Necessary Lies (39 page)

“Call an ambulance,” she said.

“I can’t let her go to the hospital! Can you come over? Please? I’ll explain it then, but right now I’m scared.”

Again, that silence, and I waited, clutching the phone.

“I’ll be over in a few minutes,” she said, and I breathed out a sigh of relief. I wouldn’t be handling this mess alone any longer.

“Thank you,” I said, but she’d already hung up the phone.

I went back in the guest room with a cool, damp washcloth and I pressed it to Ivy’s forehead. She barely had time to catch her breath between the pains now.

“My mother’s coming over,” I said.

“No! She’ll—”

“We need some help,” I said.

“She’ll make me go to the hospital!”

I shook my head. “I won’t let that happen,” I said, although I knew if Mom and I couldn’t handle this, we’d have no choice but to call an ambulance. “I’ll make sure—”

“They fired you! You can’t make sure of anything! I don’t want your mother to come.”

“Ivy, just concentrate on having your baby, please. She’ll help us, honey. I promise.”

She clapped her hands over her ears. “Shut up, shut up, shut up!” she cried.

I did. I wiped her forehead and let her squeeze my hand when the next pain came, but I didn’t say a word. Instead, I listened for the sound of my mother’s car in the driveway. I prayed she would hurry up. I knew next to nothing about childbirth, but my mother’d had two babies. At least that was something.

She must have driven up while Ivy was screaming, because I didn’t hear another sound until she called “Hello!” from downstairs.

“We’re up here!” I shouted. “In the guest room!”

“No,”
Ivy pleaded. “I’m afraid.”

“It’ll be all right,” I said, listening to my mother climb the stairs.

She reached the doorway and stood there a moment, taking in the scene. She looked wide awake. The only sign that I’d awakened her a few short minutes ago was her lack of rouge and lipstick and her uncombed graying hair. Still, she was a beautiful sight.

“This is Ivy,” I said to her. “Ivy, this is—”

“I don’t trust her,” Ivy whispered in a voice my mother couldn’t possibly miss.

My mother glanced at me, then back at Ivy. “You can trust me,” she said as she walked into the room. She had the large first-aid kit with her, the one we’d kept in our pantry all my life for our cuts and scraped knees. I wondered what was in there that could possibly help us deliver a baby.

Ivy let out a long groan and I knew she’d begin screaming again any second. My mother touched my shoulder. “I need to talk to you, Jane,” she said.

“No!” Ivy grabbed my hand. “Don’t leave me.”

I’d been sitting on the edge of the bed, but now got to my feet. “Let me explain everything to her,” I said to Ivy. “I’ll be right outside the door. Two minutes. I promise.” I had to pry her hand from mine, while she whimpered, too tired to fight me.

Mom and I walked into the hallway and I shut the door behind me.

“We need to call an ambulance right now,” my mother said firmly. She started toward my bedroom and the phone, but I grabbed her arm.

“No!” I said. “We can’t.”

She stopped walking and gave me a quizzical look. “What’s going on, Jane?” she asked. “What does this have to do with you being fired … and why were you fired? And why on earth haven’t you taken her to the hospital? She can’t have a baby here!”

“They plan to sterilize her after the baby is born, and she doesn’t want to be sterilized, so I brought her here,” I said. “I know a lawyer I thought could help, but he’s out of town. I didn’t think she’d have the baby this early.”

My mother stared at me for a moment. “They wouldn’t sterilize her,” she said. “Not a fifteen-year-old girl. That’s ridiculous.”

“Yes they would. I know it for a fact. They did it to her sister at fifteen, and she’s not the only one I’ve seen. Please, Mom. Please help me. You’ve had babies. You must—”

“I had twilight sleep with both you and Teresa,” she said. “I went to sleep and when I woke up, there was a baby. I have no more idea how to deliver a baby than you do.”

“Mom,”
I pleaded. “Please. We have to try.”

“This is crazy, Jane.”

“I promised her I wouldn’t let anything happen to her.” I could hear Ivy crying through the door. “She’s so scared.”

My mother looked at the door of the guest room as if she could see Ivy inside it, and I knew she was giving in. “Well,” she said with a sigh, “they always say to boil water, so you go do that while I get to know her. Does Robert have any medical books here?”

“Yes! In the den. I’ll go look.” I gave her a quick hug. “Thank you!” I said, as I headed for the stairs.

“We’ll need scissors or a sharp knife to cut the cord,” she called after me. “Put them in the boiling water. And we’ll need towels. Do you have a plastic shower curtain in your bathroom up here?”

“Yes!” I called over my shoulder.

“I’ll put that under her.”

“Okay.” I turned to look up at her. “Thank you, Mom,” I said again, but she shook her head.

“I’m as big a fool as you are,” she said.

I ran downstairs, my heart thumping hard. What if Ivy died because she wasn’t in the hospital? What if one more girl died because of my mistake? I didn’t dare think about that now.

In the kitchen, I pulled a pot from the cupboard and dropped it on the floor, my hands were trembling so hard. I picked the pot up and started filling it with water, marveling that my mother was able to think clearly at a time like this. I was so glad she was here.

I put the water on to boil, then ran into the den and scanned the titles of Robert’s medical books until I found one on obstetrics. Back in the kitchen, I set the book on the counter and paged through it, trying to make sense of the technical language. It was full of all the things that could go wrong, and scanning the book did nothing to calm my nerves. We needed to tie off the cord, the book said, so I cut two lengths of kitchen string and added them to the pot of water with the knife. We also needed a syringe, and while the water heated, I checked Robert’s medical bag in the foyer closet. I found two syringes in the bag and carried the tiny blue one back to the kitchen. From upstairs, Ivy’s agonized cries were so close together that they became one long extended scream and I was afraid something was going terribly wrong. I knew labor could be excruciating, but I’d had no idea it was this bad. I thought of that twilight sleep she could have if she was in the hospital, and I felt guilty I was depriving her of that.

I wasn’t sure how long to boil the knife and string. I wanted to boil them for hours because I was scared to go back upstairs, but I couldn’t let my mother handle this alone. I left everything in the water for fifteen minutes, then lifted them out with tongs and put them in a bowl—that hadn’t been sterilized, I realized too late—and carried them and the book upstairs.

I walked into the room to find Ivy red-faced and sweaty. She moaned and cried, barely noticing me as she focused on what was happening to her body. Her nightgown was hiked to her waist, her knees wide apart, and my mother sat on the bed at her feet, coaching her to push. Mom looked up at me.

“I can see the baby’s head,” she said quietly. The anxiety in her voice was impossible to miss. “It looks like it’s coming, but then it goes back in.”

I handed the bowl to her, afraid to look at what was happening between Ivy’s legs. I’d always been squeamish, and my mother knew it.

“Maybe I can find something about that in this book.” I started to open the book with my trembling fingers.

“No time for that,” my mother said, nodding toward the head of the bed. “Help her push, Jane. Encourage her.”

I put the book on the dresser, then moved to the head of the bed and sat on the very edge. Ivy was raising her head and shoulders as if she were trying to put more force into her pushing, and I put my arm beneath her shoulders to help.

“Don’t touch me!” she shouted, and I quickly pulled my arm away. She looked up at the ceiling, droplets of sweat on her forehead. “Help!” she cried. “Please, somebody help!”

I had the feeling she didn’t know what she was saying, she was in such distress. So I tried again, putting my arm beneath her shoulders, and this time she didn’t fight me. “You’re doing really well, Ivy,” I said, my cheek against her damp temple. She made ragged, primal sounds—grunts and moans that came from some part of her I never knew existed.

“I see the head again,” my mother said. “Push, Ivy!”

Ivy tried her hardest, but I could tell she was exhausted. I looked at my mother, who gave me a small shake of her head. “Disappeared,” she said. Then she mouthed the word to me:
ambulance.

As if Ivy heard the word, she gave a sudden, ferocious push.

“Yes!” my mother said excitedly. “Yes, Ivy! Like that!”

I propped Ivy up as she pushed and pushed. I was sweaty and winded myself after a few minutes. I could only imagine her exhaustion. But it was working.

“The baby’s head is coming!” my mother said. “I think it’s going to … the head is out!”

Ivy let out a long wail—half scream, half groan—and her baby nearly flew into my mother’s hands.

“Oh my God!” I started to cry, awestruck and relieved.

“It’s a girl!” my mother said.

Ivy lay back against the pillow, sobbing and shaking, and I watched while my mother used a towel to wipe blood from the limp little baby girl, who was a horrible, sickly pale blue.
Oh God.
We weren’t out of the woods yet. I watched my mother’s lips move in a silent prayer as she reached for the syringe and pressed it to the baby’s nose. I held my breath, waiting, waiting.

“Where is she?” Ivy tried to raise her head to look, but she seemed too tired to manage and I didn’t help her, afraid for her to see her lifeless daughter.

Suddenly, though, the baby gave a sharp cry. My mother gasped, and she and I looked at each other, both of us letting out our breath in relief. Already, I could see the baby’s skin was beginning to lose its bluish hue, and she batted one of her arms against the towel. Her tiny, perfect fingers put a lump in my throat.

I leaned over to whisper to Ivy. “She’s all right,” I said. “She’s beautiful.”

My mother wrapped the baby, still attached to the umbilical cord, in a fresh towel, then leaned over to rest her in Ivy’s arms. Ivy was trembling all over, and I helped her hold the tiny bundle. The baby’s face peeked out, eyes open and searching, pale little eyebrows raised, lips so perfect they looked as if they belonged on a porcelain doll.

“I love you,” Ivy said to her. “I love you so much.”

I looked up to see my mother using another of the towels to wipe tears from her own eyes. I smiled at her, full to overflowing with gratitude and admiration. This long, long night was over, and as the sunrise painted the sky outside pink, I knew that every one of us in that room had been forever changed.

50

Ivy

“Happy five-hour birthday to your sweet baby,” Jane said, handing my baby to me across the bed. “Got her?”

“Uh-huh.” I pulled the baby to me. She was wrapped in another towel and light as air. I was so tired I was dizzy, but I didn’t want to sleep no more. I fell asleep off and on all morning since she was born. Now all I wanted was to stare at her. She was teeny tiny and wrinkly and bald and she didn’t open her eyes but a few times, but I loved her more than anything. She was my Mary. I knew when Jane’s mother said it was a girl, that would be her name. A close enough name to remember my sister by, but not so close it would always make people think of the terrible thing my sister done to herself.

I put little kisses all over Mary’s head, then looked up at Jane. “Your mama is real nice,” I said.

“She really is wonderful.” Jane sat down on the other side of the bed.

“She said I was brave.” I laughed, but real quiet so I wouldn’t wake up Mary. “Bet you ain’t never heard a brave person scream the whole night through.”

“Mom said that when I was born, they gave her some medicine that let her sort of sleep through the labor,” Jane said, “so you really
were
brave to do it without anything to help the pain.”

Mary Ella said she didn’t remember nothing about having Baby William, so I guessed she got some of that medicine, too. I wished I had it, but now it didn’t matter. It was over and I had my baby girl and didn’t have no surgery, neither. Jane’s mama’d washed my baby and asked me if I wanted to nurse her or give her the bottle. Baby William had trouble with the bottle because he didn’t suck right, and I remembered Nurse Ann saying he never would of made it at the breast. Besides, I didn’t know nobody who ever did that breast nursing, so I said bottle. So, right now Jane’s mama was out buying diapers and formula and bottles, and Mary was wearing one of the diapers Jane cut up from a towel.

“You’re going to be an excellent mother,” Jane said to me now.

I looked down at Mary’s pale eyelashes where they fluttered on her cheeks. She wasn’t going to look a thing like Henry Allen, I didn’t think. I wished he could see her. “I want to be a good mama more than anything,” I said, “but I want my baby to have her daddy, too.” I got choked up, saying that.

“Don’t think about that right now.” Jane patted my arm. “Just think about Mary. About how beautiful and perfect she is. We’ll have time to worry about her father later.” She stood up from the bed. “Are you all right for now?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said. “We’re fine.”

She went downstairs and I sat watching Mary and thinking about her future. It looked pretty bad, I had to admit. I just didn’t want anything to hurt her. I wondered if my own mama’d felt this way, watching me after I was born. Did she think about how she’d never let anything hurt me? I only hoped I did a better job of it than she did.

51

Jane

At two in the afternoon, I made my exhausted mother a late lunch. I sat across the breakfast nook table from her and watched her eat the eggs and bacon in silence. Her eyelids were heavy and she chewed slowly. She’d called the library that morning to say she wasn’t feeling well and wouldn’t be in and I was grateful. I felt bad about dragging her into this turmoil I’d created, but I needed her here. Taking care of Ivy had been one thing. Taking care of Ivy and a newborn baby, quite another.