Page 111 of The Golden Goalie

“Oh no.” It hits me.

“What?” she asks.

“He’s not here.”

“Well, of course he’s not here. He doesn’t work here,” she retorts.

“No,” I swallow. “He’s out of town...for a hockey game.”

Her eyebrows rise above her spectacles. “Well, I suggest you call him,” she says pointedly. “And tell him to get his tight backside back home.”

I shake my head but let it go.Now is not the time.I look at my phone and shake my head. “I can’t.”

“And why ever not?”

“His game starts at nine. That’s less than ten minutes. If I call him now, it’ll just distract him.” Another cramp hits, and I take a deep breath. “I’ll just wait until his game is done.”

Mrs. Randolph stares at me a moment and then lets out the longest laugh. “I’m sorry,” she says, wiping her eyes. “I just thought you said you were just going to wait. Honey, that babe is not waiting until you feel like having a baby. She’s coming whether you’re ready or not.”

And just like that, the panic I was trying to avoid hits me full on. I stand to my feet abruptly. “I have to get to the hospital.”

“Yeah. That’s how this works,” she says, shaking her head.

I grab my bag and slide my phone into my pocket. “Okay. Okay. I’m just going to...” I turn back around. “Is it okay if I leave early?”

“I worry about you. Go!” She shoos me on.

“Thank you.” I start towards the door when I hear her call my name. I turn back.

“You’re not going to drive, right?” I look at her blankly. She shakes her head, muttering something about silly young women and something else I can’t quite hear. She walks back over to the desk. A moment later, I hear her voice over the PA system. “The library is closing right now. I’ve got a woman in labor. Everybody out right now if you don’t want to be traumatized and never have a child.”

I try to hide against the wall, but it’s pretty hard to miss the big, pregnant woman. Mrs. Randolph comes over to me a few minutes later with her purse in her hands. “Wow, thank you for that,” I say.

“You’re welcome. Now less chit chat. Let’s get a move on.” When we get outside, she marches towards the parking lot. “This way.”

I waddle after her, stopping once to catch my breath. “My car is over there.”

“I’m driving you, Child.”

I open my mouth to argue with her but quickly shut it when another cramp hits. When it passes, I follow her to her car. Atthis point, I’m not sure if I could talk her out of driving me. And I don’t want to wait around for an Uber. So catching a ride to the hospital with Mrs. Randolph it is.

I decide that I will never ride with her again. She blows past two stop signs, telling me that they’re optional. And we go straight through a red light that she told me had “just turned red.” It didn’t. Not at all. It was clearly red. By the time we get to the hospital, I’m just thankful to be alive. “Thank you, Mrs. Randolph.” She opens her door and climbs out of the car. I try to do the same, but it takes me a good bit to get out of the car. “What are you doing?” I finally manage to ask.

“Let’s go,” she calls out over her shoulder as she strides to the door. I stare at her back before I finally start moving forward. By the time we make it inside, I’m sweating.

“You didn’t feel like you needed to help the pregnant woman?” I mutter.

“Nope,” she says without turning back. “The more you move, the quicker you’ll get that baby out.”

Not caring an ounce, I drop into the nearest chair, trying to catch my breath. I watch her march up to the counter and start pointing back at me. With a sigh, I stand up and make my way to the counter.

Two long hours later, I’m finally admitted to a room. Mrs. Randolph mutters the entire walk to the room. Something about incompetent hospitals, labor, paperwork, and I don’t know what else. I sort of tune her out. Once I’m in a room, it’s a blur of activity for a little while. “Have you called anyone to come be with you?” Mrs. Randolph asks when there’s a lull. She surprises me; I kind of forgot she was still here.

“I was going to wait until I confirm that I’m actually in labor. I don’t want to get everybody worked up if it’s a false alarm.”

“Child, I don’t know how much more you need to understand that this is labor. That baby is making its way down south and is going to be splitting you wide open in the next few hours.”

“Wow. Thank you for that lovely visual.” She just grins at me and sits in the chair next to me. “You really don’t have to stay.”

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