“Cody,” she calls out.
I hang my arm over my closed eyelids. “Turn the light off?” I grumble.
“Sorry,” she says, and then I’m able to look over at her, backlit in the doorway. She’s still a little fuzzy as my eyes adjust.
She’s standing just past the doorframe, wearing sweatpants and a white tank top; her round stomach is staring me down.
“What’s up?” I ask.
“I think something’s wrong.”
That gets me up. “What’s wrong?” My voice is dry but full of concern; my heart skips a second before it thumps quicker.
“I didn’t feel her much today, and I’ve been trying to get her to move since I went to bed…but she won’t.”
For some reason, I’m relieved it’s not any of those preeclampsia signs.
“So, maybe she’s sleeping?”
“They told me I should be counting her kicks, and she always moves when I drink ice water but this time she didn’t.”
“Okay.” I look at the clock. It’s eleven thirty at night. “What do you need me to do?”
“I need you to take me to the hospital,” she says, and my heart starts pounding again.
As I get out of bed, a hint of annoyance hits because I was asleep and I’m tired, but I give myself a reality check. What right do I have to be annoyed with getting up and having to do this for her? She’s the one who’s scared, dealing with the weight of having this baby alone, surrounded by us, people she doesn’t really know. She doesn’t want to be taking a trip to the hospital either but doesn’t have a choice. What’s she supposed to do? Ignore her motherly instinct?
I want her to trust her gut, and if I have to take her to the hospital just to be sent home because of a false alarm, so be it.
I grab my phone, throw on some clothes, grab the bags she’s had packed for nearly a week now, and out the door we go.
I help her up into my truck, and just before I shut the door, I see her face. It’s that same look she had the first time I met her—absolutely terrified.
I don’t mention it, just close the door gently and walk around to my side.
I throw the truck in gear and start down the driveway. Karissa’s silent, one hand curled protectively around her belly like she’s trying to hold the baby still.
“You feel her yet?”
She shakes her head before she answers. “No.”
My jaw clenches, my body too, but I try to relax. “We’ll get there quick. I have a lead foot.”
“I know,” she says, but doesn’t follow it with a laugh like I do.
I glance toward Jesse and Ella’s place on the way out. There’s not a single light on and Jesse’s truck is the only vehicle in the driveway.
“Ella’s on shift,” I say.
“Good.”
We don’t say much else.
But five minutes later, I hear a quiet cry.
Without thinking, I reach over and take her hand. It’s a little awkward at first, like I’m not sure if I’m allowed, but I don’t let go. I push past it, hoping she knows it’s not about me. It’s about letting her know she’s not alone right now.
“God, please keep this baby safe. Steady Karissa’s heart and quiet her fears. Fill her with Your peace. And if this is a false alarm, make that clear to her. Let her know she’s okay…that they’re both okay. Amen.”
