It Started in June Page 17

  “A few things,” said Bradley, closing his laptop.

  “Do you want to grab a cup of coffee?”

  “I can’t,” said Bradley, standing. “I’ve got to run out for another meeting.”

  “Uh-oh,” said Grace, “I hope my workaholic tendencies aren’t rubbing off on you.”

  “Not a chance,” said Bradley.

  Grace smiled with her eyes. “Do you mind waiting until six to head home? I just accepted a five o’clock follow-up meeting with Dana.”

  “That sounds fine.” Bradley moved quickly down the hallway to his desk, set the computer down, and grabbed his coat. He checked his watch. Not wanting to be late, to give Rachel another reason to communicate with Grace, he jogged a couple blocks before slowing his pace to appear relaxed and in control when he saw Rachel. In the coffee shop, she was sitting at a table in the corner, with two porcelain mugs in front of her. “Hi,” she said, as Bradley approached the table.

  “Hi,” he said. “Sorry if I’m late.”

  She pushed the home button on her phone, which was sitting on the table next to her cappuccino. “It’s three thirty-one,” she said, smiling up at him. “But I won’t hold it against you.” Bradley shed his coat and then sat in the chair opposite Rachel. Before he could stop himself, his eyes went to Rachel’s breasts, nicely rounded and accentuated by her snug cashmere sweater. He quickly looked away, but she had caught him. “You liked what you saw last night, didn’t you?” she asked what to Bradley was a rhetorical question. “That was just a taste, baby.”

  Bradley thrust both arms out in front of him. “Stop! Stop right there.”

  Rachel cocked her head to one side. “Why?” She reached out and held both of his hands with hers.

  He pulled away from her. “Because we cannot—I cannot—carry on like this. I am with Grace, which intrinsically means I cannot be with you.”

  Rachel sipped her coffee. “But you can be with me. I think you want to be with me. We just need to get rid of Grace and then we can be together, and you can be doing whatever you want to be doing with me and to me night after night after night.”

  Bradley swallowed, his mind flashing back to the photo she had sent him. His eyes again found her breasts.

  “There’s a bathroom over there,” she whispered. “How about a quick peek?” And then she ran the tip of her tongue over her bountiful bottom lip.

  Are you kidding me? Bradley had never been with a woman like this, someone so overtly and unabashedly sexual—unless she was playing a game. Was she playing a game? Was she turning the burner all the way up to high just until she got him to break up with Grace? What then? What would happen after Rachel possessed him? Would she return to being manipulative and controlling about sex? This was not for real; it couldn’t be. Knowing that Grace had probably shut him down, Rachel was playing to his weakness, like offering ice cream to someone on a diet. And what kind of woman wanted to be with a guy who broke up with his girlfriend to be with her? Wasn’t it a well-documented fact that men who did this once often did it again?

  “Bradley?”

  Meat. That’s what she was treating him like because that’s the way he was acting, like a guy who was ruled by, who made decisions with his penis. Like someone who would give up being with an admirable, honest, kind, loving, and—until lately—very sexy, secure woman just to get his rocks off? That’s what it was. That’s the kind of woman that was sitting across the table from Bradley, the kind of woman who didn’t believe in underpants. Was she wearing underpants? Shit! Bradley thought. Stop this now!

  “Bradley? Are you ready for an eyeful?”

  “Rachel, I’m sorry. I can’t do this. And you shouldn’t be doing this. We both have to stop playing these games. In just a couple weeks, I’m going to be a father.”

  Rachel leaned in and whispered. “You don’t have to be a father. You can be with me.”

  He reached for his phone. “Have I shown you the latest ultrasound?” He flipped through a bunch of photos. “Where is it?” He swiped through the photos with his thumb. “Geez, all I can find are all the holiday pictures of Grace and me with my parents. Be patient. Hold on—oh, here we go.” He pushed the phone forward until it was two inches from Rachel’s face. “You can see everything, well, except the baby’s gender. We decided to wait until the birth to know whether our baby is a girl or a boy. Grace is kind of hoping for a girl, I think. And I’m kind of hoping for a boy. But it doesn’t really matter.”

  Rachel stood up.

  Bradley looked at his watch. “Oh, look at the time,” he said. “We really do have to get back to the office.”

  Rachel put her coat on and walked away.

  CHAPTER 34

  A tightening in Grace’s abdomen woke her. She lay in bed wondering if this was the beginning of labor or just a false alarm—the Braxton Hicks contractions her doctor had told her she might experience. By the time she’d showered and eaten breakfast, she had felt several more of the cramping sensations, tremors rather than earthquakes. Because her doctor had told her that these pre-labor pains were normal and to be expected, Grace said nothing to Bradley. She wasn’t due for another week, and she didn’t want to worry him unnecessarily. But the pain stayed with her on and off during the day; by the time they got home, Grace was exhausted. She told Bradley as she hung up her coat that she was not interested in eating dinner. He stood next to her and studied her face.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Yes, I think so,” said Grace.

  “Okay,” he said, checking his phone for messages. “Do you mind if I run out and get something to eat? I’m thinking about a burger. Do you want me to eat it there?”

  “No, no,” said Grace. “Bring it home, if you want to. I’m going to sit in the tub for a little bit and then relax on the couch.”

  Bradley headed back toward the door. “Can I pick up anything for you?”

  “I’m good,” said Grace.

  After Bradley came back and ate his takeout burger, they passed the evening in front of the TV. Grace, too tired to read, dozed on and off in front of the basketball game Bradley was watching. When she announced she was going to bed, an hour earlier than her normal bedtime, Bradley looked at her just long enough to say, “Sleep tight.”

  A strong contraction woke Grace from a deep sleep at 2:02 a.m. She rolled from her side over onto her back, in an attempt to get some air, to get more comfortable, but the pain only worsened. She breathed in deeply through her nose and exhaled through her mouth. She looked at the ceiling and counted the seconds in her head. And just when she wondered if it was time to wake Bradley, the pain stopped. She reached over to the bedside table for a tissue to blot the sweat from her face and neck, and then she waited. Either this was the continuation of what she had been feeling for the last twenty hours or so, or it was the commencement of what some women she had run into around town had told her was the most terrifying experience of their lives. Why, thought Grace, concentrating on breathing in and breathing out, did these women feel the need to impart this kind of knowledge? What was the rationale behind their compulsion to share unsolicited details of their labor—to inform Grace so she could prepare herself or to freak her out? Grace had listened politely to these women who had approached her in the grocery store or as she walked on the beach. But afterward she had dismissed their stories, knowing that her experience could be different. She was mentally as well as physically prepared. And while she didn’t expect birthing a child to be easy, she intended to bear it stoically.

  The next contraction came five minutes later, and the following one five minutes after that. Grace touched Bradley’s shoulder. When she got no reaction, she shook it gently, and then harder. “What’s up, Grace?” he asked, his voice filled with sleep, his eyes closed.

  “I think I’m having the baby.”

  “What?!” Bradley was sitting up now, his head turned to look at her. “You can’t be. You’re not due until next Thursday.”

  Grace smiled at him. “I
guess I’m going early.”

  “Okay!” said Bradley, throwing off the covers, breathing harder now than Grace. He got out of bed. “Okay! Let’s do this!” Bradley walked to the bureau on the other side of the room. He opened all the drawers and then stood there, looking at them. He turned around and, still breathing like he did after a run, walked back to the bed. He sat down next to Grace. “What do you need?” he asked. “What can I do for you?”

  “You’re doing great,” she said. “Get dressed. I’m going to get dressed. And we’re going to the hospital.” The next contraction hit, pushing Grace back against her pillows. Inhale through the nose; exhale through the mouth. She closed her eyes.

  “Grace, you’re not going to have the baby here, right now, are you?” He was pacing in front of the bed. “What can I do?”

  “Get dressed, Bradley,” she said in a soft voice that was just about a whisper. “Get dressed and then warm up the car.”

  “Good idea, Grace. That’s a very good idea. You wait here. I’ll be just a minute.” He headed for the bedroom door.

  “Bradley,” she said. “Get some clothes on first.”

  Bradley looked down at his bare chest and the floral boxer shorts his mother has given him for Christmas. “You’re absolutely right. I need to get dressed.” He rushed back to the bureau, drawers still open, and pulled out a pair of jeans and a thick Henley-style shirt. He put them on and then hurried back to the bed and pushed his feet into the wool socks that were lying on the floor next to it. He looked at Grace and said, “Okay, I’m ready now,” just as another contraction began, its pain evident on Grace’s face. “Grace. Are you okay?”

  “I’m going to be okay as soon as we get to the hospital.”

  “Right!” Bradley jumped off the bed. “Right! I’m going to start that car up right now.” Bradley patted the front pockets of his pants. “Do you have the keys?”

  “They’re on the kitchen counter in the basket,” said Grace. “I saw them there last night. Your boots are next to the door.”

  Bradley sprinted out of the room. From the kitchen, he called, “You’re right! I’ve got them now, and I’m going to start the car. I’ll be right back!”

  * * *

  Outside, the darkness and the thickly falling snow startled Bradley, ramping up the urgency he already felt. Normal things happened during daylight hours—work, errands, chores; extraordinary things happened in the dark—drinking, intimate conversations, sex in a car. Had it been only nine months since he and Grace, near strangers then, had hooked up in the backseat of her Cadillac? In nine short months, they had decided to keep the baby, perhaps the biggest decision of their lives; moved in with each other; watched Grace’s body transform itself from slim and sexy to spherical; and purchased a couple paychecks’ worth of baby paraphernalia. Bradley realized as he opened the car door and sat down on the freezing seat that he had gone through all of this with what could only be described now as detachment. Until this very moment, he had not fully understood that the baby would come out of Grace’s body and wailing into their lives. As Bradley started the car, he was aware of his labored breathing, his hyperventilation. For a split second, he wondered what it would be like to pull out of the driveway without Grace and drive, without destination, until the car ran out of gas. “Get your shit together!” he said aloud. He gunned the gas, cranked the heat, and turned on the wipers to clear the snow on the windshield, and then dashed back inside to Grace.

  She was sitting on the floor next to the bed, her head in her hands. “I can’t do this,” she said. “I can’t do this.”

  “I’m here,” said Bradley. “We’re doing this together. Here, take my hands.” He pulled Grace up off the floor and held her against him for a moment. “Let’s get you dressed.” Grace allowed Bradley to lift her nightgown over her head. She stood before him naked, like a three-year-old who is still learning how to do this. Her belly button had popped the week before. “Turkey’s done!” he had said that night. And now it was ready to come out of the oven. He went to Grace’s bureau and grabbed a pair of what he had been calling her “big girl panties.” She rested her hands on his shoulders as he stooped to guide her feet into the leg holes. He cajoled her bra into position and then grabbed her favorite pregnancy dress, made from pima cotton, from the hook on the back of the bedroom door and pulled it over her head. He helped guide her arms into the sleeves. She held on to his hand as they walked into the living area. In the closet he found Grace’s cape and fuzzy boots and helped her into them. Another contraction hit her.

  “Bradley!” She doubled over. “Bradley, we’re not going to make it!”

  Bradley bent down and straightened Grace’s upper body by gently lifting her shoulders with his hands. “Yes, we are, Grace. We’re ready to go here.” He wrapped his arm around her back and led her to the front door. “We’ll be at the hospital in ten minutes. Hang in, now.”

  They shuffled their way carefully to the car. “Look at all this snow!” said Grace. “I had no idea it was going to snow, did you?”

  “My father told me that a lot of babies are born in bad weather,” said Bradley. “Something about the barometric pressure.”

  “How are we going to make it to the hospital in this blizzard?” asked Grace, in a voice indicating her panic.

  “That’s why we have the Subaru. We’re going to be fine.” He opened the passenger side door and eased Grace down onto the seat. As he lifted her feet into the car, she looked at him with fearful eyes. He stretched the seat belt over her stomach and clicked her in. He kissed her forehead and repeated the words: “We’ll be at the hospital in ten minutes.” Bradley drove quickly, rolling the car through red lights and stop signs, silencing Grace’s protests with his assurances that no one was on the roads in the middle of the night.

  Halfway there, another contraction made Grace moan loudly. “Forget what I said about driving carefully. Get me to the hospital. We need to get there now!”

  Bradley pulled up to the twenty-four-hour emergency entrance, as he and Grace had been instructed. He told Grace he’d be right back and then he bolted into the building. Less than a minute later, he returned, along with a nurse pushing a wheelchair. As soon as they got to the car, Bradley opened the door. Grace turned in her seat so that Bradley could pull her out. Once she was in the chair, the nurse said, “Grace, I’m Justin, and I’m going to take good care of you.”

  They bypassed the check-in, Justin telling Bradley and Grace they could do the paperwork afterward, and rode the elevator to the maternity floor. As Justin rolled her along the polished floor tiles, he asked Grace about the nature of her contractions and for the name of her doctor. At the end of the hall, he wheeled her into a room and to the bed next to the dark window being pelted with audible snow. He pulled the privacy curtain around the three of them, even though there was no one in the other bed. He reached into the top drawer of the metal cabinet next to the bed for a hospital johnny. “Can I help you with this?” he asked, looking at Grace.

  “I can do this,” said Bradley, stepping between Justin and Grace.

  Justin smiled at him. “Perfect,” he said. “You change Grace, and I’ll go find your doctor. The good news is she’s on call tonight.”

  Fifteen minutes and four contractions later, Dr. Johnson parted the curtain, smiling as she entered Grace’s space. “Here you are,” she said, “earlier than we thought. Nice work.”

  “It is good to be early?” asked Bradley.

  “Sure,” the doctor said with a grin. “No one likes to wait around.” Turning her attention back to Grace, the doctor said she was going to perform a quick exam to see how Grace was coming along.

  “She’s coming along fine,” said Bradley, holding Grace’s hand. “She’s going to have the baby now.”

  “Let’s take a look,” Dr. Johnson said. She stood at the end of the bed and asked Grace to plant her feet and raise her knees. After inserting the speculum, she announced, “Grace’s cervix is already at seven centimeter
s. I’m impressed, Grace. You’re progressing quickly. As soon as we get to ten, we’re good to go.”

  Grace’s face twisted in pain with the next contraction. “How long?” she asked. “How long will it take?”

  “A little while,” said the doctor, removing her gloves. “I’m going to check on a few other patients. I’ll be back before too long.”

  As soon as the doctor left the room, Grace looked at Bradley, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. “Bradley, I’m so scared.”

  Bradley, who was standing next to the bed, still holding her hand, moved his hands to her face. “Hey, hey, Grace,” he said, covering her cheeks. “It’s going to be okay. We’re here now. We’re safe. The doctor and I are going to take good care of you.”

  Grace groaned when the next contraction hit. Afterward, she closed her eyes. “Those women at the grocery store were right,” she said. “This is awful.”

  Bradley sat next to the bed and stroked Grace’s moist forehead. “Those women at the grocery store do not have one-tenth of your strength and stamina,” he said. “You can do this, Grace. We can do this together.”

  “I want to believe you.”

  “Then do,” he said. “It’s true.”

  She squeezed his hand with the next contraction. “That’s right,” said Bradley. “That’s my Grace.”

  * * *

  By five o’clock, she was ready to push. And at just after six o’clock, she was holding Hope Smith in her arms. Smith, as a surname, was something Grace had suggested—and Bradley had needed to be talked into. Grace didn’t want to use the name Trumbull because Kenny had nothing to do with this child—and using his name would be hurtful for both him and Bradley. Grace also didn’t want to use Taylor, her childhood name, for obvious reasons. But Grace didn’t want to use Hanover, either. She simply wasn’t convinced, even now, that Bradley would stay with her. She did not tell him this. Instead, she told him that Smith was a placeholder, and that she would change Hope’s surname on her first birthday. Grace was optimistic that Hanover would become Hope’s new last name, but she needed more time to be sure. And if and when she was sure, she would change her last name, too.