Page 42 of Wolves & Watercolors
Marigold nods and I jog up the steps. Hazel stands at the foot of her bed, bent over with her hands gripping the footboard. Her sweaty hair clings to her neck as she groans. Slate rubs her lower back.
“Honey, I think it’s time for a shower. The hot water will help, I promise.”
“Will it?” Hazel asks, though it’s more a whimper. “Okay.”
Sable looks to me. “Go start the water so it’s hot for her.” I jump to obey. When I emerge from the bathroom, Hazel is swaying in place, growling through another contraction.
“How are we doing?” I ask gently.
Hazel rounds on me. “If you ask about my progress or how long this will take, I will end you.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Tucking my hands behind me, I back up until I hit the far wall.
“Here, let’s get under some hot water,” Slate says, easing her toward the bathroom. Once the door closes behind them, Sable lets out a sharp exhale.
“Is everything okay?” I ask cautiously.
She studies the closed door. “Yes, it’s going very well. She’s reaching the hard part.”
“How can I help?”
Sable’s silver braid swings as she turns to face me. “You can let her hold your hand and break a few of your fingers. Or listen to her and offer a distraction if you can. Otherwise, stay out of the way and let her body do its job.”
“Okay,” I say meekly.
Uncle Heath fills the doorway. “It’s baby time?”
“Yes and you can wait downstairs with everyone else. Except Marigold, send her up, please,” Sable snaps at him.
“Any issues?”
“No, but there will be if you bother a mother in labor.”
Heath nods and pushes off the door frame. A few moments later, he’s replaced by Marigold. Her reddish gold curls are twisted into a bun and her normally wide smile is pinched nervously.
“Alright ladies, it’s time to prep the bed. Take off the sheets and put down this.” She pats what looks like a plastic showercurtain on the dresser, beside a plain white fitted sheet. “And the new sheet on top.”
Marigold goes to one side of the bed, and I move to the other, and we make quick work of changing the bedding.
“Good, and she’ll be close to pushing when she comes out. I already left her gown in the bathroom, but Slate might need help getting her dressed. We will see.”
While we wait, I wander to the window. A row of houseplants line the ledge. I run my fingers over the glossy heart-shaped philodendron leaves and the round pilea leaves. Walking past the window, I trail my fingers over the spines of books on the impressive bookshelves covering the wall.
The door swings open and Hazel waddles out, now wearing a loose dress with her wet hair clinging to her neck.
“Looking good, Sis,” I say.
She sits on the fresh bed and lets out a dry laugh. “Yep, I’m the height of fashion. Holy shit, that hurts!” She leans forward, bearing down as another contraction hits.
Marigold moves to her other side and Hazel grips her hand as well as Slate’s. Their fingers turn white in her grasp.
“We’re getting there. You’re doing very good,” Sable says, her tone even and calm.
Hazel lays back against the pillows and pushes wisps of wet hair off her forehead. Her eyes meet mine and the irises glow a molten gold.
“Um, your eyes,” I stutter.
Another contraction starts, and Hazel bares her teeth, letting out a growl that raises the hair on my arms.
