Night Watch, Part 2

David closed the front door after they had stepped out, conscious of the air conditioning humming inside the house. As he debated whether to lock the door, he instinctively touched his pockets to feel for the keys. The screen door slipped from his fingers and closed with a whack.

Angela froze. "David, you know I can't stand the sound of that door slamming."

"It slipped. I was checking for my keys."

"You don't need to lock it. We're only going around the block."

For several weeks, perky yellow and blue irises bordered the red brick walkway that led from the front door to the street. Now the green plants looked tired from the day's heat. The whole neighborhood had been a pageant of color, unfolding during their spring after-dinner walks, which Angela found helped her digestion. But as spring melted into summer they tended to walk later and later to escape the Virginia sun and the baked pavement. Gradually, the landscape changed to one color, green, as the flowering trees and shrubs shed their blossoms for the season.

"It's going to rain," said David.

Angela raised her face to the light and sniffed the air. The sun had set, but traces of color lingered before twilight took hold. They could see clouds forming in the south, and a pair of tall swaying birch trees with upturned, young leaves catching the last of the sun's rays.

"Rain would feel good," said Angela. "The plants need it. My asparagus and tomatoes are drying up."

"But didn't you say the baby kicked whenever you ate asparagus?" asked David.

"But one day, God willing, he'll be out, and I can eat asparagus again."

They walked in the roadway, following their usual route. David noticed, as he always did, that Angela leaned slightly back as she walked. He once conducted an experiment wherein he placed an eight-pound frozen chicken in a plastic grocery bag and hung it around his neck and tried to walk with the weight against his stomach. He found, as he suspected from his years of training as an engineer, that he could maintain his balance better if he tilted back slightly at the waist. It was a great scientific revelation. He had mentioned it to Angela and she had said, "Only men need a college degree to figure out what women are born knowing."

They walked in silence. David wondered if the baby would come tonight. "You're pretty sure it's a he, aren't you?" he asked. He didn't know why he brought it up; neither of them really knew. But Angela had a strong hunch it was a boy, and he didn't understand if her hunch was a near-certainty or simply a guess. David liked knowing whether or not he was dealing with a random event.

"David, you need to get over your preoccupation with the sex of the baby. It's going to detect your hostility and feel unwanted."

David had his doubts about that theory, but didn't press the issue. They could talk about rain. Rain was a safe topic. "I didn't bring an umbrella," he said.

"Ouch." She looked like she was going to collapse. David held her shoulders; they were warm. Her whole body was a warm bath with a baby in it. She was a steam engine, idling, waiting to be called to service. He had read that a pregnant woman lying on a sofa burns more calories than a thirty-year-old man walking up a hill. He could feel concentrated energy radiating from her body, mingling with the subdued evening heat of the day.

"That was a doozy," she said.

"Maybe we should go back."

"No. This is good. The contractions are getting more intense."

They walked. She kept one hand on his arm. He let her set the pace. As they passed the Hogue's house, Elaine waved to them from the porch.

"Is it coming tonight, Angela?" said Elaine, the mother of two young children.

Angela smiled. "I'm pretty sure." David saw a look pass between them. They had both done this. Elaine knew exactly what Angela was going through, and Angela knew that Elaine knew, and it gave her comfort. David imagined them having shared the anxiety of the hours before labor, while this enormous person waited in the womb for the right moment to come out. Only no one knew exactly how or when. It seemed to David that the physical birth canal was incredibly tiny compared to the thing that had to pass through it. Their first baby, Tony, had been delivered by cesarean after four agonizing days of labor. The doctors ordered x-rays and scans and probes and consultations, and then concluded that the baby's head was too big for Angela's birth canal. To this day, Angela could feel the doctors sewing her up afterwards. She was determined to do the next one differently. Elaine recommended a midwife who specialized in difficult deliveries. The midwife recommended the doula to help Angela develop the muscles and flexibility necessary to ease the baby through the birth canal. David accompanied Angela to pre-natal yoga classes to learn proper massage techniques for relaxing the muscles and joints. David liked that part, until Angela pointed out that it was more than foreplay. There was actual work involved.

"You just keep walking and don't worry about anything," said Elaine. "Call me anytime of day or night. George'll wake up but who cares, you've got a baby to deliver. I'll bring dinner over tomorrow."

"Thanks, Elaine," said David. "Tell George to go to bed early and get some sleep."

She dismissed that notion with a wave. "Phooey." When one considered the man's contribution to the birthing process it was downright laughable.

They continued down the middle of the road. Twilight was in full swing, the street lamps just starting to glow against the darkening sky. It reminded David of the beach. He quickened his step as Angela moved with surprising speed. She shook off the evening meal, what little of it she ate, and got into the rhythm of walking. David saw the determination at work. If she could will the baby to come out she would do so.

"I'm having second thoughts about the name," said Angela.

"Which one, the girl's name or the boy's name?"

"I don't like Richard."

"But I thought it was my turn to choose?"

"I know, dear. I didn't tell you this, but, the fact is, I used to date a Richard and I couldn't stand him. He was the most egotistical creep in the world. So I can't name the baby Richard."

"Why did you wait until now to tell me?"

Angela looked at him. "I'm sorry. I thought I would get over it, but it's no use. I will not be able to look at our baby without thinking of this other Richard."

"When was this, anyway?" During their seven years of marriage, David could not recall a Richard from any of their conversations about past relationships. That was not surprising; they had agreed that there was not much point in discussing past loves.

"Oh, way back. In the old neighborhood. He was at the wedding, hanging out with my brothers. You probably didn't meet him."

To David, who was an Army brat from a Southern family, their wedding in New Jersey had been a sea of either dark hair or dyed hair, and dark eyes, dark skin, and many old folks speaking Italian, and plenty of booze and oily food, and for some reason, lots of cleavage. There seemed to be a contest going on among Angela's female friends and cousins to see who could show the most cleavage without falling out of their gowns. Meanwhile, his family looked like cardboard cutouts with pasty white skin and blue eyes. David's father, however, lightened up a bit once the bar was open and he began knocking back shots of Sambuca with Angela's father. Pretty soon they were backslapping and telling war stories about Vietnam.

"I guess I don't remember a Richard. It doesn't matter. If you don't like the name I'll think of another."

"Well if you can't think of one I have one picked out."

Of course, thought David. She probably had one picked out the moment she remembered her dislike for poor old Richard. He sighed. "I still think it's going to be a girl anyway, and we both like the girl's name I've picked out so what's to worry?"

"Because we need one of each, just in case. How about Nick?"

David shook his head. "We already have a Tony. We can't have two Italian names."

"You got something against Italians?"

"Not at all. But since it's my turn to pick, I would like an ordinary American name, like...um, Harry."

"Harry! Nobody names their kid Harry anymore."

"Okay. Peter."

"Hmm. We talked about that one, didn't we? Maybe. I'll think about it."

David knew, in the end, she would get her way. That was how it went. His father's name was Leonard Wilson Smith. Angela had rejected almost all the names from his side of the family as being too boring or old fashioned. She had liked Peter, however, because it was the name of a saint. Saint names were all the rage in the Tortorich family.

"Oh my God." Angela stopped and leaned against a parked car, holding her stomach with both hands. Her breathing was heavy. The glow from a street lamp created a shadow across her face, but he could see fear in her eyes. "Let's get back to the house," she said.

"Is it time to call the doula?"

"Yes. Hold my hand."

He held her hand and kissed her, and led her back to the house. With his free hand he pulled out his cell phone and punched the hot button he had set up to ring the doula.