Night Watch, Part 7

Angela wanted water and a walk and a trip to the bathroom, not in that order. David helped her up, and tried to escort her around the bed.

"I can still walk," she said.

David stepped aside to let her pass, but in doing so bumped his arm into Victoria's breasts. She gave him a look with knives in it. He was losing friends fast in this household.

"Is it still raining?" Angela asked after coming out of the bathroom.

"It stopped a couple of hours ago," he said.

"I'm not exactly keeping track of the weather."

Right. He held the front door open. She marched past him with hair slightly tousled and a line on her cheek from the pillow. Angela was not a night person: one o'clock in the morning was never her sweetest hour, and one o'clock in the morning while in labor without medication was downright frightening. In his mind, his number one duty at the moment was to be as agreeable as possible.

"What did my parents say?" asked Angela.

"They wanted to know why you weren't at the hospital."

"And what did you say?"

"I said it wasn't time yet."

"They're not coming over, are they?"

"Your father offered to drive us to the hospital."

"He wants to help, poor thing. Think of something for him to do."

"Like what?"

"What do I look like, David, an event planner? Send him out for ice cream."

The streets were as still as he'd ever seen them. Not a leaf moved on trees dripping with moisture. The air was warm. In the distance he heard the faint whine of a truck on the highway, shifting through endless gears. Angela's sandals slapped against her heels.

"So are we agreed on Peter if the baby is a boy?" asked David.

Her face brightened, as though he had flipped a switch. Her crossness evaporated into the balmy night air and she rubbed against him playfully as they walked. "You read my mind," she said. "I was just thinking that Peter would be an okay name."

"We're always reading each other's minds," he said.

"And finishing each other's sentences. Maybe we should get married and have babies."

"I think we're doing that. Last time I checked you were seriously pregnant."

Her face darkened again; the switch was flipped the other way. "This baby is not cooperating. I haven't had a contraction in fifteen minutes."

"That's why we're walking," he said.

"I don't know if I can take this, David. I mean, what's the point of going without medication?"

"You're asking me? You're the expert. Let's see, recovery time is faster, it's potentially healthier for the baby, especially if they were to give you medication that gets into the baby's blood. And then there's the period afterward where you and the baby can start, you know, bonding because you're not on drugs."

Switch. Her face lit up. "Thank you, David. I needed a pep talk."

He knew he had told her nothing she didn't already know. But, it seemed, she needed to hear it from him.

"Whoa," she stopped suddenly and reached out to him. "Oh my God. That was major."

He saw the pain in her face, in the vibration of her lips and the look of surprise in her eyes. He stopped and held her and waited. She resumed breathing after a few seconds. "Whew. Now she's making up for lost time."

"She? Now you think it's a she?"

"Did I say she? I didn't say she."

"You said she."

Angela rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Maybe so. She's taking her sweet time about it. It must be a she."