“I'll give him a list of things to do while I'm gone. That's more useful.”
They said their goodbyes, and Sarah set down the phone. The house was quiet for a moment, that rare pause in the chaos of family life. Then Little Maggie spotted her through the doorway and came running, arms outstretched.
“Mama! Up!”
Sarah scooped her daughter into her arms and held her close, breathing in the sweet smell of baby shampoo and graham crackers. In a few days, she would climb into an RV with her grandmother and her sister and drive north toward a birth and a goodbye. In a few days, everything would be different.
But for now, this was enough. Her daughter in her arms, her family around her, and the promise of adventure waiting just down the road.
CHAPTER 7
The waiting room at the obstetrician's office smelled like hand sanitizer and anxiety. Beth shifted in the plastic chair, trying to find a position that didn't make her lower back scream in protest. The chairs had clearly been designed by someone who had never been pregnant, or perhaps by someone who actively disliked pregnant women. Either explanation seemed equally plausible.
Beside her, Gabriel sat with his hands clasped between his knees, his leg bouncing in a rhythm that was slowly driving her insane.
“You're vibrating,” she said.
“I'm not vibrating.”
“Your leg is bouncing so fast it's creating its own weather system.”
Gabriel looked down, as if surprised to discover that his body was betraying his attempt at calm. He pressed his palm against his thigh, forcing it to stillness. The stillness lasted approximately four seconds before the bouncing resumed.
“I'm fine,” he said.
“You're terrified.”
“I'm cautiously optimistic.”
Beth reached over and took his hand. His fingers were cold, which happened when he was nervous. She had learned to read his body like a weather report over the years they had been together. Cold hands meant anxiety. Clenched jaw meant frustration. The particular way he rubbed the back of his neck meant he was thinking about something he didn't want to talk about.
Right now, he was all three.
“Gabriel,” she said gently. “Whatever Dr. Patel tells us, we're going to handle it. That's what we do.”
“I know.”
“Then why do you look like you're about to face a firing squad?”
He turned to her, and she saw the fear in his eyes, naked and raw. Gabriel Walker, who had built furniture with his bare hands and chopped wood in the freezing cold and once carried her half a mile through the snow when her car got stuck, was terrified of a routine doctor's appointment.
“Because this is the part I can't control,” he said quietly. “The babies, the birth, all of it. I can't build it or fix it or make it better with my hands. I just have to sit here and wait and hope everything goes the way it's supposed to.”
Beth squeezed his hand. “Welcome to parenthood.”
“I hate it already.”
“No, you don't.”
“No,” he admitted. “I don't.”
A nurse appeared in the doorway, clipboard in hand. “Beth Walker?”
Beth struggled to her feet, a process that now required momentum, determination, and occasionally a supporting hand from whatever surface was nearest. Gabriel was beside her instantly, his arm under her elbow, steadying her as she rose.
“I can walk,” she told him.
“I know you can.”
