“What?” her mother asks, the pitch of her voice rising. “Go where?”
“To the hospital,” I say. “Now. It’s her blood pressure. And the swelling. And the vision changes.”
Her mom blinks fast, processing. “Is this…bad?”
“Preeclampsia,” I tell her. “Potentially serious. She needs monitoring.”
“I thoughtyouwere monitoring her,” Willow’s mother says, her voice shrill and anxious.
“Well, she needsmoremonitoring!” I snap, aware of all the eyes on me. “Chey, call ahead and tell them she’s thirty-three and change, triplets, sudden headache and visual aura. Someone get her go bag. Rowan?”
“On it.” Rowan slinks away from Willow, and Sean slips in to take his place, helping her up to her feet.
“My go bag?” Willow asks, her green eyes wide. “Do you mean?—”
“We have to be prepared, Willow. You’re thirty-four weeks with triplets. That’s far for triplets.”
“That’s six weeks early!” Willow’s mom crows.
I grab her arm gently, pulling her out of the room to make room for Sean and Willow. “Ms. Abel, we need to stay calm for Willow, okay? I know it’s scary, but she needs us to be strong for her so she can be scared. Does that make sense?” She nods at me numbly, and I pat her. “Great. Thank you. Why don’t you go get your car started?”
I move back into the room, where Cheyenne is holding a phone to her ear. She sees me, and I see relief cross her face. She announces, “Declan, I’m calling L&D. Dr. Patel’s on tonight. I’ll stay here to get the house prepped for her.”
Willow blinks again, eyes going glassy, too out of it to even say that she wants Cheyenne with her. “It’s just a headache.”
“No,” I tell her gently. “It’s not. It’s your body asking for help, like. We’re listening away.”
She nods once, then whispers, “I don’t want to go. Mom just got here.”
Her mother leans closer, brushing hair from her forehead. “Honey, don’t worry about us.”
“Momma, can you come?” Willow asks, her voice cracking.
“Of course. Of course I can.”
“Cheynne, you should go with her too. I’ll take care of things here,” Camille says, her eyes darting around at everyone rushing around her. “She doesn’t need me in the delivery room.”
We get her standing, careful. Rowan supports her weight; I keep my hand on the small of her back. Her knees wobble. “Slow breaths,” I tell her. “In through your nose, out through your mouth.”
“You’re bossy,” she mutters to me, same as before.
“I’m efficient,” I retort, and she almost smiles back.
Her mother lets out a wet laugh that sounds more like a sob. “Y’all sound like her father and me when I was pregnant,” she says softly, and for a moment, everyone in the room goes still. Embarrassed, she tacks on, “I’m glad she has y’all.”
Then Sean’s voice cuts in from the hallway. “Car’s ready!”
“Okay! And so are we! Willow, take a look—this might be the last time it’s clean or quiet for a while.”
She laughs, folding a little, and leans into our weight. “It hasn’t been clean in a long time,” she tells me, her words slurring, one last joke out the door.
30
WILLOW
Induction is a clock with teeth.As usual, Declan was right. Dr. Patel assures me that thirty-four weeks is good for triplets and that the NICU is ready for us before I even have time to think about what “induction” really means.
The Pitocin pump ticks like a metronome that forgot it’s supposed to be neutral. My cuff hisses, deflates, hisses again. The room smells like lemon hand gel and warm plastic. A nurse who I’ve learned is never wrong—Marta, hair in a braided crown, voice like a lullaby—adjusts the belly bands and points to the triple green heart lines streaming across the screen.
