Chapter 22: Gavin
Time passes, as it does. The fall quarter begins, and I manage to start another class and keep my work hours up. Corabelle gets a little better. The sickness is mostly gone, and the baby kicks regularly now. This helps her, I know. Even though Finn kicked too and died anyway, it’s a reminder that he’s there.
That he’s coming.
They take Tina’s stitch out, but she doesn’t go into labor. In the end, the baby is late, and winds up being born on the same day as Corabelle’s parents arrive for Thanksgiving.
I head to the airport to pick them up, as Corabelle is up at the hospital.
I hope she’s handling things well. I pull into the cell phone lot and barely get the SUV in park before a message buzzes through. The Rothefords have their bags and are ready at the curb.
The gearshift goes right back into reverse. They don’t know Corabelle isn’t with me. They’ll figure it out soon enough.
I guess if my Dad did me any favors, it was to get me back in Deming and in Corabelle’s parents’ good graces before today. Because the way things were after her trip in the ocean, it was a little iffy whether they were ever going to really forgive me for ditching her in high school.
As it stands, when I park the SUV and pop the hatch, her mom gives me a huge hug and her dad claps me on the back. Of all the things that changed in the years since Finn, this counts as one of the good ones.
Her dad opens the front door then pulls back. “Where’s Corabelle?”
“Her friend had her baby this morning. She’s up at the hospital. We’re going to swing by and get her on the way back.”
“That’s wonderful!” Mrs. Rotheford says. “A boy or a girl?”
“A girl. Tiny little thing, but so is Tina.”
Mr. Rotheford holds the door for his wife, and she slides into the front passenger seat. “Corabelle was a bruiser. Almost nine pounds.”
I shut the hatch and come around. When I get in, we’re all quiet, and it feels like we’re all thinking the same thing. How big was Finn? Nobody says, and I feel a deep shame, as if I should know this detail by heart, but I don’t.
“Well,” Mr. Rotheford says, “is she still puking her guts out?”
“Arthur!” Mrs. Rotheford admonishes. “She says she is better. Is it true, Gavin?”
“Yeah, it sort of let up in the last few weeks. She’s put on a couple pounds, even.” Finally. She was scaring me a little, so thin with the belly poking out.
“That’s good news,” Mrs. Rotheford says. She smooths her skirt and straightens her sweater. “It’s chillier here than I expected for Southern California.”
“Just a little cold front,” I say. “It’ll be gone tomorrow.”
“I never know how to pack,” Mrs. Rotheford says.
“You have two suitcases!” Mr. Rotheford leans forward between the two seats.
“Oh, hush, you old grump,” she says. But she smiles at him. God, they are as corny as ever.
It’s late, the streetlights lighting the damp streets. It rained earlier, and the whole world seems washed clean. I pull onto the highway. Traffic is light, and the Rothefords chat quietly about random things until we pull up in front of the hospital.
Corabelle is outside the main entrance, sitting on a bench. Jenny is with her, bouncing Phoenix on her lap.
“Is that Corabelle’s funny friend, the one with the pink hair?” Mrs. Rotheford asks.
“Yeah,” I say. “She had a baby about nine months ago.”
“Adorable,” Mrs. Rotheford says, eyes fixed on the child.
Corabelle sees the car and hugs Jenny good-bye. Jenny heads back inside the hospital.
Mrs. Rotheford rolls down her window. “Would you like up here?” she asks.
“I’ll sit in back with Dad,” Corabelle says. She opens the door and scoots in next to her father.
“Look at that belly!” Mr. Rotheford says.
“You look lovely,” Mrs. Rotheford cuts in, sending a nasty glare at her husband. “How do you feel?”
“Fine!” she says. “Tina’s baby is like a little doll. Only six pounds!”
“Full term?” Mrs. Rotheford asks. She holds on to her seat belt strap as I head out of the parking lot.
“Past due,” Corabelle says. “Week late.”
“And still so small?” her mom asks.
“Tina is tiny.”
After that, everyone is quiet as we drive to the hotel where the Rothefords are staying. Our apartment only has one bedroom. Which we’ll have to fix before the baby gets too big. I guess he can sleep in our room. We’re three months out. We should probably buy some things.
We park and walk into the hotel together. Mr. Rotheford heads to the desk to check in.
“What time is the sonogram tomorrow?” her mom asks.
“We’ll pick you up at 9:30,” Corabelle says.
“You sure we shouldn’t get a rental?”
“Mom, you already gave us your car. Don’t rent another.” Corabelle’s face is tired. It’s been a long day for her.
“Okay, darling.”
I’m glad she’s on board with doing things Corabelle’s way. She’s about to see firsthand how hard a time Corabelle is having with the pregnancy and her fear.
We don’t stay long in the room. I need to get Corabelle home, make sure she’s eaten, and let her sleep. Tomorrow is a big day, again. It feels like every doctor’s appointment is full of angst, another cliffhanger in this pregnancy that already feels like it will never end.