Chapter 23: A Perfect Match

The ambulance ride from Lake Forest to Eastbrook was the longest of my life.

Timothy did not let go of my hand once.

"It's thirty-four weeks," I said, as the ceiling lights slid over us. "That's early. Is that too early?"

"The paramedic said she's fine."

"The paramedic said it's a good sign that I'm yelling."

"It is." He pushed the hair off my forehead. "Yell."

At the hospital a nurse I didn't know checked me and nodded.

Then a doctor I knew came in at a walk.

It was the transplant doctor who had told me Milo had a year.

She wore a gown over her sweater and carried a white cooler.

A nurse took it from her and set it on a steel table by the wall.

"Cord blood kit," she said. "Everything's ready. Rosemary, you do your part, and I'll do mine."

"She's early."

"She's early and she's healthy." The doctor put her hand on my knee. "Early is fine. Early we can work with."

The contractions came hard after that.

I had given birth to Milo with my sister gripping my arm and no one else in the room.

Now Timothy sat beside the bed in his shirt sleeves and said nothing foolish.

When the next one rose he took my hand in both of his.

"Count with me," he said.

"I'm not a three-year-old."

"You're a person in pain." His voice was low and steady. "One."

I breathed.

"Two. Three. Four."

The pain crested and rolled over and began to ebb.

"Good," he said. "That's thunder. It's far away. It can't come in."

I laughed and then groaned.

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