excitement just trying to bubble to the surface. She went to the telephone on the kitchen wall, walking in a kind of tentative way, as if she expected something to grab her at every step. I bounced around her like a rubber ball, anxious to help, trying not to get in the way, scared to death she’d have the baby here.
Angel punched Shelby’s work number, waited for an answer, all the while that inner-directed look on her face.
I heard a squawk from the other end of the line.
“Jason Arlington, that you? This is Angel. I need to talk to Shelby,” Angel said.
I could hear the tiny voice squawk some more.
“Yes, you can sound the siren,” Angel said, sounding as if she was holding on to her patience by a very taut leash. The siren’s wail was audible from where I was standing.
“Shelby’s crew think it’s real funny that he’s going to be a father for the first time,” Angel explained. “They set up this siren to call him if he’s far out in the plant when I phone to tell him the baby’s on the way.” Her face tightened again, and her fingers clenched the receiver until they turned white. Then, gradually, she relaxed. She smiled into the telephone. Her husband was on the other end.
“Shelby,” Angel said. “I’m going to leave right now to drive back into town. I’m at Martin and Roe’s. Meet me at our house.”
This time I could hear Shelby’s words. “You stay right there,” he bellowed. “I’ll come get you. Don’t you try to drive!”
To my amazement, Angel said, “All right.”
I think Shelby was startled, too, because there was silence on the other end of the line. Then he said, “I’ll be right there,” and the line went dead.
I caught a glimpse of Rory Brown stepping quietly down the hall. Angel’s back was turned, and frankly I don’t think she’d have cared if a real leopard went through the house, at that point.
I went to the foot of the stairs and called Martin, who came down with a newly awake Hayden. Martin tried not to look dismayed when I explained the situation. He handed me the baby immediately.
Angel seemed to want to remain standing, so I tried not to fuss over her. I put a bottle in the microwave, and Angel said, “That’s not a safe way to heat bottles.”
“What?”
“Sometimes they have hot spots if you heat them that way. That’s what the baby book said.”
Everyone’s a critic. “So far, we haven’t had any problem,” I said. “I’m testing it before I give it to him.”
Angel shrugged, as if she’d done her best and it wasn’t her fault if I was misguided. I shook the bottle vigorously, tested the formula on my arm, and sat down to feed Hayden, who had just let out a few preliminary “eh” noises.
Angel did the face-clenching routine again. This time she propped herself against the wall.
“Are they getting worse?” I asked, while Martin looked as if he wished he were on the moon.
“Maybe I should call the ambulance,” he suggested.
I noticed he didn’t suggest taking Angel into town himself. I had a sneaking suspicion he was worried Angel’s water would break in his Mercedes.
“No,” she said, shaking her head. Martin tried not to look relieved. “I know this is going to take hours. I’m just trying to get used to the feeling. It’s like a clamp. Then there’s the release.
Then, along after a while comes the next clamp.”
“Does it hurt?”
“Not yet, but it’s on a roll downhill,” Angel said. “I hope Shelby doesn’t pass out in the labor room. He got sick when I broke my leg a few years ago.”
A battered car sped up our driveway, and Shelby, tall and pockmarked and burly with muscle, was out of the vehicle and in our kitchen door before you could say “Having a baby.” His dark hair, liberally streaked with gray, was dented all around where his hard hat had rested, and his Fu Manchu mustache was going in all directions, as if he’d rubbed his hands over it.
Wordlessly, Shelby shook hands with Martin,
Angel punched Shelby’s work number, waited for an answer, all the while that inner-directed look on her face.
I heard a squawk from the other end of the line.
“Jason Arlington, that you? This is Angel. I need to talk to Shelby,” Angel said.
I could hear the tiny voice squawk some more.
“Yes, you can sound the siren,” Angel said, sounding as if she was holding on to her patience by a very taut leash. The siren’s wail was audible from where I was standing.
“Shelby’s crew think it’s real funny that he’s going to be a father for the first time,” Angel explained. “They set up this siren to call him if he’s far out in the plant when I phone to tell him the baby’s on the way.” Her face tightened again, and her fingers clenched the receiver until they turned white. Then, gradually, she relaxed. She smiled into the telephone. Her husband was on the other end.
“Shelby,” Angel said. “I’m going to leave right now to drive back into town. I’m at Martin and Roe’s. Meet me at our house.”
This time I could hear Shelby’s words. “You stay right there,” he bellowed. “I’ll come get you. Don’t you try to drive!”
To my amazement, Angel said, “All right.”
I think Shelby was startled, too, because there was silence on the other end of the line. Then he said, “I’ll be right there,” and the line went dead.
I caught a glimpse of Rory Brown stepping quietly down the hall. Angel’s back was turned, and frankly I don’t think she’d have cared if a real leopard went through the house, at that point.
I went to the foot of the stairs and called Martin, who came down with a newly awake Hayden. Martin tried not to look dismayed when I explained the situation. He handed me the baby immediately.
Angel seemed to want to remain standing, so I tried not to fuss over her. I put a bottle in the microwave, and Angel said, “That’s not a safe way to heat bottles.”
“What?”
“Sometimes they have hot spots if you heat them that way. That’s what the baby book said.”
Everyone’s a critic. “So far, we haven’t had any problem,” I said. “I’m testing it before I give it to him.”
Angel shrugged, as if she’d done her best and it wasn’t her fault if I was misguided. I shook the bottle vigorously, tested the formula on my arm, and sat down to feed Hayden, who had just let out a few preliminary “eh” noises.
Angel did the face-clenching routine again. This time she propped herself against the wall.
“Are they getting worse?” I asked, while Martin looked as if he wished he were on the moon.
“Maybe I should call the ambulance,” he suggested.
I noticed he didn’t suggest taking Angel into town himself. I had a sneaking suspicion he was worried Angel’s water would break in his Mercedes.
“No,” she said, shaking her head. Martin tried not to look relieved. “I know this is going to take hours. I’m just trying to get used to the feeling. It’s like a clamp. Then there’s the release.
Then, along after a while comes the next clamp.”
“Does it hurt?”
“Not yet, but it’s on a roll downhill,” Angel said. “I hope Shelby doesn’t pass out in the labor room. He got sick when I broke my leg a few years ago.”
A battered car sped up our driveway, and Shelby, tall and pockmarked and burly with muscle, was out of the vehicle and in our kitchen door before you could say “Having a baby.” His dark hair, liberally streaked with gray, was dented all around where his hard hat had rested, and his Fu Manchu mustache was going in all directions, as if he’d rubbed his hands over it.
Wordlessly, Shelby shook hands with Martin,
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