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Driven

By Sara Davison

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Holden bolted upright at the sound of a loud groan. “Chris?”
His wife was curled on her side, facing him. Her eyes were screwed tightly shut and both her hands were pressed to her royal blue T-shirt, over the place where her belly rounded above the top of her flannel pajama bottoms.
“What is it? Are you having contractions?”
Without opening her eyes, she nodded, slightly. “Really bad.” The words came out in a breathless whisper.
It’s too early. Holden threw off the covers. “I’ll take you to the hospital.”
She shot out a hand and grasped his arm. “No. I can’t move. Call 911.”
Holden snatched the cell phone off his bedside table. With a trembling finger, he punched in the three numbers. “Come on, come on, come on.” When she groaned again, he reached behind him and grabbed his wife’s hand.
It seemed minutes before a calm, cool voice came over the phone. “911. What is the nature of your emergency?”
He described Christina’s condition quickly and gave the woman their address and the front door code. Not bothering to listen to her reply, he tossed the phone onto the table and searched his wife’s face. His chest clenched. Her eyes were open now, but in the dim, early morning light, they were wild, unfocused. Her white-knuckled grip on his fingers nearly sent him to his knees beside the bed. Although he was ready to drop to them anyway, and beg God to spare his wife and child.
“It’s too soon.” She gasped out the words.
“I know, love.” Holden stroked her wrist with his thumb, fighting to keep the panic out of his voice. As she was only thirty weeks along, his wife’s intense contractions were the last thing he thought he’d be dealing with today. For once, he’d have been happy if all he’d had to face was some kind of domestic dispute or even the never-ending pile of paperwork stacked on his desk at Child Services headquarters in downtown Toronto. “It’s going to be okay.”
The words he hadn’t meant to say sent remorse coursing through him. He shouldn’t make a promise he had no idea if he could keep. God forgive me. Still, the wildness in her eyes eased and the fingers clutching his loosened their grip enough that blood began to flow again, so he couldn’t bring himself to feel too repentant. Please make everything be okay so that I didn’t just lie to my wife.
For the eighteenth time in the last ten minutes, he shot a glance toward the hallway. Where was the ambulance? They only lived a few minutes from the hospital—how long could it take the EMTs to get there? He pressed his lips together to keep the angry questions from spewing out of his mouth and attempted to offer his wife a reassuring smile. Judging by the look on her face, the attempt fell short. Vastly short. “Please Chris, let me take you to the hospital.” Holden tried to gently extricate his fingers from hers so he could get up, but she tightened her grip again. He hid a wince.
“It’s too late. I won’t make it. Where—?”
Her question was cut off by the shrill wail of an alarm cutting through the early-morning silence of their neighborhood. “Holden. I can’t lose him. Please …” Pain contorted her face as another contraction gripped her.
He had no idea what to do. God, show me how to help her. More words of reassurance rose in his throat. He’ll be fine. You’ll be fine. We won’t lose him. He bit them back as he brushed the long auburn hair, damp with sweat, away from her forehead. “Chris, listen to me.” The doorbell rang. Seconds later the door creaked open. Holden called out, “We’re upstairs.” He cupped his wife’s flushed cheek as boots thudded on the wooden stairway. “I’ll be with you every second. We’ll do this together. Okay?”
She nodded and let go of his hand as two EMTs, a man and a woman, burst into the room. They carried a stretcher that they lifted onto its wheels next to the bed. The woman rounded it and stopped at the side of the bed. “Ma’am, we’re going to get you to the hospital.”
Christina shook her head against the pillow. “No time.” She pushed the words out through clenched teeth.
Holden’s heart pounded hard against his ribs. Another contraction? What had it been, thirty seconds? A minute? At Lamaze class they’d told them to go to the hospital when they were five minutes apart. How had this come on so fast?
The female EMT took her blood pressure then rested a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’ll ride with you and if anything happens, we can take care of it on the way.” She squeezed Christina’s shoulder and nodded at her partner.
The tension in Holden’s muscles eased slightly at the confidence in the woman’s voice. Maybe everything was going to be okay. At least the professionals were here now.
The paramedics moved his wife from the bed to the stretcher in one quick movement. Holden followed them as they wheeled the bed to the top of the stairs, pressed the button to release the legs and swing them into place, and carried it down. He passed them at the bottom and whipped open the door, holding it until they had passed through. He grabbed Christina’s coat from the hook behind the door and shoved his feet into his tennis shoes before slamming the door behind him and hurrying along the front walk. A brisk autumn wind swept past him, sending leaves swirling around his calves. Holden caught up with the gurney and tossed Christina’s coat over her, trying to protect her from the chill in the air. From the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of several of their neighbors peering out red-flashing-light-splashed windows.
Holden didn’t ask before hauling himself into the ambulance after they’d slid the stretcher inside and the woman had climbed in.
The male EMT didn’t comment, or try to stop him. Which was wise. Enough adrenaline coursed through Holden that if the man had tried to keep him from his wife and child, Holden might have put him in the back of an ambulance.
Holden’s entire body shook as he settled on the bench across from the woman and reached for Christina’s hand. Her fingers were as cold as a … He slammed up a wall in his brain before it could allow the word corpse to fully form. He wouldn’t associate that image with his wife, not even for a second.
Sirens wailed again as the driver squealed out of the driveway in reverse, then shot forward in the direction of the hospital. Through the rear window, Holden caught a glimpse of Mrs. Barrows, self-appointed keeper of the neighborhood’s affairs, stepping out onto her porch, clutching a lavender-colored robe to her throat. He tried to smile at her to staunch the flow of grim speculation on their situation that she’d spread around the street before they could return, but his mouth refused to cooperate.
Let them talk. He tore his gaze from the window to study Christina. Her eyes were screwed tightly shut and her lips had gone thin and white. Holden glanced over at the EMT, hoping for more reassurance, but with Christina’s eyes closed, the woman had lowered her guard. Concern was etched across her face. After attaching a clothespin type of monitor to one of his wife’s fingers, the EMT grabbed a starched white sheet from a cubby bolted to the wall of the vehicle and shook it open. Holden snatched Christina’s coat so the EMT could spread the sheet over her before moving to the foot of the stretcher. She fired questions at Holden as she examined his wife. How many weeks along was she? When had the contractions started? How far apart were they? He had no idea what he said in response, if his answers were accurate or even intelligible. He kept his eyes fastened on the woman’s face. Whatever she was seeing only deepened the concern that lined her forehead. She lowered the sheet and turned her head to speak into the mic on her shoulder. “Hurry, Darryl.”
Through static, Holden caught the words, “Almost there.”
Christina moaned. The sound ripped the air from Holden’s lungs, but he forced himself to draw in a ragged breath. It wouldn’t help his wife any if he passed out. The grip on his hand had weakened. Had the pain lessened, or was she losing strength? Holden swallowed hard and cupped her face again. She shifted her head slightly on the rounded mound at the head of the stretcher, until she faced him. Her eyelids fluttered for a few seconds before opening. The terror in her hazel eyes sent fresh panic coursing through him. God help her. Please.
“Something’s wrong.”
Everything’s wrong. He didn’t voice the thought. “We’re almost at the hospital.”
He could see in her eyes that those weren’t the words she’d been looking for, but she nodded slightly.
The ambulance careened into the hospital parking lot and screeched to a stop under the awning in front of the emergency room. The EMT leapt to the doors and flung them open. Her partner appeared in the opening and the two of them slid the stretcher out. Holden jumped from the vehicle after them and jogged beside the stretcher as the automatic doors slid open and they wheeled Christina through.
In seconds, they were swarmed by men and women in gowns and masks. His wife disappeared through swinging doors. Holden pushed through after her and followed the horde into a room. A gloved hand appeared before his face and he stepped back. The door swung shut in front of him and he moved forward to peer through the small, round window, clutching Christina’s coat to his chest. The faint aroma of the floral scent she wore drifted on the air, and he took his first deep breath in what felt like hours.
Holden watched, pulse pounding in his neck, as people worked frantically on his wife, calling for instruments, reaching for towels. A crimson stain spread across the crisp white sheet at Christina’s feet and the hallway spun around Holden. Blindly, he groped beside him for the wall and pressed splayed fingers across the smooth, cool surface of it, attempting to stay on his feet.
God. God. God. It was the only word that would emerge from the fog swirling around in his mind.
The woman working at the end of the stretcher, facing him, straightened, clutching a tiny, red-smeared body in both hands.
My son. He held his breath, shoving the door open a couple of inches with his shoe so he could hear the tiny wail when it came, but there was only a sudden, deafening silence in the room.
The woman’s eyes met Holden’s through the glass.
And he knew, with an absolute certainty that gripped his gut like a vise, that he was not going to be able to keep the promise he had made to his wife.

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