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“She’s having a baby right now!” I say.
“Mr. Bear, we gotta get this lady to the hospital,” Violet says.
“There’s no time,” says the woman, panting. She locks eyes with me. “Help me get ready?”
I nod at her. “You and the baby are gonna be fine.”
Even though I’ve never done this before.
Even though I’m scared out of my mind.
Something takes over. I’d like to imagine it’s my midwife great-great grandmother’s DNA taking over. Or just a natural instinct.
Or just the need to keep her calm.
I tell the man with her to lower the back of the bench seat into a bed, which he does.
I help her remove her leggings and get as comfortable as possible.
The man with her is holding her hand on one side. Violet has stationed herself at the woman’s other side and is holding her other hand.
Bear is pulling all of the things out of my and Violet’s bags and emergency kits that might be of use.
He hands me several blankets, scarves and sweaters.
“I don’t know about breathing through a contraction, but I do know yoga breathing,” I say.
The woman nods and shouts, “Here one comes!”
I tell her, “Eyes on me, mama. Breathe in as slowly as you can, as deeply as you can.”
She sobs and screams.
“Come on, mama, you can do it.”
I don’t think personally that I could do this if I were delivering my own baby in the back of a minivan during a snowstorm, but this is the kind of thing you say, right?
She nods and sucks in a breath slowly.
“Good, now just take two more sips of air. One. Two. Good. Now pretend you’re a leaky tire and blow it out slowly out of your mouth.”
I can tell the contraction has subsided because her face relaxes.
Suddenly her eyes pop wide at me. “Oh my god, you’re Chief Meteorologist Mary Reed! Jacob, Mary Reed is delivering our baby in a snowstorm!”
But Jacob has no time to react because the woman’s hand is clamping down like a vise on his hand. Her face scrunches up in pain because another contraction is here.
“Nice to meet you. And you are?”
“Gah! Liz!”
“Breathe in through your nose, Liz,” I say.
A hand presses on my back. I look to my left and it’s Bear. “Sweetheart,” he says. His eyes are not on me but on the business between Liz’s legs.
I follow his gaze and I see what he’s seeing. It’s the baby’s head.
I put my hand on his and say, “Hand sanitizer. In my bag.”
