Page 17 of Blizzard Babies
“Tell me about it.” I groan as another wave of pain washes over me. “Motherfucker… this hurts!”
I try not to push, but that just makes it worse, and I sit there, panting in the aftermath.
“You can’t stop this,” Sara whispers.
“I know. I just keep hoping for a miracle.” I stare out at the ever-accumulating snow in frustration.
Where is Gage?
I was so sure he would find us.
But it’s been hours and he still isn’t here.
Now Charli disappeared too.
And I’m more terrified than I’ve ever been in my life.
I can take care of myself most of the time, but this is something else entirely. Not only is there the possibility of something going wrong, we aren’t prepared to care for a newborn. We got a blanket out of the back of the SUV, so she’ll be warm, but beyond that, how long can we stay here? The storm is supposed to rage all night.
Another contraction hits, and I squeezed the arm rest as I bear down.
She’s steadily fighting her way into the world, and I’m going to have to fight to make sure she succeeds.
“Do you hear that?” Whitney asks suddenly, whipping her head around.
“Hear what?” I ask, even as pain overwhelms me.
“That!” Whitney points and I figure I must be hallucinating as the red lights of a fire truck come into view.
Whitney is out of the car before Sara or I can stop her, yelling and waving her hands.
“Oh, please, let it be Gage,” I whisper.
And with Whitney pushing through the snow, waving her arms, that big, beautiful red truck slowly pulls into view. I would have cried with relief, but the next contraction is on me and there’s no stopping what’s happening.
“I’m here, baby. Everything’s going to be okay.” I’m barely aware of Gage’s soft, soothing voice or his strong hands firmly holding one of mine.
“Fuck, she’s coming!” I growl, squeezing my eyes shut and trying to breathe.
“Mr. Caldwell, you have to move,” someone says.
Then there are strangers everywhere, and even though Gage moves out of the way for the professionals, I can hear him, letting me know he’s nearby.
“Laurel, the baby’s head is out, so one more push and she’s going to be here,” a fireman says.
Those are the sweetest words I’ve ever heard and, sure enough, after the next push there’s a wave of relief. And my daughter lets out the loudest, most annoyed newborn wail I’ve ever heard.
“Oh, she’s pissed,” Sara says, chuckling.
“That she is,” the fireman agrees with a grin.
Someone lifts me out of the car—my strong, wonderful husband—and I’m wrapped in blankets. The next thing I know we’re all in the fire truck, hopefully heading toward a hospital.
“Everything’s going to be okay,” Gage whispers against my ear.
“I was so scared,” I whisper back, meeting his eye.
“I know.” He strokes my hair. “But she’s okay.”
