his daughter. Maryellen had no grounds on which to keep him away, so she’d reluctantly agreed to his terms.
The kettle whistled as she finished laying out her clothes. Massaging her back with one hand, Maryellen poured the boiling water into the waiting teapot. “You don’t have any idea how happy I’m going to be to drink coffee again,” she muttered to her unborn daughter.
Maryellen showered and dressed, and because she was only working half days, she had a leisurely breakfast of toast and yogurt and tea. She didn’t need to be at the Harbor Street Art Gallery until shortly before noon. She loved her job, and enjoyed the friendships she had with many of the local artists. Jon was a photographer, and his work, mostly nature photography, was both breathtaking and insightful. After she’d rejected him, he’d decided to take his photographs elsewhere. At the time, his decision had seemed for the best, but the truth of it was, she missed seeing him and the gallery certainly missed the revenue his work had provided.
Jon’s talent was what had first attracted her, but she found the man himself intriguing. He was unpretentious and straightforward—and reticent about the details of his own life. Although she’d worked with him for more than three years, she knew nothing about his artistic training and next to nothing about his personal background. The one bit of information he’d given her was that he’d inherited a stunning piece of property from his grandfather, the property on which he’d built his house. When she asked him questions, he either walked away or changed the subject. For the most part, he declined invitations to social gatherings. She’d been surprised when he’d agreed to attend a Halloween party last year. She’d made up an excuse to invite him, never believing he’d actually show up. That night they’d shared their first kiss, which was the beginning of it all. In the days that followed, Maryellen had come to know him as well as anyone in Cedar Cove, and probably better. The baby kicked and she smiled to herself. Obviously she did know him better than most.
Still, she was impressed by the man who’d fathered her child. Jon had constructed his own home and worked as a chef for The Lighthouse restaurant, all while his reputation as a photographer grew in the Pacific Northwest and beyond.
“I didn’t expect you until noon,” Lois Habbersmith said when Maryellen walked into the gallery at eleven-thirty, a little ahead of schedule.
Until recently, Lois had been Maryellen’s assistant, but had been temporarily promoted to gallery manager during Maryellen’s maternity leave. She was confident Lois would do a more-than-adequate job.
“When’s your next doctor’s appointment?” Lois asked.
“Tomorrow morning.” The ache in her back seemed to be getting worse. Maryellen pulled out a chair and sat down.
Lois looked concerned. “Are you feeling all right?”
“No,” Maryellen admitted. “The truth is, I’m having this weird backache.” She realized the ache seemed to diminish and then increase fairly regularly. It suddenly occurred to her that perhaps this wasn’t a backache, but the onset of labor.
As if she, too, had reached the same conclusion, Lois walked all the way around her. “My labor pains always started in my back.” Then holding one finger to her lips, Lois said, “Maryellen, you think you could be going into labor?”
“I…I should probably time these…pains, shouldn’t I?”
Lois clapped her hands excitedly. “This is so wonderful!”
“Lois, Lois, I don’t know if I’m in labor. I just have this…strange feeling.”
Maryellen glanced at her watch and tried to remember when she’d last felt this odd pain that seemed to radiate from her spine.
“Your mom’s your birth partner, right?”
Maryellen nodded. She vaguely remembered that her mother had mentioned she’d be attending a librarians’ meeting in Seattle on Wednesday. Today was Wednesday. Grace had a cell phone, Maryellen knew, but she was constantly forgetting to turn it on, or off, in which case the battery would run low. No need to contact her mother just yet, she decided. There was plenty of time, and she wasn’t convinced she was officially in labor, anyway. She wondered if maybe this was false labor, which several people had warned her about.
A few hours later, at home by herself, Maryellen was no longer wondering. She knew. There was nothing false about this. What had started out as a dull ache in her back had ultimately worked its way around, and she was having contractions at five-minute intervals. She reached for the phone and dialed her mother.
Just as she’d suspected, her mother’s cell phone was off or not working or the battery was dead. Or whatever! Drawing in a deep breath, Maryellen closed her eyes. There was always her sister. Kelly had been wonderful ever since she’d learned Maryellen was pregnant. They’d grown closer than at any time since they were teenagers.
After five rings, Kelly and Paul’s answering machine came on. Hoping she sounded collected and in control, Maryellen left a message. “Kelly, hi. Listen, it looks like I’m going into labor. I haven’t called Dr. Abner yet and I’m sure there’s loads of time, but I thought you should know.” Then, not wanting her sister to guess how panicky she was beginning to feel, Maryellen added, “Mom won’t be back from that librarians’ meeting until this afternoon, so when you’re available maybe you could give me a call. I…I don’t have anyone to drive me to the hospital.” Any pretense of composure vanished by the time she replaced the receiver in its cradle.
As Maryellen turned away from the phone, she felt a pain so sharp it nearly doubled her over. Almost immediately water gushed from between her legs. Amniotic fluid.
Maryellen stood in a puddle of water and tried to think clearly. Fearing any movement might endanger her child, she stretched out one hand for the phone, then hesitated, not knowing whom to call.
Suddenly it became obvious. She had to get the number from directory assistance. As she punched it out, she prayed Jon was home and close to a phone.
When there was no answer at his house, she nearly wept with frustration. Panic started to set in; warding it off, she forced herself to remain calm. On the off chance that he was working, she dialed The Lighthouse restaurant.
The woman who answered was polite and friendly. Maryellen was put on hold. After an eternity, Jon came on the line, and his clipped greeting said he wasn’t happy to be called away from whatever he was doing.
Frightened, near desperate, Maryellen whispered hoarsely, “Jon…I need help—”
She wasn’t allowed to finish. “Where are you?”
“Home. My water broke.”
“I’ll be there in five minutes.”
Her relief was overwhelming. She blinked rapidly to keep from breaking into grateful tears. “Thank you,” she began, but the line had already gone dead.
Only a few minutes later she heard a car door slam outside her small rental house. By then, she’d called Dr. Abner and learned that her instincts had been right; he wanted her to go directly to the hospital’s birthing center.
Jon didn’t bother to knock but came barreling in the front door. He had on his white chef’s shirt and pants, both of which were stained. Obviously she’d caught him in the middle of the midday rush. She hadn’t seen him in weeks. The last time had been early in the summer
