are you feeling okay?”
Claire nodded intently, tears streaming down her face. “Where were you?”
“I was swimming with Bryce and my phone was dying so I turned it off. We got in the car as soon as Bryce got the message. I’m so sorry.”
“You could’ve called.” Claire’s face scrunched up. “Oh, shit. I need to push.”
I took Claire’s hand, Sam by my side, clutching my arm. “It’s okay, darling. You’ve got this. Just look at me and focus.”
Doctor Thorp strolled in to the room. “Are we ready to have this baby?” His demeanor was in stark contrast to the tension of the moment.
Margo looked at the monitor. “We’re starting a contraction.”
The doctor nodded and snapped on rubber gloves. “Let’s push.”
Claire squeezed so hard that it felt as though my hand was in a vise. I couldn’t fathom what her body was going through. This was her way of showing me. She rolled her head forward, the exertion turning her face red. Moments ticked by, Claire’s groans becoming more pained and insistent. She collapsed back on the pillow, her chest heaving.
“Nice job, Claire. The baby is crowning. It shouldn’t take too many pushes. Dad, do you want to come and see?”
This was one of those questions they’d told us to think about in childbirth class. I’d thought I had another three weeks to think it through. I don’t know if I can watch. “I’m going to stay up here with Claire. I’ll see the baby soon enough.”
Claire appeared in a daze, almost as if she was slipping in and out of consciousness.
“Time to push again.”
Margo and I helped Claire sit up, held her legs. My hand felt the force with which she was pushing as her back muscles tensed. “Come on, darling. You can do it.”
“Man, you are strong, Mom. We are so close,” Dr. Thorp said from the foot of the bed. “Do you have another push in you?”
Claire collapsed back on the pillow again. She took three deep breaths. “Let’s do this.” She crunched up again, this time with even more determination on her face. “I. Just. Want. This. Baby. Ahh.” Her head dropped forward and she screamed, “Owwwwwttttttt.”
An abrupt and loud squishy sound came.
The other nurse quickly handed the doctor a metal instrument. He mumbled.
What?
Claire’s head bobbed up and down with every breath, her body still in crunch position.
Margo stepped to the end of the bed.
My eyes darted between Claire and Doctor Thorp.
He worked furiously.
What? My heart pounded.
Sam leaned into me. “Is that it?”
“It’s a girl,” Doctor Thorp said.
What? A girl? “I don’t hear—”
And then it came. Our baby’s cry. Sara’s beautiful cry filled the room.
Doctor Thorp cradled her tiny squiggling body in a blue paper pad. Sara arched her back and sucked in another breath before letting loose again.
“What do you say, Dad? Do you want to cut the cord?”
I leaned down and pressed my quivering lips to Claire’s forehead, tears rolling down my face. “It’s a girl.” It’s a girl. She’s here. She’s finally here.
Chapter Forty-Two
Chris stumbled into the office, wearing only his gray striped pajama pants, rubbing his eyes, hair a wreck. “Here you are. Why don’t you go back to bed? I’ll take Sara.”
I looked down at her tiny face, peaceful and sweet as I cradled her in one arm while sitting at my desk. I’d pretty well mastered the art of one-handed typing and the click-clack didn’t seem to bother her one bit. The very corner of her mouth turned up. “She’s actually asleep.”
“Then why aren’t you doing the same?” He reached down and took her into his arms. There was profound adoration on his face every time he looked at her, even when she was crying or fussing.
I smiled as he swayed back and forth. She looked especially small and precious when he held her against his comparatively massive frame. The two of them together was so beautiful, it made my heart swell and ache at the same time.
“I got sucked into writing and she was happy.” I leaned against the desk top, realizing how sleep-deprived I really was. “I don’t know. I guess I got carried away.”
“I’ve noticed. I’d love to tell you that you need to get some rest, but I know how it goes when you’re on a roll. It’s hard to stop.” He eased into the other desk chair, cradling Sara like the seasoned dad he’d so quickly become. He’d taken to it like a fish to water, changing diapers and teaching her to take breast milk from a bottle, although that job was more than he’d anticipated. She still wasn’t a fan.
“I’m glad you understand what it’s like.”
“Remember when I told you about writing the second solo record after my divorce?” He rocked slowly in the chair. “I have a feeling it’s a similar situation.”
“Is that part of why you’re being so overly amazing with Sara? I mean, I know you’re excited to finally be a dad, but you’re being almost superhuman with your efforts.”
He pulled Sara close and kissed her forehead. She shook her small head and curled in to his chest. “Maybe.” He looked at me and smiled. “Or maybe it’s just that for the first time in my life, I’m having fun sitting back and letting other people be more important than myself. It feels good.”
“Oh, come on. You’re so sweet and generous. I wouldn’t have married you if you were self-absorbed.”
“I know. It still feels good to be selfless for once.” He tucked the blanket around Sara more snugly. “I was thinking about it the other day, you know, your dad was a pretty selfless guy. As controlling as he was, everything he did was for the people he loved. He helped me a lot in those last few months of his life.”
“It was his way of telling you that he loved you.”
He nodded. “Indeed. It was. And I’m thankful for it. I only wish he was here to see this little peanut.” He rose from the chair and ambled over to me. “I’m taking Jellybean back to bed. Don’t stay up too much longer.”
I stood to give him a kiss, clasping his shoulders, up on my tiptoes, Sara between us. “I’ll come up now. I can get in some more writing this afternoon.”
Sara got up for a little while around two, but settled in after nursing, and the three of us went back to sleep.
I woke when Chris jostled the bed. “Is she up again?” I watched him, perched on the edge of the bed peering down into the bassinet.
�
�No,” he whispered. “She’s still sleeping.” Chris was so fascinated by watching Sara sleep that I was prepared to declare it his new hobby.
“What time is it?” I asked. Faint light peeked between the blackout shades and the window frame.
“Half five.” He leaned back and kissed me on the forehead, pulling the covers up to my shoulder and settling in next to me. “Go back to sleep. She’s just fine.”
I smiled and closed my eyes, inhaling his heavenly scent. Sleep deprivation had been much easier to handle the second time around. Having a husband willing to get up in the middle of the night, bring me a hungry baby, sing Blackbird to us while she was nursing, then change her and rock her to sleep? If ever I’d needed someone to pinch me over the miracle of being married to Chris, it was now.
“You amaze me,” I mumbled, eyes still closed.
“I thought you were getting more sleep.”
“And you amaze me.” I inched closer to him and he wrapped his arm around me. My face settled against his bare chest.
“Tell me, why do I amaze you?” His voice was deep and soft, so intoxicating. One more week until we could have sex again. Thank God. I never expected to feel that way the second time, either. After Sam was born, I didn’t want a penis, regardless of owner, within fifty yards of me. Of course, Chris was the exception to nearly every rule, that one especially.
“How do you help me with Sara and never complain once? Julie said Matt would never get up with the kids in the middle of the night. And she’s not the only one. Every mom I know says the same thing. Their other half gets up the first few nights and that’s it. You’re going on a month.”
“It’s easy. If you wait for something long enough, you’re so excited to have it that sleep is secondary.”
Chris’s superhuman help was such a gift. Ever since I’d started the grand attempt at turning my dad’s notebooks into a novel, my days were filled to the brim. Baby time. Chris time. Sam time. Writing time. The woman who became overwhelmed when her plate got too full, was happy even now that the plate was overflowing.
Chris started to snore, and I made a more concerted effort to get back to sleep, but my brain was awake and ready to play, eager to get back to writing. This was something I’d never before experienced. I’d always loved to write, had spent countless hours tapping away at the computer, banging away at the Smith-Corona or scrawling in a notebook when I was younger. It had been an escape, some projects better than others, an outlet for the things in the world that I took in and couldn’t let go. Now that I was working on the novel, I was a bit obsessed—new ideas hit me all the time. Post-it notes covered the desk in the home office.
At first, my plan had been to write twenty pages. I knew I had that much in me and I at least had my dad’s ideas as a seed, although I’d already strayed from them. I was concerned I would get stuck after those first twenty pages, unsure of where to take it next, uneasy about tampering with my dad’s characters and settings.
Instead, my dad took residence in my head, leaving my mom to sit by and quietly listen. He and I riffed off each other for hours. He liked my ideas, would say that he should’ve thought of a certain plot point, would tell me that he knew he’d done the right thing by handing this all over to me. As I worked through the pages of those notebooks, plotted, wrote, and brainstormed, I grew closer to him every day.
I was still sad about my dad, but I tried to let that fuel the book. Chris and Sam had both found me in the office sobbing my eyes out, but that catharsis was exactly what I needed. I felt like myself at the end of the day, not some half-awake shell of a broken human, which was the way I’d felt after my mom had passed away. Perhaps it would’ve been different if I’d had an outlet like this when I lost her. It certainly would have changed the game if I’d had Chris. At least this time, I had a way through the depths of grief—a course through a wall of tears, at sea on a vessel called a work-in-progress. And Chris was the one paddling me to shore.
Chapter Forty-Three
Why am I not surprised Graham would continue to concoct his schemes? I set my phone aside and tended to the chicken sizzling away on the grill. The tempting smell permeated the warm June air. It’s not a bad idea. Guess I’ll have to talk to Claire about this one.
I took a long drink of beer, surveying the back yard. Now that the landscaping was in and the pool filled, things had taken shape. Bryce and Sam had spent the afternoon lounging poolside, reveling in their newfound freedom after graduation.
I was astounded that Claire and I made it through the commencement the day before, however proud we were of them both. Between the jubilation of Sam’s achievement and Richard’s very noticeable absence, calling it bittersweet would have been an understatement.
Now Bryce and Sam sat a few feet from me, playing with six-week-old Sara, who was nestled in her baby seat atop the outdoor dining table. The game they were playing, if you could even call it that, was a competition to see who could make her smile. This had become Sam’s favorite activity since Sara had started to grin more regularly, a few days before.
“She likes me best. I’m telling you,” Sam said.
Bryce put his arm around Sam, leaning into her. “I don’t know. I think its just gas.”
She shook her head back and forth. Sara smiled. “See. I told you.”
I laughed quietly. Poor Bryce. He never stood a chance.
“Check this out.” Sam performed her newest trick, a pretend sneeze with a high-pitched, “Ah-choo”. Sara responded with another smile. Sam reached out and touched her nose with the tip of her finger. “Who’s a good girl?”
“You are way too in love with this baby.” Bryce took a swig of his Coke. “You’re kind of freaking me out.”
“She’s adorable. How can you not be in love with her?”
Indeed.
Claire came through the patio doors with a large salad bowl. “How’s the chicken coming?”
I lifted the lid on the grill and gave the meat a poke with tongs. “I’m going to give it another minute, then it needs to rest.”
“Perfect. I’ll get the bread.” She watched as Sam fawned over Sara, smiling as only a mother can smile. “Sam, honey, do you mind changing her before we eat?”
“No problem.” She carefully unbuckled the strap around Sara’s waist and lifted her from the chair, cradling her in her arms, expertly supporting her head. “We’ll be right back.”
The turning point between Sam and Sara had come a few weeks earlier, when Sam became the first person to cajole Sara into taking a bottle. This took immense pressure off Claire and gave Sam sole ownership of her big sister role, a part she’d been unsure of at first.
Sam returned a minute later, holding Sara over her shoulder, patting her back. She turned so I could see Sara’s face. “Look. It’s Daddy.”
Sara lifted her head for a moment then dropped back onto Sam’s shoulder. She tried again, watching me the entire time. “Hello, Jellybean. Sam is taking such good care of you. You’re a very lucky girl.” Everything about her was perfect—wide blue eyes like Claire’s, tiny chin, button nose. She was our little bird, our Jellybean. I cradled the back of her fuzzy nearly-bald head, pressing a gentle kiss to it, inhaling her wonderful scent, something Claire had dubbed a baby’s superpower. It was true. I was Jell-O in its presence.
Claire came outside and Sam put Sara in her seat, which she left on the table.
“Bryce, we’re ready to eat,” Claire said. “Sam, don’t you think we should put Sara down while we’re eating?”
“Where? Like on the ground?”
“It’s not really the ground, it’s a patio. She’s still in her comfy seat.”
Sam seemed unconvinced. “There’s plenty of room for her on the table.”
Claire looked at me, arching her eyebrows. “Fair enough. Big sister knows best.”
“Damn straight.” Sam plopped down in the chair closest to Sara.
“Sam. Language,” Claire said.
“What? I said damn. I
’m eighteen.” She shrugged and took the salad bowl when Claire passed it to her. “And I might miss Grandpa, but I don’t miss the profanity police.”
We all missed Richard, much more than I had imagined. Just as Claire was coming to terms with it by working on her book, I had poured time into new music. For me, this was an important time to reflect on both Sara and Richard, new life and a life left behind, as well as the path ahead for Claire and I.
This burst of creative output was different than the times when major life events had sent me into a self-imposed creative exile. Now I had learned to be prolific while taking time to breathe, to enjoy each day as it came, bounce a baby on my knee, take my wife out for a coffee or join her for a run. Claire, Sara, and Sam—my girls, made that balance possible.
Of course, the timing was remarkable. Graham and the rest of the band would likely be ecstatic that I had so much new material to bring to the party when we started recording in a week.
“I do wish Dad could’ve been here yesterday.” Claire looked at Sam with a familiar wistfulness. “He was very proud of you, Sam. Of how hard you’ve worked and your smarts and getting into NYU, of course.”
Sam straightened in her chair. “Thanks. It would’ve been nice to have him here. That’s for sure.”
“He really liked you a lot, Bryce,” Claire said. “I’m sorry you didn’t have the chance to get to know him better.”
Bryce had taken an enormous bite of chicken and was nodding while trying to chew. Finally, he got it down. “I know. Me too. He seemed like a cool guy. But thanks, Mrs. Penman. I appreciate your saying that.”
“Hey, come on now. No Mr. and Mrs. Penman.” I took a slice of bread and slathered it with butter, in honor of Richard. “It’s Chris and Claire. Please. You’re a university man now. No need for unnecessary formalities.”
“Got it. Thanks.” Bryce grinned and tucked back into his dinner.
“Have you two talked about how next year is going to go?” I asked.
Claire furrowed her brow, flashing me the “Where are you going with this, Penman?” look.
