Page 42 of The Lookback

When he comes back with my punch, I practically snatch it out of his hand. “Well, we got the photos. We can go home, now.”

Tommy doesn’t argue, and he doesn’t even look shocked. “If that’s what you want.”

“It is.”

He leads me out past the dumb old paper arch, helps me into the car, and drives me home. And that’s the end of our junior promandmy relapse into idiocy all at once.

11

HELEN

When you’re smarter than everyone else you meet, your life is often filled with all kinds of frustration. You explain your ideas, but no one gets them. Things you try to delegate take you longer to explain than to simply do yourself. You have to make your point in a half dozen different ways, or the people around you can’t understand what you’re saying. When you make what you feel are fairly basic statements, people can’t keep up.

Simple things for me are often complicated for almost everyone else.

Maybe that’s why one of my great joys in life is driving.

It’s uncomplicated. It’s something I can control. And it’s usually a time when I can think. I release frustration, anger, and anxiety while the road flies past. I unwind from whatever deals I’m struggling with or problems I’m mulling over, and no one can badger me. “I can’t talk now—driving.” I love fast cars with great suspension, because they make an activity that already relaxes me even more fun.

But not when it snows.

If you’re going to live somewhere that snows all the time, even in October, that location should at least have a decent snow-removal system in place. Unfortunately, with a population density of one point three people per square mile, Daggett County simply can’t afford any kind of effective snow control at all. Unless I decide to start plodding along behind the wheel of a snow plow—not likely—I’m sort of stuck slowing to a crawl when snow billows down from the sky to blanket the road.

I hate it.

But it’s even worse when a pregnant woman’s shouting in my ear.

“Those contractions sound worse,” I say. “Or is that just me?”

“Not you,” Abby says. “I think they’re getting closer.”

“So. . .” I clear my throat. “We’re still twenty minutes away. If you could tryreallyhard to keep that baby inside until we get there, that would be great.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Donna shouts. “Really helpful feedback.”

She makes an effort not to scream, and no baby has popped out yet, but by the time we reach the emergency room, I’m worried that’s only because something’s wrong. Instead of panting and whimpering during contractions, she seems to be whimpering all the time. She’s also sweating—profusely. During her next contraction, I whisper over my shoulder, hoping only Abby will hear. “Is she alright?”

“I texted Steve, and he called a friend over there. Labor and delivery is in the ER, waiting.”

By the time I pull into the drive of the hospital in Rock Springs, Donna looks even worse.

“There,” Abby points. “Pull over there.”

“But it says Ambulance Bay,” I say.

“Since when do you care about what’s allowed?” she asks. “Go.”

Everything about babies makes me nervous, and it’s not helping that I apparently have one inside me right now, too. Little parasites that wreck all the things that should work a certain way. “Fine,” I say. “We’re here.”

Donna isn’t moving, other than the panting and the moaning, and Abby’s stuck in the back seat, so I hop out and run around to the passenger side, waving as I go. “Hey!” I shout at the top of my lungs. “Pregnant lady about to deliver out here.”

No one seems to hear me, but when I open the door, Donna tries to get out. She’s struggling, and I’m not strong enough to deadlift her when she’s also growing a bowling ball in her belly, so I’m going to need a hand.

I shout louder. “Help us out here! Whoo-eee, whoo-ee! Pretend I’m an ambulance and come out already!”

A moment later, the door does open, and by that point, Abby has escaped through my side of the car. She’s jogging around to lend a hand, too. “My friend here is very, very pregnant,” Abby says. “She needs some help.” Then she drops to a hiss that it’s clear she’s hoping only the hospital worker will hear. “We think there may be a complication.”

Even at a hospital out in the boonies, within twenty seconds, several people have mobilized, and Donna’s carefully transferred to her back on a stretcher. Less than a minute later, there’s a tall doctor in dark blue scrubs at her side asking her questions.

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