One Christmas Knight

Chapter 10

“I’m gonna start noddin’ off, here, pretty soon. Talk to me…talk to me.”

I-40-Texas

“What was her name?” Mirabella asked, her voice muffled and dreamy.

Still dazed, Jimmy Joe mumbled, “Pardon?” and she lifted her head from his chest and gazed at him with an earnest-but-unfocused smile.

“Your baby girl. Did you name her?”

“Oh.” He coughed and cleared his throat as he straightened. At the same time she took her arms from around his neck and let them slide through his hands, until that was the only part of them still touching. “Amy,” he said, without taking his eyes from their clasped hands. “We named her Amy.”

“Amy… That’s pretty.” She said it absently, then rose abruptly, breaking even that small physical contact.

He watched as she moved away from him, rubbing at her back, distracted and restless again, and was conscious of a sense of loss and regret. He had an idea it was the way she would be from now on, becoming more and more introspective and closed off from him as her time grew nearer and she concentrated all her energy, mind and body, on the job ahead of her. She would be focused on that, wrapped up in it, consumed by it, deaf and blind to everything else, including him.

Which was normal, he told himself. Just as it should be. And which made what had just happened between them-her compassion and concern for his pain-seem so miraculous to him.

He hadn’t meant to get in her way. The way he saw it, his job was just to be there for her even when she didn’t know he was, to lead and guide her like a blind person through a swamp, to keep her safe from harm, to keep her from feeling lost or scared. Thinking about the responsibility of it all made him feel awed and humble. He just hoped he was up to it.

“You got a name picked out for your baby?” he asked.

“Hmm?” She turned like a sleepwalker, frowning. Already it was becoming harder to distract her. “Oh-yeah.” A smile flickered across her face, sure and confident, for an instant a touch of the old Mirabella. “Eric. His name is Eric. It means, ‘all-powerful.’”

He nodded. “Nice. How ’bout if it’s a girl?”

She shook her head emphatically. “It won’t be. It’s a boy.”

It had been so long since he’d seen that little lift of her chin, he couldn’t help but smile. “You know that for a fact? I mean, did they do the tests and all?”

“I’ve seen the ultrasound. The doctor says he’s sure it’s a boy. Anyway, I hope…it is.” She hiccuped, and distress flitted briefly across her face.

Automatically, he reached behind him, found one of the cans of soda he’d brought back from the vending machines and popped it open. “Why’s that?” he asked as he handed it to her.

“Why do I want a boy?” She lashed him with a dark and furious look, snatched the soda from him and gulped heedlessly. “How can you even ask?” She waved the can like someone who’s maybe getting tipsy. “Because it’s still a man’s world, dammit. And I don’t want my child…to have to struggle…like I did. Ow…dammit.”

He rescued the soda can and found a safe place for it on the floor in front of the driver’s seat, then turned his attention back to Mirabella. But when he reached for her, she squirmed away from him with a furiously hissed, “Don’t touch me!”

And then, before he could even decide whether it was okay to ignore that or not, she cut loose with a belly-deep wail, a growl, almost, that seemed to come from the depths of her soul.

“Noook!” Shaking her head. Fighting it. Denying it. “No. Not now. It’s too soon. I’m not ready. I want to rest. I can’t…do this!”

Somehow he got his arms around her. Somehow he managed to still her thrashing and get her leaning against him, get her to breathe with him, slow and steady, the way she was supposed to. And all the time he was crooning to her, telling her yes, she could do it. Telling her how strong and brave and beautiful she was. Meaning every word.

By the time it was done she was sobbing, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” over and over, and he was stroking her temple with his chin and growling, “It’s okay, it’s okay… Nothing to be sorry about…”

He felt lost… helpless.

He wanted to tell her it was happening too fast for him, too. That he wasn’t ready, either. He wanted to tell her he wished he’d had more time with her, time to get to know her better. A lifetime of time. Time to get to know her ways, her body’s tender secrets-where she hurt and how she liked to be touched, and the mysterious feminine noises she uttered when she made love. There was so much about her he wanted to know. So many things he wished he’d asked her when he’d had the chance.

Mostly, he wanted to know why. Why, on Christmas Eve, was she here with him, a stranger, having her precious baby in a snowbound truck when she should have been in a warm, comfortable place with people to take care of her, and a husband to hold her and stroke her and tell her how much he loved her-the baby’s father, sharing it all, the whole wonderful miracle of it, with her? Why? He thought it had to be a tragedy of some sort-he couldn’t imagine any other explanation. He really wanted to know.

But she’d moved beyond him now. She was out of his reach, and he thought it was too late to ask her.

She’d pulled herself together and moved back a little, lifting her eyes to his, eyes that were filled with questions of their own. “Jimmy Joe?”

“Yeah, I’m here,” he murmured, pretending he knew the answers.

She drew a bright and hopeful breath. “I really do need to go to the bathroom. I know I’d feel better if I could just-”

But he stopped her there, firmly shaking his head, wishing he didn’t have to see the entreaty in her face. “I can’t let you go out,” he said as gently as he could. “It’s not just cold, it’s icy and dangerous. What if you hurt yourself-or your baby?”

He brushed her cheek with the backs of his fingers, wiping away a tear she probably didn’t even know about. “Tell you what, though. I’m gonna find you something, so you can go…” Now she was shaking her head-wildly, frantically. He saw the fear in her eyes and somehow knew that what she was most in dread of at that moment was the thought of losing her privacy-her dignity.

Mindful of that, he caught her chin and held it still, and leaning close, whispered his instructions in her ear as if they were in a room full of strangers and it was the most intimate of confidences he was sharing with her. So softly she had to catch her breath, still her breathing in order to hear him. When he was finished, she shivered like a child with a secret and whispered an airless and mollified, “Okay.”

He guided her into the sleeper compartment with a deferential touch, as if he were escorting a duchess to the dinner table, reached up to take down the pile of towels from the shelf above the bed and presented them to her without a word.

From another compartment he took out a plastic trash bag with a drawstring top and his first-aid kit. He left the bag on the bed, tucked the first-aid kit under his arm and backed out of the sleeper, pulling the curtain closed as he went. Then he slid into the driver’s seat, dialed in channel 19 on his CB radio and turned the volume up loud. Static and chatter filled the cab, drowning out all other sound, even the sigh of his own exhalation and the drumming of his rapidly beating heart.

For a while he just sat and listened to it. He felt curiously drained, felt a need to rest and rebuild his store of energy, not so much from what he’d already been through, but for what was still to come. Because this was only the beginning. He knew that, just as he knew she was going to need everything he had to give her.

The radio blared suddenly with a crackly, tinny rendition of Tennessee Ernie Ford bawling, “O Come, All Ye Faithful,” somebody evidently trying to share his own particular brand of Christmas cheer through his open mike. Takes all kinds, Jimmy Joe thought as he picked up his own mike and thumbed it on, grinning. Even among truckers.

“This is the Big Blue Starr-Hey, shut that thing off, will ya? I got a lady havin’ a baby over here. Need to talk to somebody… Come on.”

“Hey, Big Blue!” The voice was nearby, loud and excited. “‘Bout time you put your ears back on. Good to hear from you, buddy. How you doin’ over there?”

Jimmy Joe chuckled. Already the sound of other drivers’ voices had lifted his spirits, made him feel hopeful, not quite so alone. “Doin’ okay, so far. Could use a little help, though. Anybody seen any smokies lately?”

“Hell, no-‘Twas the night before Christmas and not a bear stirrin’-”

“Hey, Big Blue, they’re talkin’ ’bout you all way back to New Mexico. How’s the little lady doin’?”

“Hangin’ in there,” said Jimmy Joe. “Listen, we’d sure ’preciate it if you’d pass the word along to Amarillo. Tell ’em we need some help out here.”

“Already been done, Big Blue.”

And from farther away: “Uh…that’s affirmative. Word got there-oh. been a while ago. Word now is, they’re, uh, tryin’ to set somethin’ up, tryin’ to patch through a relay, or somethin’. Got a buncha phone lines down, so it’s takin’ awhile, but they’re workin’ on it. You’d best go on over there to channel 9 and wait for ’em…”

“Thank ya kindly, ’preciate it,” said Jimmy Joe. He was about to turn the dial when a woman’s voice broke in.

“You tell the lady we’re all prayin’ for her.”

And from all up and down the line the voices of lonely, snowbound drivers chimed in.

“Yeah, you hang in there, now.”

“We’re pullin’ for ya…”

“Y’all have a Merry Christmas!”

“Take care…”

“We’re with you, Big Blue!”

“God Bless…”

“Thanks,” said Jimmy Joe. “I sure do ‘preciate it. Y’all have a Merry Christmas, now. Safe trip… Ten-four.” He signed off with a lump in his throat and tears in his eyes.

For a moment he just sat there holding the mike while all that flood of emotions and feelings just sort of rolled over him like a great big wave, and when it receded, he felt calm again. Peaceful. As if somebody had put out a hand and touched him and said to him, “Son, everything’s gonna be okay.”

He took a big breath and huffed it out, then dialed in channel 9 and went through his “Mayday, Mayday!” thing once more. He thought he heard some faint mumbles and crackles in response, but since it wasn’t clear enough to be any use to him, he hung the mike back on its hook and left the channel open with the volume turned up loud.

There wasn’t any sound coming from his sleeper, so he turned on the regular radio and found a pretty clear station playing Christmas music, which he left on low just to provide some cover noise in case Mirabella still needed the privacy.

Then he started going over in his mind what she and the baby were going to need, making sure he had everything ready. Thank God, he thought, for his comfortable sleeper and for the reliability of his good ol’ diesel engine. They had the most important things-warmth and shelter and a comfortable bed. Towels and bedding for her; soft, clean flannel shirts to wrap the baby in. The first-aid kit, with scissors and disinfectant and all kinds of stuff to tie off the cord. Even a plastic squeeze bottle that held eyewash-which he dumped out-in case he needed something to suction out the baby’s nose and mouth.

As far as he could see he had everything except water for boiling, but what the heck-he always had wondered what all that hot water was supposed to be for. So it looked like he was ready. Ready as he was ever going to be.

On the radio Garth Brooks was singing “Silent Night.” Jimmy Joe smiled a little, remembering what Mirabella had said about never having heard of him, and turned it up some more so she could hear it.

“All is calm, all is bright…”

This is the calm before the storm, he thought, rubbing his eyes.

Then for some reason he remembered that Mirabella had mentioned she wore contacts. He wondered if she’d thought about them, and whether she might want to take them out and put them away for safekeeping. He wondered just how blind she was without them. There was so much about her he didn’t know.

He reached through the curtain and knocked lightly on the side of the closet. “Hey, how you doin’ in there?” He listened, and when he didn’t hear any urgent orders to keep out, went ahead and pulled back the curtain.

She was lying on her side with her back to him, knees drawn up slightly and her head resting on her arm. He could see the pale curve of her cheek, and her hair pooling like spilled wine on the pillow behind her. He thought for a moment she might be sleeping, until he saw that her hand was moving over her belly in slow, caressing circles. He went to sit on the mattress beside her, being careful not to jostle her too much, and reached over to smooth back the wisps of hair from her face. He felt dampness, but didn’t know whether it was sweat or tears. Either way, he felt his throat tighten.

“Everything okay?” he asked huskily. “Feelin’ better now?”

She sniffed and nodded, moving her head slightly so he could see she had her eyes closed. Then she whispered something, and he had to lean closer to hear. “Make a mess…” was all he caught. He didn’t know whether to laugh or to strangle her.

“Marybell,” he said with an incredulous snort, “you really are the limit, you know that?”

The exasperation in his voice startled her enough so she opened her eyes and craned her head around so she could look at him, frowning. “Why?”

“You always this hard on yourself?”

The frown turned into uncertainty; she looked as vulnerable as a scolded child. “What…do you mean?”

With restraint and tenderness he brushed his knuckles across her eyebrows, using his thumb to smooth out the worry-creases between them. “Look at you-here you are, doing probably the most fantastic and wonderful thing it’s possible for any human being to do, and you’re worried about makin’ a mess? Woman, what am I gonna do with you?” She drew a quivering sniff and didn’t say anything. He cocked his head to one side and teasingly asked, “Tell me the truth-did you seriously think you were gonna have a baby without makin’ a mess?”

“I sure did mean to try,” she muttered.

It felt good to laugh.

While he was doing that, he also had a strong desire to gather her into his arms and kiss her, but he was pretty sure it was the last thing she would have welcomed. Instead, he remembered to ask her about her contacts.

“I already took them out,” she told him, struggling to sit up. “They’re in my overnight bag.” She paused to glare at him. “And don’t you dare lose them.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said humbly, and was delighted when she socked him right smartly in the arm.

By the time he’d helped her get herself turned around so her legs were dangling off the edge of the bed, though, he could see the shine of sweat on her skin. He watched her as she sat gripping the edge of the mattress and breathing hard, slowly rocking herself, and then he reached out and gently wiped her forehead with the palm of his hand.

His throat ached when she sighed and murmured, “That feels good.”

“Wish I had some cool water,” he mumbled.

She took a breath and then surprised him with a soft laugh. “Do you know…that I planned to have this baby in a tub full of water?”

“A what?”

“It’s called a birthing tub. It’s the latest thing. It’s supposed to make it a lot easier for… both them the mother and the baby. I had it all…planned. Oh…damn.” Her breathing had gotten faster and her voice more guttural, until it ended in one of those belly-deep groans. He could see her teeth clench as she tried to stifle it.

“Why don’t you go ahead and holler?” he grunted when he’d gotten his arms around her and her weight settled against his chest. “I don’t mind, and it might make you feel better.” He doubted she even heard him.

Later when the crisis had passed, though still in pain, she tried again to tell him-almost, it seemed to him, as if she were compelled. As if it was terribly important to her, as if he wouldn’t know she hadn’t meant it to be like this.

“I had it planned,” she whispered. “I did…everything right. Everything.”

Not everything, he thought. And because it had been making so much noise in his head for so long, and because he didn’t think she was really going to hear him anyway, he went ahead and asked it, in a harsh and raspy voice that wasn’t even his.

“What about the father? He have any part in this plan of yours?”

Her head pumped wildly back and forth. “No-he’s not supposed to. That’s not the way it works-” Her breath gushed from her in a cleansing torrent. “Oh…God. They’re starting again. They…sort of slowed down for a while, when I was lying down. Now it’s like…there’s no time in between. I can’t rest. It doesn’t stop. I can’t…do this!”

What could he do then but soothe her and calm her and get her settled down and focused again? But he was left feeling confused and guilty, and his questions were still unanswered.

He lost track of time. Or rather, to be more precise, he stopped letting himself think in terms of time. Instead, he started thinking about what they were doing as sort of like climbing a mountain, a great big mountain that was made up of a lot of little mountains. All he had to do was keep climbing the little mountains, one at a time, all the time keeping his eye on the big one, which a lot of the time seemed like it wasn’t getting any closer. But he knew if he just kept climbing the little ones, sooner or later he was gonna get to the top.

He tried sharing his mountain image with Mirabella, but she wasn’t in any frame of mind to appreciate it. She was having about all she could handle just getting over the “little hills”-although when he used that phrase to describe one of her contractions, for some reason, she tried to hit him.

He did his best to keep her relaxed, touched her when she would let him, massaging her back or her legs, rubbing her neck or her feet, depending on the mood she was in. He tried telling her not to think about the contractions, but to think instead about nice things, like good smells and bright colors and her favorite food, which she told him was chocolate-covered cherries. He told her his was macaroni and cheese, but didn’t think she was listening.

When she got cranky and fed up he told her to cuss him if she wanted to, and she took him up on it a time or two. Again he told her to yell, really cut loose and holler, but as much as he knew she wanted to, he couldn’t get her to do it. He didn’t know if it was because she didn’t want to upset him, or because she was afraid of making a spectacle of herself. Maybe, he thought as he began to know some of her ways, a little of both.

He was sorry about that, because he had an idea it would have made it easier for her. It seemed like such a natural thing to do. Like making noise during sex, he thought. And then he wondered why that idea didn’t shame him. But the truth was, he’d been thinking for quite a while about how sometimes it seemed what was happening here and now-this birthing business-was a lot like making love. Only more so. Bigger. A whole lot bigger. Lovemaking to the ultimate degree. It made so much sense to him, because after all, this was what sex was supposed to be about, wasn’t it? Two people in love makin’ a baby.

Yes, it seemed right. Right that he should be holding this woman between his thighs, cradled against his body, her breathing so perfectly timed to his, her breasts heavy against his arms, and feel the tightening, the pulsing, the cataclysmic tremors deep within her body.

So profoundly right.

“Yeah…” he growled as he felt the pressure and the need inside her build. “Yeah, let it go. That’s the way, darlin’. It’s okay…let it go…”

His eyes closed, his lips brushed her ear, his heartbeat rocked him like a boat caught in the ripples of a wake.

“Don’t be afraid,” he whispered hoarsely, wanting so badly to break through her barriers that he hurt inside. “It’s just like loving…like making love when there’s nobody to hear you. Think about it. Makin’ love on a warm summer night in a cabin way out in the woods…with the frogs chirpin’ and the whippoorwill callin’ and the air so soft and sweet…and nobody in the world to hear you but the man who loves you more than life. Let him hear you love him. Come on, darlin’… let me hear it.”

She was so close…so close. He could feel her body arching, feel it building inside her like a cresting tidal wave. He heard the first sounds, like a rusty gate opening-and then suddenly it burst from her in an anguished, gut-wrenching wail: “I ca-a-an’t!”

His chuckle was sympathetic but insistent. “Sure, you can…sure, you can.”

But he’d already broken the dam, and the vocalizations he’d wanted came pouring out, complete with words. “I don’t know…I don’t know… I’ve never…made love before…”

He laughed softly, thinking how funny she was, how sweetly confused. Stroking her damp hair back from her forehead, he murmured tenderly, “Darlin’, what in the world are you talkin’ about?”

“I mean,” she growled, “I’ve never made love before. Can’t you understand English?”

Sweating and muttering furiously, she subsided, leaving him bewildered, to ponder what she could possibly have meant by such a statement. He could think of a couple of possible explanations, none of which made him feel good. The unanswered questions sat in his chest like an anvil.

After that, when the contractions got to be too much for her, he told her to think of her baby. Her sweet, precious baby boy, and how good it was going to be to hold him in her arms soon. Think of that, he told her. Don’t think about the contraction. Think of your baby.

Himself he told to think of nothing at all.

It seemed to Mirabella as though she’d been existing in a nightmare-or rather, in a sort of twilight world between wide-awake and dreaming. What it reminded her of was a time long ago in her childhood-the last and possibly the only time in her life that she’d been sick. Really sick. She remembered being in bed, having a terrible, terrible headache that seemed to go on and on. A second had seemed like an hour when it was happening, but then she would find that hours had passed in what she’d thought were only seconds. She remembered hearing people talk to her, hearing herself answer, knowing she was doing things-drinking water, taking medicine, eating soup, and getting up, trembling, to go to the bathroom-but having no real control over anything that happened to her. Right up until the moment when she’d opened her eyes, gazed into her parents’ worried faces and said in a loud, clear voice, “I want waffles.”

She was in the waning moments of a contraction, coming down the back side of the mountain-that had been Jimmy Joe’s idea, those mountains. How many more of them were there, she wondered, before she reached the top? Hundreds, probably. Hundreds and hundreds.

She felt an urge to hiccup, or perhaps to burp. But when she gave in to it, the ripples in her stomach seemed to want to go down toward her pelvis, rather than up toward her throat. “Oh,” she said, startled.

“I want to push,” she announced.

Jimmy Joe’s face hovered above her. He looked exhausted. “Well, that’s good,” he said huskily, smoothing back her hair. “Real good. Looks like you’re gonna be havin’ a baby pretty soon.”

For some reason he looked much older than she remembered-at least ten years older. She reached up to touch his face, trying to rub away a deep crease that had appeared near the corner of his mouth. With deep pity she said, “Oh, no, not yet. I still have all those mountains to climb. Lots and lots of mountains…”

There it was again-that strange, upside-down hiccup.

“No more mountains, Marybell.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but instead of words, what came out was a low, growling sound. Was that her?

“That’s it, you just go right ahead and push.”

“I’m not…pushing,” she gasped stubbornly. “Can’t have this baby yet. Still…have…mountains…oh!”

“No more mountains.” She felt Jimmy Joe’s body behind her, lifting and supporting her. “Just a great big sheer rock cliff. Now you gotta pull yourself up to the top, you hear? Pull yourself up, hand over hand, one pull at a time… Way to go…good girl. Now you rest a minute…just rest…”

Rest? That’s easy for you to say, she thought resentfully. First all those mountains, and now he wanted her to pull herself up a cliff? What kind of a superwoman did he think she was? Here, her body was trying its best to turn itself wrongside out, and on top of that, now somebody-some strange man with a Texas accent-was yelling at her to, “Come in…come in!”

Jimmy Joe jumped up like he’d sat on a pinecone. Laying Mirabella back against the pillows as gently as he could, he lunged for the CB mike and got his thumb on the button.

“I’m readin’ you loud and clear!” he shouted. “Come on back.”

“Ah…this the fella with the lady havin’ a baby, out there on the interstate?”

“That’s me!” yelled Jimmy Joe. “Sure am glad to hear from you.” And that, he thought, had to be the biggest understatement he’d ever uttered in his life. He was so relieved, his insides felt like jelly. “Hey, where are you? Baby’s on its way. Right now. We could sure use some help!”

“Ah…well, we’re gon’ try our best. Listen, I got me a gas station over here, just west of Vega-my power and phone’s been out pert’ near all day, just come back on a little while ago, an’ looks like it’s a good thing it did. Didn’t have my radio on, it bein’ Christmas Eve, an’ all. Anyways, I got a telephone call from the state police. They got a chopper stand-in’ by, but they not gonna be able to get it in the air until the weather clears. So what they done is, they got me patched through to the hospital in Amarillo. Got a doctor here on the line right now. Wants to know how far along she is.”

With the realization that that excited voice on the radio was all the help he was going to get, Jimmy Joe felt the terrifying sense of responsibility settle once more onto his shoulders. He closed his eyes briefly, then shrugged it off and spoke into the mike with a calm and confidence he was a long way from feeling. “She’s wantin’ to push. Ask the doc if it’s okay to let her, or if she ought to be pantin’, or something.”

There was a pause, then, “Doc says don’t let ‘er pant, it’ll just wear her out. Says, let her push, but not too hard. Don’t let ’er hold her breath, or turn purple, he says. Just little pushes, if, ah…if that’s what her body wants to do.”

“Gotcha,” said Jimmy Joe, with a glance over at Mirabella, who looked as if she was trying to lift the back end of a truck. He was about to put the mike down and get over to her when the voice spoke again.

“Uh…the doc here’s got a couple questions for ya. Wants to know, can you see the baby’s head yet?”

Jimmy Joe’s stomach gave a lurch and nearly jumped into his throat. He broke out in a cold sweat and just did manage to mumble, “Don’t know… I’m gonna have to get back to you on that.”

“Okay…he says check and tell him what you see. Then he wants to know if you’ve got somethin’ to catch the baby with.”

“Yeah,” said Jimmy Joe, “I got that.” He took a deep breath and felt better. “Tell him I think I’ve got everything ready. Got plenty of clean towels. Got a pretty good first-aid kit-antiseptic and bandages, scissors, stuff like that. Ask him if there’s anything else I oughta have.” Besides an ambulance and a couple of experienced paramedics, he thought.

There was another pause. “Doc says sounds like you got it pretty well covered. Wants you to check her and get back to him.”

“Right… Ten-four.” He pulled the mike cord out as far as it would go and draped it over the back of the seat so he would have it within arm’s reach when he needed it, then eased himself back into the sleeper and sat down on the bed beside Mirabella. “How you doin’?” he asked, his throat husky.

She rested, propped on both elbows, and glared at him. “How do you think I’m doing?”

“Guess you heard all that.” She nodded, watching him. “I’m gonna have to look.” And again she nodded.

And then she closed her eyes and groaned, “Well…be quick about it, dammit!” as another powerful contraction overtook her.

Funny, he’d been dreading that moment so. But she didn’t seem to mind it when he gently and carefully drew her nightgown up and eased her legs apart-barely seemed aware of him at all, in fact. Instincts a lot more compelling than modesty were driving her now.

A moment later he was back on the radio, his heart beating like a jackhammer. “Can’t see anything yet,” he panted. Behind him, all inhibitions apparently forgotten, Mirabella was making all the noise he could ever have wanted, and more.

Pause. “Okay, doc says get back to him when you see the head. Oh-and he says, don’t let her lie on her back. Says you should get her as upright as possible-get gravity workin’ for you.”

“Right.” Back to Mirabella. He settled himself behind her, supporting her with his body, and whispered in her ear, “You’re doin’ fine, darlin’. Just got a little bit more work to do… That’s right…just a little bit more.”

How much more could she do? he wondered. He’d never in his life seen anybody work so hard. Her hair was soaking wet with sweat, and he knew his arms would bear the imprint of her fingers for a long time to come. He began to get scared again. It seemed such an impossible thing she was trying to do, and it didn’t do any good at all to remind himself that it had been done a few billion times before. What if she couldn’t do it? What if…

And then…there it was.

“I see it!” he shouted into the mike. “I can see the head.” He was laughing, crying a little, too, maybe. Trying to hold on to the mike and Mirabella at the same time.

“Doc says, you sure it’s the head?”

“Yes, I’m sure… Hey, darlin’, you hear that? We got a head!”

“I…hear…you!”

“Doc wants to know, is it facin’ up or down?”

“Can’t tell yet… One more push, darlin’…one more…one more…”

“If you…say that…one more time…I’ll kill youl”

“Down! It’s facing down!”

“Doc says-”

“No, wait-it’s turning! It’s turning to one side!”

“Doc says that’s okay-that’s good.”

“One more…”

I will kill him, Mirabella thought. If I survive this.

She was on fire. Burning. Splitting in half.

And then-suddenly there was relief.

“The head’s out! Darlin’, you hear that? The head’s out!”

I know…

“Just a little bit more-let’s get the shoulders out-come on, now, one more good one…”

One more…one more…

“Doc says you gotta clear the airways!”

Silence.

“Hey-what’s happenin’ out there? Talk to me…talk to me!”

What’s happening? Jimmy Joe? Oh, God…my baby…

And then she heard it. A faint gurgling, then a tiny, rasping cry. As the cry grew louder and stronger, a sob struggled up through her exhausted body. More sobs…laughter and sobs. She struggled to sit up, reaching for the purplish, squinting thing in Jimmy Joe’s hands.

It was so tiny, slippery wet, all waving arms and frantic wails. He held it for a moment, then laid it carefully, almost reverently on her belly. She touched it-oh, God, what an incredible thing! Soothed and cradled it with her hands. And the wails quieted to soft mewings.

Jimmy Joe knelt beside her, and she felt his body quaking as his arms came around her, helping her, holding her up so she could see better.

“Merry Christmas,” he whispered brokenly. “Say hello to your baby girl.”