“Okay,” I said. “I need to check the baby’s position. The ambulance is on its way, but I need a better idea of how much time we have. Can I pull these leggings down?”
She nodded, her eyes welling, her breathing choppy.
My heart clenched. She had to be in so much pain. As gently as I could, I peeled her leggings over her hips, bringing her underwear with them.
When I’d lowered them, I tapped her thigh. “Spread your knees apart for me.”
Frankie got up and stood between us and the front of the restaurant and the hordes of people outside. Given her tiny size, it likely wasn’t doing much, but I appreciated the protectiveness she displayed for her friend.
A quick look confirmed we still had time. I wasn’t an expert at delivering babies, but the head wasn’t crowning. That much I remembered from training.
“The good news is that it’s not time to push yet.”
Her only response was a groan, her eyes still screwed shut.
“Now we’re gonna time the length of your contractions and how far apart they are.” I helped her pull her pants back up. “And get you to the hospital.”
“No,” she sobbed, shaking her head. “You’re wrong. It can’t be. I’m not pregnant. It’s food poisoning.”
She didn’t know.
That thought hit me like a kick to the chest. Damn. No wonder she looked so scared and vulnerable.
Frankie scurried over, holding her phone up. “Ruby’s meeting us at the hospital. You’ve got this.”
Evie’s sobs continued, her breaths choppy, her head tucked, as if she was trying to hide from reality.
With a fortifying inhale, I took her hand and gave it a soft squeeze. “Eyes on me,” I commanded. “You can do this.”
“I can’t—” She cried out as she was hit with another contraction. I coached her through it, sweat dripping down my back as my radio screamed nonstop. A fatality at the sugar shack. Panicking tourists. A fender bender on Market Street. Chief was calling for backup.
It was utter chaos out there.
But I was here. With her. Fully.
Drowning out the noise, I spoke gently and firmly. “Breathe,” I said. “Let the pain roll through you. It will crest and then recede. Like a wave.”
We continued like this for several contractions, her eyes fixed on my face, her grip tight on mine as she breathed through the pain.
Eventually, the sirens grew closer, and moments later, the paramedics crew from Birch Hollow barreled in with a stretcher.
As they prepped to move her, I didn’t let go. Didn’t let my focus shift. She needed me.
Even once she was loaded onto the stretcher, I remained at her side. Frankie stood on the other.
Outside, the festive town green had turned into a war zone, blue lights flashing and crowds of people scattering, some with cell phones out, recording, others crying and shouting.
We loaded her into the ambulance, and while Frankie climbed in with her, the Birch Hollow crew got the fetal monitor set up.
She was good. My job here was done.
I took a step back. I was needed elsewhere. My radio crackled with orders for me to head straight to the sugar shack.
But with the second step, my mind was flooded with questions. And one big one in particular.
“Evie,” I said quietly. “Do you need me to call anyone for you?”
She shook her head, her face tearstained.
