“
Hey!”
I said waving frantically. “
Bridge!”
Bridge slowed the truck
down, squinting at me as he rolled his window down. “
Portia? That you, girl? What the hell you doing out in the middle of the road?”
“
She
’
s in labor,”
I said, motioning across the street to where Beauji was hunched over. “
Can you drive her into town?”
Bri
dge glanced at his passenger seat, which was filled with a large pile of hardware and tools. I looked at the bed of the pickup; it was running over with planks of wood held down with bungee cords.
“
That baby
’
ll be in school by the time I get this truck unl
oaded,”
he said. “
I was on my way to the Babb farm. I
’
ll grab Ian and we
’
ll come back and get y
’
all, okay? You go tell her she
’
s gonna be just fine.”
He took off. I ran back across the road and put my arms around Beauji. “
That was Bridge Wilkins.”
Beauji l
ooked up at me, her face momentarily switching from fear to disbelief. “
You
’
re kidding me.”
I shook my head and smiled, happy for the momentary distraction. “
What are the chances, right?”
Beauji eked out a pathetic laugh. “
This town is too fucking small.”
“
Anyway, he
’
s on his way to get Ian. They
’
re going to be here in a minute and we
’
re going to get you to the hospital.”
She grabbed my hand. “
Portia, it hurts. I mean, it hurts a lot. They told us it would hurt in the class, but I didn
’
t know it would
hurt.
Not like this.”
“
I know, honey,”
I said, running my hand over her hair. Of course, I didn
’
t know, I had no idea, but it seemed the thing to say. Her eyes watered and she grabbed my hand, squeezing it tight as she huffed through the contraction. When it wa
s done, she looked back up at me, her eyes wide and terrified.
“
I don
’
t know if I can do this.”
“
You
’
re gonna be just fine.”
I touched her chin and turned her head to look at me, putting on the most confident expression I could drum up. “
When that baby com
es, you
’
re gonna be in a nice hospital room with Davey by your side and some terrific drugs working magic in your system. Just hang in there for me, okay?”
I put my arm around her and prayed everything would turn out as well as I just told her it would. Tw
o of the longest minutes of my life passed, and I finally heard the sounds of a car coming. I looked up and saw both Ian
’
s SUV and Bridge
’
s truck slowing down and pulling to the side of the road. Ian and Bridge carried Beauji and placed her in the backsea
t
of the SUV. Bridge tossed me his cell phone and told me to call Davey as he hopped in the truck to follow us in. I tossed myself into Ian
’
s passenger seat; the car was moving before I got the door closed.
“
Which way to the hospital?”
His hands were taut o
n the steering wheel, his eyes focused on the road.
I gestured with the cell phone. “
Take a left on Main, then just go straight until the road curves. Hospital
’
s right there.”
“
Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow!”
Beauji yelled from the back. I turned and dropped one hand
over the back of my seat, reaching out toward her. She grabbed it, and I tried not to wince at the pain of her grip. I dialed the sheriff
’
s office and told the girl on the line to notify Davey. Ian
’
s eyes darted from side to side as we approached a red l
i
ght on the corner of Main. He slowed a little, saw there were no other cars, and rushed through.
“
How is she?”
he asked.
“
I
’
m fine!”
she yelled. “
Just get me to the goddamn hospital!”
“
I think she
’
s going to be okay,”
I said, sharing a small smile with Ian.
Davey met us at the emergency entrance. Ian and Bridge pulled Beauji out of the backseat and placed her in the waiting wheelchair. Davey hollered a “
Thank you!”
over his shoulder and zoomed her into the hospital. Bridge and Ian and I stood frozen at the
entrance for a moment as the wave of adrenaline retreated. Finally, I turned to Bridge and smiled.
“
Hey,”
I said, feeling the awkwardness I would have felt earlier if the situation had allowed it.
He gave me a small smile. “
Hey, kiddo.”
Aside from a few more gray hairs in his dark beard and a marked sadness in his eyes, Bridge hadn
’
t changed much since the last time I saw him, the day I left for college. I felt my heart squeeze tight. I
’
d missed him. I hadn
’
t realized that before, althou
g
h it made sense; he
’
d been like an uncle to me from the time I was twelve. He
’
d gotten me the job with Morris Babb. He
’
d fixed my pink bike when the tire went flat. But when he was gone, he was gone, and like all the other Miz Fallons, I
’
d given up on loo
k
ing back. My eyes moistened, and I grabbed his hand.
“
I
’
m glad you happened along,”
I said, handing him his cell phone. “
I don
’
t know what we would have done ..
He shook his head and gave a swift shrug.
“
Ain
’
t nothing, girl. Now, you go on in and see to Be
auji.”
He pulled on a grin. “
And you give me a call when that baby
’
s born. If it
’
s a boy, I want it to be called Bridge. You tell her that, now.”
I smiled. “
I will.”
He gave a half nod, said good-bye to Ian, and left. My emotional level was in the red zone
. And I still had Ian to deal with. I inhaled and turned to him.
“
I
’
m going to go inside and see how she
’
s doing,”
I said, motioning lamely over my shoulder toward the hospital. “
Thank you for getting us here.”
Ian gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “
Not
at all. I just hope she
’
s okay.”
I laughed feebly. The muscles in my arms were starting to shake. I was fifteen seconds away from either breaking out laughing or crying. The only thing I was sure of was that I didn
’
t want Ian to see either. “
Well. I
’
m gonn
a go.”
Ian nodded. “
Congratulate her for me, would you?”
“
Sure,”
I said. But I didn
’
t move. I thought about how comforting it had felt to be in his arms that one morning before everything fell to shit. There was little I wouldn
’
t have given to feel some of
that comfort right then.
Including my pride.
“
Stay with me.”
I hadn
’
t realized I was even thinking the words until they were out. I swallowed, forcing myself to go on. The only thing more painful than looking like an idiot was the idea of watching him wal
k away. I was too weak to fight needing him. “
My arms are shaking. I
’
m a mess. There
’
s a whole history with Bridge and Vera and I haven
’
t seen him in years and he
’
s probably the closest thing to a father I ever had and the whole thing with Beauji scared t
h
e hell out of me and I really need a friend right now.”
He smiled. “
I
’
d be happy to stay with you.”
I exhaled. “
Thank you.”
“
Not at all. I
’
m rather glad you asked, actually.”
He paused, took a breath, and started again. “
Look, these things don
’
t tend to ha
ppen quickly. Trust me, my sister has had three of the little beasts and they all took better than twenty-four hours to make their appearance. I
’
m going to have to move my car anyway, so why don
’
t I take you back to your place and you can...well...”
He mo
t
ioned toward my feet. “
Your shoes appear to be covered in some sort of...bodily fluid.”
I looked down.
“
Oh, God. Beauji
’
s water broke all over my shoes. I totally forgot. Ewwww.”
I put one hand on Ian
’
s shoulder and used my feet to kick them off, then hook
ed my toes in each sock and peeled those off as well. We stood side by side, looking at the soppy lump baking on the concrete.
I leaned in toward Ian. “
I know they
’
re my shoes, and this is more a woman
’
s area, but I really don
’
t think I can touch them.”
Ia
n gave me a horrified look as he realized what I was asking, then sighed and held up one finger for me to wait. He flipped open the back of the SUV, grabbed a garbage bag, and used it to pick them up and toss them into a nearby trash can.
“
Just for the rec
ord,”
he said as he got in the car and shut the driver
’
s side door, “
that was absolutely the most disgusting thing I have ever done for a woman.”
“
Thanks for waiting,”
I hollered through my closed bedroom door, taking the towel off my head and tossing it o
n the bed. “
I
’
ll be out in just a minute.”
“
No hurry,”
Ian called from the living room. I grabbed a pair of jeans and a T-shirt and put my hair up in a clip. It wasn
’
t my hottest look, but considering that I
’
d started out the day with amniotic fluid on my
feet, it was a step in the right direction.
“
I was thinking we might stop by Sue Ann
’
s Bakery to get some coffee and doughnuts or something. I
’
m starving,”
I said as I walked out into the living room. Ian was standing by my kitchen counter, his head bent o
ver the ring box Peter had left there. He stepped back when he saw me, flashed a smile, and grabbed his keys off the coffee table.
“
Ready to go?”
he asked, motioning toward the door.
I didn
’
t move. Ian fiddled with his keys, then raised his eyes to meet mine.
“
He proposed,”
I said. “
That
’
s what he was doing here. After no communication for four months, he drove down here from Boston and proposed.”
Ian nodded. There was a short silence in whic
h I tried to read his expression and failed. Brits and their stiff upper lips. Finally, he spoke.
“
It
’
s really none of my business.”
“
I said no.”
Ian looked up. Scanning my interaction with Peter I realized that I hadn
’
t exactly said no, but I
’
d definitely
implied it. And implications count, right? Ian
’
s eyes traveled to the ring box and back to me, proving that implications do count. And not always in my favor.