Page 37 of Love Resurrected
“I’m at the hospital with Sadie—”
“That’s great! Is she in labor?”
“No, no, it’s bad, B. Her blood pressure spiked last night, and they can’t get it down. Her platelets are low, and she’s swollen. They’re thinking pre-eclampsia.”
“How can I help?”
“If I text you a list of stuff, can you go by the house and grab it and bring it to the hospital?”
“Of course, man. I’m on my way.”
“Thanks, brother.”
“See you soon.”
I get a text with the list of things soon after that and head out to Ethan’s. We each have keys to each other’s home, in case of emergency. Because of the early morning hour, there’s no traffic on the road and I make it to Ethan’s in a few minutes.
I let myself in to the eerily quiet home, even though it wouldn’t have been any other way since no one is there. I check the list, and most of the stuff is Sadie’s with just a few things for Ethan. I find the bulk of it easily, but a few of the things I have no clue what they are or where to find them. I call Ethan, but it goes right to voicemail. I send him a text.
Then I keep looking for anything that looks like it might be a Lullaby-Belly or a Belly-Bop. I’m assuming they are pregnancy gadgets, but past that, I have no clue. Nor can I seem to identify what NueSkinner or Bye-Bye-Belly-Marks are. After wasting another ten minutes searching the house with no luck, I call Ethan a second time. Voicemail. And send another text.
I’m tempted to just go with what I have, but what if these four things that I can’t find are important and I let them down by not finding them. In which case, fuck me. I pace the hallway thinking, willing these items to jump in front of me so I can get on my way. Instead, I’m sidetracked by a framed picture of Sadie and Tenley. Both have huge smiles on their faces and the background looks like maybe an amusement park or carnival. It makes me smile despite myself.
Tenley is a good friend to Sadie. And, I bet she’d know where to find these things.
Oh shit, that’s it.
Tenley would know where to find these things.
I pull up her contact in my phone and hit the button to call her. It’s ten minutes after six in the morning, she must be awake by now.
“Hello,” she croaks through the phone.
Or maybe not.
“I need your help,” I say.
“Okaaay.”
“I’ve got this list of stuff I’m supposed to bring to the hospital, and I don’t know what four of these things are.”
“Okay.”
“Lullaby-Belly, what is that and where would it be?”
“Who is this?”
“Brad.”
“Brad? Mathews?”
“Yes, how many other Brads do you know?”
“I don’t know, maybe none.”
“Tenley, wake the fuck up. I need your help.”
“Not if you’re going to act like that.”
