and looked in at the formal dining room and, beyond it, the living room. Two decades ago, they’d been emptied of all furnishings except for the upright piano that stood where it always had. Arden had been surprised to find it still here, but she supposed that it had remained for the same reason Lisa hadn’t taken it with them when they vacated. How does one cart off something that large?
“I suppose the rooms upstairs are as empty as these,” Lisa remarked. “Doesn’t appear as though you’ve been in here at all.” She gave the staircase a sweeping glance, then turned back into the kitchen. “Where are you sleeping?”
Arden nodded toward the room off the kitchen. Lisa gave the partially open door a push with the knuckle of her index finger.
It was a square and featureless space with a square and featureless window. Their mother, Marjorie, had used it as a catch-all to store Christmas decorations, castoff clothing bound for Goodwill, their dad’s rarely used golf clubs, a portable sewing machine, and such.
When Arden moved in, she’d decided to set up a temporary bedroom in here rather than use her old room upstairs, saving herself from having to go up and down the stairs as her pregnancy advanced and she grew more ungainly.
That was no longer an issue.
When the first pain gripped her, Arden dropped the apple she’d been testing and splayed her hands over her distended abdomen. Although the sharp and unexpected contraction robbed her of breath, she gave a cry of fright.
“What’s the matter, honey?”
She turned toward a voice filled with concern. She registered a pleasant face framed by gray hair, a blue-and-white-striped blouse, and kindly eyes. Then another pain seized her, meaner than the one before. Her knees buckled.
“Oh, goodness. Your water broke. You’re going into labor.”
“No! I can’t be. It’s too early.”
“How far along are you?”
“It’s too early!” Her voice went shrill with panic. “Call 911. Please.”
Lisa was commenting on her drab, makeshift bedroom. “I simply don’t understand why you chose to come back here and live like this.”
Arden had furnished the room with a twin bed, a nightstand and lamp, and a chest of drawers that she had assembled herself over the course of two days. She remembered feeling a great sense of accomplishment and had imagined herself assembling a crib soon.
The mirror that Arden had mounted on the wall above the chest reflected Lisa’s dismay as she came back around, shaking her head slowly and regarding Arden as she would an indecipherable ancient transcript.
“Is there anything to drink?”
Without waiting for an answer, Lisa returned to the kitchen and checked inside the refrigerator. “Good. Diet Coke. Or would you rather have something else? Does the ice maker work?”
Arden tried to keep up with Lisa’s brisk thought processes, but her mind was fettered by vivid recollections.
“You’ll be all right. Lie back. Take deep breaths.”
A young woman in yoga attire had responded to the older lady’s shout for help. She eased Arden down until she was reclining in the supporting arms of another stranger who’d taken up position behind her. Kneeling at her side, the young woman continued to speak to her in a calm and soothing manner. But nothing she’d said helped, not with the pain that assailed her, not with the despair that was equally intense.
Desperate, she shoved her hands between her thighs in an effort to hold inside the life that her body was prematurely trying to expel.
Lisa located the drinking glasses in the cabinet in which they’d always been and poured them each a drink. Bringing them to the table with her, she sat down across from Arden.
She sipped from her glass, then reached out and covered Arden’s hand with her own. “Baby sister.”
Lisa whispered the endearment with affection, caring, and concern. All of which Arden knew to be genuine. Lisa was as baffled by her life choices as she was annoyed.
She said, “From the moment you called me yesterday, I’ve been in a tizzy. I don’t know how much you remember of last evening, but when I got to the hospital, you were in hysterics one minute and near catatonic the next. I was beside myself. Then this morning, trying to get you out of there…”
“What’s your name?”
At her side and bending over her, the EMT had replaced the yoga-clad woman. He was young and fresh-faced.
“Arden Maxwell.”
“Arden, we’re going to take care of you, okay? How far along are you?”
“Twenty-two weeks.”
His partner, who looked like a career bodybuilder, was taking her vitals.