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“Hold on, honey. I’m gonna get you there as fast as I can,” Carruthers said as he pushed on the gas.
Tracina turned to me. “I’m an awful person,” she whispered, tears falling down her cheeks. “I feel
so awful.”
“Don’t worry about anything else right now except this baby, okay?” I felt her hand tighten in mine,
saw her eyes squeeze shut.
I turned around and spotted Will’s truck behind us, weaving perilously, trying to keep up. Poor
Will. If this proved to be true, if he really wasn’t the baby’s father, it’d gut him. Despite all the drama
and uncertainty that surrounded the pregnancy, the only thing Will had ever seemed sure of was his
devotion to this baby.
Carruthers was driving fast, but every once in a while he checked on Tracina via the rearview
mirror. “You’re gonna be okay, baby. You’re gonna be okay.”
Tracina never answered, her clammy hand gripped in mine, nothing registering on her face now
except waves of pain.
We made it to the Touro Birthing Center in record time; Carruthers had called ahead on a handsfree
phone so a nurse was standing by with an empty wheelchair. Once Tracina was in the chair, she
reached up, looking around for me, and grabbed my hand.
“Cassie, stay with Will. He’s gonna need a friend,” she said.
What? Had I heard her right? She let go of my hand, and reached for Carruthers’ as she was
wheeled into the center.
I found my way to the delivery area waiting room. A few minutes later Will came huffing in, eyes
wild, a line of sweat down the middle of his T-shirt.
“Where’d they go?”
“Down there,” I said, “but I don’t think—”
He didn’t wait for me to finish. He busted through the doors and disappeared down the hall. I was
so jangly already that the vibrating in my purse didn’t register at first as a phone call. I answered over
the sound of a loud and braying intercom announcement, plugging my ear to hear better.
“Hey, lady. Where y’at? Sounds like the racetrack. Don’t bet your whole paycheck.”
It was Jesse, his voice mellow and grounding.
I explained the baby shower, the early labor, the dramatic drive, the empty waiting room in
maternity where I was now taking over a few seats. I stopped short of saying I was sitting vigil while
a delicate paternity question was about to come to a head. A nurse pointed to my phone and then to a
sign behind her: CELL PHONES NOT PERMITTED IN EMERGENCY. STEP OUTSIDE TO TALK. I lifted my index
finger, the universal symbol for Just one minute.
“So, I guess dinner and a movie are out of the question,” he said.
“I should stay here.”
“You’re a good friend,” he said. “Hey, I’ve been thinking.”
“Yeah? About what?”
“About you and …”
Oh dear. Why did my heart clench?
“And …?”
“And me. And the fact that I’m glad you got in touch. I didn’t know it until now. But I think I
might’ve been waiting for a girl like you.”
I was stunned.
“Too cheesy?” he asked.
“A little. But … I like cheese. What about our ‘no expectations’ plan?”