A local woman missing- Mary Kubica

MEREDITH
11 YEARS BEFORE
March
In the middle of the night, my cell phone pings. It’s been four days
since I’ve received a threatening text. Somehow, I’ve put them out of
my mind. Since nothing bad has happened to me, I’ve convinced
myself they’re some stupid teenage prank. Some kids must’ve gotten
ahold of my name and number and are having a field day messing
with me.
When the text comes, my first thought isn’t that it’s a threat. My
first thought is that it’s a client in labor. I have two women due soon. I
never go to bed with the guarantee that I’ll be able to sleep the night
through without having to go to a birth. It’s a hazard of the job.
Beside me, Josh stirs at the sound of the phone. It’s a
preprogrammed response; he’s gotten used to this. He rolls away
from me. He pulls the covers over his head.
I reach for the phone. I glance down at it, the light from the screen
burning my eyes.
I’m scared, it reads.
The text comes from Shelby Tebow. I sigh. I prop myself on my
elbows to reply. Shelby is scared of giving birth. Many women are. I
was, too, for both Delilah and Leo. It’s a fear that doesn’t necessarily
go away, even after your first. With Delilah everything went right.
With Leo it all went wrong. If I was to have a third, I’d still be scared.
But the middle of the night is not the ideal time for a pep talk.
Some clients don’t toe the line. They think that because they’re
paying for my services, they have access to me around the clock.
Such is not the case. My rules are laid out in the contract. If they’re
in labor, then I’m at their beck and call. But if they have cold feet,
they’ll still have cold feet during normal business hours. This is
something I’d be glad to talk about tomorrow.