Part 10 (1/2)

”Now, Craig, you're not being fair-” Barbara began, but her husband didn't let her finish.

”The girl tried to kill herself, Barb. She-”

”Craig, please!” Barbara broke in, glancing pointedly toward Jenny, who was watching her father eagerly.

Craig hesitated, then grinned crookedly at his daughter. ”Looks like you're about done with your dinner. Why don't you go on in and watch television?”

”I want to hear hear,” Jenny objected.

”And I don't don't want you to,” Barbara said firmly. Jenny glanced from one parent to another, and realized there would be no appeal. want you to,” Barbara said firmly. Jenny glanced from one parent to another, and realized there would be no appeal.

”Well, it's not fair,” fair,” she complained, moving sulkily toward the door. ”When I'm a grown-up, I'm going to let kids hear everything!” She slammed the door on the way out, but neither of her parents responded. Craig, in fact, was already facing Michael, his expression serious. she complained, moving sulkily toward the door. ”When I'm a grown-up, I'm going to let kids hear everything!” She slammed the door on the way out, but neither of her parents responded. Craig, in fact, was already facing Michael, his expression serious.

”Kelly Anderson decided she was pregnant a month ago, and tried to kill herself,” he said. ”The fact of the matter was that she wasn't pregnant at all. She simply imagined the whole thing.”

Barbara took a deep breath, hating her husband's habit of making judgments before he had all the facts. And she hated even more that he only did it with his family, never with his clients. ”Craig, that's not fair. We don't know exactly what happened-”

Craig held up a warning hand. ”I know enough that I'm sure she's not the kind of girl I want Michael mixed up with. She's got a lot of problems, and from what Carl Anderson tells me, she always has. There are plenty of perfectly nice girls around here who-”

”Great!” Barbara exploded. ”Of course she has problems! Why do you think Ted and Mary brought her down here? Did it ever occur to you that maybe Carl told us about her problems in the hope that we might be able to help? help? But the way you're talking, they might as well go back to Atlanta. You haven't even met the poor girl, and you're already condemning her. It seems to me the least we can do is give her a chance!” But the way you're talking, they might as well go back to Atlanta. You haven't even met the poor girl, and you're already condemning her. It seems to me the least we can do is give her a chance!”

Craig Sheffield glared at his wife. ”Spoken like a true social worker! All the chances in the world for everyone else. But what about your own son? You really want him exposed to some fruitcake punker from Atlanta? You don't have any idea what she might be up to! From what I've heard, it sounds like she's some kind of druggie, and if she thought she was pregnant, she must be a tramp!”

The argument between his parents raged on. Certain they'd forgotten all about him, Michael stood up from the table, picked up the dishes from his place and took them into the kitchen. He started to go back into the dining room to finish clearing the table but changed his mind.

Neither of his parents had ever met Kelly, yet here they were arguing about her. Well, the h.e.l.l with them. He'd make up his own mind.

He went out the back door, crossed the lawn, then walked out onto the Sheffields' dock where two boats were tied up. One, a small runabout with an inboard engine, he was forbidden to use unless his father was with him. The other, a rowboat powered by a small outboard, was his to use anytime he wanted. He untied it, jumped in, and pushed it away from the dock. He pulled the starter rope twice as the boat drifted out into the ca.n.a.l, then the engine caught. He gunned the engine, speeding away from the house. As he turned into another ca.n.a.l, he wondered if his parents had even noticed he was gone.

In the delivery room of the small clinic, Warren Phillips glanced up at-the face of his patient. Her hair, long and blond, lay in damp tangles, half covering her right eye. Despite the air conditioner, it was hot in the operating room, and Phillips wiped the perspiration from his brow with the sleeve of his greens. Amelie's labor had been going on all afternoon. An hour ago he'd had her brought to the delivery room. But only now did he finally get a glimpse of the baby's head.

”Push, Amelie,” he urged. ”We're getting there. Just a few more minutes.”

Amelie strained, battling the fatigue that seemed to have drained the last of her energy.

”C-Cain't,” she sighed.

”Shh,” the nurse standing next to her head said, wiping at Amelie's brow with a damp cloth. ”Don't try to talk, honey. Just concentrate on the baby.”

Another violent contraction seized Amelie's body, and it felt like someone had shoved a hot poker into her belly.

It hurt too much. It wasn't supposed to hurt this much, was it? Another contraction seized her, and a wave of nausea pa.s.sed over her.

She couldn't throw up. Not now.

She concentrated on the baby, and tried to push like the nurse had showed her.

”Get the needle ready,” she heard Dr. Phillips saying. He was saying it soft, hoping she wouldn't hear, but one thing she had was good ears. ”We're in trouble.”

She wanted to scream out, to beg him not to let anything happen to her baby, but then another awful spasm of pain struck her, and though a sound rose from her throat, there were no words. Instead, it was a piercing scream of agony.

”It's all right,” the nurse told her. ”You just let it out, honey. Just let it out.”

She screamed again, and once more her body felt as if it was being torn apart. And then, oddly, she felt something moving, moving quickly, slipping away from her.

The pain eased.

”The needle,” she heard Dr. Phillips say again, and could tell by the sound of his voice that something was wrong. Then he spoke once more. ”Tie off the cord. Quick.” His voice rose. ”Come on, nurse! Now!”

A moment later she heard the nurse speak.

”Is he all right, Dr. Phillips?”

Silence.

An unending silence, a silence that seemed to go on forever.

Then the sound of the doctor's voice.

”He's not making it...”

His voice went on, but Amelie wasn't listening. She knew what the words meant.

Her baby had died.

After all these months, her baby had died.

But it couldn't have happened.

It wasn't right.

It wasn't dead! It wasn't! She wouldn't let it be!

A new kind of pain washed over her. Not a physical pain this time, but a pain that seemed to engulf her whole being.

”Nooo!” she screamed. ”No! I want my baby. Give me my baby!”

The nurse-whose name she couldn't even remember-tried to comfort her.

”It's too late, honey,” she whispered. ”He's gone. Your baby's gone, but you're going to be all right.”

”No!” Amelie screamed again. ”I want my baby! Give me my baby!” By sheer force of will she sat up on the birthing table, her eyes darting around, searching for her baby.

But except for herself, Dr. Phillips, and the nurse, the delivery room was empty.

”I'm sorry,” Dr. Phillips said gently, coming around to take her hand and ease her back down onto the table. ”There was nothing we could do. Even last week, if we'd taken it, we couldn't have saved it. It's not your fault, Amelie. Just remember that. There's nothing you could have done, and nothing I could have done. It's just one of those things that happen sometimes.”

Amelie listened to him numbly, heard him offer her a shot, something to make her sleep. She shook her head.