Shelter Mountain (Virgin River 2)

“Do we have any more candles?” she asked him.

“Not that I know about.”

“How about flashlights?”

“Yeah, I have a couple of those.”

“Get the strongest one. If he starts to come before John gets here, I might be able to hold the light for you.”

“For…Me?”

“Jack, there are only two of us here. One of us is going to push him out, one of us is going to catch him. Which job do you want?”

“Oh,” he said, going for the flashlight. He took it back to her and demonstrated its strength by shining it right in her eyes. She winced and he turned it off.

She rubbed her eyes. “Oh, brother. Maybe you should push him out. I’m calmer. Yeah, I vote for you,” she said.

He knelt with one knee on the floor beside her bed. “Melinda, how can you be sarcastic right now?”

“You know, you own a bar and you don’t keep alcohol at home,” she said, breathless. “I could have had a shot—it sometimes slows labor.”

“We’ll have some on hand for the next one.”

“You keep talking like that’s gonna happen,” she said. “How ridiculous.”

“I think my record speaks for itself. But, Mel, I just want to make them, not deliver them.”

“I hear ya, buddy,” she said, and then was gripped by another contraction. She tried to pant through it, but they were getting tougher—longer and closer together. She looked at her watch. “Oh, man,” she said, breathless. “This is going to turn me into a much more sympathetic midwife. Yii.”

“What should I do?” he asked.

“Pull up a chair…Or something. All we do now is labor.”

Jack went to the nursery and got the rocker, bringing it to her bedside and sitting up on the edge, leaning toward her. “Did you hit the tree?” he asked her, picking up a towel from the bed and wiping it gently across her sweating brow.

“A little bit. I had a contraction, the first really good one, and it distracted me, and there it was, right in the road.”

“So that didn’t make you go into labor?”

“No. I suspect I’ve been in labor all day and didn’t realize—it was all in my back. Killing me!”

“That’s why I’m here. That’s what Paige said happened to her.”

“God bless her, huh? Uh,” she said, grabbing her middle and going with another one. It seemed to go on forever. Finally, she relaxed against the pillows again, closed her eyes and caught her breath. “Oh, man, this is harder than it looks. At least he’s off my back.”

“God, I wish I could do this for you.”

“That makes two of us.” She closed her eyes for a moment. Two minutes later she was seized by another one. She panted through it. Jack went to the bathroom and wet a washcloth, going back to her to wipe her brow and neck. “That’s nice,” she said.

“You have to wait for John,” he said.

“I’m doing the best I can, Jack.”

He held her hand and wiped her brow through several more contractions, murmuring, “It’s okay, baby. It’s okay….”

And then she snapped, “I know it’s okay! Stop saying that!”

Oh, he had heard about this—when you’re doing whatever you can, but she hates you, anyway.

“Sorry,” she said. “That’s transition talking.”

“Transition?” he repeated.

“It’s getting closer.” When the next one passed she said, “Okay, something is a little different. I think he’s moving down. I feel like in a minute—” Before she could finish her sentence, she was nearly lifted off the bed by the urge to bear down. She seemed to catch herself, stop herself by panting. Two minutes is a long, long time when you’re going through that. When you’re watching someone go through that. When it passed, she collapsed back on the pillows and had trouble catching her breath.

“Jack,” she said breathlessly. “You’re going to have to take a look. Get the flashlight and shine it right on my pelvic floor. See if the birth canal is opening. Tell me if you see him coming.”

“How will I know what to look for?” he asked.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “It has hair,” she said in a very snotty tone.

“Okay, don’t get pissy, I don’t do this for a living.”

She lifted her knees and spread them while Jack held the flashlight on her. “Whoa,” he said. He looked over her knees at her face. He looked a little bit pale.

“Show me how much, like this,” she said, showing him a circle with her thumb and forefinger. He responded by showing her a circle, larger than hers. “Ho, boy,” she said.

He turned off the flashlight. “Melinda, I want you to wait for John….”

“I am sick to death of being told to wait for John!” she said meanly. “Jack, listen to me. I’m having this baby. Period. And you’re going to pay attention and help. Got that?”

“Aw, Melinda…”

She grabbed his wrist and dug her nails into him. “Do you think this is my first choice?”

He thought briefly about suggesting, again, that she try to hold off. But he knew he was not in the driver’s seat here, plus he was resisting the urge to look at his wrist to see if she’d drawn blood. It was going to be impossible to get her to listen to reason. He’d always been good at following orders—he’d do that again. “Gotcha,” he said.

“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. Spread out a blanket at the foot of the bed, down there. A small blanket for the baby. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Okay, in my bag here, get out two clamps and a pair of scissors. The suction bulb. We’re going to need a basin for the placenta—a large bowl or saucepan will do. Then go into the bathroom, roll up your sleeves and scrub your hands up to the elbows with soap, lots of soap and the hottest water you can stand. Dry with a clean towel. When you get back, done with that, there’s going to be a bigger circle. Okay?”

“Okay.” He opened the bag. He had to hold up a couple of things before she confirmed he had a clamp. The suction bulb was a complete mystery. As this process was going on, she reared up again and with a loud and very primal grunt, was bearing down. She held on to her thighs and pushed until her face was red. He took the flashlight on instinct, shining it on her pelvic floor. Oh, Christ, he thought. That circle of hair that was his son’s head was indeed getting larger. He supposed there was no point in telling her to stop that. “How much time do we have?” he asked.

“Go. Wash. Don’t screw around.”

“Done,” he said. But it was awful, standing at the sink sudsing himself while she was in the bedroom, groaning and grunting and pushing his baby out of her. He wanted to yell at her to stop that, but he knew it would only piss her off. When he got back to the bed, he reached for the flashlight and she yelled, “No! Don’t touch that! Pick it up with a clean towel! Hand it to me!”

He looked around and upon locating the towels up by her pillow, he took one and passed the flashlight to her. She struggled to sit up a bit and held the flashlight, pointing it down. “Holy shit, Mel,” he said.

She thought she knew what that meant. She collapsed back on the pillows and looked at her watch. It had been almost an hour and a half since Rick lit out of here. Where the hell was John? “He’s coming, Jack,” she said weakly, collapsing against the pillows.

He took the flashlight from her with the towel and said, “Gimme that.” He propped it on a rolled-up towel so that it shone on the field of birth and said, “Okay, now you can think about one thing.”

“Giving birth?” she asked.

“Two things,” he amended. “Giving birth and telling me what to do.”

On the next contraction, she pulled herself up, grabbing her thighs, and the baby’s head, crowning, grew larger. “Holy shit,” Jack said again. Three more pushes and the baby’s whole head emerged. “Oh, my God,” he said.

“Jack, look for a cord around the baby’s neck. It’s purple and ropey. Ahhh,” she said, struggling against another contraction. “Use your index finger to see if you can feel anything around the baby’s neck. Ahhh!”

Right at that moment, the front door slammed open with a bang.

“John!” Jack yelled. “John, come on!”

John, soaked and coming into the bedroom at a pace far too leisurely for Jack’s tastes, appeared. Jack started to stand and John said, “Get back in there, man.” He peered into the field. “Good. You feel for a cord?”

“Yeah, but what the hell do I know?”

John let his coat fall off his shoulders. He grabbed the flashlight and brought it in closer. “Nice,” he said. “Jack, get your hands in there—she’s going to bring him out. Be ready.”

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Jack asked, really at the end of his tether with this business.

“You’re there, Jack. Now.” He looked over Mel’s raised knees. “Little push, Mel,” John said.

Mel gave a grunt and a shove and the baby came sliding out, neat as pie.

“Hold him face down, your hand on his chest, and rub his back,” John said. Before Jack had even accomplished that, the baby was crying. “Ah, good,” John said. John spread a blanket on Mel’s abdomen. “Good work. Put him down right here. Let’s get him dried off and wrapped nice and warm.”

Jack’s hands were shaking as he did so, wiping the muck of birth from his son’s little body. Mel was straining up to see him, her fingers reaching toward him to touch him. For a moment Jack was paralyzed. Trans-fixed. Before he could close the blanket around him, he stared at him in sheer wonder. His son. Brought right out of his wife’s body. Naked, covered with muck, squalling, and the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. His little arms and legs were flailing, his mouth open in a wail. He was so tiny, Jack was thinking, when John said, “Jesus, Melinda, he’s big. Where were you keeping him?”

“Oh,” Mel said. “That feels so much better.”

John was finally in the ball game, gently massaging Mel’s uterus. “What a woman,” he said. “No stitches necessary.” He applied the clamps to the cord, handed Jack the scissors and told him where to cut. Jack, finally numbed by an event in which he’d felt entirely helpless, did as he was told, freeing the baby from his moorings.

“Good work,” John said. “Let Mel have her baby, Jack. I’ll wash and help with the cleanup.”

John disappeared into the bathroom while Jack lovingly lifted the baby. Mel was tugging at her T-shirt as Jack was handing her the baby. She held the baby’s cheek against her warm breast, running her fingers over his perfect head. The baby stopped crying and appeared to be looking around. Mel glanced up at Jack and gave him a little smile.

“Come on, little guy,” she cooed, serene, totally focused on her son. “Do your job here. Stanch the bleeding, bring out the placenta.” She pinched her nipple to fit the baby’s mouth, trying to entice him with it. Jack felt a river of emotion run through him. He didn’t know if he was about to burst into song or faint. He dropped to his knees to be closer and watched Mel tickle the baby’s mouth and cheek with her nipple and then the baby turned his head instinctively and clamped on, took hold, suckled. And Mel said, “Oh, my! You’re very good at this.” Then she looked at Jack, who knelt by the bed, dazed. She smiled weakly and said, “Thank you, darling.”

He leaned closer to her, his face next to his son’s head. “My God, Melinda,” he said in a breath. “What the hell did we just do?”