Page 117 of The Same Backward as Forward
“I know.” As gently as I can, I get her into position, sliding her underwear off beneath her dress, pushing her knees up. I know next to nothing about childbirth, but her contractions are coming close together.
Reallyclose together.
I slide pillows beneath her head, propping her up. I push her hair back from her face. I’m soaked from the storm. She’s soaked with sweat.
“For leaving,” Hannah grits out. “I hate you for leaving andonlyfor leaving, and, for the record? I love you, too.”
She hates me, and she loves me, and I have no idea what to do as another scream is torn from her lips. I slip my hand into hers, willing the universe to givemeher pain. I would take it all if I could.
“You son of a bitch,” Hannah breathes, fury and pain andsomething that sounds achingly like longing in her voice. “I love you,you bastard.”
She loves me.
She loves me.
She loves me.
And she is giving birth to this babynow. I can see the head.Dark hair. Lots of it.“You’re almost there,” I tell Hannah. I feel useless, but I refuse to let her see how terrified I am. I will be her rock, the way she was mine. I will be steady.
If the abyss wants her, it’s going to have to come through me.
“I want the letters you wrote me.” Hannah’s everything eyes lock onto mine, making it clear that this is not arequest.
“They’re postcards, actually.” I cannot help myself.
“I want mypostcards.”
“One more push,” I promise, smoothing her hair back from her face again, “and you can have them.”
I do not know how to deliver a baby, but I do know Hannah well enough to know that once the worst of the pain has passed, once the baby is here, Hannah will know what to do.
“I love you.” Her voice is so quiet that I don’t even really hear the words. I only see the moving of her lips. And then she says it again: “I love you.” The third time, she screams it, and I don’t even know if she realizes she’s screaming.
Women die in childbirth.The thought comes to me like a knife slipped between my ribs. I refuse to think it twice.
“I love you,” I tell Hannah, my voice coming out hoarse. “I have loved you from the moment you dumped a half-dozen lemons on my bed. From before that, even.”From the moment I woke up and saw your eyes.“From the moment,” I say out loud, “I saw you folding paper, from the first sugar castle, from the instant you promised me a merciful death andlied.”
I have loved her from the beginning.
“I loved you,” I whisper, “when the world was pain and the only thing that made sense was your eyes. I loved you before I knew to hate myself, and I have loved you every day since.”
H-A-N-N-A-H.
Hannah, through and through.
The baby crowns. Hannah screams. I do what I can to ease the process along, and within three beats of my heart, I’m holding Hannah’s baby in my arms.A little girl.
She has her mother’s thick hair, but it’s too early to know if she will have Hannah’s eyes. I cradle the baby against my chest—this perfect, precious little girl—and for the first time in years, I experience eternity in a moment.
The baby. Hannah. Me.I tuck the little one into Hannah’s arms, and Hannah’s child lets out this contented sigh, like she knows exactly who’s holding her, exactly how perfect her mother is.
They are both so damn perfect.
A siren sounds. Lights flash outside.An ambulance.I have no idea if it is here for Hannah or someone else, but I know I have to get her help.
I make it to the lobby as the EMTs burst in, and I flag them down. Theyarehere for Hannah. Someone called—maybe Hannah herself. I tell them where to find her, and as they surge past me, I slip back into shadows out of habit.
As I do, I hear Jackson’s voice.Someday, son, you’re going to look back on this moment…
