Chapter 9: Trudy

"One more, Noelle. Big one. Right now."

I pushed with everything I had left.

My back arched off the bed. Somebody was shouting, and I realized it was me.

Dalton's arm was behind my shoulders, taking my weight.

"You've got her," he said into my ear. "You've got her, Noe. I'm right here."

"Don't let go."

"I'm not letting go. I'm not going anywhere. Push."

I pushed.

Something gave, and the pain broke in half, and then the room was filled with a thin, furious wail.

"Here she is," the doctor said. "Here's your girl."

They laid her on my chest wet and purple and screaming.

She had a dark fuzz of hair plastered to her head and two fists as big as walnuts.

She was so small.

I put my hand on her back, and she took a hitching breath and stopped crying.

"Hi," I whispered. "Hi, baby. Hi."

I looked up.

Dalton was crying.

I had seen him cry exactly twice, once at his father's funeral and once on the bathroom floor.

Now tears ran down into his beard and he made no move to wipe them away.

He didn't hide his face. He looked at our daughter with his mouth open.

"Look at her," he said. "Noe. Look at her."

"I am."

"She's perfect."

"She's five pounds," I said, laughing, and the laugh turned into a sob. "She's perfect."

He kissed my forehead and then he kissed the top of her head.

He stayed there with his lips against the dark fuzz and his hand on my shoulder, and I felt him shaking.

The nurses cleaned her, weighed her, and handed her back.

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