came.
He reassured Glory. “Good, good,” he said. “Really good.”
“What does that mean?” she demanded furiously. “Good, good. Hello? That could mean anything.”
He glanced up into her sweat-shiny face. “It means that so far, we’re doing fine.” And then he was back to business again. Gently, he stroked the sides of the tiny nose and downward toward the neck. And then he went the other way, upward from under the chin, to expel mucus and amniotic fluid from the nose and the mouth. It worked. Slimy, gooey stuff came out.
“What’s happening?” Glory moaned, straining to see. “Is the baby…”
“Fine. It’s fine. Shh, now. Shh…”
“Don’t you shush me, Bowie Bravo.”
“Shh…” Next, as gently as he could, he took the baby’s sticky head in his two hands. “Okay, Glory. Now. Push!” She stopped griping at him and started grunting and bearing down and he pressed the baby’s head very carefully downward at the same time.
And it happened. Just like in the book. One shoulder slid out.
After that, it was all so quick that he didn’t have time to do what the book said. Nature did it for him. The other shoulder slid out. And then the rest of the tiny body came sliding fast in a rush of fluid, so fast he barely had time to catch it, let alone have the receiving blanket ready.
Glory cried, “My baby, my baby…”
And he said, “It’s a girl,” and then the tiny little thing opened her mouth and let out a big yelp followed by a long, angry cry. He smiled. Just like her mother, the dark haired little scrap of a thing didn’t hesitate to make her feelings known.
“Is she…”
“She’s perfect, Glory. Just perfect, I swear it.” He got a blanket and put the baby on it, still with the cord connected. The book had said not to cut it, to wait for the professionals.
Bowie was just fine with that. There was also something called the placenta that might or might not be popping out before help came. He sincerely hoped that he might get lucky and not have to deal with that.
Glory was crying. “Serafina Teodora,” she sobbed. “After Matteo’s mom. Sera. She’s Sera.…” Glory held out her arms. And Bowie put another blanket around the tiny, red, sticky little body, to make sure she stayed warm. And then he lifted her up to give her to Glory.
But right then, as he levered up on his knees, carefully raising her to put her in Glory’s arms, trying to hand her over without pulling on the cord that still connected her to Glory, he looked down and saw that the baby was staring up at him.
The little thing was quiet now. Calm. Her eyes watched him so seriously from that tiny, red, old-person face. Her mouth was a round O.
It was like…she knew him. That little baby knew him.
And she accepted him, absolutely. Instantly. Unconditionally, unlike her mother and most everyone else in his hometown where he’d never managed to do anything right.
He, Bowie Bravo, was okay with Sera Rossi, no questions asked.
And inside him there was a rising feeling, all warm and good. Right then, for that too-brief moment, looking into that baby’s eyes, he could almost believe that everything would come out right.
Chapter Three
Glory was crying, the tears sliding along her temples into her already-sweat-soaked hair. “Come on,” she said softly now, still holding out her arms. “Come on, give her to me.”
Bowie handed Sera over.
He got up and washed his hands. Returning to the bedroom, he went to the bay window. It was quiet out there, the sky a gray blanket, the street covered in white. The wind had died down and he could see across the river now. Smoke spiraled from the chimneys of the houses over there and people were already outside, shoveling walks, scraping off windshields. “The snow’s stopped,” he said.
“Ah,” Glory replied, kind of absentmindedly. He looked over and saw she had the baby at her breast and she was stroking the little one’s matted dark hair, smiling a tender, secret, mother’s smile.
Bowie checked the phone to see if they had a dial tone yet.
Nothing. Dead air.
So he went to work mopping up the floor with the towels he had ready. He cleaned up as best he could without making a lot of noise and disturbing the exhausted mom and the tiny girl in her arms.
Glory asked for some apple juice. “In the fridge, downstairs,” she added softly.
He went down to get it. The doorbell rang as he was starting up the stairs again and the sound grated in his ears, made the muscles at the back of his neck jump tight. He didn’t want to answer it. He wished they’d all just stayed away.
Everything was so peaceful now. He hated to ruin it.
And he knew it would be ruined the moment everyone started showing up and they all found out that Bowie Bravo was back in town.
“Bowie?” Glory called from above.
“It’s all right. I’m getting it.” And then he turned and went and pulled open the door.
His brother Brett and his sister-in-law Angie, each wearing heavy coats and snow boots, mufflers, wool hats and gloves, and each with a black medical-looking bag, stood on the other side.
Angie blinked her big brown eyes. “Bowie. Wow. Mina said you were here.…”
“Hey, Ange.” He faced his brother. “Brett.” And he knew, just from the wary look in Brett’s hazel eyes, exactly what his brother was thinking, Not again. As a matter of fact, he’d seen the same look in Angie’s eyes. He didn’t blame them. How could he? After all, they were both there the day that Johnny was born, when he’d been drunk as a skunk and nothing but trouble. “Look,” he said levelly, “I’m stone sober and I’m only here to help.”
Brett and his wife exchanged a look. And then Brett said, “Good enough.”
Bowie stepped back and let them in. They set down their black bags and started taking off the layers of outerwear.
Brett said, “Sorry it took us so long. The phone was out at Redonda’s all morning. We didn’t have a clue Glory was in labor until we got back to the clinic twenty minutes ago.”
“Who is it?” Glory shouted from upstairs.
Angie answered, “It’s me and Brett. We’re on our way up.” She grabbed her bag and raced up the stairs.
Brett hung back. He asked Bowie quietly, “How’s she doing?”
“She did great,” Bowie answered. “She’s a damn champion.”
Brett looked puzzled. “Did?”
