Beth nodded and let Gabriel guide her out the door.
The drive to the hospital took twenty-three minutes. Beth knew this because she tracked the time between contractions,which had dropped to six minutes and then five. Gabriel drove too fast and then too slow, alternating between racing through yellow lights and creeping along at a pace that made Beth want to scream.
“You're doing fine,” Maggie said from the back seat, where she sat with her hand on Beth's shoulder. “Just keep breathing.”
“I am breathing. I've been breathing my whole life. I'm very good at it.”
“That's the spirit,” Chelsea responded.
The hospital loomed out of the darkness, its windows glowing with that particular institutional light that never seemed warm or welcoming. Gabriel pulled up to the emergency entrance and jumped out almost before the car had stopped.
“I'll get a wheelchair,” he announced, disappearing through the automatic doors.
Beth sat in the car, breathing through another contraction, watching the entrance. A nurse emerged with a wheelchair, Gabriel jogging alongside her, and suddenly there were hands helping Beth out of the car, lowering her into the chair, wheeling her through doors that opened automatically as she approached.
Beth looked at her mother and smiled. “I love you, Mom,” she said, doing her best to hold back her tears.
The next hour was a blur of forms and questions and medical professionals. They took her blood pressure, checked her dilation, hooked her up to monitors that tracked the babies' heartbeats. Two heartbeats, strong and steady, filling the room with their rapid rhythm.
“You're at four centimeters,” the nurse announced. “Good progress. The babies are both doing well.”
“When will they be born?”
“Hard to say. Could be a few hours, could be longer. First-time mothers often take a while.” The nurse smiled kindly. “Try to rest between contractions. You're going to need your energy.”
Rest. Beth almost laughed. How was she supposed to rest when her body was being turned inside out, when every few minutes a wave of pain crashed over her, when two human beings were preparing to exit through a space that seemed impossibly small?
But she tried. She lay back against the pillows and closed her eyes and let the beeping of the monitors lull her into something like calm.
Gabriel sat beside her bed, holding her hand, his thumb rubbing circles on her palm.
“Your mom is making calls,” Gabriel said quietly. “She's updating everyone.”
“Michael?”
“He and Brea are on their way. They should be here within the hour.” Gabriel paused. “Christopher and Becca are still in Florida, but they're flying back tomorrow. They didn't want to miss meeting the babies.”
“They've been down there so long. House hunting.”
“Your mom said they found something. A fixer-upper on Captiva. They made an offer.”
Beth smiled despite her exhaustion. “That's wonderful. Chris has been wanting to get Summit Compass established in Florida for ages.”
“They'll tell you all about it when they get here.” Gabriel squeezed her hand. “For now, just focus on you. On the babies. Everything else can wait.”
Beth looked at Gabriel. His face was pale, his jaw tight, but his eyes were fixed on her with an intensity that made her heart ache.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Me? I'm not the one having twins.”
“But you look scared.”
“Terrified,” he admitted. “Absolutely terrified. But also...” He paused, searching for the word. “Grateful. That I get to be here for this. That you chose me.”
Another contraction hit, and Beth gripped his hand hard enough to leave marks. She breathed through it, riding the wave, feeling the pressure build and crest and finally recede. When it was over, she was sweating, her hair plastered to her forehead.
“How long has it been?” she asked.
