Chapter 14: Thirty-Three Weeks

Rafe carried me out the back door of the shop with the letters crushed against my chest under my father's jacket.

The vice president held the door.

Nobody else tried to stop us, and Boone was still shouting when it swung shut.

Rafe's truck was two streets away, and he ran the whole alley with me.

"Put me down, I can walk," I said.

"You can't."

"I'm thirty-three weeks, Rafe."

"I know what you are."

He set me on the bench seat, and he buckled me in with shaking hands.

The first real contraction hit on Route 9.

I gripped the door handle and made a sound I didn't know I owned.

"Breathe," Rafe said.

"Don't tell me to breathe."

"Okay."

"Drive faster."

"Okay."

He drove with both hands on the wheel and his jaw set, and he did not look at me, because he was afraid of what he'd do if he did.

At the second light he took his phone out and handed it to me.

"Call June."

"Why?"

"Because she's your mother-in-law, and she's the only person in Marlow Gap who has ever been on your side."

I took the phone.

June answered on the second ring, wide awake, and I said the words with my teeth together.

"I'm in labor, and I'm early, and I'm going to Mercy General."

"I'm in the truck," June said, and the line went dead.

The hospital doors opened in a blur of white light.

A nurse put me in a chair, and a second nurse took one look at my face and said, "Straight to labor and delivery, now."

"The baby's early," I said. "She's not supposed to come for seven more weeks."

"We'll see about that," the nurse said, kindly.

The doctor who examined me had tired eyes and a calm voice.

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