by Nancy Thayer
24
“Pooh!” Maddox struggled through the back yard, following the bumpy path through the snow toward the garage. “Pooh! Where are you?”
The snow reached the top of his boots. The wind pushed at him, and snow swirled up his nose. Fear burned his heart, shame sliced his belly. He should have brought the puppy some food this morning. If Pooh had run away because he thought Maddox had abandoned him … Maddox sobbed aloud. The sound flew away in the storm.
It wasn’t quite dark yet. Lights from the house fell over the yard, and as Maddox went around the side of the garage, his heart exploded with gladness. There he was! The little terrier was standing on his hind legs, trying to push over the heavy garbage container, which rocked but did not fall.
“Pooh!”
The dog turned, saw Maddox, and, yelping jubilantly, bounded through the few feet between them, throwing himself at Maddox with delirium. Maddox put his arms around the animal. Pooh was shivering. Pooh whined with ecstasy, licking Maddox’s face with an icy tongue.
“You’re going inside with me,” Maddox told the animal.
He tried to pick Pooh up in his arms, and he did manage it, but the dog’s weight made Maddox almost fall over backward. Heroically, Maddox toiled forward, one step at a time, through the mountains of white. The dog rested his head on Maddox’s shoulder. It was the most wonderful feeling. Keeping to the jagged path he had broken through on his way out, he managed to labor his way right up to the steps to the back porch. Here, he collapsed, out of breath.
“Pooh,” he gasped, setting the dog down next to him.
Pooh squeezed as close to Maddox as he could. They were both quaking with cold.
Maddox stood up. His snowboots were warm, but they were heavy. He’d be glad to get them off. Resolutely, he climbed the wooden steps.
“Come on, Pooh,” he called. The dog leapt up the steps, right alongside Maddox.
Maddox reached way up to turn the doorknob. He shoved the door open. Warmth flooded out from the mudroom.
“Come on, Pooh,” he called again.
Pooh didn’t hesitate. He bounced across the porch and into the house. Maddox pulled the door shut. In the bright light, he saw how each individual hair on Pooh’s body was crusted with snow. It frosted poor Pooh’s nose and the tips of his ears. Maddox seized his own navy blue coat with the red plaid lining and wrapped it over the dog, holding him tightly.
“Maddox!” Suddenly Grandmama Katya loomed in the doorway, looking cross and even kind of mean. “What is that?”
25
Snix nestled his head on the boy’s shoulder, savoring this surprising moment of belonging. He was wanted. He was chosen. He was very nearly warm.
And he’d bet the little boy would feed him any minute now. His stomach rumbled hungrily. He hoped the boy could feel it.
The boy’s arms tightened around Snix when the thin blond woman came into the mudroom. Snix felt him tense up. He could smell the woman’s scent, much like cat pee, and the boy’s anxiety. Snix stayed still, sensing it was a good time to be invisible.
The woman kept saying Maddox. Maddox must be the boy’s name. Good to know.
“Santa brought him to me,” Maddox told the woman.
She laughed, but the sound wasn’t lighthearted. “Maddox, Christmas isn’t until tomorrow, darling. Besides, dogs aren’t allowed in the house.”
Maddox’s arms were trembling from supporting Snix’s weight. Squatting down, he put Snix on the floor. He removed his coat from Snix’s body. “He’s just a little dog,” Maddox pointed out.
Snix tried to squeeze himself small. He lay down on the floor—the soft rag rug felt good against his belly—and put his head between his paws.
“I don’t care what size the animal is. Dogs are not allowed in this house.”
“Excuse me?” Another woman entered the mudroom. This one didn’t smell like cat pee. She smelled wonderful. She smelled like food. “Oh, Maddox, who is this?”
Food Woman knelt next to Snix. Snix lifted his head hopefully. Food Woman slowly reached out to let Snix smell her hand, a true courtesy, then gently scratched him behind his ears.
“Hello, cutie-pie. What’s your name?”
In reply, Snix licked her wrist, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically, but it was ringed with the slight aroma of melted cheese.
“Pooh,” Maddox told Food Woman. “I’ve named him Pooh.”
“Well, Pooh, you appear just a tad bedraggled. I’ll bet you’d like something to eat. Perhaps a nice bowl of warm milk and a bit of—”
“Don’t tell me you intend to feed that creature!” Blond Woman was indignant. “If you do that, you’ll never get rid of him.”
“Santa brought him!” Maddox protested, getting to his feet. “He did, Nicole!”
“Dogs are not allowed in this house,” Blond Woman said, her voice as cold as the wind outside.
Food Woman spoke, her voice low, vibrating with indignation. “May I remind you, you do not make the rules here. This is not your house any longer.”
“Mommy!” shouted Maddox as another woman squeezed her bulk into the room. She was young and pretty and hugely fat.
“What’s wrong? Maddox, what have you done?”
“Mommy.” Maddox babbled, suddenly crouching over Snix. “Santa left me this dog. I want to keep him. His name is Pooh. He won’t eat much.”
Actually … Snix thought, almost dizzy with hunger and the enticing bouquet of beef, cheese, and oatmeal …
His thoughts were interrupted. “I’ve told you, Maddox, you can’t have a pet. I’m sorry, but we’re going to have a new baby soon.”
“But, Mommy—” Maddox argued, stamping his foot.
“MADDOX, you are being a very BAD boy!” his mother yelled.
“Then I’ll keep him,” Food Woman announced.
“You will not!” Blond Woman bristled with outrage. “An animal will ruin this house! The floors will be scratched, the furniture ripped to shreds—”
“As I said,” Food Woman replied calmly, “this is not your house.”
Maddox’s mommy turned bright red and stuck her face into Food Woman’s face. “How dare you be rude to my mother!”
“What’s going on?” An older man came into the room, which made the mudroom crowded.
“Daddy!” the fat lady with the bulging tummy cried.
“Sebastian,” Blond Woman said and at the same time, Food Woman said, “Sebastian.”
Everyone talked at once, which made it possible for Maddox to pick his coat off the floor, toss it over Snix, clutch Snix to his chest, push open the back door, and run back out into the cold.
26
“Tell her, Daddy, tell her!” Kennedy threw herself into her father’s arms. Tears flew from her eyes. “Tell Nicole she is not allowed to make rules for my son!”
“I didn’t—” Nicole began.
“Kennedy?” James came into the room. He’d finished shoveling the front walk, and snow topped his wool hat and the shoulders of his coat. “What’s going on?”
Kennedy could hardly remain standing. She was out of breath, overwhelmed by the situation, bent in half by her emotions.
Katya spoke, her voice laced with contempt for Nicole. “Nicole thinks she can tell Kennedy how to run her life.”
“No, I do not,” Nicole disagreed, almost spitting each word.
Kennedy shuddered. “Daddy, make her stop being mean to Mommy.”
“Kennedy.” James stepped forward and put his hand on her shoulder. “Honey, what’s gotten into you? You sound like a whining adolescent.”
Nicole folded her arms in the most satisfied way. Kennedy wanted to slap her.
“Don’t you speak to my daughter that way!” Katya snapped.
“Why don’t we all calm down,” Sebastian suggested. “Let’s get out of the mudroom and discuss this reasonably.”
“Discuss what?” James asked.
“Nicole wants to let Maddox keep the dog,” Kennedy told him.
Kennedy shrieked. “WHERE’S MADDOX?”
Silence suddenly filled the mudroom as everyone turned to stare at the place where the boy and dog had been standing. Now there was only a wet spot on the rug and a small pile of melting snow.
Sebastian strode across the empty space, yanked open the back door, and yelled out into the dark night: “Maddox? Maddox!”
Nicole hurried to his side. Stepping out onto the back porch, she called, “Maddox, honey, it’s okay. The dog can come in, too.”
“How dare she,” Katya muttered.
Sebastian took a flashlight from the shelf above the coat hooks and hurried out into the yard. “Maddox? Maddox!”
“Maybe he’s in his fort.” Nicole trotted down the back steps and through the snowdrifts, fell to her knees, and crawled inside the lawn chair tunnel. After a moment, she backed out. “They’re not in there.”
Kennedy’s heart seemed to explode with anguish. “What have I done?” Snatching the first coat her hand found, she pulled it over her shoulders.
As Kennedy wobbled out onto the porch and down the steps, her mother shouted, “Kennedy! You can’t go out in this weather. Not in your shape. You’ll fall! Kennedy, get back in here.”
James brushed past his mother-in-law, rushed out the back door, and caught Kennedy as she reached the bottom step. “Kennedy,” he crooned. “It’s okay.” Taking a moment, he stroked the side of her face with his hand.
James’s caring touch, his concerned gaze, soothed Kennedy. For a second, in the midst of the swirling snow, the world made sense.
“James,” she sobbed. “I was mean to Maddox. He wants to keep a puppy he found and I said he couldn’t. He said Santa brought it to him. I said …” She couldn’t finish. She hated herself at that moment. She was the worst mother in the world. “I told Maddox he was bad. On Christmas Eve. So he ran away.” She bent over double with pain.
James wrapped his arms around her tight. He was so strong. His love for her was a healing balm. “Let’s get you back inside. You need to take care of yourself. I’ll go find Maddox. He can’t have gone far.”
Sebastian and Nicole approached, ghostly in their snow-covered clothing.
“He’s not in the yard or garage or at the front of the house,” Sebastian announced.
Kennedy choked back a sob.
27
Nicole had a sudden thought. “Maybe he went up to his room. I’ll check.” She raced out of the mudroom, through the front hall, and up the stairs. The door to Maddox’s room was open. The room was empty.
“He’s not there,” she called as she hurried back down the stairs.
“We’re going to look for him,” Sebastian yelled.
“We’ll find him!” James promised desperately. The two men hurried out.
The front door slammed. Nicole hesitated in the hallway, wondering whether she should join the search party, too.
Just then, to her great surprise, there came from the mudroom an extended, anguished, guttural bellow. It was a sound Nicole knew well from her days as a nurse. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
Katya was helping Kennedy into the front hall.
Katya looked exasperated. “For heaven’s sake, Kennedy, enough with the melodrama. They’ll find him.”
Nicole said, “It’s not melodrama, Katya. Your daughter’s in labor.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Katya countered.
Kennedy was almost crouching, hands on the wall for support.
Nicole went to the young woman. “Let’s go into the living room. It’s the warmest room in the house. I’ll check your contractions.”
Unable to speak, Kennedy allowed Nicole to support her as they slowly made their way into the living room. A fire flickered brightly in the fireplace, and the Christmas tree glittered in the window.
“Put your hands on the back of the chair,” Nicole told Kennedy.
Kennedy leaned on the armchair with Nicole standing behind her. Suddenly, a gush of blood-tinged water flooded from her body.
“Kennedy! What are you doing? The rug is Turkish!” Katya cried.
Nicole ignored the other woman, her hands on Kennedy’s belly.
“Katya, the baby is coming. Call 911.”
“The baby isn’t due for three more weeks,” Katya argued, adding, “Maddox was ten days late.”
Kennedy was growling constantly now. Digging her hands into the back of the chair for support, she gasped, “Mommy. Call 911.”
With a sniff, Katya took her cellphone out of the pocket of her cashmere skirt and punched in the numbers. She punched them in again. She looked at the phone, mystified. “It’s dead. My cell is dead.”
“Try the landline,” Nicole told her. “In the kitchen.”
“Oooooooooh.” Kennedy’s legs were shaking. “Nicole, I think I’m having the baby.”
“Yes. I think you are, too. Don’t worry, Kennedy. You’ll be fine.”
Kennedy lifted her face to the ceiling, straining. A long wail tore from her body.
Katya ran in from the kitchen. “That line’s dead, too.”
“Must be the storm,” Nicole murmured, preoccupied.
“Kennedy, are you okay?” Katya’s splendid forehead wrinkled in concern.
Nicole calmly informed her: “Katya, she’s having the baby. Now.”
Katya opened her mouth to object, but her daughter’s moans drove the reality past her doubts. “Dear Lord. What can we do?”
Nicole guided Katya’s hands onto Kennedy’s waist. “Hold Kennedy. Support her from behind. It’s good that she’s standing. Gravity will help the baby come down the birth canal.”
“Where are you going?” Katya shrieked, her voice shrill with fear.
“To scrub up. I’ll get some scissors, twine, and towels.”
Katya went white. “I’m going to faint.”
“Not now you’re not,” Nicole said in a tone that brooked no disagreement. She hurried from the room.
In the kitchen, she quickly, knowledgeably, gathered the things she needed. She dashed into the guest room to collect a pile of towels and pillows. She scrubbed her hands with hot water and soap, then raced back into the living room, where Kennedy was roaring in pain while Katya held her daughter up. It was impossible to guess which woman was trembling the most.
Nicole knelt behind Kennedy and lifted the skirt of her red dress, tucking it into the neck. She sliced off Kennedy’s sodden maternity panties.
“Kennedy. I’m going to check how far down your baby has come.”
“I can’t do this!” Kennedy howled. “Give me something for the pain! Please!”
“Whiskey? Brandy?” Katya offered helpfully. “I have some Advil in my travel kit.”
With expert gentleness, Nicole put one hand on Kennedy’s hip, and with the other hand, she slowly explored the birth canal, delicately moving her hand up. She felt the head. As always, this first touch filled her with wonder and gratitude.
“Kennedy. Your baby’s almost here.”
Kennedy screamed. “Please! It hurts too much! I can’t!”
Katya was weeping. “Help her, Nicole. Do something.”
“Do you think you can move to the coffee table?” Nicole asked.
“Are you mad?” Katya asked. “The coffee table isn’t long enough for her to—”
“I don’t want her to lie down on it. I want her to lean her arms on it. I don’t think she can stand up much longer.”
Gasping, crimson-faced, Kennedy managed the few awkward steps, supported by her mother and Nicole.
Nicole swept the bronze bowl of nuts off onto the floor and tossed a pillow in its place. She helped Kennedy lower herself so that each knee was on a pillow and her arms and upper body were supported by the table. She put another pillow between Kennedy’s legs.
“Oh, God!” Kennedy shrieked. “The baby’s coming! The baby’s coming! I can feel him coming!”
“Kennedy, listen to me. I want y
ou to take a deep breath. When I say, I want you to push.”
“What can I do?” Katya wrung her hands with worry.
“Go around to the other side of the table. Hold Kennedy’s shoulders. Hold her tight when she pushes.”
Katya did as Nicole said, kneeling on the floor among the flung walnuts, putting her hands on Kennedy’s shoulders.
“Now, Kennedy, push,” Nicole said.
Kennedy gripped her mother’s arms and pushed down so fiercely her body shuddered with the effort. When she stopped, she collapsed against the pillow on the coffee table, gasping for breath, too drained to speak.
28
“Okay, Kennedy. Again. Push.”
Kennedy pushed. She felt a force helping her. Her mother was helping her, holding on to her shoulders with a strength Kennedy never knew Katya had. Nicole was helping her. Nicole was a calm blur of movement and words, a serious, capable, confident strength. Something else possessed Kennedy now, a formidable, irresistible power that filled Kennedy’s body like water rushing into a vessel.
She pushed, lowing like a beast.
Pain tore through her. Something ripped inside her. She bellowed.
“Your baby’s crowned,” Nicole said. “One more push and he’s here.”
Shuddering, lost to the world, surrendering to what she could not evade, Kennedy yowled and pushed. The pain was unbearable—and then it diminished. She sagged against the coffee table, broken, mute, and helpless.
Behind her, Nicole was moving rapidly. “Come over here, Katya,” she directed. “Give me the twine. Cut it here. Tie it here. Okay, now cut.”
“Oh, God,” Katya wept. “Oh, God, oh, God, oh God. Kennedy, you have a baby!”
Kennedy could only keen as she felt the placenta move through her, carrying more pain along with it.
“Kennedy, we’re going to help you lie down now,” Nicole said. “Katya, pile those pillows on the floor. Kennedy, you’re going to rest against the pillows so we can put your daughter in your arms.”
Through the fog of shimmering fatigue, one word stood out, in startling, terrifying bluntness. When the ultrasound was done months ago, the technician had told them the baby was a boy.
