“Nine.”
Another kiss.
All the way to one.
When he released me, when we released each other, I had all I needed to make it another day, another round. Another mile in the marathon.
Chapter Sixteen
That first cry.
There really was nothing that signified life more than a baby’s first cry. It was like she announced her place in the world. As equal and deserving as anyone else.
Life would be hard.
Life would be beautiful.
And she would have to fight to find the courage to keep that voice, not be silenced by guilt or circumstance. She would have to make difficult choices—sometimes choosing her own happiness over someone else’s happiness.
Who did we die for?
Who did we live for?
Was there a right answer?
“Oh … my … gosh …” I breathed the words in astonishment.
“You’re witnessing a rare moment.” Holly glanced over at me and smiled as she delivered a baby en caul—in an intact amniotic sac.
A peaceful little girl with one hand on her head and the other hand at her mouth. A firsthand glimpse at what a baby looked like in the womb. She was outside of her mother, but not really born yet.
“It’s my first.” Holly got teary eyed as we observed the phenomenon with the stunned parents, doula, and birth photographer.
“Is she okay?” the dad asked, his voice a little shaky.
“She’s perfect,” Holly whispered, running her finger along the thin sack, touching the baby’s foot.
“What do you do?” the mom asked.
Holly shrugged. “I can remove the sac now or we can let her be for a few more minutes if you want to take in the moment a little longer.”
After delivering hundreds of babies, Holly still treated each birth like she, too, was experiencing a miracle in her own life. I felt that as well.
The photographer took a slew of photos of the rare moment. One in eighty-thousand births. I knew I might never witness it again.
When Holly and the mom released the baby from its sac, I laughed, but it was more of a sob as tears fell in relentless streams down my face.
“I SAW A BABY BORN EN CAUL!” I ran into the house at eight on a Thursday night. I didn’t know if anyone was home. I hadn’t talked to Rory or Rose in over eighteen hours. And I hadn’t seen Fisher since Saturday night at his house—the wine incident. “Hello?” I ran down the hallway.
Nobody.
I ran downstairs.
Nobody.
I checked the garage.
Rose’s car was gone.
Too much adrenaline ran through my veins. I had to tell someone, so I ran over to Fisher’s house in the dark. When I got there, more air deflated from my lungs. I wanted to cry because all I needed was a person. Anyone at that point to share my day. But Angie’s car was in the driveway. Despite my complete lack of peppiness by that point, I gave myself a pep talk.
If I would have been his clear choice, we would have already been together. No secrets. No guilt. But he hadn’t made his choice because on one side there was me, on the other side was Angie and his entire family. It wasn’t that his family didn’t like me, but there was no way they were going to shrug and kiss Angie goodbye then turn to me with open arms.
No way.
One of the many reasons I loved Fisher was because he had such a close-knit family, something that unraveled in my own life when I needed it the most.