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Oh God, I feel another gut-wrenching contraction rising. I will not scream. I will not scream!
“What do you mean which side is Trey representing? The fucking housewives for Chrissake, Ian! He’s an attorney for class action plaintiffs, duh?”
She turns back to face me, rolling her eyes. I grip the rails on my hospital bed, bracing for the rolling wave of pain that's thrashing inside of me. I squeeze my eyes shut.
“Shit, Ian, I got to go, Tylar’s having another contraction.”
Gina is at my side, instructing me to do the hee-hee-hees in three-beat sequences. The pain of the contraction starts to subside. I'm now being instructed by my “labor Nazi” to take a deep, cleansing breath.
Shit this hurts!
“You're doing great, Ty. I really mean it girlfriend!” Gina dabs my sweaty forehead with a damp washcloth that she nagged “Nurse Ratched” for earlier. Gina assigned the name to the nurse immediately upon our arrival but I don’t think she is so bad. “More ice chips, Ty?” she asks, reaching for the cup.
“Yes please, Gina. And by the way, where thehellis Trey?”
“Don’t worry. His assistant has my number. I told her to call me as soon as she gets the message to him in court. Chill out. That’s an order.” She winks as she scoots out of the room to go and demand more ice chips from Nurse Ratched. I'm glad that at least Gina can be here with me.
The ordeal with Charlie Roberts and the plea bargain was finalized in January. The evidence had been released back to me. I asked Trey to dispose of the notes and plum silk pajamas. I never wanted to lay eyes on any of it again. I still have the jewelry boxes with the necklace and the pearl drop earrings. I learned that my mother had sent those to Charlie as a down payment of sorts for the dirty work. If the jewelry truly is a link to my biological father, then I'll hold on to it for now.
I think about my mother and the numbness sinks in as it always does when I reflect upon how little I really knew about her and how well she hid so many secrets from me. Perhaps “secrets” is the wrong word; you could say she raised me in an environment filled with lies and deceit. I've learned over the past several months to stop reprimanding myself for being naïve to it.
Trey says it's perfectly normal for children to view a parent, no matter how bad or evil the parent is, in the most favorable and acceptable light. That's what I've done for years with her. The truth is my mother did protect me in some ways. It could have been a lot worse.
There has been no word of her whereabouts. My house in Radcliffe sold in late March. I deposited the proceeds into my savings account. Our new home is under construction. I told Trey we will buy the furnishings for it with the proceeds from the house. The investigator Trey hired has been relieved of his duties for now.
Gina comes bouncing back into my hospital room carrying a cup of ice chips, beaming as Trey follows in behind her. Trey rushes to my side and leans over my bed rail, his eyes filled with love and concern.
“I was afraid you wouldn’t get word that I was here,” I choke, tears rolling down my cheeks. I pull him toward me, a feeling of relief floods over me.
“Sweetie, you know better than that,” he says, stroking my face with his thumbs.
“Gina,” Trey says, “can I have some alone time with Tylar for just a bit?”
“Sure thing counselor,” she replies, cracking her gum loudly, “I’ll be down in the cafeteria getting something to eat. Holler if you need me, Ty. She hasn’t done a lot of that yet, Trey.” Gina winks as she breezes out of the room.
“How’s the pain, Tylar?” Trey asks, lowering the bed rail so that he can sit beside me on the bed. He takes my hand into his, absently rubbing his thumb against my hospital wristband.
“It’s not that bad,” I lie, “Gina’s been helping me with my breathing.”
The nurse comes in just then to check my progress. Trey moves outside the curtain she has drawn. Peeling off her rubber gloves, she informs me that I'm nearly seven centimeters dilated. She informs me in her no-nonsense Nurse Ratched manner that I can expect stronger contractions as I enter the transition stage of labor. She slides the curtain back open, taking leave.
Holy crap! It gets worse than this?
Trey reads the panicked look on my face. He tries soothing me with reminders as to how much better it is for both mother and baby when no anesthesia is used during labor. I eye him warily as the next contraction starts.
Trey removes his jacket and tie, tossing them over onto a chair. He rolls his sleeves up to his forearms. He patiently coaches me through the contraction the way we learned in Lamaze class. We've now graduated to the he-he-who pattern of breathing, followed by the cleansing breath.
Trey watches the monitors that are next to me so that he can gauge an impending contraction. They are definitely coming faster and lasting longer. I sit up in bed, bending over. I feel like someone has kicked me squarely in the back. Trey tells me I'm having back labor.
You think?
He retrieves hot towels from the nurse, pressing them up against my lower back. It helps. I grab his hand, squeezing tightly as the next contraction descends. I start moaning with the pain on this one. I promised myself I wouldn’t do that.
“Tylar, go with it, don’t fight it, you have to do your breathing remember? You’re fighting it baby, I can tell. Relax and breathe, just relax and breathe,” Trey instructs firmly.
I’d rather scream!
“Arrggghh!” I groan, clutching his hand in a death grip.
