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Dax

SHE IS SO BEAUTIFUL
. The inner glow she carries can light up a room. Her rounded tummy is swollen with our child—a boy, according to the ultrasound. We chose the name Mason Dax Montgomery. If, on the slim chance the ultrasound is wrong, her name will be Masey Savannah Montgomery.

I took half the day off work to drive my wife, Savannah, to the seven-month obstetrician appointment. We are both excited and basking in the bright rays of pending parenthood. I never dreamed about anything as incredible as Savannah having my baby.

We eat cereal for breakfast—Savannah has one bowl covered in bananas and I enjoy two, minus the bananas. Her pregnancy brings about cravings for the yellow fruit, and it has become one of my favorite ways to tease her.

“I have a really big banana for you,” I tell her with the best leer I can manage. She blushes and we both laugh at the joke I’ve said over and over since three or four bananas a day became her go-to pregnancy food. She loves me even when I’m a goof and that love makes my world go round.

I was the rough, blue-collar worker from a dysfunctional family. My mom, Dad’s daily punching bag, died of cancer when I was ten, and my father drank himself to death when I was seventeen. Savannah was the spoiled rich girl who gave up everything for me. She might blush but she loves my sexually explicit teasing. We love each other, and hearing the baby’s heartbeat and counting down the last weeks until we hold our precious bundle is all we care about.

I rinse and put the dishes in the dishwasher while she adds makeup to a face that needs none. After cleaning the tabletop, I head back to our room in the small two bedroom house we rented. One room for us and a room for the baby is all we need. We bought a crib the week before. Savannah put in hours online making sure the crib was safe, while I put in overtime so we could buy the one she wanted. I painted the walls a soft purple because Savannah loves the color. She has lists of all the things we still need. I will continue working overtime and buy each one. It means everything to me that I can provide for her and our baby.

I enter the bedroom and Savannah is standing in front of the bathroom mirror. I walk through the door, wrap my arms around her, rest my hands on her tummy, and then kiss behind her ear at the hairline. This kiss is usually a score. She melts back against my chest, the makeup wand thing-y lifted.

“We don’t have time and I think you have a serious kink for fat women,” she says in her husky sex voice.

“Only my fat woman,” I whisper back and kiss the exact spot again.

“You’re cruel.” She smiles into the mirror.

I rest my chin on her head. “I refuse to argue over your size anymore. Soon you’ll be the size of a house and I’ll still want you.”

She places the wand thing-y down and turns in my arms, laughing. She kisses my chin. “You are evil. I will not be as big as a house.”

I look down at her extended belly wondering how it can actually grow larger. Savannah was such a tiny little thing. She didn’t even show her pregnancy until a month ago. Then, she exploded. Even her cheeks got pudgy, and like I said before, she’s beautiful. I might not be the most intelligent man but I keep thoughts of pudgy cheeks and exploding bellies to myself.

“Smart man not to say what you’re thinking,” she laughs and gives me a small push.

“Who me?” I pull her close again and kiss the sweetest lips on the planet. Her lips. Our child. My Savannah.

Our playful and loving mood continues into the doctor’s office. We listen to the baby’s heartbeat, and Savannah asks questions about what to expect during her last two months of pregnancy. Not that she really needs answers. She has read every book available on the subject. I know this because she reviews everything she discovers with me each night when I arrive home from work. I listen and make appropriate comments. I do my best to look interested and not exhausted from all the overtime I’m putting in. She knows this and she appreciates my attention. I always see it in her eyes—her love for me and our baby. The doctor answers all Savannah’s questions with a patient smile. You can’t help smiling back at my Savannah. Her love for life is infectious.

After we leave the office, she’s bubbly with excitement and also hungry. I don’t really have time to take her to lunch. The disappointment on her face changes my mind. My boss won’t fire me, but it’s obvious he doesn’t understand my need to attend her doctor appointments. He’s old school, while I’m infatuated with pending fatherhood and can’t wait to attend our baby’s birth.

With my family history, all I care about is giving my child a father to be proud of. I want everything for him, everything I never had. Come hell or high water, he will have a home with two loving parents and a chance at being more than a blue-collar laborer.

After we leave the restaurant, Savannah chats on about the upcoming birthing classes. For her, it’s another step closer to our child’s arrival. For me, it’s waking up an hour earlier in the morning so I can leave work an hour earlier at night and attend the classes. Seeing her so happy helps alleviate the constant stress I’m under.

My light is green and I’m doing about thirty miles per hour when I pass through the intersection. The car comes out of nowhere. The first thing that registers is the impact—the grinding and crunching of metal and my body straining against the seat belt as I’m thrown forward and back. Almost simultaneously, the car fills with Savannah’s scream. We are both wearing seat belts, but our old car doesn’t have airbags. Then, everything goes quiet except Savannah gasping for breath. She’s bent forward holding her belly. I unclick her seat belt and place my hand on her arm. Her panic-filled eyes stare back at me.

“It’s okay,” I say while shutting off the engine. The car immediately starts heating up because it’s summer in Phoenix and over a hundred degrees outside. I don’t want the engine sparking a gas fire. We’re okay, just shaken up, I tell myself.

Savannah isn’t talking. Her eyes are so large and her lips move like she’s trying to form words. It dawns on me that something is terribly wrong.

“Is it the baby?” I ask her.

She looks at me and continues with the same strange gasping noises. I unbuckle my seat belt and throw open the door. The back passenger door took the main impact, so I run around the front of the car and open Savannah’s door. Her head is turned away from me. I know I shouldn’t move her, but all I can think of is wrapping her in my arms. Her face is now tinged blue and her eyes vacant. My shocked brain realizes the cement is too hot to lay her down. I place her back in the seat and grab the seat adjuster to push it back as far as it will go. I frantically do chest compressions and breathe air into her lungs. I hear a wounded animal sound and finally realize it’s coming from me.

Savannah doesn’t respond, her beautiful eyes stare at nothing. No, this can’t be happening. I look around and squint into the sun. I notice the driver’s door of the car that hit us opening. I’m desperate and refuse to believe she’s gone. We need help. Someone must save my Savannah. I run around his car and approach the other driver hoping he has a cell phone. Having a cell phone is not in our budget at the moment, and I’m kicking myself for not working more overtime to get one. Two things stand out: sirens in the distance and the man at his vehicle.

“I didn’t mean to hit you,” he slurs.

“Do you have…” I start to ask about his cell phone, when he belches and the strong odor of alcohol reaches me.

Blackness fills me and rage takes over.

I don’t remember pulling my knife or stabbing the driver thirteen times. The next thing I know, pain like I’ve never felt makes my entire body seize, and I fall to the ground. My world is a dark blur and it’s only later that I learn a cop’s Taser took me down. He should have shot me through the heart and ended the pain.

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