Читать книгу If The Shoe Fits - Marilynn Griffith - Страница 9

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 way and not take anything personally. I did hope she’d calm down upstairs, though, before she wore herself out.

Moments later, as we spilled from the elevator, I touched Shemika’s hand, hoping a soft touch would help her relax. We made it to triage quickly. Jordan opened the door, while my son and I helped Shemika inside.

I tried to encourage her. “Remember our deal? You relax, your body works and your baby comes.”

Shemika didn’t look convinced. Evidently my birth-speak was a little rusty. It’d been a full year since I’d attended a laboring mom, but it was all coming back. Good thing, since my friend Tracey would be delivering soon. She lived out of town, but I hoped to be there somehow. “I know I’m making it sound easy, but really—”

Shemika grunted in response.

“Are you okay? Just a few more steps…”

Shemika didn’t even try to answer. She just started sliding to the floor. Jericho and I grabbed her, but Shemika’s weight, combined with her flailing arms and legs, proved too much for both of us. We were all still standing, but heading for the floor. Where was Jordan?

“Let me help you.” The voice stung like hail.

Tad.

One look at him and I lost my grip. The whole wild, pregnant mess that was the three of us landed in his arms, including my supersize son. Jericho jumped as though he’d touched a hot stove. Must be a man thing.

As we untangled, Jericho helped Shemika up. I looked into Tad’s kind eyes and at his bruised chin. Bless his heart, now here I was about to beat up the rest of him. “You poor thing. What are you doing here?”

He smiled. “I got a call from someone on the Men’s Fellowship prayer chain.”

I shrugged. Who’d made the call I didn’t know, but I was thankful. For all Tad’s annoying traits, he was calm in a crisis.

Jordan’s face glistened with sweat. His eyes looked bloodshot. Maybe this whole birth thing was weighing on him harder than I’d thought. He shook Tad’s hand. “Thanks for coming. Sorry for calling you out of service, but you said—”

Tad nodded. “I said call anytime. And I meant it.” He spoke to Jordan, but his eyes were locked on me.

And my bare feet.

Shemika managed to get herself into a tan gown and we were guided behind a series of curtains and asked to wait for a nurse. Shemika latched on to Jericho’s hand with a death grip. Or maybe a life grip.

My son gave her a smile, then leaned down to me with wide eyes I’d seen only a few times, one of them on the day he’d met his father for the first time. “I have a bad feeling, Mom.”

A snort escaped my lips. “Me, too, but my bad feeling was about nine months ago.”

“No, really,” he said, trying to whisper but forgetting to do so. “And she’s grabbed my hand so hard. It was almost like she was…pushing?”

“Pushing?”

My voice must have really carried, because a nurse emerged from what seemed a thousand layers of curtains. “Who’s pushing?”

Cringing from the way his girlfriend was squeezing his hand, my son nodded slightly. “I’m not sure, but she’s doing something.”

The nurse’s eyes narrowed. “Okay. I’ll check her. Could you all step outside? And Grandma, can you stop at the desk and answer some questions?”

Grandma.

“Sure,” I said.

As Tad led the way, a woman behind one of the curtains let out a scream worthy of a horror movie. Jordan cringed. “Whoa…”

I snickered. “You ain’t seen nothing yet.” I wanted to say that he’d have seen worse if he’d stuck around with me, but that water was under the bridge. And over it.

Conscious again of my bare feet and lack of preparedness, I fumbled in the suitcase-size bag that serves as my purse as we approached the front desk. I immediately stumbled on my wet, ruined shoes. Who’d slipped those in for me? It didn’t matter. This time, I was much happier to see them.

Jordan’s voice creaked as he spoke to the nurse. “Yes, ma’am. She’s thirty-six weeks, six days according to the wheel. Thirty-seven by the ultrasound…”

I felt jealous for a moment and suddenly wished I’d been the one to let the kids stay with me, the one who’d taken Shemika to her doctor’s appointments. At least they’d listened to me and preregistered for the hospital.

“Her medical card?” the nurse said coolly. “The number wasn’t filled out on the form that was mailed in. We’ll need to copy that card.”

Jordan and Tad looked blankly at me.

Known to be quick on my feet, even when they’re cold and wet, I started mumbling. “In our haste, we—they—don’t have the cards handy, but I’ll stop home and get them once she’s in a room. Until then, perhaps the doctor’s office could provide the number by phone?”

The woman tried but failed to smile. “They will, but we’ll still need the cards. I’ll be back shortly.”

Jordan’s arm brushed mine as I ransacked my purse for my emergency copy of the big, gold card that signified my son’s inability to take care of his child.

Though covered by my self-employed insurance, there was no policy clause for the offspring of unmarried dependents. It turned out that Shemika already had a state medical card anyway. I dug for my copy of it now, knowing it probably wasn’t there. Didn’t my mother used to go through her pocketbook like this? Yes. And it had freaked me out. Totally. I was officially turning into her.

“That’s fine. Perhaps you want to go to the waiting room for a while? They’re probably going to get her a room.”

We went quietly, dividing in the waiting room. I dropped into a chair to continue attacking my purse. Tad went to the window. Jordan approached the TV. Suddenly, he looked more interested in the game show prizes than the birth of his first grandchild. For once, I wasn’t sure if I blamed him. This was a wonderful, horrible day.

I rifled through the contents of my life, dumped on the next chair: cell phone, nail files, Bible memory cards, old church bulletins, Franklin planner, Montblanc pen, a key to Dana’s store and a handful of low-carb bars I’d stupidly brought along for Shemika.

She needs carbs. She’s in labor, not a beauty pageant.

Still, I hoped her hairweave was tight enough to endure labor. In my post-birth pictures, I’d looked as if my hair had been rotated ninety degrees—without bringing my head along. Shemika would look much better, so much better than I did. She had to. I’d make sure of it.

Shemika rolled by on a gurney and Tad and Jordan shot out of the room like toothpaste from a new tube. I shoved my things into my purse, jabbed my feet into my shoes and ran to catch up. I guessed that chivalry was dead during emergencies.

Without my consent, the memory of my son’s birth came to me—a blur of helplessness. I forced it back. This wasn’t my birth. And my son wasn’t going to run out on this girl. Thoughts of today replaced my memories—images of me with Shemika’s head cradled to my chest on the ride over, the sound of my voice saying, “You are strong, Shemika. And beautiful.” My heart ached as I walked down the long hall, realizing that I’d shown Shemika more kindness today than in all the time I’d known her.

Though still far-off, I could make out Shemika’s birth soundtrack—a ballad of moans and wide, wonderful sounds. Sounds that make men very, very afraid.

“It hurts…” she said in a low wail, not a scream anymore but a moan of discovery, a beach that seemed lifetimes away.

I was running now, purse banging against my shins. On the right, I passed a room where a woman was shouting at her husband. He waved at me and munched ice chips. He’d done this before, too.

Jordan took my hand and I reached the room, where I heard a different cry, the birth call of my grandchild. It played in my ears like a symphony.

In my nightmares, there is a monster with a pink cell phone. In real life, she has a matching Prada bag, the messenger model that I admire but would never pay that much for, and the love of my high-school sweetheart. No doubt Terri bought it for use as a diaper bag. Dealing with Jordan is one thing, but this chick? She’s going to make me go Tae Bo all over again.

“I kept calling the hospital for news. Imagine when I heard the baby had been born! I sped right over, love.”

Jordan deflected my eyes. “Oh. Yeah. I was going to call once we saw the baby. We’re waiting.” He tried to slither out of Terri’s grip, but she wound him up like my son would soon be winding a baby swing.

I held my breath for a moment, fighting the urge to pull Tad toward me, inferring a relationship that didn’t exist. Being the gentleman he was, Tad took a step toward me…and away from the nauseating couple. He brushed the bruise on his chin, then extended his hand to Terri. “I’m Thaddeus, Jordan’s prayer partner in the Men’s Fellowship. And Rochelle and I run the singles group at the church as well. We’d love to have both of you—”

The inference that she was single and the thought of Jordan praying with anybody didn’t seem to go over well. “I know who you are. I’ve seen you at church. Thanks anyway, but we’re getting married, the singles group isn’t the place for us. We already live together—”

“I’m going to go get a drink. Anybody want something?” Jordan’s voice was even. Detached.

Tad pursed his lips. “Sure. Get me some coffee.”

Terri smiled, pulling Jordan closer. “Sugar? They probably make it stiff here.”

I silently prayed that the coffee would be strong enough to shock some sense into her or wake Jordan up from the fog of stupidity he was living in.

Tad shrugged. “Sure. Two sugars.”

“Got it. Anything for you, Chelle?” Jordan looked at a spot just above my head.

I stared right into his eyes, trying to see something better, something different than what I’d seen seventeen years before. Looked the same to me.

“I don’t think so, J.” Why was I calling him “J” again? All I wanted was to get back into that room with my grandbaby, not all this drama. The hospital staff had shooed us out like flies. Needed to check a few more things, they’d said, but I didn’t feel right out here.

Jordan nodded. “Right.”

My stomach turned as Jordan and Terri walked away, taking the stairs instead of the elevator, probably going straight to her car. I closed my eyes, wondering if I shouldn’t be thankful. At least Tad would pray with me if I came down to it. Jordan seemed to put his faith and his family on layaway, investing a little bit at a time. I liked to live debt-free myself.

“Sorry about all that,” Tad said. “I meant what I said to Jordan. I know this can’t be easy. But I do believe God is working on him.”

I didn’t know what God was doing to Jordan and I wasn’t sure that I cared. “It meant a lot for you to be here today. I know it may have been difficult.” In truth, it probably wasn’t difficult at all. Answering Jordan’s call as a member of the Men’s Fellowship would have been much easier than responding to my call as a friend. I didn’t dare think past friendship—it made my head hurt. Either way, he’d come.

I squared my shoulders and turned to Tad. “Two sugars you said?” As much as I wanted to be with my grandbaby, getting Tad a cup of coffee was the least I could do. Hadn’t there been a coffeepot back in triage? Maybe they’d be kind enough to let me get a cup. Jordan had left me with the bag again. Everything was on me now. As usual.

Tad stared toward the stairway Jordan had left by a short time before. His eyes narrowed. “They went for coffee. You don’t need to—” Slowly understanding spread across Tad’s face. He shook his head. “I don’t know Jordan as well as you do, but I don’t think he’d make the same mistake again. I don’t think he’d leave.”

I didn’t need to think. I knew. “Two sugars?”

Tad stared at the floor. “Make it black.”

Ten minutes later, I drank the black coffee. I’m a tea girl, and burnt hospital coffee is a hot, slow way to die, but I had to play it off somehow.

Jordan wasn’t buying it.

“Here, take this tea,” he said, opening a cup with a milky streak running through it. I took creamer in my tea. Everyone but Jordan had always thought that strange. He’d always laughed at my old habit. He held out the cup and produced two packets of Equal from his pocket, another trend of mine he’d obviously picked up on.

Somehow I turned down the perfect cup of tea. “You have it. I’m fine, thanks.” If drinking black glue was fine, then fine I was. In my anger, I turned down even that small peace offering.

Tad sipped his just-right coffee with a smile, obviously grateful that Jordan had returned to prove him right. Something else—pity or understanding, I wasn’t sure—tinged his eyes.

Jordan took a pack of sugar from his pocket and emptied it into the tea. One stir with his finger and he took a gulp even though it was still steaming. He’d always been crazy like that.

Terri, who’d almost tricked me into thinking she had one sensible brain cell, refused to stay silent. “You didn’t think we were coming back, did you?”

I sighed, surveying the duck wallpaper. What did she want me to say? “No, I didn’t.”

Terri’s face clouded with anger. Her pink exterior shifted black. “You see, J? You see? She’ll never believe anything you say. I don’t know why you try so hard. Your son forgives you. Why don’t you move on so we can move on? It’s like she holds you captive or something.” She reached for Jordan, but he pulled away, taking a sip of my once-perfect tea.

He shook his head at Terri, then took my hand. “I don’t blame you. I haven’t given you any reason to believe in me. But I just thought—I thought that maybe you could.”

Why was I always the villain? “I have forgiven you, Jordan. Some things are just hard to forget.” I looked around the waiting room. Were those ducks the same ones from when my family had waited in this room? Surely not. Maybe they’d bought the stuff in bulk.

Jordan smiled weakly at Tad. “I guess some things don’t change no matter how much you pray.” His wide palm smacked Tad’s shoulder, before Jordan took a few steps and plopped down in front of the television. The NBA finals, of course.

Tad passed Jordan’s weak smile on to me with his own mouth. He scanned my face as if looking for something. Whatever it was, he didn’t find it. I pitied him. I knew the feeling. I wish I could say that Jordan’s pain or Tad’s frustration moved me, but I’d be lying. And Terri? Well, she was doing good to still be standing.

Lord, what does he expect me to say? What do You expect?

Tad walked over to Jordan, ignoring Terri as he sat down. “Give Rochelle more time. And yourself, too. None of this is easy.”

Wow. Tad sounded like some counselor assigned by family court. All he was missing was a comb-over hairdo and a bad suit. It was nice of him to be here, but right now, I needed my friends from my Sassy Sistahood—Jordan’s sister Dana, who was off at a trade show with her new husband and my other dear friend, newly married, quite pregnant and two hours away. How dare my friends have lives of their own? Right now, I’d even take Austin, one of our newest members and someone I hadn’t quite clicked with yet.

I wanted anybody who’d understand how bad I wanted to see my granddaughter, but how scared I was to see her, too. I’d failed at being a parent, made a mess of my own life and now had a pink-clad monster, the local weatherman and a washed-out NBA player to deal with, none of whom had a clue how I really felt. And vice versa. No, for times like these, a girl needs God…and her girlfriends.

“Let’s go back and see about the baby. They said twenty minutes.” It was all I could think of to say. This was supposed to be about the kids, wasn’t it? And the baby? How it turned into some grown folks’ version of baby’s mama drama, I had no clue.

Jordan and Terri walked ahead of us to Shemika’s room, with the former giving Tad the look of an apprentice hoping for his master to fix the situation.

Tad had sense enough not to signal any hope. Instead, he picked up my purse from where I’d almost left it. “Here. You might need this, Grandma.” His smile and his tone were comforting.

I pushed my purse up on my shoulder and stared down at my now war-beaten shoes, shocked at how good they looked despite the stains.

“Thanks.” This let me know that I was totally out of control. My purse was like an extension of my body, always attached.

His gaze rested around my ankles as we started back to the room. “I’m glad you found your shoes. Gotta take care of those—”

“Don’t say it.” I sucked up half the oxygen in Illinois. Didn’t he know not to go there while my illegitimate grandchild was being born? Goodness. My feet had been through enough. My mind, too.

He smiled, the little-boy-with-a-secret grin again. “I won’t say it. I don’t have to.”

The baby, whose cry had filled the room not long before, now rested in a nurse’s arms, swaddled by enough baby blankets to almost double her size. We’d only been allowed a peek at her before, but this time, the nurse motioned for Jordan and me to approach. The little face, cocoa with a splash of milk, looked beautiful to me. A bed of thick curls framed the baby’s face.

Her face.

“A girl, right?” Jordan asked.

“Yes,” my son said, pointing to the card attached to the bed. “Girl. Seven pounds, eight ounces.”

Tad patted my hand as I moved closer to my grandchild and then to my son.

Jericho smiled but didn’t say anything more. Instead, he mopped Shemika’s brow. The furrows in his forehead worried me. Terri chattered on, pulling designer baby clothes from her bag in more shades of pink than I knew existed. I paused, listening to the deadly quiet that had rushed into the room.

“Should she still be bleeding?” my son whispered to me.

“No.” I tried not to get anxious, turning to the midwife for the look of reassurance. Instead, concerned eyes met mine. My toes balled up in my shoes. This couldn’t happen. Not again.

The midwife pushed her glasses up on her nose with a gloved wrist. “Shemika’s blood pressure rose significantly during the birth, almost to stroke levels. Her pressure is coming down, but not as quickly as I’d like. There’s also a blood-loss concern. My backup doctor will take over from here.”

Jordan, who’d somehow managed to hear over his girlfriend’s loud talking, gripped my arm. We’d never talked about what had happened to me after the birth of our son, but someone must have told him. Or perhaps he figured something must have happened for me to only have one child. That the woman he’d known back then could have been celibate all these years was probably his last guess.

As I started running through all the scenarios and how my son and I could split the care for Shemika and the baby, something told me to be still. I was.

The nurse took the sweet bundle from my arms. Terri reached out her hands, but the woman ignored her. “The baby is going to the nursery now to get cleaned up—”

“Can I come too?” Jordan interrupted the nurse. “I’d just like to make sure that she’s okay.” Terri gave me a contented look of victory, but the voice in my head remained.

What was that Scripture in Ephesians that Tracey liked to quote?

Having done all to stand…stand. Stay here.

“You can come on with us, Tad. I know all this can be a little overwhelming, especially for a single cat like you.” Jordan nodded for Tad to follow.

Tad shook his head. “I’ll stay here.” None of that “if it’s all the same to you,” or “if you don’t mind” stuff, just, “I’ll stay here.”

Already walking behind the bassinet, Jordan waved. “Suit yourself, man.” He turned to Shemika. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. Grandpa’s on the job.”

It was a sorry attempt to lighten the mood, but it was much needed, even if it only lasted a few seconds. As soon as the baby was out of the door, things went downhill quickly.

“Prep the O.R. She’s bleeding out.”

“Lord, we ask that You stop this blood, in Jesus’ name…”

Those voices, first the doctor’s and then Tad’s were the last I remembered hearing. From there, I was back in an icy recovery room, waking to the sensation of my insides on fire. No one was in the room but a nurse who looked as if she’d rather be somewhere, anywhere else. Her voice, though, was much kinder than her appearance when I asked about the baby.

“He’s fine,” she’d said in a soft tone. “There won’t be any more, though. Babies, I mean. You had some problems. The doctor will come and talk to you about it later. Just be thankful that you got one.”

She wasn’t the last person to tell me that and the doctor never came to explain. But now, here in Shemika’s hospital room, all the pain and regret came back to me. I gripped my waist and doubled over.

“Are you all right, Grandma?” one of the nurses asked as they moved Shemika from the bed to a stretcher.

I could hear Tad still praying under his breath. “I’m fine, just a little shaken.”

Jericho, who had said nothing in the past few minutes, squeezed my hand. “I’m sorry, Mom. I never knew it was like this.”

My fingers trembled. I didn’t know if he was sorry for what was happening to Shemika or for what had happened to me. Either way, I wasn’t the one he needed to be concerned about. “Go with her, son. Go on.”

He nodded and disappeared down the hall. I fumbled for my purse as the room emptied, leaving Tad and I alone. I grabbed for my phone but dropped it.

Tad picked it up. “Who do you need to call—Mother Holloway?”

I nodded. Shemika’s grandmother hadn’t wanted to come to the birth, but now I needed to let her know what was going on. Most likely she wouldn’t take the news any better than I was.

As he pressed the buttons from memory, Tad moved his lips silently.

I was too tired to make out the words. “What are you saying?”

“Still praying. There’s always a chance—Hello? Mother Holloway—”

The stretcher crashed back through the door on the way to the operating room, with the whole cast following. Tad and I scurried out of the way. Shemika looked sedated or seriously asleep. Jericho was crying.

“She’s stable, Mom. They were prepping her for surgery and…” He buried his face in his hands.

Tad grabbed him around the neck and hugged. “Mother Holloway? It’s me, Thaddeus from the church. This morning’s lesson? I enjoyed that, too. Yes, ma’am. Look, I just wanted to tell you that your great-grandbaby has arrived. A girl.”

He covered the phone with his mouth and leaned in to my son. “What’s the baby’s name?” he asked.

I shook my head. “Just tell her we don’t know—”

“Moriah.” Shemika’s voice was barely more than a breath, but we all heard it.

“Moriah,” Tad repeated into the phone. He laughed, then nodded. “Yes, it is a good name. I pray she’ll live a mountain life.”

“Me, too,” I whispered into the folds of Tad’s shirtsleeve as he held me up, too. “Live tall, little one. Live tall.”