Chapter 64 Ari
Ari
“Why did you just grab my phone?”
Vincent looks over at me, a deer in the headlights. “Huh?”
“Why do you have my phone?”
He pushes out a laugh I know is fake. “I was just gonna put it on silent. I don’t want no interruptions while we’re having family time, that’s all.”
My eyes narrow at this obvious lie.
“Cookies, Daddy?”
“Yeah, just a second.”
“Why do you have my phone, Vincent? Tell me the truth.”
“I am.”
I march over to him, prompting him to hold the phone behind his back.
“Seriously? Grow up. Why are you playing?”
He twists out my reach. “It’s nothing, Ari. We’ll talk about it later.”
“No!” I grab again, frustrated when he gets away. “Tell me now. If you make me wait, I’m gonna get anxious.”
His head drops. Shoulders, too. “Fuck. I…this is not…”
“What?” I demand. “You’re scaring me.”
He blows out a breath. “Alright, look. Somebody took pictures of us. On the beach. The day we got rescued.”
“So?”
He dips his head to capture my attention. “Do you not remember what we were doing?”
My mouth drops open, and I bring my hand up to cover it. “No!”
“Baby, I swear, I tried my best to stop it, but the pictures got out.”
I make my way over to the bed and sit on the edge, my knees weak. “When you say out…”
“All over the internet,” he says.
Now I wish I hadn’t made him tell me.
The tears come first, then the sobs. I’m just so fucking tired. One step forward, two steps back. Every day it’s something, it seems.
I can’t.
Vincent paces while JR runs around the room. He’s jumping. Stomping. Yelling. Being a toddler. But we’re so on edge right now that it sounds like torture.
He calls somebody on speakerphone.
“Bob,” the man answers.
“What the fuck happened?” Vincent demands. “You didn’t make an offer?”
“I did. They’d already sold by then.”
“Fuck!”
I look over at JR, but he doesn’t seem like he heard. He’s too in his own world.
I envy his childish innocence right now.
“Get over here,” Vincent says. “Now. I’ll call Tiana.”
“Who’s Tiana?” I ask as he hangs up.
“My lawyer.”
The phone rings, then a woman’s voice greets us. “Tiana Jackson.”
“Yeah, it’s Villain. I got a situation.”
He walks out of the room to get away from JR’s yelling, I guess. I call him over to me, smiling so he’s knows everything is okay.
“Hey. Can you grab me some tissue out of the bathroom?”
He nods.
Ten seconds later, he runs back in with a square of toilet paper, which happens to still be connected to the roll. I stare at the long white trail of tissue and burst out laughing. It’s much needed at this point.
Vincent walks back in, surveys the scene, and shakes his head.
“You see what I gotta deal with? Now we ‘bout to have two of ‘em.”
“It’s fine,” I say with a sniffle, snatching a few squares. “It was funny.”
Three hours later, Tiana and Bob are sitting at the kitchen table while Vincent paces across the tile floor.
“The good news, as I see it, is that I’ve filed immediate DMCA takedown requests with every major platform hosting the photos,” Tiana explains.
“I’ve also served cease and desist letters to the major online tabloids and blogs, as well as two private photo brokers.
They’re legally obligated to remove the images or risk litigation. ”
“What’s the bad news?” Vincent asks.
“Well, once the content goes viral, there’s no putting the genie back into the bottle,” she says. “We can suppress it, scrub it, bury it, but we can’t erase it. The files are already saved to hard drives and private servers. Anybody who downloaded before removal is beyond our reach.”
I’m struggling to breathe. “So they’re just…out there? Forever?”
Tiana’s expression softens. “Essentially, yes. But just to be clear, this isn’t y’all’s fault. The liability lies solely with whoever from the search and rescue team sold those images. They violated several laws. We will be pursuing both civil and criminal complaints.”
Vincent nods.
“You have very strong grounds,” she finishes. “Trust me when I say that company won’t even exist by the time I’m done.”
The little smile on her face when she says that chills me. That woman isn’t playing with them folks.
I like that.
Vincent comes to a stop next to me, putting a protective arm around me. “How long before they take ‘em down?”
“Within forty-eight hours, they’ll be offline or unsearchable.”
“Two days?” he says. “That’s a long time, T.”
“Sorry.” She looks at Bob.
He clears his throat. “On my side of things, we’re working to flood the algorithm with press about the rescue itself. Counterprogramming, we call it. When people search your names and ‘beach’ or ‘rescue’, it’ll be all about your survival story, not those pictures.”
Vincent nods. “Fuck.”
Tiana snaps her folder shut. “So, this is my weekend now. I had a date,” she says, laughing. “But he can wait. My only focus is putting out this fire.” She locks eyes with Vincent. “Stay offline and focus on your family. Let me do my job. Okay?”
“Yeah. Thanks, T.”
I peek into the living room, where JR is eating cookies in front of the tv. I feel bad for using the electronic babysitter, but we’re in no condition to entertain him at the moment.
Once Tiana and Bob leave, Vincent turns his attention to me.
“Baby, I’m so sorry.”
“Why? You didn’t take the pictures.”
“Yeah, but nobody would give a fuck about them pictures if I wasn’t in ‘em.”
I shrug. It’s all I can do at this point.
“I’ll make it up to you.”
“You don’t have to,” I say. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
I swallow hard, feeling a retch coming on. Then my belly gets extremely tight, prompting me to put my hand on it. It feels hard as a rock.
“What?” Vincent looks at me in concern. “You okay?”
“I think I just had a contraction.”
“A real one, or one of them Toni Braxtons?”
I roll my eyes. “Now ain’t the time.”
“Sorry. You want me to call Dr. Ellery?”
I breathe in deep, then exhale out of my mouth. “It’s probably nothing.”
But he doesn’t look convinced, and I don’t feel convinced.
“Too much stress today,” he says. He kisses my forehead. “You wanna lay down?”
There it is again, but tighter this time, and with a little bit of pain.
I don’t know what I expected it to feel like, but this feels strange.
By the third one, I look at Vincent and shake my head.
“I think we should just go,” I say between breaths. “They’re getting worse.”
“Okay. I’ll call on the way.”
He grabs JR and my go bag and gets us on our way.
“Atlanta at three o’ clock,” Vincent mutters. “Hang on, baby. I’ma get us there.”
Wishful thinking, it seems. I-2o is standing still.
After my fifth contraction, Vincent says, “Fuck this,” and pulls onto the shoulder.
Even in the midst of my pain, I’m irritated that people keep honking at my man.
“Fuck.”
There’s a stalled semi on the shoulder, so Vincent has to jump back into traffic.
I’m gripping the door handle now, in extreme discomfort. Vincent’s watching me closely, worry etched all over his face.
“I can’t…” I gasp when another contraction hits. “Something’s happening.”
His eyes go wide. “What you mean?”
“Pressure,” I croak. “Really low. Like she’s right there.”
He throws the car in park and pulls back onto the shoulder. “Alright, stay calm. We’ll figure this out.”
I barely hear him. I’m already fumbling with my seatbelt, trying to get out of the car. The cold air hits me as I open the door and stumble onto the gravel shoulder. The world tilts for a second as I squat down instinctively, trying to relieve the unbearable pressure.
I hear Vincent telling JR to stay where he is, then he’s at my side with his phone to his ear.
Another contraction rips through me. I go to exhale and a scream comes out.
Vincent sets his phone down and says, “Go ahead.”
Oh. He’s talking to Dr. Ellery.
“How far apart are the contractions?” she says.
“Like every two minutes,” he says , looking at me for confirmation. But I can’t speak. I can’t even think. All my energy is focused on not dying right here on the side of I-20.
“Ariana, can you hear me?”
I can only nod.
“She said yes.” Vincent’s hands go to my back.
“Okay, sweetheart. Listen to me. I know this is scary, but your body knows what to do. You got this. Vincent’s going to help, and I’ll stay on the line until help gets there. Okay?”
I nod again, my eyes squeezing shut as another wave of pain tears through my pelvis. Tears stream down my face. I taste blood in my mouth from where I bit my tongue.
“Vincent, is she in a safe position?”
“Nah, she’s…we’re on the shoulder. She got out and squatted.”
“Okay. Is she wearing pants?”
“Yeah.”
“Get her pants off.”
“Right here?”
“Yes!”
He rubs my back, speaking to me softly. “I need you to stand up for me, baby. Real quick.”
He jumps up and pulls me to a standing position. I can see his wheels turning, and his reluctance to strip me naked in front of all these cars, especially after what I went through earlier.
“Car,” I grit. “Back of the car.”
“Okay.”
He opens the back door and positions me in front of the backseat, halfway inside. I suffer through another contraction before he’s able to get my pants and underwear off.
He gets me seated on his peanut butter leather seats, but it feels worse.
“I need to squat,” I say. “This hurts too much.”
His pained look lasts just a minute before he says, “I got you.”
He looks around, waving somebody away. “Nah, just call 911 for me.”
Then, he helps me get back in my squat.
“Pants off,” he says to the phone. “She’s squatting. Now what?”
“If you can,” Dr. Ellery says, “look and see if you see the head.”
He gets down low as I scream from another contraction.
“Fuck!” He scrambles back to the phone. “I see it.”
“Okay, good. Ariana, when you feel the urge to push, do it. Don’t fight it. Take deep breaths. Vincent, keep your hands under her so you can catch the baby. She’ll probably come out slow. Support the baby’s head, but don’t pull.”
Vincent yanks his shirt over his head and crouches down, his eyes on me. “You pushin’ yet?”
I shake my head.
“Whenever you feel it. I got you, baby. I’m here.”
Another contraction hits. The pain and pressure are so intense, I can barely see anything. Maybe I’m blacking out, I don’t know, but I bear down and scream, clutching Vincent’s forearms.
“You doin’ good,” he says, his voice cracking. “I know it hurts, baby. I know. But you got this.”
“Oh God. I can’t…” I cry as another contraction hits.
“You can. That’s our baby. She’s ready. Let’s get her out.”
I bear down again, but I forget to breathe. It’s too late, though, I have to push. By the time the contraction subsides, I’m gasping for breath.
“I have her head!” Vincent says. “What do I do?”
He sounds so desperate, I wanna reassure him. I don’t even have the energy to speak, though, much less be his support.
“Perfect,” Dr. Ellery says. “Just support the head. The shoulders will turn on their own.”
“Nooooooo…” I moan as another contraction comes. “Please…”
That’s to God, I think. He’s the only one who can make this end.
“One more,” Vincent says. “One big push and you’re done. Let’s do it.”
That gives me a second wind. I take a deep breathe and push, and within seconds, the pain rushes out of me and I can hear Vincent crying.
“She’s out!” he yells. “She’s out. What do I do?”
“Wipe her nose and mouth. Is she crying?”
“No! Fuck.”
Someone comes up behind me and covers me with a blanket, but I’m too busy watching Vincent and staring at the little thing that just came out of me. Why isn’t she crying?
He wipes her face, then turns her over and back up again. “She’s not crying!”
“Pat her on the back. Firm pats. Make her mad.”
He does what she says. One pat. Two. Three. And then the air fills with the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard.
“Thank you, Jesus,” Vincent whispers. “She’s crying.”
“I hear it,” Dr. Ellery says. “Congratulations, Mom and Dad! We have some strong lungs over there. Now, wrap her in something dry.”
“She’s in my shirt.”
“Okay, put her against Ariana’s chest to keep her warm.”
“I got her,” says a voice I don’t recognize, and then I’m being hoisted into the backseat next to JR, who promptly bursts into tears.
It’s chaos.
The stranger wraps the blanket around the front of me, then Vincent hands me our baby. The tears burst out of me then, and now we’re all crying.
“Vincent, you need to clamp the cord. Do you have string or shoelaces? Something that’s as clean as possible.”
His Jordans are already in his hand. He yanks the laces out and says, “Got it.”
“Tie it about six inches from the baby’s belly, then another tie two inches below that. Don’t cut anything until the paramedics arrive.”
He does exactly what she says, his hands steady and precise.
Sirens wail in the distance.
“I hear the sirens,” Dr. Ellery says. “Keep me on the line until you’re in the ambulance.”
Vincent leans over and kisses my forehead. “You did it, baby. I’m so proud of you.”
I’m too weak to speak, but I give him a small smile as I stare at the squalling little girl in my arms. She’s absolutely perfect.
The paramedics take over swiftly, cutting the cord, checking vitals, wrapping our daughter in a warm blanket. Vincent refuses to let go of my hand as they lift us onto the stretcher.
“I’ll meet you there,” he whispers. “I love you.”
As much as he doesn’t want to, he has to let me go.
Through the ambulance window, I stare at the cloudless sky and think about how ironic it is that I was deathly afraid of giving birth on the island only to wind up giving birth on the side of the road.
But I did it, and Vincent got me through it. Just like he got me through life out there.
I close my eyes and smile.
I wasn’t sure it was in the cards for me, but here I am with a full house.