WORTHY, Part 2 (17 page)

I opened my eyes and tried to cry out, but the only sound I could make was a strangled grunt. It was evening, the air cooling and color purpling, and I knew the sun was already down. I felt a thrill of fear even though I knew there wasn’t anything to fear but my own idiocy.

I’d fallen into the ravine, and I was in pain.

“You all right in there?” I asked my baby, patting my stomach and wincing. It was bruised, and I think I had a broken rib or two. I was lucky I wasn’t dead. My pounding head told me I’d hit it upon my crash landing.

I dragged myself into a sitting position, grimacing as the trees spun around me. I needed to get home and assess my damage. I needed to eat dinner and to rest.

But first I needed to get up.

My ankle was badly sprained, I realized, as I gained my feet and tried not to vomit from how dizzy I was. I needed to get home. I needed to get back to the cottage. That was a safe place for my baby.

“Hold on,” I told it. “Mama’s going to get you home. You don’t worry about a thing, all right? You let your mama take care of everything.”

It was going to be slow going with my ankle, and the ribs and head didn’t help. To add insult to injury, my jeans were wet at the crotch. I’d probably hit the ground so hard that I’d pissed myself. Wonderful.

I set out, going from one tree to the next, holding onto each passing trunk for support. If there’d been anyone in the woods to see me, they probably would’ve thought I was drunk, weaving through the trees like a lunatic.

Thankfully, there was no one to witness my shame but my baby.

“I’m sorry if I gave you a scare,” I said. “I’m going to fix all of this. Promise.”

I’d get that doctor out here as soon as possible, I decided. I’d pay him extra if he made an emergency trip outside of business hours. Money could usually get people to do things they normally wouldn’t. For the right price, I could get anyone out to the cottage.

I comforted myself with thoughts and plans on my painful journey, aware that I couldn’t stop and rest for fear of passing out, intent on my plan to get back to the cottage and get myself comfortable for my baby’s sake. In spite of all my pain, it was my wet jeans that gave me the greatest discomfort. They were sticky and made me feel irritable. If I didn’t know better, I would’ve thought that they were getting wetter with each shuffling step.

“When you’re outside of Mama’s body and out here in this big, beautiful world,” I began, gritting my teeth as my ankle rolled over a stone painfully, “you’re going to learn about lots of things. You’ll learn what foods you like and what foods you don’t. You’ll learn how to sit up and laugh and walk and run. And you’ll learn how to use the potty instead of your diaper. There will be mistakes, of course. Mistakes are how you learn things. And even after you’ve learned from those mistakes, you’ll sometimes make them again. Take right now, for example. Your mama’s been potty trained for many, many years. And yet she still pissed her pants like a little child after just a little fall. How do you like that? Isn’t your mama silly?”

I began to shiver and hoped it wasn’t shock. Surely I wasn’t injured that badly. The air was just chilly, that was it. The air was chilly, and I was in wet jeans. I looked forward to getting back to the cottage, turning every single light on, stripping off my ruined clothing, and taking the hottest shower that I could stomach.

“And after we get all cleaned up, your mama’s going to get a doctor to come out and visit us,” I told the baby, not pausing in my slow march back toward the clearing. God, I’d run far and fast. I didn’t think I’d ever run like that before. I guessed it was to be expected when my life was ending right before my eyes.

“The best thing, though, is while we’re waiting for the doctor, Mama’s going to fix a nice supper,” I grunted, clutching at a tree as a cramp nearly ripped me in two. It had emanated from deep inside my belly, and I had no explanation for it. Could it have been some sort of shockwave from my broken ribs? There was no way to tell. I needed a doctor. I forced myself forward.

“My biggest regret, baby, is that you’re not going to get to meet Mama’s parents,” I said, the words being the only thing urging me forward. I had to be close to the cottage by now. I just had to be. “I wish you could’ve met your grandparents, baby. They would’ve loved you so much and spoiled you so rotten. I wouldn’t have been able to deal with you, make you mind, nothing. You would’ve been so loved by them. But they’re watching over you and me in heaven. I know they are, and you’ll know they are, too. I’m going to tell you all about them.”

I gave a long moan at the next cramp. I hated it. It hurt so much, much more than my pounding head or my aching ankle.

“Your grandparents were good people,” I groaned, pushing myself to continue. I remembered feeling like I couldn’t go on when I was hauling Jonathan back to the cottage and reminded myself that I could do this. I had made this journey under duress before. I could do it again. “Your grandparents wanted to protect everyone else from the bad people of the world. They were kind of like superheroes, really, both of them swooping in to save the day whenever there was a bad person. You’ll understand better one day. They were both activists, which means that they acted on things they believed in. Their company — the place where all the superheroes gathered — helped defend the weak and defenseless. The bad guys were these big corporations who walked all over people like giants who didn’t know where they were going. Your grandparents always set them right. They always saved the day.”

Thinking about my parents in any way, shape, or form was usually so painful, but right now, it was giving me comfort to talk about it. I’d never even told Jonathan what they’d done for a living. For whatever reason, it was important for me to tell my child just what kind of people they were.

“Your grandparents were saints,” I said, coming to the edge of the woods with no small degree of relief. “That’s why I know they’re in heaven. They would never let anything bad happen to anyone. You know what? I come from them, and you come from me. We’re a part of that goodness, you and I. We’re going to be just fine.”

The cottage was in sight. I knew that my gait and appearance now resembled a zombie more than a drunk, and was thankful there wasn’t anyone around to scream at a monster staggering toward a little cottage in the woods.

“Look at that,” I said, grinning and feeling a little light-headed. “We’re home now. Just like I told you. We’re going to get all cleaned up and see a doctor. We’re going to get some food in our bellies. I’m hungry, aren’t you?”

I wasn’t hungry at all, but I knew I needed to eat for the baby’s sake. I reached the front door, flung it open, and turned on the light.

Red. That was the first color I saw.

Red, red blood.

I hadn’t pissed my pants when I’d fallen. I’d started bleeding, and I’d been bleeding this entire time.

“Don’t panic,” I told the baby. “It’s nothing.”

My panic gave me new strength. I got my phone and my purse, which still contained the car keys. I was thankful that Jonathan hadn’t insisted on collecting his stolen car. It was my only way out. My only way to safety.

Another cramp hit me hard, and I had to hang onto the doorframe to ride it out. It was all I could do not to collapse on the floor, weeping with fear and pain.

“Don’t you worry,” I said, heading straight back out the door. “Mama’s not going to wait for a doctor. Mama’s going to go right to the source.”

Chicago was too far away for what remained in the convertible’s gas tank. I sat down heavily in the driver’s seat, the blood making a sick splashing sound as I did so. I’d probably just ruined the interior and giggled a little bit. Jonathan would be super pissed.

The convertible sputtered to a start, and I sagged a little. There was less than a quarter tank of gas left. It was entirely possible that I wouldn’t even make it to the nearest small town — let alone Chicago.

“You know what?” I said, reversing carefully and pulling out onto the gravel road. “All I need to do is get to somewhere where I have phone reception. That’s the most important thing, baby. Once we have that, the doctors will come to us.”

I just had to get somewhere to call 9-1-1.

I went as fast as I dared on the gravel road, the bits of rocks and pebbles flying up at the passage of the tires and dinging against the undercarriage of the convertible. When the wheel shook so hard I was afraid I’d spin out of control, I slowed down a little.

“That’s another thing you’re going to learn when you’re outside of your mama and exploring this big, beautiful world,” I said, fighting to keep my eyes open. “I’m going to teach you to drive, but it’s probably not going to be in this car. I think I’ve messed up the insides. You’re going to learn how to drive, and then you’re going to go places, baby. You’re going to go anyplace you want to go. You’re going to do anything you want to do.”

Another cramp nearly rent me in two, and I nearly swerved off the road in response to the pain. I felt like I was fighting to stay awake, and I knew now it was because I’d lost so much blood. It was starting to scare me.

“Don’t be afraid,” I commanded both my child and myself. “We’re going to get through this. This is just a bump in the road. Do we have any bars yet?”

I checked my phone and cursed viciously. We were still far enough from civilization to be in the dead zone of reception.

“That’s all right,” I said, feigning cheerfulness. “That just means we get to drive this beautiful car a little bit farther.”

I just didn’t know how much farther we were going to get on this amount of gas. I felt like I was sitting in a bowl of warm water, and I didn’t dare look down. I didn’t want to see how much blood had collected. I was pretty sure I’d pass out.

I caught myself nodding again and again, my head dipping down and the car listing across the road. It was dangerous, but I needed to keep going. Stopping to rest or, God forbid, falling asleep, would probably mean the deaths of both of us.

“Let’s sing a song to stay awake,” I said, my voice hoarse from so much talking. “Do you have a favorite one?” My vision swam, and I clutched at the wheel. “Of course you don’t. You’re just a baby. Let me see if I can remember the words to my favorite song.”

But as I searched my brain for lyrics, my head nodded and stayed down. God, it felt so good just to give in, to give up. I didn’t need to drive anymore. I didn’t have to do this.

Then, something inside me shifted. I was so sure that I was feeling my baby move inside me that I jerked my head up — and jerked the wheel to the side just in time to avoid crashing into an enormous tree head on.

I tried to thank my child for saving us both, but my jerk of the wheel across the loose gravel of the road spun us out of control. I felt dizzy and horrified as I realized we were airborne — and then upside down — the smell of hot metal and rock making me grit my teeth. I hit my head again and went away to someplace different for a little while, serenaded by the sounds of scraping and tumbling until we finally came to rest right side up.

The roof was crumpled above me, but there was still space for me to be. I was thankful for that, thankful that I hadn’t been crushed to death or flung out of the car.

“Did you see that?” I asked my baby. “Stuck the landing.”

There was so much blood everywhere. So much blood.

I needed help, I realized. I needed a doctor. There was too much blood, and I knew the car was totaled.

With the last strength I possessed, for the sake of both my life and the life growing inside of my body, I made a desperate grab for my phone. The screen was cracked, but it was still powered on — with two bars of service, to boot.

Thanking whichever gods were still interested in my continued existence, I dialed the first person I could think of: Ash Martin. Sure, he was in cosmetic surgery, but he was still a doctor. He was a doctor, and the last friend I had left. He would know what to do.

“Hi, Michelle!” he gushed. “I’m so glad to hear from you! What’s been going on? Are we going to have another lunch date, or what?”