Page 89 of Slightly Married
The rotors slowed as I unbuckled my safety harness, mentally rehearsing what I’d say to Kayla. I wouldn’t interrupt her celebration, just ensure she returned to the mainland before nightfall.
I stepped onto the helipad. Thirty-eight weeks was too close to her due date to risk going into labor here, regardless of how beautiful the setting was for her party.
Simone ran toward the landing pad, hunched unnecessarily though the blades were stilled. Her expression rang alarm bells in my mind. Something was wrong.
She stopped abruptly. “You’re not the medevac,” she panted.
My blood went cold. “What happened? Is it Kayla?”
“She’s in labor.”
My worst fears were confirmed in three simple words. I bolted past her, my shoes slipping on the gravel before I caught my balance. The white villa appeared ahead. I couldn’t breathe.
I slammed through the front doors, barely registering the pastel balloons tied to chair backs, the half-assembled mobile of stars and moons dangling from the ceiling fixture, and gift boxes wrapped in shimmering paper stacked on a table adorned with tiny bootie centerpieces.
I strode through the entrance hall, dodging a tower of diaper packages playfully arranged to resemble a cake. Pink and gold streamers hung from the archways, and a banner reading ‘Welcome Baby Girl’ had partially detached from one wall, hanging at an angle matching my tilting world.
“Someone call K!” Kayla’s voice carried from the grand salon, tight with pain. “I can’t have the baby without him.”
“We’ve been trying.” Tia’s voice. “He’s not picking up.”
“You don’t understand. He needs to know—” Her words dissolved into a moan that cut through me.
I strode into the room where women huddled around the sofa. They parted when they saw me.
“The baby is coming,” my mother said.
I moved to the edge of the sofa, suddenly unable to feel my limbs. Kayla lay with her knees bent, her sundress twisted, hair spread across a pillow. Her face was flushed, with sweat on her skin. Her eyes were glazed with pain.
“Michaila.” I kneeled beside her, taking her hand.
“K?” She sounded surprised to see me through her pain.
“I’m here,” I said, forcing steadiness into my voice despite my nerves. I brushed a curl from her forehead. “I won’t leave you.”
“I’m sorry,” she gasped. “I didn’t think she’d come today of all days.”
“You have nothing to apologize for.” I slid one arm beneath her shoulders, the other under her knees. “I’m taking you to the mainland. We’ll have you at Athens General in—”
“No!” Her fingers gripped my shirt. “I can’t go!”
“You can. We’ll be on the mainland in—”
“I need to push.” Her eyes locked with mine. “She’s coming.”
“The emergency responder wants you to check how dilated she is,” Irida called from behind me, phone pressed to her ear. “You need to—”
“I know what to do.” My voice was clipped, not from irritation but concentration. The countless pregnancy books I’d devoured over the past months would serve me well today.
I moved to kneel between Kayla’s legs and lifted her sundress. What I saw knocked the breath from my lungs. Our daughter’s dark, wet patch of hair was visible.
“I can see her head,” I said, my voice dropping to a whisper. I looked up at Kayla, finding her eyes open. “She’s coming, Michaila. She’s really coming.”
“Kostas, they’re saying you need to wash your hands,” Irida relayed, her voice tinged with urgency. “And we need towels. Clean ones.”
My mother rushed to retrieve towels from the linen closet. Lauren appeared at my side with a basin of warm water and soap.
“Here, Kos,” she murmured, holding the basin as I scrubbed my hands.
