Chapter Nine
CHAPTER NINE
The blizzard has not abated completely. It’s just no longer gale-force winds and whiteout conditions. We got a dumping—at least a foot. Snow still whips around on a bitter wind, but we can see where we’re going, and we’re fine.
We’re fine.
That’s what I keep telling myself the whole way there, with Dalton running while Storm lopes beside the sled, glancing over as if picking up on the vibes I’m giving, the ones that say I’m not fine.
Dalton swings around to the back of the clinic. The building shelters us from the storm, and I wobble up as he bangs on the door. Then he sees me and lunges to help. I let him, and we move carefully onto the snow-slick deck.
The back door is unlocked. I’m never sure how I feel about that for my sister’s sake, but I’m grateful for it now. Dalton bustles me in and then raps hard on the door up to my sister’s apartment. That one is locked, though he has the key and if April has her earplugs in as usual, he’ll need it.
Dalton helps me into the exam room first.
“Go get April,” I say as I unzip my parka.
When he hesitates, I add, “Please,” and that gets him moving. April must have heard the noise downstairs, because I’m still in the midst of sitting to kick off my boots when she appears with Dalton.
“On the table,” she says. “Eric?”
Dalton boosts me up even as I protest that I haven’t removed my boots. Once I’m on the exam table, he does that and April moves in to lift my voluminous nightshirt.
“Can I explain what I’m actually feeling first?” I say.
“Contractions.” She presses cold hands to my abdomen, and I jump and swear.
“Stay still, Casey,” she says.
I glare. “Your hands are like ice. I’m not screaming in pain, April. Can we slow down? Please.” I pull my nightshirt over my stomach and shift backward onto the table.
“I seem to be having contractions,” I say. “I’ve had no other symptoms. I feel them here.” I point. “They’re a few minutes apart, and they’re lasting maybe thirty seconds.”
“Eric?” April glances over her shoulder. “There’s a timer in the drawer. Would you get that out please?”
He’s still doing that when the next contraction hits.
“Hit start,” I grunt, wincing.
“There are two timers on that,” April says. “Use both. One for the length, and one for the interval.”
He does, and I grit my teeth as I wait it out. Once it passes, I let April help me remove my sweatpants. Then I lie back on the exam table while April checks for dilation. I try to be patient, but when another contraction comes, I can’t wait.
“April?” I say, panting. “Anything happening down there?”
It takes her a moment to say, “No.”
I lift my head. “Nothing?”
“I don’t see any signs of dilation.”
“So it’s a false alarm?”
“I don’t know.”
She moves her hands to my belly and begins to feel around. I study her face, but it’s Dalton who speaks first.
“April?” he says. “What’s wrong?”
“I am not an obstetrician,” she snaps. “That’s what’s wrong. I—” She takes a deep breath, air sucking between her teeth. “That was uncalled for.”
“It’s fine,” I say. “I know you’re not an expert, but we can both see you’re concerned.”
“She’s in breech,” April says.
Any other time, I’d give her shit for gendering the baby. With Dalton, it’s him teasing that he’s sure we’re having a girl. With April, it’s that she balks at the nongendered pronoun. Now, though, I let it pass, far more intent on what she just said.
I swallow. “So the baby is feet-first?”
“Buttocks,” she says.
“Bum first?” I say, and I can’t help sputtering a small laugh.
April gives me a sharp look. “Yes, and that would be far more amusing if it didn’t pose a problem that I am not sure I can solve.”
Dalton cuts in, “But if Casey isn’t dilating, that’s okay, right? The problem would be if the baby was coming fast and in the wrong position. This gives you time to move her or prepare for a C-section.”
“I’m not dilating at all?” I say.
My sister snaps, “Do you want to be, all things considered?”
“April…” Dalton says.
April mutters something and stalks off to yank a book from the shelf. Dalton moves up beside me as I lower my hands to my abdomen. The baby shifts, and I can feel the head up high. Another shift, and Dalton rubs my belly, as if to soothe the baby.
“How long has it been?” I say.
“Hmm?” He follows my gaze to the timer. “Shit. Right.” He frowns as he picks it up. “Seven minutes.” He looks at me. “Nothing since the last one?”
I prop onto my elbows. “Nothing.”
April comes over and checks again for dilation. I rest back on the table, holding Dalton’s hand. Minutes tick past. No dilation and no more contractions.
“False alarm?” Dalton says.
“False labor,” I say.
“No,” April says. “Prodromal labor. Which your obstetrician warned us to watch for.”
I wince. “Right.”
During my last scare, Dr. Kapoor had considered it might have been prodromal labor, but the symptoms had resembled a possible miscarriage, which is what put us all on high alert.
I continue, “Prodromal labor can be caused by abnormalities with the pelvis or uterus, which I might have.”
April brought over the book. “It can also be caused by the baby being in breech. Your body may be attempting to reposition her, in preparation for labor.”
“Does it mean we’re getting close?” Dalton leans over the book.
“Not necessarily,” I say. “But it does mean we should contact Dr. Kapoor as soon as we can.”
It’s good that I’m not in actual labor, given that the baby is in breech and we’re in the middle of a snowstorm. However, I’d feel a lot better about that if not for the “baby in breech and also snowstorm” part. It’s a reminder of just how many things can go wrong and just how isolated we are here.
And I’m bringing a baby into this life?
I shove away the thought. It’s my parents’ voices, telling me I’m being careless, selfish. People have children in far more remote situations all the time. The Yukon itself is dotted with dozens of tiny settlements, many without the resources we have. Dalton and Jacob were born and raised in the wilderness here—with a multiday walk to the nearest source of medical attention—and no one would ever accuse their parents of being uncaring.
We bring Storm over but stay at the clinic—none of us are getting any sleep while waiting to make that call. When morning comes, the first time we try, the satellite phone doesn’t connect. A half hour later, it does, and we reach Dr. Kapoor before she heads off to work.
“Dr. Butler’s assessment is correct,” she says as we gather around the phone. “It sounds like prodromal labor, which is not a concern in itself.”
“But the baby being in breech is,” I say.
“I can provide suggestions for how to facilitate a shift in position. The prodromal labor suggests your body is already working on rectifying that, and in the worst case, we’d be looking at a Cesarean section. Dr. Butler is, I understand, an accomplished surgeon.”
“She is,” I say before my sister can point out, again, that she’s not an obstetrician.
“All this is to say that if things go wrong, you should be fine,” Dr. Kapoor says. “However…” Her exhale sounds against the phone. “There are too many factors making me uneasy, Casey. I would like you to finish your pregnancy in Whitehorse. I understand you have a personal small aircraft, which alleviates the issues of late-pregnancy travel. Once you are in Whitehorse, you’ll be close to a hospital, with everything you might need. I’ve also been cleared to fly there myself, by private jet.”
By “cleared” she means that émilie has assured her any cost will be covered.
Dr. Kapoor continues, “That means I would be there in a few hours to assist, although I have contacts at the Whitehorse hospital and know you’d be in good hands.”
When we’re quiet, she says, “I understand this isn’t what you want, but we really have reached the stage where it is the best option.”
“The safest option,” Dalton says.
“Yes.”
“And we’d agree,” I say. “The reason I’m hesitating is that we just got hit by a blizzard. We can’t fly out today.”
I look at Dalton, who hesitates, but then reluctantly agrees. He might want to get me south, but he’s already assessed the conditions.
“Tomorrow then?” she says. Before we can answer, she says, “It isn’t an urgent situation. Tomorrow or the next day would be fine. I’ll tell you what to watch for, and we can monitor it until you’re able to leave.”
We are not going to panic.
The baby is fine, active and moving about. I’m in my thirty-seventh week of pregnancy. All my vital signs are good.
I’ve made it further than I dared hope, and we are in a holding pattern that means, for now, everything is fine. The contractions have stopped. If they resume without dilation, it just means my body is attempting to get the baby ready for birth.
I am in Haven’s Rock, and I am safe. April can deliver a baby, either naturally or by C-section. She’s prepared. I’m prepared. Dalton’s prepared. Anders—who has medical training—is prepared to assist. Even Mathias would bring his training to the table if needed.
I tell myself that I’m lucky. Every possible resource is at my disposal here, and I’m not in labor. I have time to get to Whitehorse if that’s what my doctor wants, and even that is only a precaution.
Yet I can’t help but feel trapped by this storm. We leave the clinic to head home, and we’re both staring into the sky, assessing.
The morning is quiet enough to hear people moving inside buildings, and the layer of snow only adds to the muffled hush. It’s beautiful, too, every surface draped in pristine white.
But that sky. That damn sky.
“The storm isn’t over, is it?” I say.
Dalton hesitates, and I know he wants to say it is, but after a moment, he shakes his head. It’s unnaturally quiet with the wind gone, but the clouds overhead aren’t just gray—they’re practically black. We’re enjoying a brief respite, enough to catch our breath—and make that phone call. But that’s it. More is coming.
“We need to pull out the two-way radios,” I say as we walk. During a storm, as long as we’re in town, we’ll get more reliable reception on those than a sat phone.
“I’d like to have one at our place tonight, and one with April, in case of an emergency. Then I’d like to leave first thing in the morning.”
“Agreed,” I say, and I don’t miss his exhale of relief.
I slide my gloved hand into his. “I’m not going to argue, Eric. Part of me freaks out a little at the thought of being in the air, away from April, but it’s only a couple of hours. Then I’ll be in the city. We’ll ask émilie to find us a place to rent. I know that’s not easy in Whitehorse but…”
“Easier in winter than summer,” he says. “And easier if you’re willing to pay a premium.”
I nod. “In the meantime, we’ll keep that two-way radio close, just to be sure I don’t suddenly go into full-on labor in the middle of a whiteout. We—”
A figure appears, running toward us, and we both tense, clasped hands tightening. A gloved hand knocks back the parka hood. It’s Gunnar.
“Trouble at the kitchen,” he says. “Someone left the chimney open.”
“Fuck,” Dalton says.
“Yeah, it’s a mess, and people are looking for their breakfast.”
Dalton glances at me.
“Doesn’t need our personal touch,” I murmur.
Dalton nods and turns to Gunnar. “Grab a few people for cleanup. Get Kenny in to see if any repairs are needed. Maybe grab Marlon too.”
“He’s already there helping deal with the grumbling.”
“Excellent,” I say. “We’ll swing by Brian and Devon’s place and see if we can get the café open early.”
Once Gunnar’s gone, Dalton turns to me. “You can go on home if you want.”
I shake my head. “Their place is on the way. We’ll stop by and then go home, get a bit of rest. If snow in the kitchen is the biggest emergency we have, we’ll count ourselves lucky.”
We don’t end up going home. There are other minor emergencies to be handled. I do, however, agree to let Dalton and An ders oversee those while I rest in the town hall. Being there also means I can feel moderately useful—any problems can be reported to me, and I’ll assign duties as needed. Nicole is out with the boys, walking Raoul, so they take Storm. We’re not going to be in any shape for long dog walks today.
I’m in the town hall, with my feet up, when Yolanda stops by.
She walks in, shakes off the snow, and drops onto the chair across from me.
“How are things going out there?” I ask.
“Too many cooks, too little broth,” she says. “It’s nice that everyone wants to help, but the damage is minimal. I decided to come keep you company.”
“Keep me company? Or keep yourself from telling people to go the fuck home and stop getting in the way?”
“Will may have suggested you could use some companionship.”
I laugh under my breath. “Don’t worry. Eric is more than capable of delivering the ‘go the fuck home’ message on his own.” I shake out one foot that’s falling asleep. “I know we can’t focus on Kendra’s attack right now, but did you get anything interesting yesterday? I never had time to check in.”
“If I did get anything, I’d have told you. It was just passing along the message without working folks into a panic. We did have some starting to fret, but the storm will distract from that. It should also, I hope, stop Kendra’s attacker from trying again.”
“Yep. That’s one good thing about storms. Even the predators lie low.”
“The other good thing?” Yolanda spreads her arms and slumps back in her seat. “Snow days.”
I yawn and reach for my rapidly cooling tea. “Not to bring up business while you’re enjoying some time off…”
“Then don’t.”
“Eric and I will be heading to Whitehorse once this clears. We’ll probably be staying until the baby comes.”
She sits upright. “What?”
“I know it’s shitty timing. A few days ago, it’d have seemed just fine, but with what happened to Kendra, having both of us leave is a problem.”
“It’s actually not, Casey. Everyone’s been warned, the perp must know by now and will be lying low. Whatever happens, Will can handle it. My surprise was because you wouldn’t leave if it wasn’t urgent.” Her gaze drops to my stomach. “Is everything okay?”
“We had a scare last night. It turned out to be a false alarm, but it did alert us to a potential issue—the baby’s in breech. Again, I’m fine and the baby seems fine, but enough small things have piled up that it would be negligent not to get to a hospital as soon as we can.”
“Once this damn storm passes.” She lifts her eyes to the ceiling. As if on cue, the wind whines. “And here it comes again.”
“Yeah, Eric and Jacob figure it’ll come and go for a day or two. Our biggest issue for flying out isn’t the snow—it’s the visibility. Once that clears—”
Bootfalls tramp on the wooden deck. Then the double bang of someone knocking snow off before the door opens, only to catch the wind. Yolanda rises as the newcomer wrestles the door shut. We still can’t tell who it is. The lighting’s fine in here—it’s the fact that like most people, the newcomer is bundled in standard-issue winter wear, from a parka with a tunnel hood down to heavy boots.
A gloved hand rises and pushes back the hood.
“Kendra,” I say, pushing up.
“Tell me you brought a hot lunch,” Yolanda says. “Delivered right to my table here, so I don’t need to get up, much less put on my…” She sees Kendra’s expression.
“Something’s happened,” I say.
“It’s Lynn,” Kendra says. “No one’s seen her since last night.”