‘Michelle called. Her waters broke. She’s gone into labour.’
Elizabeth leapt out of bed. This was really happening.
‘OK. You’re OK, Zach. You’re fine. Where is she right now?’
‘The hospital.’
‘Yes, Zach, that’s good, but which one? The snow is pretty heavy out there.’
‘She’s in the Murray Hill medical centre.’
‘Well, that’s good. That’s great. You can walk over there.’
She looked at him, expecting him to go and grab his coat and boots, but he didn’t move.
‘Are you going to be there?’
‘I guess.’ Zach was passing his phone from one hand to the other as if it was too hot to hold. ‘Mom?’
‘Yes.’
‘Will you come with me?’
Elizabeth could see that his bottom lip had begun to quiver, but she was firm.
‘No, Zach, I think you should do this by yourself. Don’t you?’
‘I guess,’ her son replied, but still he didn’t move.
‘Well, go, then!’ she said with a laugh and pushed him into the tiny hallway. He grabbed his coat and slipped into his tall unlaced snow boots. At the door he looked back at his mother and she reached in to give him a hug. ‘Call me when you are a daddy!’
It was just after seven a.m. when her phone woke her. Zach. She scrambled to answer it.
‘Hello, hello! Is everything OK?’
‘Yes. All good here. Your son is a father.’
Elizabeth felt the tears fill her eyes and spill down her cheeks. Despite the circumstances, there was such joy. A new little life.
‘What did you have?’
‘A boy!’ He sounded triumphant. ‘You have a grandson, Mom. Come see him!’
Elizabeth laughed. ‘I will, I will. Let me just jump in the shower and I’ll be right over. Give me thirty minutes.’
Navigating the snow drifts on street corners and picking her way along the parts of the sidewalks that hadn’t been salted meant it was closer to forty-five minutes later when she was reunited with Zach. He was in a small, nondescript waiting area. A thin bald man in his thirties was asleep in a chair. Zach beckoned his mother out into the corridor. They hugged.
‘Do you want to see him?’
‘Of course! How’s Michelle?’
‘Good, I think. I wasn’t there for all of it.’
Elizabeth knew better than to ask questions. She assumed it had all been a bit much for him. Was a seventeen-year-old supposed to experience childbirth? Would it affect all his relationships with women from now on? Banishing such thoughts, she followed her son down the hallway.
‘He’s just along here in the newborn nursery.’
‘I thought they kept the babies with the mother these days.’
Zach had stopped in front of a large window, and was pointing impatiently. ‘That’s him. The one on the right.’
Elizabeth peered through the glass and saw nothing but a blotchy purple and red face, its mouth wide open in a silent scream.
‘Oh, Zach. He’s gorgeous.’ She hugged her son.
She was just about to ask him about names when the slap of swinging double doors distracted them both. An older man, a doctor Elizabeth assumed, was walking towards them. As he reached the unlikely couple standing outside the nursery he took off his tortoiseshell glasses and rubbed his other hand through his grey hair. He looked serious.
‘Mr Kleinfeld?’
‘Yes,’ Zach replied.
‘I’m Dr Rice. Alan. We met last night.’
‘Yes. I’m Zach.’
The two men shook hands.
‘I’m his mother,’ Elizabeth explained.
The three of them stood together in silence. Something didn’t feel right. People only wait for bad news. Zach reached for his mother’s hand.
‘Perhaps you’d prefer to step into one of our family rooms.’ The doctor indicated a door a little further down the hall.
‘Yes, no,’ Zach corrected himself. ‘Just tell us here.’ His voice was thin and high. Elizabeth squeezed his hand harder.
‘I really feel you might be more comfortable—’
‘Please!’ To Elizabeth, Zach sounded the way he had as a small boy pleading for a treat or for the answer to a riddle.
Dr Rice rubbed his tongue along the inside of his bottom lip and then spoke.
‘We aren’t sure, but we think Ms Giardino may have had an adverse reaction to the epidural. Tests will tell us more later.’ A small cough, and then he continued. ‘Shortly after your son was born, the mother went into respiratory failure. Efforts were made to resuscitate her, but I regret to say, those efforts failed.’