Chapter 20: Thirty-Four Weeks

"Say it again," Stuart said, already pulling on his trousers.

"My water broke."

"How do you know?"

"The sheet is wet, and I can feel it still going."

He stood in the middle of the room with one leg in and one leg out.

"Right," he said. "Right. Hospital."

"St. Brendan's. It's twelve minutes."

"I'll call an ambulance."

"The car is faster."

"Willa, you cannot sit in a car."

"Stuart," I said. "Put your other leg in."

He did.

The first contraction came as he lifted me off the bed, and it was a hard band that closed around my whole middle.

I gripped his arm and breathed through it.

"That's early," he said.

"No. That's right on time."

The ambulance reached the building in six minutes.

The medic strapped me to a stretcher and looked at my belly.

"Twins?" he said.

"Thirty-four weeks."

"Good number," he said. "Good number to have."

Stuart climbed in beside me and would not let go of my hand.

He kept it through the lift and the corridors and the double doors, and a nurse had to tell him twice to give it back.

At St. Brendan's they took me to a room with a bright lamp and a team of five.

The same doctor who had said both heartbeats held, on the first night after the stairs, came in tying her mask.

"Mrs. Ashcroft," she said.

"Lothrop."

"Miss Lothrop. You've given us a long wait."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. Let's meet them."

The labor ran through the night.

It was a hard, loud, humiliating thing with no dignity in it, and I swore at the ceiling.

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