Page 100 of Sunset Beach
After several minutes had passed, Drue pulled into the parking lot of the midrise office building that Wendy pointed out. “Her office is on the fourth floor.”
Her face contorted again and she gasped and grabbed Drue’s arm. “Another cramp.”
Drue’s heart was pounding in her chest. She couldn’t think straight. “What should I do? Can you walk?”
Wendy nodded. “I think so.” She clutched Drue’s arm tighter. “I’m scared,” she whispered.
Drue pulled up to the curb, put the Bronco in park and jumped out. “Me too.”
A uniformed security guard marched up, his hand extended like a stopsign. “Ma’am? Did you see the yellow curb? This is a no-parking zone. You can’t—”
“Fuck off,” Drue said, opening the passenger door and taking Wendy’s hand. “This woman is four months pregnant and she’s having contractions. I’m taking her in to Dr. Dillard’s office. Unless you want her to bleed to death right here on your yellow curb?”
She dropped the keys into the speechless guard’s outstretched hand. “Just park it somewhere, okay?”
Wendy didn’t speak again until they were in the elevator. She was still clinging to Drue’s arm and leaning heavily against her. “They’re probably not contractions and I wasn’t going to bleed to death,” she said.
“He didn’t know that. And neither did I,” Drue replied. Her hands were shaking as she watched the lighted numbers on the control panel change during their agonizingly slow ascent. “Who puts an obstetrician’s office on the fourth floor?” she demanded. “How many babies have been delivered in this thing?”
Drue had never been good at waiting, especially in spaces that were dubbed waiting rooms, which, for her, had an unfortunate association with all the hours she’d spent in rooms like this one during Sherri’s final weeks of illness.
“Hi,” she said, approaching the reception desk. “I brought Wendy Campbell in about thirty minutes ago? Can you tell me what’s going on?”
The clerk looked up from her computer screen. “Sorry. Patient privacy regulations.”
Drue leaned across the high polished wooden countertop. “I’m not some random stranger. Mrs. Campbell is my stepmother, and I’m really concerned about her and the baby. Look, you don’t have to say anything. Just nod yes or no. Is she okay?”
The clerk glanced around, then, pursing her lips, gave an almost imperceptible nod.
“Good,” Drue said. “Thanks.”
Brice rushed into the waiting room fifteen minutes later.
“Dad.” Drue jumped up.
“Where is she?” Brice asked. “How is she?”
“In with the doctor. They won’t tell me anything.”
She’d skimmed the pages of a year’s worth ofParentsmagazine and was starting to have strong opinions on co-sleeping, toilet training and caring for cracked nipples when the door to the back office finally opened an hour later and Brice emerged with Wendy on his arm.
“She’s fine,” Brice said, before Drue had a chance to ask. “The baby’s fine too.”
Wendy offered her a wan smile. “See? Crisis averted.”
“The doctor says it’s premature labor,” Brice said. “Not that unusual in a higher-risk pregnancy.”
“The baby’s heartbeat is strong, and he’s perfect,” Wendy added.
“So what happens now?” Drue asked, following them out into the hallway. “I mean, how do you stop a baby from coming?”
“Bed rest,” Brice said. “I’m taking her home now.”
“Do you want me to come too? I could, I don’t know, hang out or boil water or whatever.”
“No,” Wendy and Brice said in unison.
“But thanks,” Wendy said, softening. “I’m just going to go to bed and hibernate for a while.”
