She shakes me again. “My water broke.”
“What?” I sit up straight. “What! Are you sure?” It’s six days past Frankie’s due date and Lindsey has had several false alarms.
“Um… yes, Lou Ann, and my contractions are five minutes apart.”
“We need to get to the hospital.” I throw the covers off my body. “It’s Frankie’s birthday.”
24
September 12
Welcome to your life, Frankie!
Welcome to my new life.
HERE COMES a big one.”
“Don’t tell me!”
I turn my attention from the peaks and plateaus of the monitor measuring Lindsey’s vitals to her red face. “Sorry.”
Lindsey has opted for a natural, drug-free birth. About two hours ago, she began to regret that decision, but it was too late for one of those spinal taps. She grabs onto the side rail and does her who-who-who breathing, and I’m glad it isn’t me in that bed.
Watching the whole birthing process has been a huge learning experience. Lindsey’s had so many fingers up her vagina, she should start charging admission. From the safety of my chair next to her bed, I find the whole thing fascinating. When we arrived at the hospital at four this morning, her contractions were four minutes apart. Nine hours later, her contractions are closer and lasting longer, and I wouldn’t be surprised if she starts screaming bloody horror like in the movies.
“I have to tell you something,” Lindsey says as she takes deep cleansing breaths and the spike on the monitor drops.
“If you want to tell me you’re pregnant, I already know.”
“Not that. I lied about Frankie’s father.”
I look over at her. “What?”
“I lied about telling him I’m pregnant.”
“Okay.” This is kind of a bizarre time to bring it up.
She reaches for a cup of water, and I stand to help. “I don’t know who his father is. I just said that because I didn’t want you to think I was a slut.”
I just look at her, kind of shocked that this is what she wants to talk about right now.
“I had a few wild months after Mrs. Rogan died.”
“Mrs. Rogan?”
“My client before Patricia. The Rogan family wanted me to stay in the house and take care of the place until they settled her affairs and put it on the market.” She shakes her head. “I lived out my sexual fantasies. I think maybe two or three times.”
“Most women do that. It’s normal.”
“A week. Sometimes twice in one day.”
That’s not so normal. “Why are you telling me this now?”
“Because I don’t want you to be surprised if he comes out part Asian or black or Hispanic or Russian.”
Russian?
“Or Swedish.”