Chapter 40
Chapter Forty
Cole
“ I ’ve gotta go.”
Willa came out of the bedroom, pulling a sweatshirt over her head.
I put my hands on my hips and exhaled. “Look outside. We’re in the middle of a nor’easter, remember?”
She ignored me, opening the hall closet and pulling out a large military-style duffel bag.
“Willa,” I said, striding over to her. “We’ve been stuck inside since yesterday. There is a literal blizzard outside this door. What’s going on?”
She shook the bag out, not bothering to look at me. “It’s Kara. She’s bleeding.”
Kara? From high school? Bleeding? Before I could ask a follow-up question, she whipped around.
“She’s only thirty-four weeks pregnant. And she’s terrified.”
The weather was awful. Honestly, we were lucky we hadn’t lost power. There was no way I was letting her out in this weather. “Have you seen the winds? What the fuck, Willa? That’s dangerous. You can’t drive. There’s two feet of snow on the ground.”
She gave me a withering glare. “I’m not gonna drive. I’ll take the snowmobile.”
My stomach lurched. “Do you even know how to drive it?”
She shrugged. “It’s been a few years since I’ve been on one, but I’ll be fine.”
I picked up the bag and slung it over my shoulder. “What’s a few years?”
“High school.” She said it without an ounce of shame.
She was already piling on layers, twisting the scarf I’d knitted around her neck.
“Willa,” I pleaded. “This is crazy.”
Her eyes flashed with rage. “Listen to me. Kara has been a friend for years. Her husband is out at lumber camp and can’t get out. She’s alone and scared. I’m her doctor and her friend, and I do not take orders from you.”
My lungs seized up. All right, then. I was equally terrified and impressed by my wife.
“Fine,” I said, opening the closet and grabbing my own jacket. “I’m coming with you. I have a lot of snow mobile experience. I’ll drive.”
“Not necessary.”
“Yes, it is,” I gritted out. “You’re my wife, and if you’re going to drive miles up a mountain in a fucking blizzard, then I’ll be by your side the whole way. It’s my job to protect you.”
She threw her arms up and dropped them heavily with a smack against her thighs. “I don’t have time to fight with you about the patriarchal insanity of that statement.”
“Good. You can kick my ass later. Now move. I need to get my boots.”
Of all the nights. I shook my head. The snow had been pelting the side of the house all day, and it was bitterly cold. I wanted to be curled up in front of the wood stove, not role-playing one of those weird survival shows Jude loved to watch.
We headed out to the garage where she threw the cover off the snow machine.
It was a large touring model, thankfully. That meant there was room for both of us.
She set the medical bag on the back, along with a wilderness survival kit, and covered it with a tarp, then secured it with bungee cords. Every one of her movements was controlled and confident. I couldn’t help but admire her. She was determined, and nothing was stopping her.
“Okay, it’s secure.” She pointed to a gas can. “Fill her up.”
I poured gas into the tank as she double-checked the bungee cords.
As I worked, adrenaline pushed through me. I did not want to do this, but the thought of her being out in this weather alone ignited some instinct inside me that I could not identify.
I wanted to protect her, keep her safe, and deliver her to her destination.
As a native of rural Maine, I knew my way around a snow machine as well as this town. Even so, this wouldn’t be easy.
Before I mounted the damn thing, I grabbed my phone and sent a quick text to my brothers, just in case.
Cole
Willa and I are heading out on the snow machine to see a patient. If you don’t hear from me in a few hours, call for help.
Finn
We’ll come look for you
Gus
Are you sure? It’s dangerous out there
Cole
She’s a doctor man. She’s not gonna let someone suffer
Finn
I’ve got snowshoes. We’ll rescue you. Give us the address so we know where to look.
Jude
Good luck
Gus
Remember, wide turns so you don’t roll into a snowbank
Cole
Don’t tell Debbie, and please come find my body if necessary…
Once we’d donned our helmets, I started the engine.
She settled behind me and wrapped her arms around my waist. “Stay focused,” she said. “I don’t know what I’m going to find when I get there, but in this situation, the most helpful thing you can do is stay calm. Do you understand?”
I patted her arm. “I got you, wifey. Let’s go see this patient.”
The long, wooded drive was rough. The snow was deep and wet, which actually made for decent driving, but the wind was biting, and every cell in my body was screaming at the cold. With Willa at my back, though, steady and focused, pointing out intersections and navigating as I kept us upright, I eventually found my groove.
The roads improved as we made it into town. The plows had come through a few hours ago, meaning we were able to pick up speed.
We passed through town, the blizzard conditions and wild snow drifts making the lights hazy. When we reached Route 16, we headed up past the river toward the mountains. Jude lived up here, on a winding country road where people had acreage and privacy. It was beautiful but hard to reach in the snow.
I slowed as the road forked to ensure I remained in control, and from there, the path narrowed, making it difficult to see.
When Willa squeezed my arm and pointed to the right, I eased forward slowly, wiping my visor with my sleeve. My arms were coated in wet snow, but I ignored the chill and pushed forward.
We drove by several cabins and a few larger homes before finding a small cape in a clearing.
I got as close as I could to the front door, then killed the engine. Willa hopped off the back, unlatched her bag, and jogged through the snow without a word. The drifts were knee high for her, but she wasn’t deterred.
Kara Mosely was a small woman who’d graduated a year or two before us. She worked at the post office and her husband, Jack, was a crane operator for Gagnon Lumber. We’d played hockey together in high school. I’d always liked the guy.
The instant she opened the door, it was clear she was in distress. Despite the frigid temps, she was sweating and shaking.
“Blood,” she said. “There was a lot of blood.”
Willa rushed toward her and guided her to a chair. Once she was settled, my wife dropped to her knees, and as she took her pulse, she asked Kara to describe her symptoms.
Wearing a mask of calm, Willa looked at me. “Glass of water.”
I hustled to the kitchen without a word and searched the cabinets until I found a glass. I filled it to the brim and carried it back to the living room with shaking hands.
“I’m only thirty-four weeks,” Kara cried.
“I know. And it’s going to be okay. Let’s talk about the last twenty-four hours. Tell me every single thing you felt. Then I’ll examine you.”
“My back.” Kara moaned, doubling over.
“Okay, I’m going to examine you, and we can talk through it all.” Willa shot me a look that I took as a silent request for privacy. So I snagged the bag from the foyer, then took her coat from her and moved back out toward the front door to hang our gear to dry.
As I was untying my boots, Kara moaned. That poor woman. She looked so relieved when Willa walked in the door. I closed my eyes and said a silent prayer that she would be okay.
“Kara,” Willa said, using the calm doctor tone she’d mastered, “you’re in labor.”
“No. Not possible.”
“Yes,” she soothed. “What happened is called a bloody show. It’s the shedding of your cervical cap. That means your body is getting ready to deliver the baby.”
Kara whimpered, the sound so forlorn it hurt my heart.
Willa, speaking a little louder, called my name.
When I stepped back into the living room, Kara was sitting up, wincing, with a hand braced on her back.
Willa turned toward me. “Call the hospital. Tell them we’ve got an OP thirty-four-week delivery coming and see how long it will take them to get there. Then call Jack and tell him we’ve got everything under control. No need to do anything dangerous.”
I nodded, having been given my marching orders.
“And I need latex gloves from my bag.”
I fetched them, making sure to open up the bag so she could reach all the other supplies.
“What does that mean?” Kara cried, her face etched with pain. “OP?”
Willa squeezed her hands. “It means the baby is in the posterior position. We call it sunny side up.” She traced her hands over Kara’s stomach. “You feel this dip above your belly button? The baby is turned around and descending into your cervix, causing your back pain.”
“Is the baby going to be okay?” Kara asked as I headed for the foyer again.
“Yes,” Willa said, her tone full of reassurance.
Once I’d made both calls, I stepped back into the living room. “Ambulance said it will take an hour. I spoke to the emergency department, labor and delivery, and the ambulance dispatcher. They’re going as fast as they can. The roads are bad, but plows are out.”
Kara whimpered, and the sound quickly turned into a cry.
“It’s okay,” Willa explained. “You’re only seven centimeters. We’ve got time. We can let you dilate and try to turn the baby, or if the ambulance gets here in time, we can get you to the hospital for a C-section.”
With tears streaming down her face, Kara hiccupped and sobbed.
My heart broke at the sound. Breathing through the emotion, I looked out the window at the swirling snow, taking a moment to compose myself.
“And Jack?” she asked, garnering my attention.
“Waiting patiently for the winds to die down.” I gave her a sympathetic frown. “When they do, there’s a truck ready to bring him back to town.”
The tears fell as she hiccupped and shook.
But then Willa was grabbing her hands and squeezing hard. “Look at me,” she said firmly. “It’s okay to be terrified. But today is gonna be one of the best days of your life. You’re going to meet your baby. Maybe the circumstances are shitty, but you’re gonna have a hell of a birth story, mama.”
Kara smiled through her tears. “I’m so scared.”
Willa pulled her into a hug. “I know, but I’ll be here with you until the ambulance comes. We’re doing this together.” Her tone was so confident that even I felt comforted.
“Now, let’s time your contractions and practice your breathing.”