Shemika’s voice carried over Jordan’s grumbling. I stared at the clock—11:26 a.m. This one was closer. Too close.
Jordan gave me a puzzled look and let his hurt foot drop to the floor. He took my shoulders into his big, brown hands.
“It’s time, isn’t it?” he asked in a steady tone.
I nodded and pulled away, turning off the stove and grabbing my protein bars plus the extra pack I’d so carefully put back. I tossed the soup pot into the dishwater to soak. Jordan looked at me as if I was insane. I sucked my teeth. “Nobody else has to think about later, but I do. When I come back home, I’ll be alone.”
Jordan ignored my words. “Just tell me what to do. I’m here for you. For us. Whatever you need.”
How I’d love to believe that, but I just can’t.
“Thanks.”
It took us a lot of stopping and starting between contractions to make it to the living room. When we made it there, the doorbell rang.
No one moved at first.
“I’ll get that if you’d like,” Jordan said.
I nodded. There was no way I could untangle myself from Shemika now if I tried. Her arms were around my neck, her hair in my face…and my son was holding up the both of us.
As entwined as I was, I heard the woman’s voice at the door. Terri, Jordan’s girlfriend.
“I never thought it’d be this bad,” Shemika whispered as we struggled forward after the next contraction.
“It’s not bad, even though it feels bad,” I said. “It’s good. It’s bringing your daughter to you. To us. Now hold my hand. We’re all here for you.”
Terri fluttered toward us like a bird made of pink silk. I tried to ignore her, but that was a tall order.
“That’s right, darling. I’m here. Breathe just like we did in the class. Puff! Puff! Puff!” Jordan’s girlfriend pushed around me to reach for Shemika’s hand, but I couldn’t get out of the way. Nor did I want to. Puffing was good if you were trying to smoke a cigarette, but it wouldn’t help now. Reading books about having babies and actually having them were two different things. I was about to tell Miss Thing so, but Jordan beat me to it.
“Terri, thanks for being so supportive, honey, but I’m going to need for you to go.”
One of her rings, a starburst diamond, almost gouged out my eye as she whirled around. “What?”
“You heard me, hon. We’re going to the hospital now. My family needs me.”
Her bottom lip quivered. I looked away. Terri wasn’t my favorite person, but this was a private thing.
“But…but…aren’t I your family too, Jordan?”
He took a deep breath. “If we were married, you could come. We’re not. This is Rochelle’s home, sweetheart. You shouldn’t have come here. We talked about that, remember? Now, relax and go home. I’ll be back soon.” He smiled. “Hopefully with baby pictures.”
With that, he took Shemika’s hand and pulled her to the door. Jericho and I helped her outside, one of her arms over each of our shoulders. Jordan joined us again as we paused for two more contractions then finally got Shemika into the car. It wasn’t until the hospital floor chilled my bare soles that I realized that I’d never put on any shoes.
Chapter three
Shemika made it to the trash can. Then she went down just where I did, in the lobby of Saint Elizabeth Hospital, by the west entrance. The security guard took one look at us and shook his head.
“Oh no. I’m not delivering any more babies out here this week. Had one looking just like her the other night. I had to do the whole thing.” He wiped his forehead. “Don’t think I ever will get over it.” He jogged to a wheelchair and pushed it toward us.
Shemika doubled over before he reached us. She let out a low rumbling noise, letting the earthquake inside her fill the room.
The security guard’s eyes widened. “The other one, she made that sound, too! Right before she fell out and…” He pinched his eyes shut and grabbed Jordan’s sleeve. “Help me get her in the chair, man. I’m going to have to run for it!”
Jordan looked at me and then back at the man, who looked to weigh about a hundred pounds—well, maybe if he was under water holding dumbbells he’d be that heavy. There was no chance of him running Shemika anywhere in a wheelchair.
“I’ve got it, man,” Jordan said as, to my amazement and shock, he did for Shemika just what he’d done for me seventeen years before—picked her up and made for the elevator like only a former basketball star can.
The security guard followed in a limping run. “The second elevator,” he shouted before a fit of coughing overtook him. Before I realized it, I was running too, along with Jericho, who was less than thrilled with his gray-headed father’s show of athleticism. Shemika was a big girl and Jordan was about fifty pounds lighter than he’d been back in the day. His gait showed the strain. My son’s face showed it, too. “Dad, slow down!”
“Triage elevator. Right there.” The security guard pointed us in the right direction and explained to the approaching nurse what was going on.
The last in line for the elevator, I ended up taking the nurse’s questions as we waited for the elevator to arrive.
“Who’s her doctor? I can call that up for you at least.”
I smiled, embarrassed to have no response to a question any grandmother should be able to answer. “Um…Jericho?”
My son punched the button with one hand, with his other hand he tried to comfort his girlfriend, now standing on her own but making faces. “It’s Dr. Wallace.”
Shemika shook her head. “No, it’s his midwife, Chris,” she managed to say as the elevator arrived.
The nurse smiled. “Great. I’ll call it up.” She patted my hand. “Good luck, Grandma.”
I filed my new title in the back of my head as we all squeezed into the elevator. Once the door slammed shut, a manly quiet, the kind of silence that only males at an impending birth can muster, filled the elevator as Shemika turned into a brown spider, legs and arms everywhere, trying to climb away from the pain.
Though Jordan had helped usher her to the elevator, it was my son who held Shemika now, rubbing her back, trying to get her to calm down.
“Breathe, babe,” he said in a voice I’d never heard.
Shemika tried to suck in a breath, but screamed instead, her arms swimming against a wave of contractions.
After several blows to his back and shoulders, Jordan moved into the front corner of the elevator. I fought against the urge to be happy that she’d landed a few blows. The image of his girlfriend in my living room would be forever stained on my mind. I flattened myself to the front, too, leaving my son to endure the kicks. During first births, I tried to stay out of the
