28. “More like a practice run.”
“MORE LIKE A PRACTICE RUN.”
YASMINE
The light was turning, gold sliding across the ridge, spilling over the tall grass and catching the edges of the rocks until they glowed.
I dropped into a crouch, camera to my face.
The hawk had been circling for the last three minutes, riding the updraft off the valley. Waiting. Same as me.
Click.
The sound barely registered anymore. It lived in my hands, in the small pressure of the shutter beneath my finger and the way my breath slowed when the frame lined up like I wanted it.
Click.
The wind shifted the grass in a long ripple down the slope.
I adjusted my angle, turning a fraction to follow the bird as it banked.
Click.
The phone in my back pocket buzzed.
I ignored it.
Wind. Grass. Bird.
Light.
A second buzz came a few seconds later.
The hawk tilted its wings and dropped lower toward the ridge and I rose halfway from my crouch to keep it in frame.
Click.
The light had maybe twelve minutes before it flattened, less if the clouds rolled in.
The phone buzzed again, longer this time.
The hawk slipped behind the ridge before I could catch it.
Dammit.
I lowered the camera and pulled out my phone, already irritated with myself for losing the shot.
Seven missed calls.
CeeCee.
I hit call immediately. She picked up on the first ring.
“Yasmine.” Her voice was tight and thin with panic.
“I’m here. What’s going on?”
“Something’s wrong. Something’s wrong with the baby.”
“Wait, CeeCee. What—”
“I don’t—I’ve been having these pains and they keep coming back and I don’t know if—”
She broke off with a sharp inhale.
“The baby. It’s too early. It’s too early, Yaz.”
I was already headed for the trailhead, the narrow dirt path zigzagging through scrub and rock down the side of the ridge.
Two miles.
“How long have you been having them?”
“Since this morning. I thought it was nothing. I thought it would stop. But now they’re—”
“They’re what?”
“Closer together.”
I picked up speed, boots sliding on loose gravel.
“How close together?”
“Ten minutes maybe. Less now.”
“And the last one?”
“Just now.”
She sucked in a sharp breath. “God.”
“Okay,” I said. “That’s okay. I just need you to breathe.”
“I am breathing.”
“You’re panicking.”
“I’m not panicking,” she said, immediately panicked.
“Okay. Good.”
“What if something’s wrong,” she said. “What if I did something? I’ve been so stressed, the doctor told me to rest and I haven’t been sleeping and—”
“CeeCee.” I ducked under a low branch without slowing. “No. We’re not doing that. This isn’t something you did.”
“You don’t know that—”
“I know you. Now breathe. Slow.”
She breathed. I kept moving.
“I need you to call 911,” I said.
Silence.
Then, “It might be nothing.”
“Maybe.”
“If it’s nothing I just wasted—”
She stopped. Started again.
“I can’t afford an ambulance if it’s nothing, Yasmine. I don’t have—I’m not—the insurance situation is—”
“You can fight the bill later.” I kept my voice level. “Seven months pregnant, alone, contractions every few minutes? You call. You fight the bill after. You don’t hedge on this.”
She gasped.
Another contraction.
“Oh God.”
“Slow breath in,” I said. “Slow breath out.”
I could see the parking lot through the trees now. A gray strip of asphalt far below.
Still too far.
“CeeCee.”
“Yes?”
“I’m a little far away right now, but I’m on my way. I’m going to call an ambulance and then I’ll call you right back.”
“Okay,” she said finally. Small. Frightened.
“You won’t be alone,” I said.
Silence.
“CeeCee. I promise.”
“Okay,” she said again, her voice cracking.
I hung up and dialed 911. Gave them her address, her condition, the frequency of the contractions. The dispatcher confirmed they were sending someone, and I ended the call.
I was running now, camera bag bouncing against my hip. My lungs were starting to burn.
A mile left to the car. Forty minutes to the hospital from there, minimum.
Fuck.
I straightened up, phone already in my hand.
My thumb hovered.
Then I hit call.
He answered on the fourth ring.
“It’s CeeCee,” I said. “Where are you?”
The ER doors opened before I’d fully stopped moving.
I was still keyed up from the run, from forty minutes of highway with my hands tight on the wheel and the radio off because I couldn’t process sound. There was gravel dust on my jeans from where I’d half-slid down the path.
The desk nurse looked up.
“CeeCee Valentine,” I said. “Seven months pregnant. Contractions.”
“Room six.” She gestured down the hall. “Are you—”
I was already moving.
The hallway seemed longer than it was, washed in hard white light, doors half-open on either side. The door to room six stood open, the privacy curtain half-drawn.
I pushed through it expecting monitors, movement, someone shouting instructions.
Instead…quiet.
CeeCee was in the bed, propped against the pillows, one hand resting on her stomach, the other loose at her side. A monitor beeped beside her.
Beside her, Shaun sat in a chair pulled close. Mama stood near the window, arms crossed, watching the readout.
I stopped just inside the curtain. The sudden absence of urgency disoriented me more than panic would have.
“CeeCee?” I crossed the room in three steps. “I came as fast as I could. The trail—I was on the mountain and I—”
I broke off. Scanned her face, her hands, the numbers on the monitor. “Are you okay?”
She looked tired.
But steady.
“I’m okay,” she said softly. “They think it might just be Braxton Hicks.”
“Just?” I repeated.
“They’re still monitoring,” she said. “But the nurse thinks it’s probably that.”
I nodded, the tightness across my shoulders finally easing.
“Okay,” I said. “That’s good.”
“Shaun got there before the ambulance did,” she said. “He drove me.”
Shaun gave me a stiff nod.
“I called him,” I said, nodding back. “You were alone and I was too far away and I didn’t—”
“Yasmine,” CeeCee said gently. “It’s okay. I’m glad you did.”
My mother came closer.
“You should have been here,” she said quietly. “Thankfully Shaun was there for her.”
“Yeah.”
His eyes flicked to mine again, and the phone call came back sharp.
His voice had been careful and flat when he answered. Yasmine. Like he was bracing for whatever I’d cost him this time.
Then I said CeeCee’s name, and all of that dropped out of him. A pause so short it was almost nothing and then, I’m on my way.
He reached for CeeCee’s hand.
She let him take it.
I took a step back.
The doctor came in ten minutes later, young and efficient, tablet already in hand. The exam was quick, and her voice calm as she explained it was Braxton Hicks, likely worsened by stress. The baby’s heart rate was strong, CeeCee’s cervix was closed, and there was no sign of preterm labor.
“We want to keep you for observation another hour or so,” she said, “but I’m not anticipating any complications. Make sure you’re drinking water. Rest when you can.”
CeeCee’s head dropped back against the pillows. “So… false alarm?”
“More like a practice run,” the doctor said. “Baby looks great.”
The air in the room released all at once.
“You scared the hell out of me,” Shaun muttered.
CeeCee’s eyes went wet. “Sorry.”
Mama pressed a hand to her chest. “Thank God.”
I watched the relief move between them. They looked like a family.
An hour later, the nurse came back with discharge papers. CeeCee signed while the nurse reviewed the instructions.
“Yasmine,” CeeCee said. “Can you grab my purse over on the chair, there?”
Shaun stood. “I’ll pull the car around.”
“That’s okay.” CeeCee’s voice stopped him. “I can ride back fine with Yasmine.”
He turned.
I blinked.
Shaun blinked.
Mama straightened.
“CeeCee,” Shaun said slowly. “I’m parked right out front. I’m taking you home.”
“When did we decide that?”
For a second, nobody moved. Then Shaun’s face changed, the softness vanishing fast.
“I drove you to the hospital,” he said. “I sat here for hours. I did everything right.”
“I know,” CeeCee said. “And I’m grateful. Thank you.”
“Then let me take you home.”
“Yasmine’s place is home right now.” She faced him squarely. “That’s where I’m going.”
Shaun let out a short laugh. “Unbelievable.”
Mama stepped forward, one hand settling on Shaun’s arm. “CeeCee, maybe if you just—”
“No.” CeeCee’s voice was firmer now. “I appreciate that y’all came. I do. But we’re getting divorced. That hasn’t changed.”
“I was here, CeeCee. I showed up. Doesn’t that count for something?”
“It counts,” she said. “It just doesn’t change my answer.”
“Honey,” Mama said, her voice warm. “Don’t you think you’ve imposed on Yasmine long enough? You can’t stay there forever. Houseguests and fish, right?”
“Then it’s a good thing she’s not a guest, ” I said quietly.
Mama’s mouth pressed into a thin line.
Shaun dragged a hand over his mouth, then tried again. “CeeCee. Please. I’m trying here. I dropped everything to get to you.”
“I see that you showed up. And again, I thank you for that. But I’m not a slot machine, Shaun. You don’t get points for good behavior.”
“I’m trying.”
“I know.”
“Can’t you see that?”
“I can.”
“Then why won’t you come home?” Shaun’s hands flexed at his sides, then abruptly he swung to me, blame settling back into place behind his eyes. “This is because of you. You poison everything.”
“Shaun.” CeeCee’s voice cut through. “Stop. This is my decision. Mine. Yasmine didn’t make it for me.”
He stared at her.
Then at me.
Then he turned and walked out through the curtain without another word.
Mama stood frozen, eyes fixed on CeeCee’s face, searching for the first sign she could still be moved.
Then she shook her head at me and followed him out.
The curtain swung shut behind her.
I pressed my tongue against the back of my teeth to fight the sting at my eyes.
“Well,” she exhaled. “That was fun.”
I snorted, shaky around the edges. “You okay?”
“No.” She smiled tiredly. “But I will be. How about you?”
“Got my steps in for sure.”
I picked up her purse and handed it to her. “Ready?”
CeeCee swung her legs over the side of the bed slowly, one hand resting on her stomach.
“Yeah, let’s go home.”