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Eventually I fall asleep; I feel myself slip into unconsciousness, like being tugged underwater, and it’s a relief. I don’t want to think any more. I awake suddenly, minutes or hours later, to my phone buzzing on the carpet where I threw it.
My mouth tastes horrible and my eyes feel glued together. I stumble out of the chair and fumble for the phone. When I glance blearily at the screen I see it’s 6 a.m. and Tina is calling me. My heart feels frozen, a block of ice in my chest. My fingers tremble as I swipe to take the call.
‘Tina?’ My voice comes out in a croak.
‘Sorry to call you so early.’ She sounds tense and grim. ‘It’s Heather. I just got a call from the hospital. She’s gone into labor.’
‘Labor… but she’s only…’
‘Thirty-four weeks. It’s early. Very early.’
‘Dangerously early?’ My stomach plunges.
‘That’s impossible to say. But I thought you might want to go to the hospital.’
‘Does Heather still want me there?’ I know she said yes to me being there for the delivery, but this feels different.
‘She asked them to call me.’ Which isn’t exactly a yes. And if I don’t show up at work today, the day I’m meant to make partner… I push that thought aside. The choice is obvious, overwhelming.
‘I’ll be there in an hour.’
I yank on jeans and a top, brush my teeth because that is a must, and run a comb through my hair before I hurry downstairs. I don’t have time to rent a Zipcar, and I curse myself for not having bought a car yet – I thought I had time.
I end up taking a cab to the hospital, which costs a fortune, not that it matters. I thrust a bunch of bills at the driver and jump out, my heart racing as I search for the maternity ward. Hospitals still remind me of death. But not this time. Please God, not this time.
At the reception desk a nurse calmly tells me that she can’t give out information about a patient, thanks to the HIPAA laws. I try to explain who I am, but she’s not having it. She points to a plastic chair and, like a schoolteacher, tells me to sit down and wait. I obey, and then I call Tina.
‘No one’s telling me anything.’ My voice is shaking. ‘And they won’t let me see Heather. Do you know what’s going on?’
‘No,’ Tina says, her voice calm and soothing. I wonder if she ever gets upset. ‘But I’m coming over right now.’
I spend an hour on a plastic chair, my hands tucked between my knees, rocking back and forth. People must think I’m strung out on something, but I can’t keep still. I can’t focus. I listen to the blood roar in my ears and my heart thud, thud, thud. That’s all I can manage. My mind is a numb blank, which is better than the terrible fears seething just below the surface. I know they’re there, swirling and swarming, but I won’t give into them. I can’t.
Tina comes at eight o’clock, and she gives me a quick hug that I desperately need. Then she talks to the receptionist, and somehow she works magic I don’t have, because she comes back to tell me that Heather’s waters broke, and she went into labor early this morning.
They tried to keep it from progressing but the baby was in distress and so they’re doing an emergency caesarean section right now. Every word feels like a thrown punch. I blink, too dazed to process it all.
‘But the baby, she’ll be all right?’ My teeth are chattering. I’m so terrified I fee
l sick, as if I might actually throw up right there on Tina’s Easy Spirit clogs.
‘Neonatal care is amazing, Grace,’ she says steadily. ‘And thirty-four weeks is still a good gestation. I’m sure she’ll be fine.’
‘You’re sure?’ I hang onto it like a promise.
‘As sure as I can be. Of course there are risks—’
But I don’t want to hear about risks. I can’t handle more fear.
We wait. An hour later my phone buzzes, and I see that it’s Bruce. Dimly, I realize I never called in sick. Dully, I take the call, moving out to the hallway so I’m not told off for being on my phone.
‘Bruce?’
‘Grace.’ He sounds serious. I take a deep breath.
‘I’m sorry that I’m not—’
‘Grace, look. I’ll cut to the chase. You didn’t make partner.’
