Page 31 of Faith Notes
I don’t wait for her to change her mind. Racing up the stairs, I grab the bags from the nursery that is finally finished and head back downstairs. Georgia already has her shoes on and is waiting for me by the front door.
Her face twists in pain again, and inside, I start to panic. On the outside, though, I’m determined to be calm and collected for my wife.
“Breathe with me, Peach. Just breathe with me,” I say, reaching out and rubbing her back.
She does as I ask, and when the pain subsides, I escort her out to the car as fast as she can go.
I throw the bags into the back hatch of her new car, check to make sure the car seat is in, even though I just installed it yesterday, and then open Georgia’s door for her. She lets me help her inside, and I reach over her, grabbing the seat belt and buckling her in.
She offers me a grateful look but nothing else, in too much pain to concentrate.
Jogging around the vehicle, I hop in on my side, and then I gun it, on a mission to make it to the hospital before I really do end up delivering our baby boy in the car.
Only, I might forget to pay attention to the speed limit until it’s a little too late.
Red and blue lights flash behind me, and I groan, hitting my hand against the steering wheel.
“Not now. We don’t have time for this.” Looking over at Georgia, I say, “Act like you’re in pain. He will probably let us go. I watched it in a movie one time.”
Georgia glares at me. “Was that movieThe Outsiders?”
I shrug, not willing to admit it was. She rolls her eyes, and then another wave hits her, doubling her over.
“First off, the book came long before the movie, and one day you’re going to read it,” she grumbles, pain lacing her words, “and second, I don’t think I have to pretend.”
Pulling the car over to the shoulder, I wait as the officer exits his car and approaches my window, which is already rolled down.
He doesn’t give me a chance to speak before he says, “Do you know how fast you were going?”
I wince because, honestly, I don’t. “No, sir, but I—”
“There are no buts when it comes to the law, son. License and registration, please.”
“Sir, my wife—” I try again.
But again, he doesn’t listen.
“License. And. Registration,” he says, this time a little more sternly.
Sighing, I reach over to the glove compartment for my registration, catching Georgia’s eye as I search. She’s wearing a mix of both a grimace and a smirk on her lips. She is in pain but also finds this amusing.
At least one of us does.
With the registration in hand, I lean back, handing it to the officer.
I don’t know if he hasn’t noticed Georgia or if he just doesn’t care, but either way, I’m annoyed.
He takes the registration and my license that I dug out of my wallet and gives me a quick glare before walking back to his car.
My finger taps against the steering wheel, a habit that I know drives Georgia crazy, but I can’t seem to quit.
“Do you think he would notice if I just drove off?”
Georgia snorts, thinking I’m kidding, but I’m actually very serious. I’m going to start counting, and if he’s not back here in ninety seconds flat, I’m taking off.
I’ll endure a high-speed chase if it means I can get my wife to the hospital quicker. Whether she realizes it or not, her contractions are consistent, and at only thirty-five weeks, that means our baby would be a preemie. I won’t take the risk of anything happening to either of them.
One.
