Chapter 41
With Jack’s help distracting them, I got both kids bathed and into the spare pajamas Betty had brought over for when she went into labor, while my grandmother cleaned up the kitchen.
Then the kids insisted that Jack read them a bedtime story, not me.
My mother had converted Betty’s old room into a bedroom for grandchildren, hinting without subtlety that my room would become her long-desired sewing room if I ever got married.
I tucked them into the two twin beds, glancing at the crib in the corner that Gary had recently graduated from.
I did hope it wouldn’t remain empty. I didn’t know much about childbirth, but I did know that blood, a month before the baby was due, couldn’t be a good sign.
Sandy asked me to stay with them until she fell asleep, so I sat in the rocking chair, while Jack left the room, leaving the door cracked to allow me to make a quiet escape. It was impossible not to worry in the dark room, but eventually their breath slowed enough that I could creep out.
I came down the stairs stiffly, the stress of the evening leaving me with tense muscles.
A bath would be lovely, but I was waiting for news of how Betty was and didn’t want to be away from the phone.
There was a light on in the den, and I opened my mouth to ask my grandmother if I could make her a cup of tea, when I saw her sitting in her chair, a cup of tea already in her hands. Jack was on the sofa near her.
“I thought you’d have left.”
He offered me a half smile. “Figured you—and Mrs. Greenberg here—could use the company. Unless you want me to go.”
I found myself shaking my head. The TV was on, tuned to a rerun of The Detectives on NBC. My grandmother was in her chair, eyes glued to the screen, and I sat on the sofa next to Jack. I nodded toward my grandmother. “She’s got a crush on Robert Taylor.”
“Who doesn’t?” she asked.
Jack ducked his head to avoid her seeing his smile. Not that it mattered. Her eyes never left the screen while Taylor was on it.
“Thank you,” I said quietly. “It’s not always this . . . chaotic . . . here.”
He looked over at me. “Somehow I doubt that’s true.”
Okay, he wasn’t wrong. But the fire department didn’t usually have to transport someone to the hospital.
“The Star-Spangled Banner” was playing from the TV when the sound of the front door woke us.
I had dozed off sometime during Here and Now, as had Jack.
My grandmother had apparently gone off to bed after draping a crocheted afghan over us.
I moved away from Jack quickly to avoid awkward questions from my parents.
My father came in, bleary eyed, and snapped off the television, startling when he saw us on the sofa. “How’s Betty?” I asked.
“Not good,” he said, clearly exhausted. There were no footsteps behind him, and I realized my mother wasn’t home. “They had to deliver the baby early. She had something called a placental abruption. They finally got the bleeding to stop, but she lost an awful lot of blood first.”
The room started to spin slightly, steadying only when I felt pressure on my hand. I looked down to see Jack holding it. “Is she going to be okay?”
My father sank into the armchair, absolutely crumpling.
“I don’t know,” he said, his face in his hands.
“The doctors said as long as she didn’t start bleeding again, she should be, but she’s not out of the woods yet.
Your mother told me to come home, that she’d call if—” He couldn’t finish the sentence.
I thought back to Betty complaining that this pregnancy was harder, but her doctor had dismissed her concerns. I swallowed. If she didn’t make it, what became of the kids upstairs?
“The baby?” I asked thickly.
“Healthy,” he said, his voice shaking. “A little girl. She didn’t even get to name her yet.
” He raised his head, and there were tears on his cheeks, jarring me to my core.
I had never seen a man cry, let alone my father.
And suddenly I couldn’t breathe. That sight told me what he couldn’t: Betty really might not survive tonight.
I thought of the nights I had spent in her bed as a child, curled up against the warmth of her body, terrified because it was thundering outside. Yes, we had grown apart in recent years, but the idea of losing her . . .
A voice startled me out of my reverie. “Aunt Judy? I scared.”
I jumped up, racing past my father and Jack to the stairs, where Sandy stood at the top, thumb in her mouth.
I went to her and crouched down to hug her.
“There’s nothing to be scared of,” I said, knowing that was a lie.
There was a lot to be scared of right now.
For her especially. “Let’s get you back to bed, okay? ”
She nodded against my shoulder. “Will you sleep with me? Mama does that.”
It felt like I was drowning. I couldn’t get enough air into my lungs.
But I managed to agree, and carried her, as quietly as I could, back into the room that I used to sneak into when it thundered, putting her into bed and climbing in next to her.
She nestled in against me as I lay there, waiting for her breathing to slow.
My eyes were open in the darkness, no chance of falling asleep myself, as I thought about Betty. If she died, Reuben couldn’t do this on his own. He had to work to support them. My mother would help, but I would need to also.
I closed my eyes, and in the darkness, Sandy was me, afraid of the thunder, looking to her big sister for comfort.
I knew I hadn’t done this. I didn’t believe in jinxes or hexes or even the evil eye, despite the older women in my life always saying kinehora and sometimes spitting.
But how I wished I could rewind a few hours and not say that I didn’t want to be Betty.
Because if Betty didn’t come back to us, I was going to have to step up and be as much of her as I could.
By the time I crept out of the room again, I felt like Rip Van Winkle—it had clearly been a hundred years since dinner that evening. I held the railing as I went downstairs and was surprised to see Jack still sitting with my father.
“Come on, Daddy,” I said to my father, who suddenly looked like he had aged as much as I felt like I had in the last couple of hours. “You should get to bed.”
“What if your mother calls?”
The phone was in the kitchen. “I’ll sleep on the sofa down here tonight,” I said. “And I’ll wake you if there’s any news.”
“Why don’t I stay down here?” Jack asked.
I shook my head. “It’s okay. You should go home.”
“I can stay if you want me to.”
I did. Desperately. I wanted to curl back up with him on the sofa and let him comfort me.
But the reality was if he stayed, I had to go upstairs—imagine if my mother came home and found us asleep together?
And more importantly, Betty’s life hung in the balance.
She was what mattered most right now. Not what I wanted.
“I’ll be okay,” I said. “Let me just get my father upstairs.”
“I’m fine,” my father said, looking anything but. “But promise you’ll wake me if she calls.”
I said I would, and he left, lumbering up the stairs.
“You’re sure you don’t want me to stay?”
I nodded, hating that I was lying to Jack but too emotionally battered to analyze why that was.
“Okay,” he said and kissed my forehead. “I’ll check in on you tomorrow.”
Tomorrow. My shoulders slumped in defeat. “We have to run the story with what we have. I won’t be able to—”
“Shh,” Jack said, pulling me in close. “One step at a time. A lot can happen in a few hours.”
I nodded, terrified at the thought that we might be planning a funeral by then, but held myself together until the door was closed behind him.
Then I sank to the floor against it and let myself cry, sobbing for all that we would lose if Betty didn’t pull through.
Be okay, I thought desperately. You have to be okay.