Diane Chamberlain - Summer's Child

“I’ve thought it through,” Grace said.

“Well, how has your pregnancy been?” Nancy asked.

“Easy,” Grace said.

“I was never even sick. Although now… I’m getting kind of nervous. I’ve been reading books about labor and everything. It scares me.”

“You’ll be fine,” Nancy said.

“What kind of nurse are you?” Grace asked.

“Have you ever helped at a delivery?”

“When I was a student, yes, I sure did. Right now, though, I’m an oncology nurse.”

“What’s that?” Bonnie asked.

“I work with cancer patients in a hospital in Elizabeth City.”

“That must be hard,” Grace said.

“Hard, but rewarding,” Nancy said.

“So,” Grace began, hungry for information, “when you were a student, what was the longest labor you ever saw?”

Nancy laughed.

“You’re worrying yourself into a tizzy, aren’t you?”

she asked.

“It’s not worth getting worked up about, I can promise you that. It’ll all be over before you know it, and then you’ll have your beautiful baby in your arms.”

Grace didn’t feel particularly comforted. She knew no one else she could discuss this with. “But why do women scream?” she asked.

“I

mean, I fell and broke my arm once, and I didn’t scream even though the pain was truly unbearable. So I figure, the pain of having a baby must be thousands of times worse. “

She thought there was sympathy in Nancy’s eyes.

“I’ve never gone through it myself,” she said, “so I’m afraid I can’t tell you anything from personal experience.”

Grace thought Nathan glanced at his wife when she said that, but she couldn’t be sure. His glasses were so thick it was hard to tell just what his eyes were doing.

“But every woman I’ve ever known has been just fine with it,” Nancy continued.

“Yes, they might scream, but in a couple of years they turn around and do it all over again. It’s worth it to them. Really, Grace, you don’t want to spend this whole last month of your pregnancy worrying about that.”

Grace let her head fall back against the chair, suddenly overwhelmed by everything she had to worry about.

“Worry is my middle name, lately,” she said.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do. How do I tell my mother? Where will I live? I only have a little bit of money in my savings. At first, I can nurse the baby, right? I won’t have to pay for food?”

Nancy stared at her hard for a moment before answering.

“You’re not prepared for this,” she said, her voic now low and serious.

“You need to get help from ai agency. You’re in Charlottesville, you said? Write dowi your name and phone number for me and when I get bac’to Elizabeth City, I’ll do some research and find out where you can go to get help. Okay?”

“Thanks,” Grace said. She suddenly felt less alone Bonnie was a good friend and a loyal supporter, but she knew just as little about birth and babies as Grace did.

“And,” Nancy continued, “I think the first thing yoi:

need to do when you get back to Charlottesville is to tel. your mother what’s going on. “

She shook her head vigorously.

“You don’t know m mother,” she said.

“As a matter of fact, I don’t think ] can go back to the house at all.

I’m getting too big. She‘1 know. Bonnie and I have to figure out where I can lay low during the next month. “

Nancy sighed, and Grace read disapproval in her face “This is no way to live. Grace,” she said.

“I’ll get yoi that information on agencies that can help you, but I wani you to promise me one thing.”

“What?”

“That after this baby is born, you’ll go on the Pill. Yoi can’t let this happen again. This baby you’re carrying should never have been conceived.”

Grace wanted to say it wasn’t her fault. She wanted to pour out the story of what had happened in Hawaii. Bu she could have said no to Brad; she could have said no to Joey. No one had raped her. It was her fault.

“I know,” she said.

“Believe me, it won’t ever hap per again. Not this way, anyhow.”

There were brief intervals of sunshine over the next few days, enough to encourage Nancy and Nathan to remain in Kill Devil Hills for the rest of their vacation, and enough to keep Bonnie from complaining too much. The promised storm hit on Saturday. It was not a hurricane, although there had been talk of it becoming one. It was considered a tropical storm, and evacuation was not required, although most vacationers left the Outer Banks that Saturday morning, knowing what was coming. Grace and Bonnie did not leave, however. Their lease was up the following day; they were due to be out by one in the afternoon, but Grace was not ready to let go of her time away from home. She still didn’t know where she was going to go. She’d given Nancy her phone number so that the nurse could call her as soon as she had information about an agency that might be able to help her. She wished it were winter instead of summer, so she could cover her body more easily with heavy clothing. Maybe she could simply avoid her mother.

As darkness fell, the wind was wild and whistling, and the cottage shuddered violently, as though it might collapse around them. For the first time that week, Grace and Bonnie were glad they had not been able to afford a house on the ocean. Surely they would be washed away.

They had very little food left, and it was too nasty to go out for more, so for dinner, they made do with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. The power went out shortly after dinner, taking their lights and their TV. There was one hurricane lantern in the cottage, and they lit it and set it on the coffee table. Sitting on the sofa, they watched the flame lick at the inside of the glass chimney. And that’s when Grace’s cramping started. “Can peanut butter and jelly go bad?” she asked Bonnie.

“I don’t think so. We just bought it a few days ago, anyway. Why?”

“I have a stomachache.”

“Oh,” teased Bonnie, “you’re probably going into labor

“Very funny,” Grace said. But she feared that Bonnie might be right.

This was not a typical stomachache. More like menstrual cramps that came and went. But they were mild, ignorable, certainly not like labor would be. And she was only eight months pregnant.

“We might as well go to bed,” Bonnie said.

“Oh, God, Bonnie.” Grace couldn’t bear the thought of going to bed.

When she woke up, she would only have a few hours left of her freedom.

She would finally have to face the uncertainty of her future, and that of her baby. “I don’t want to go home tomorrow.”

“I do,” Bonnie said.

“No offense. But I want to see Curt. And I bet the weather has been better in Charlottesville than it’s been here.”

“You don’t have to hide a bowling ball under your shirt when you go home, though,” Grace said. “My mother would have known a long time ago,” Bonnie said.

“She pays way too much attention to me.”

Grace glanced away from her friend. Bonnie’s words were spoken as a complaint, but she didn’t appreciate how good she had it. Grace shifted on the couch, trying to find a position that would make her stomach more comfortable. Maybe lying down would help.

“Okay,” she said, getting to her feet.

“Let’s go to bed.”

Her sleep was fitful. She’d closed her bedroom window against the rain, but the glass rattled in its frame, and de spite the storm raging outside, the room was hot, her sheets damp with perspiration.

Even while asleep, she was aware of the pain. She dreamed she was in the hospital room, having the baby, and she was screaming. She screamed herself awake, and knew at once that she was truly in labor. This pain was not a dream.