"Not yet," the nurse said. "First we need to do
another little pelvic exam and see where we're at."
The nurse waited until the contraction was over. Then, while Casey
huffed and strained and struggled to hold back a baby who clearly wanted out,
the woman stuck a confident and competent hand up inside her and felt around.
For an instant, Casey was taken back to her days as a farm kid, seeing her
father with his arm buried to the hilt inside a cow's lady parts, all in the
name of artificial insemination. She pondered whether that was how they did it
with human females, and began to giggle uncontrollably.
"What?" Rob said, looking mystified.
She shook her head, unable to answer. He wouldn't fully appreciate
the joke, anyway. He was a city boy. One who, at the moment, looked tired and
disheveled and overwhelmed. "I'm sorry," she said. "I know how
hard this is on you."
"We haven't lost a father yet," the nurse said briskly,
lowering Casey's hospital gown back into place, giving the illusion of privacy,
when everybody on the planet knew that once you'd delivered your first baby,
all modesty was lost forever. "You're at ten centimeters, chickie. Time to
get this party started."
Now, things began moving quickly. A half-dozen nurses gathered
around as Dr. Levasseur strode in, gloved and gowned. She said, "Why don't
you scoot up on the bed, Dad, so you can support your wife's back while she
pushes?"
Perched behind Casey, Rob brushed back her hair, rested his hands
on her shoulders, and leaned close enough so she could feel his warm breath on
her cheek. "Love you," he said fiercely.
"Love you, too." Casey clutched his hand as she felt the
next contraction coming. She stiffened for an instant, then reminded herself to
relax, and leaned back against her husband. "Okay," Deb Levasseur said.
"I'm going to count one, two, three, and then I want you to push as hard
as you can. Ready?"
She nodded her readiness.
"One. Two. Three. Push!"
With Rob supporting her back, she pushed, focused on the white-hot
pain and the reward at the end of it. Hushed voices floated, surreal, from just
beyond her peripheral vision, the nurses chit-chatting as they witnessed the
ever-wondrous miracle of birth. Time ceased to have any meaning, and there was
nothing but the pain, and the effort, and the solid comfort of her husband,
bracing her with strong hands and quiet strength.
"Take a break," the doctor said, and she fell back
limply into Rob's arms.
"You're doing great," he said near her ear. "I'm so
proud of you."
She reached up a hand, touched his face, felt another contraction
coming on. "Here comes the next one," Deb said, eyes trained on the
fetal monitor. "Son of a gun, we're racing right along here. Ready,
kids?"
With the end in sight, Casey knew without question that she could
scale mountains if that was what it took. "Ready," she said with
quiet determination. Leaning back into Rob, she took a deep, hard breath.
Waited for Deb's "One, two, three," and pushed with every ounce of
strength in her.
"Good!" Deb said. "The baby's crowning. We're
almost there. Keep pushing. Keep pushing! Okay, let's take another break. Dad,
are you ready?"
They'd talked endlessly about how to make this birthing experience
unique, how to make it reflect who they were as a couple and who they would be
as a family. They'd discussed their ideas with Doctor Deb, who wholeheartedly
approved. In addition to playing Smokey, they had agreed that Rob would assist
with the delivery and would be the first person to hold their child. It was a
little unconventional, but their relationship had never run on a conventional
track, and that all-important initial bonding with the baby drove their
priorities. Besides, Rob had missed all this with Paige. Who knew if she would
be able to conceive again? This might be his only chance to experience childbirth.
Rob looked at her questioningly. Casey found his hand, squeezed
it. "Go," she said.
He went. Stood, transfixed, while Deb said to him, "There you
go, hon. That's your baby. Look at that head of hair."
He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He met Casey's
eyes, and she smiled at him as the next contraction began to build, watched his
eyes change upon recognition of the pain in hers.
"Okay," Deb said. "On the count of three, I want a
big, big push. The biggest push you can do. One. Two. Three. Push!"
She pushed, tried to use her breathing to help her drive past the
pain. She'd never exerted this hard, so hard she feared she might pop a blood
vessel. Beside her, one of the nurses spoke soft words of encouragement while
Deb said, "Good girl, good girl, you're doing great, keep pushing, keep
pushing, keep—there you go, the head's out. You ready, Dad? Sit right here,
hon. Casey, I want you to take a deep breath and then one more push."
Her hand squeezed tightly with that of the nurse at her side, Casey
took a deep, cleansing breath, gathered her forces, and gave a final, hard
push. With an abrupt, squishy plop, the baby slid out of her and into her
husband's outstretched hands.
The pain was instantly forgotten as she watched him, the person
she loved most in all the world, hold the baby they'd made together. His face a
study in wonderment, Rob cradled the infant to his chest while the doctor and
the nurses bustled around the room, taking care of business. "It's a
girl," he said, and met Casey's eyes. His were suspiciously bright.
"Emma Danielle MacKenzie. She's beautiful, babe. Ten fingers and ten toes,
and everything where it belongs."
"I told you, didn't I? A long time ago."
"Yeah. You did." For an extended, somber moment, they
held a private conversation with their eyes, and then he looked back at the
baby. "Hi, precious," he said tenderly. "I'm your dad."
The baby let out a lusty squall, and he gave Casey a huge grin.
"Oh, yeah," he said. "She's a MacKenzie, all right."
The cord was clamped and cut, and a nurse whisked baby Emma away
while Deb delivered the afterbirth. Rob perched on a stool beside Casey, took
her hand in his, brought it to his mouth and kissed the palm. She caressed his
cheek, ran her hand around to the back of his neck, threaded fingers through
his hair. "Hey," she said softly.
"Hey, yourself. You okay?"
"Utterly exhausted, and utterly happy. What time is it?"
"About three-thirty. I can't believe how fast that
went."
"Like a racing locomotive. Emma was in a hurry to get
here."
"Once she finally made up her mind. You're cold, sweetheart.
You have goose bumps on top of goose bumps."
"A little," she admitted. "I'm mostly tired."
"Hey, can we get a blanket over here? She's freezing."
A nurse brought a soft blanket, and he tucked it around her.
"That better?"
"Immeasurably. How are you holding out?"
"After what you just went through, you're worried about
me?"
"I've been through this before. It's your first time.
Although I have to admit that my first time was nothing like this."
He took her hand in his. "That first time? I would've been
there for you if you'd called."
"I know. But it wasn't your place then. It is now."
He drew the stool closer and lay his head on her chest. Arms
cradling him, fingers playing idly in his hair, she studied his eyes somberly,
those green eyes she knew so well, just inches from hers. Somewhere in the
distance, Emma was squalling furiously. "She has quite a set of lungs on
her," he said, "our daughter."
"Yes," she said, drawing a fingertip down the bridge of
his nose. "She does. Maybe she'll grow up to be a singer, like her big
sister."
"Maybe."
"Are you planning to tell her she was born to the sound of
Smokey Robinson?"
"Every chance I get."
Their eyes studied each other in perfect understanding. No words
were necessary. They knew each other so well, they could hold entire
conversations without speaking a word.
The nurse returned with Emma, clean and wrapped in a soft blanket.
"Five pounds, eight ounces," she said. "Nineteen inches tall.
Great color, great lung capacity. She's tiny, but fit as a fiddle."
Rob straightened and took the baby, cradled her to his chest,
spoke hushed words of love as their daughter stared at him in wide-eyed,
newborn amazement. Then he leaned over the bed and carefully placed the baby in
Casey's arms. "Mrs. MacKenzie," he said, "I'd like you to meet
your daughter."
Looking into her daughter's face for the first time, she was
overwhelmed with emotion. It seemed she'd been waiting for this day forever,
this bittersweet moment that inevitably took her back to the first time she'd
held Katie, the joy she'd felt on that day. And the horrible, mind-numbing
grief she'd felt when Katie died.
The sweetness of love. The poignancy of loss.
But she wouldn't let that lingering sadness overshadow today's
joy. Emma was her own person, and deserved her mother's undivided love and
attention. "Hello, sweet baby," she said, planting a string of soft
kisses on her daughter's velvety cheek.
Emma wrapped tiny fingers directly around her mother's heart as
she studied Casey's face with somber eyes that were a dark shade of blue.
Eventually, they would turn green. All nine of the MacKenzie siblings had green
eyes, and so did most of their children. Casey, herself, had green eyes. She
didn't understand the genetics, but she was pretty certain that two green-eyed
people would have green-eyed children.
She studied the shape of Emma's eyes, the delicate arch of her
brow, so like her own. Yet there was a great deal of Rob in that face, as well.
"She looks like both of us."
He leaned closer. "You think?"
"I think. We do good work, MacKenzie. She's gorgeous."
"She must've taken that from you, because it sure as hell
didn't come from me."
"Actually," she said, without missing a beat, "it
came from the mailman."
He arched a brow. "The mailman? Really."
"I was planning to tell you, but I just couldn't find the
right words to crush all your hopes and dreams."
"I thought Ethel Hawkins was our mailman…mailwoman…um, mail
delivery person."
"Oh." She glanced up at him. "Come to think of it,
you're right. I guess Emma really is a MacKenzie, after all."
"Hah. You're so funny."
"I thought so."
"And tired. You look wiped out."
She mock-frowned. "You left out beautiful. Again."
"What the hell was I thinking? Exquisitely beautiful, but you
need some rest. Maybe I should leave for a while so you can sleep."
"It'll be some time before they let me sleep." She
studied his face, the strong bones, the square jaw, the faint webbing of laugh
lines at the corners of those soft green eyes. "You must be starving. All
you've eaten since you got off that plane was two Butterfingers. You worked
those off in the first hour of labor."
"Me? You're the one who did all the work."
"Don't try to scam me, MacKenzie. I know how much work you
put into this little operation. I was here, remember? Besides, you have
important phone calls to make."
"Are you throwing me out, Wife of Mine?"
"Your work is done, my good man. Now it's just me and baby
Emma. You, my darling, have been rendered superfluous. Redundant. Utterly
obsolete. So very last year's model."
"Good thing I know you so well. If I thought you were
serious, it would be a crushing blow to my ego."
Cradling the baby against her breast, she reached out to caress
her husband's cheek. "Go," she said tenderly. "Go make your
phone calls, get something to eat, recharge your batteries, and come back in a
few hours."
"Are you sure?" He caught her hand, kissed her knuckles.
"I hate to leave you. Both of you."
"I know." She pressed a kiss to the top of Emma's head.
"She's precious, isn't she? I can't imagine ever being separated from her.
But we both need some rest, and they're about to toss you out on your hiney
anyway so they can get me cleaned up and settled. And fed. Especially
fed."
"After all the work you did, the least they could do for you
is feed you a brontosaurus steak, medium rare."
"Ha! It'll more likely be a bowl of chicken noodle soup.
Without salt. Or flavor."
"I'd smuggle in a pizza, but I probably wouldn't get past the
front door with it."
"Go on. Get your incredibly sexy butt out of here."
He leaned, touched his lips to Emma's cheek. "Bye,
baby." Gave Casey a brief, tender kiss on the lips. Smiled at her with
his eyes and said, more softly, "Bye, baby."
Casey cupped his cheek and kissed him back. "Bye."
She watched him walk away. He paused by the door, said something
to one of the nurses as he peeled off the green scrubs he'd worn over his
street clothes and dropped them into a rolling laundry cart. He turned once,
gave her a salute, then he opened the door and was gone.