She mustered a faint laugh. "I think I might take you up on that, Hardy."
Standing, he looked back at me. "Anything I should bring out to the truck? I've got the cover on the back, so it should stay pretty dry."
I ran to get the duffel, and handed it to him. He headed for the door. "No, wait," I said, continuing to load objects into his arms. "We need this tape player. And this—" I gave him a large cylinder with an attachment that looked like a screwdriver.
Hardy looked at it with genuine alarm. "What is it?"
"A hand pump."
"For what? No, never mind, don't tell me."
"It's for the birth ball." I went to my bedroom and brought back a huge half-inflated rubber ball. "Take this out too." Seeing his bewilderment, I said, "We're going to inflate it all the way when we get to the clinic. It uses gravity to help the labor along, and when you sit on it. it puts pressure on the—"
"I get it," Hardy interrupted hastily. "No need to explain." He went out to stow the
objects in the truck, and returned at once. "The storm's at a lull." he said. "We need to get going before another band hits us. Mrs. Jones, do you have a raincoat?"
Mama shook her head. As pregnant as she was, there was no way her old raincoat was going to fit. Wordlessly Hardy removed his panther jacket and guided her arms through the sleeves as if she were a child. It didn't quite zip over her stomach, but it covered most of her.
While Hardy guided Mama out to the truck, I followed with an armload of towels. Since the water hadn't broken yet, I thought it was best to be prepared. "What are those for?" Hardy asked after loading my mother into the front seat. We had to raise our voices to be heard above the din of the storm.
"You never know when you might need some towels," I replied, figuring it would cause him unnecessary distress if I explained further.
"When my mother had Hannah and the boys, she never took more than a paper sack, a toothbrush, and a nightgown."
"What was the paper sack for?" I asked in instant worry. "Should I run in and get one?"
He laughed and lifted me up to the front seat beside Mama. "It was to put the toothbrush and nightgown in. Let's go, honey."
The flooding had already turned Welcome into a chain of little islands. The trick of going from one place to another was to know the roads well enough that you could judge which flowing streams were passable. All it takes is two feet of water to float virtually any car. Hardy was a master at negotiating Welcome, taking a circuitous route to avoid low ground. He followed farm roads, cut through parking lots, and guided the pickup through currents until fountains of water spewed from the trenching tires.
I was amazed by Hardy's presence of mind, the lack of visible tension, the way he made small talk with Mama to distract her. The only sign of effort was the notch between his brows. There is nothing a Texan loves more than to pit himself against the elements. Texans take a kind of ornery pride in the state's raucous weather. Epic storms, killing heat, winds that threaten to strip a layer of skin off, the endless variety of twisters and hurricanes. No matter how bad the weather gets, or what level of hardship is imposed, Texans receive it with variations on a single question..."Hot enough for you1?"..."Wet enough for you?"... "Dry enough for you?"... and so forth.
I watched Hardy's hands on the wheel, the light capable grip, the water spots on his sleeves. I loved him so much, loved his fearlessness, his strength, even the ambition that would someday take him away from me.
"A few more minutes," Hardy murmured, feeling my gaze on him. "I'll get you both there, safe and sound."
"I know you will," I said, while the windshield wipers flailed helplessly at the flats of rain that pounded the glass.
As soon as we arrived at the family clinic, Mama was taken in a wheelchair to be prepped, while Hardy and I took our belongings to the labor room. It was filled with machines and monitors, and a neonatal open care warmer that looked like a baby spaceship.
But the room's appearance was softened by ruffled curtains, a wallpaper border featuring geese and baby ducks, and a gingham-cushioned rocking chair.
A stout gray-haired nurse moved around the room, checking the equipment and adjusting the level of the bed. As Hardy and I came in, she said sternly, "Only mothers-to-be and their husbands are allowed in the labor room. You'll have to go to the waiting area down the hall."
"There's no husband," I said, feeling a little defensive as I saw her brows inching up toward her hairline. "I'm staying to help my mother."
"I see. But your boyfriend will have to leave."
Hot color rushed over my face. "He's not my—"
"No problem," Hardy interrupted easily. "Believe me, ma'am, I don't want to get in anyone's way."
The nurse's stern face relaxed into a smile. Hardy had that effect on women.
Pulling a colored folder from the duffel bag. I gave it to the nurse. "Ma'am, I'd appreciate it if you'd read this."
She looked suspiciously at the bright yellow folder. I had printed the words "BIRTH PLAN" on the front and decorated it with stickers of baby bottles and storks. "What is this?"
"I've written out our preferences for the labor experience," I explained. "We want dim lighting and as much peace and quiet as possible, and we're going to play nature sounds. And we want to maintain my mother's mobility until it's time for the epidural. About pain relief—she's fine with Demorol but we wanted to ask the doctor about Nubain. And please don't forget to read the notes about the episiotomy."
Looking harassed, the nurse took the birth plan and disappeared.
I gave the hand pump to Hardy and plugged in the tape player. "Hardy, before you go, would you inflate the birth ball? Not all the way. Eighty percent would be best."
"Sure," he said. "Anything else?"
I nodded. "There's a tube sock filled with rice in the duffel. I'd appreciate it if you'd find a microwave oven somewhere and heat it for two minutes."
"Absolutely." As Hardy bent to inflate the birth ball, I saw the line of his cheek tauten with a smile.
"What's so funny?" I asked, but he shook his head and didn't answer, only continued to smile as he obeyed my instructions.
By the time Mama was brought into the room, the lighting had been adjusted to my satisfaction, and the air was filled with the sounds of the Amazon rain forest. It was a soothing patter of rain punctuated with the chirping of tree frogs and the occasional cry of a macaw.
"What are those sounds?" Mama asked, glancing around the room in bemusement.
"A rain forest tape." I replied. "Do you like it? Is it soothing?"
"I guess so," she said. "Although if I start to hear elephants and howler monkeys, you'll have to turn it off."
I did a subdued version of a Tarzan cry. and it made her laugh.
The gray-haired nurse went to help Mama from the wheelchair. "Is your daughter going to stay in here the whole time?" she asked Mama. Something in her tone gave me the impression she was hoping the answer would be "no."
"The whole time," Mama said firmly. "I couldn't do without her."
At seven o'clock in the evening, Carrington was born. I had picked the name from one of the soaps Mama and I liked to watch. The nurse had washed and wrapped her like a miniature mummy, and placed her in my arms while the doctor took care of Mama and stitched the places the baby had torn. "Seven pounds, seven ounces," the nurse said, smiling at my expression. We had gotten to like each other a little more during the birth process. Not only had I been less of an annoyance than she had anticipated, but it was difficult not to feel connected, if only temporarily, by the miracle of new life.
Lucky seven, I thought, staring at my little sister. I'd never had much to do with babies before, and I had never held a newborn. Carrington's face was bright pink and crumpled-looking, her eyes grayish-blue and perfectly round. Hair covered her head like the pale feathers of a wet chick. The weight of her felt about the same as a large sack of sugar, but she was fragile and floppy. I tried to make her comfortable, shifting her awkwardly until she was on my shoulder. The round ball of her head fit perfectly against my neck. I felt her back heave with a kitten-sigh, and she went still.
"I'll need to take her in a minute." the nurse said, smiling at my expression. "They'll have to check her out and clean her up."
I didn't want to let her go. A thrill of possessiveness went through me. She felt like my baby, part of my body, knotted to my soul. Impassioned to the verge of tears, I turned to the side and whispered to her. "You are the love of my life, Carrington. The love of my life."
Miss Marva brought a bouquet of pink roses and a box of chocolate-covered cherries for Mama, and a baby blanket she had made for Carrington. soft yellow fleece with hand-crocheted edges. After admiring and cuddling the baby for a few minutes. Miss Marva handed her back to me. She focused all her attention on Mama, fetching her a cup of ice chips when the nurse was too slow, adjusting the controls on her bed. helping her walk to the bathroom and back.
To my relief. Hardy appeared to drive us home the next day in a big sedan he had borrowed from a neighbor. While Mama signed papers and took a folder of postpartum instructions from the nurse, I dressed the baby in her going-home outfit, a little blue dress with long sleeves. Hardy stood beside the hospital bed and watched as I struggled to capture the tiny starfish hands and push them gently through the sleeves. Her fingertips kept catching and gripping the fabric, making it difficult to inch the dress over her arms.
"It's like trying to feed cooked spaghetti through a straw," Hardy observed.
Carrington grunted and complained as I managed to tug her hand through the sleeve. I
started on the other arm. and the first hand pulled right out of the dress again. I let out an exasperated puff. Hardy snickered.
"Maybe she doesn't like the dress," he said.
"Would you like to give it a try?" I asked.
"Hell, no. I'm good at getting girls out of their clothes, not putting them on."
He had never made that kind of remark around me before, and I didn't like it.
"Don't swear in front of the baby," I said sternly.
"Yes, ma'am."
The touch of vexation made me less tentative with the baby, and I managed to finish dressing her. Gathering the curls at the top of her head, I fastened a Velcro bow around them. Tactfully Hardy turned his back while I changed her diapers, which were the size of a cocktail napkin.
"I'm ready," came Mama's voice behind me, and I picked Carrington up.
Mama was in a wheelchair, dressed in a new blue robe and matching slippers. She held the flowers from Marva in her lap.
"Do you want to take the baby and I'll carry the flowers?" I asked reluctantly.
She shook her head. "You carry her, sweetheart."
The baby car seat was webbed with enough buckled straps to restrain a fighter pilot in an F-15. Gingerly I settled the squirming baby into the seat. She began to squall as I tried to fasten the straps around her. "It's a five-point safety system." I told her. "Consumer Reports said it was the best one available."
"I guess the baby didn't read that issue," Hardy said, climbing in on the other side of the car seat to help.
I was tempted to tell him not to be such a smart-ass, but remembering my rule about no swearing in front of Carrington, I kept silent. Hardy grinned at me.
"Here we go," he said, deftly untwisting a strap. "Put this buckle over there and cross the other one over."
Together we managed to fasten Carrington securely in the seat. She was revving up. shrieking in objection to the indignity of being strapped in. I put my hand on her, my fingers curving over her heaving chest. "It's okay," I murmured. "It's okay, Carrington. Don't cry."
"Try singing to her," Hardy suggested.
"I can't sing," I said, rubbing circles on her chest. "You do it."
He shook his head. "Not a chance. My singing sounds like a cat being run over by a steamroller."
I tried a rendition of the opening song from Mister Rogers' Neighborhood, which I had watched every day as a child. By the time I reached the last "won't you be my neighbor?" Carrington had stopped crying and was staring at me in myopic wonder.
Hardy laughed softly. His fingers slid over mine, and for a moment we stayed like that, our hands resting lightly on the baby. Staring at his hand, I reflected that you could never mistake it for someone else's. His work-roughened fingers dotted with tiny star-shaped scars from encounters with hammers, nails, and barbed wire. There was enough strength in those fingers to bend a sixteen-penny nail with ease.
I raised my head and saw that Hardy's lashes had lowered to conceal his thoughts. He seemed to be absorbing the feel of my fingers beneath his.
Suddenly he withdrew and pulled out of the car, going to help Mama into the passenger seat. Leaving me to grapple with the eternal fascination that seemed to have become a part of me as surely as a hand or foot. But if Hardy didn't want me, or wouldn't allow himself to. I now had someone else to lavish with all my affection. I kept my hand on the baby all the way home, learning the rhythm of her breathing.
CHAPTER 7
During the first six weeks of Carrington's life, we developed habits that later proved impossible to break. Some would last a lifetime.
Mama was slow to heal, both spiritually and physically. The baby's birth had depleted her in ways I didn't understand. She still laughed and smiled, still hugged me and asked how my day at school was. Her weight receded until she looked almost the same as she had before. But something was wrong. I couldn't put my finger on it; it was a subtle erasure of something that had been there before.
Miss Marva said it was just that Mama was tired. When you were pregnant, your body went through nine months of change, and it took at least that long to get back to normal. The main thing, she said, was to give Mama lots of understanding and help.
I wanted to help, not just for Mama's sake, but because I loved Carrington so passionately. I loved everything about her, the silky baby skin and platinum curls, the way she splashed in the bath like a baby mermaid. Her eyes had turned the exact blue-green shade of Aquafresh toothpaste. Her gaze followed me everywhere, her mind filled with thoughts she couldn't yet express.