“I am serious,” he replies with dignity, and I feel a welling of affection for him. “Very serious.”
“An apocalypse? Really? Are there going to be zombies?” She laughs and reaches for her wine.
Mike presses his lips together, then responds in the same dignified tone, “No, I don’t anticipate zombies. This isn’t some Marvel movie. The actual definition of an apocalypse is from the Greek for revelation or disclosure, and it now has come to mean a world-altering, cataclysmic event.” He manages to smile briefly. “Not necessarily with zombies.”
Diana has the grace to look a little abashed. “Okay, and what will this world-altering event be?”
Mike raises his eyebrows. “A world war? The loss of global supply chains, leading to widespread famine that’s exacerbated by extreme droughts and floods caused by climate change? The bottom falling out of the markets—it practically already has—so money becomes useless?” He leans forward, his eyes alight as Diana listens with obvious interest. “Most people have no idea how to survive for so much as a day without modern conveniences—a car, a fridge, a grocery store, the internet. If any of the things I just mentioned happened, and I truly believe it’s likelier day by day, ninety-five percent of the people in this country would be utterly lost.”
“Mom,” Rose whispers, “do you really think those things are likely to happen?”
“Not anytime soon, Rose,” I say, then chirp brightly, “how about dessert?”
I ask Rose to get the ice cream while Bethany clears plates, and I get the pie. I’m hoping the activity will put an end to the apocalyptic talk, but when I come back to the table, Ben, William, and Josh are all talking about the best way to butcher a hog—not exactly polite dinnertime conversation, and my husband and son at least have no idea what they’re talking about, anyway—and Mike and Diana are deep in conversation, their heads bent together. I hear Mike say something about zombies, and Diana lets out a trill of laughter.
Hmm. Interesting. Maybe it’s going to be a case of opposites attract, after all.
The rest of the evening goes smoothly enough, Mike and Diana seeming to have agreed to an amicable truce, and it’s after eleven by the time they toddle off together. They both walked, and Mike kindly offers to see Diana home. Ben drives Bethany back to Miss Barbara’s.
The other kids and my dad have gone to get ready for bed, and Josh is clearing the rest of the table while I am stacking plates in the dishwasher, when I feel a tug low down. I’ve been having little twinges all evening, but this feels different. I straighten, one hand on my bump, only to feel a gush of fluid between my legs.
My waters have just broken.
Chapter twenty
“Ican’t be labor.”
It’s the fourth time I’ve said it since we started for the hospital in Buckholt. After my waters broke, Josh was adamant that we head straight there.
“It’s an hour to Buckholt, Abby, and your last labor was only two. We don’t have time to waste.”
“But I’m not due for three weeks!” I cried. “And my babies are always late.”
“Not this one, it seems,” Josh replied, remarkably cheerful about it all. He’s always been good in a crisis. I, panicker that I am, have not been.
I stared at him in growing alarm. “But I’m notready.”
“Well, this little one is.”
Alerted by the noise—that is, my near-shrieking—the kids trailed back into the kitchen, looking only mildly curious.
“What’s going on?” William asked.
“Mom, are you okay?” Jack was surprisingly solicitous. He must have seen the look of panic on my face, or maybe he noticed my soaked skirt.
“Your mother is in labor,” Josh announced. “We need to head to the hospital. William, you’re in charge, okay? We’ll keep you updated by text.”
All three of my children’s mouths dropped open. Even though the arrival of this child has been relatively imminent for some time, it is still coming as a shock to us all. Ababy. There really is going to be a baby.
“I can’t be in labor,” I say yet again as Josh drives north. We’ve been in the car for twenty minutes, and the twinges are coming steadily. They’re contractions, I know they are, but I still can’t believe it.
“Abby, why is this so hard to believe?” Josh asks, a lilt of humor in his voice. “You’re eight and a half months pregnant—”
“Eight and one week,” I correct him. “And I’ve never been early.”
Josh rolls his eyes. “I feel like we’ve had this conversation several times already in just the last fifteen minutes. There’s a first time for everything.”
I rest one hand on my bump and stare out the window. It’s past midnight, the roads are empty, the sky inky dark. I can’t believe I’m in labor. It’s the only thought running through my mind like ticker tape. In a few hours—maybe less—I’m going to give birth. I’m going to have ababy.
