First, it was replaced by silence and then by her horrifying cries.
His gut clenched, and it felt like every muscle in his body tensed.
Harsh sobs drowned out everything except the sound of his beating heart.
He broke out in a sweat.
Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.
“In simple terms, Summer, we’re looking at slow effacement of the cervix. Your labor has slowed down.” The doctor squeezed her hand. “Looks like you’re in for a long haul.”
“I don’t want a Caesarean,” she wailed.
“Easy,” the nurse murmured. “We’re not there yet.”
Summer was grateful when the doctor spoke in a calm and reassuring tone. She was jumpy enough without adding more problems.
“Quite right. There are things we can do to help things along. The baby is fine,” she assured her. “Big and fine.”
“What’s next?”
The nurse answered. “We’re going to get you up and moving. Maybe go for a walk in the hallway.”
Everything she knew about long labor popped up in her mind. As long as the baby wasn’t in distress, it helped to move around and hydrate.
They didn’t give her time to think. After her next contraction, the nurses urged her to her feet. They walked back and forth in her room. With each contraction, she’d bend over and clutch a large pillow on the bed. The nurses rubbed her back and offered encouragement.
She stopped watching the wall clock and didn’t care what time it was.
Walking when urged, drinking whatever they put in a cup, and quietly sobbing from the effort, Summer held on as long as she could. Crumbling inside and unable to take much more, they put her back in bed, gave her oxygen, and strapped on a fetal monitor.
Somewhere around her sixteenth hour of labor, she transitioned to active, hard labor. The contractions lasted longer, came closer together, and were so painful she wasn’t sure she’d survive.
The urge to push took her by surprise.
“This is the home stretch. You’re fully dilated, and she’s ready to make her debut. Are you still with me, Summer?”
She didn’t know. The world was sharp but hazy. Her senses felt disconnected. It was as if everything was operating separately. The nurses spoke quietly. Machines beeped. Her mouth tasted like dirt. The hair on her head hurt. She couldn’t feel her feet.
Somehow she cooperated with each instruction and directive. A nurse sat by her head and narrated what was happening. They’d moved her into a partially upright position, and things started moving quickly.
Pushing, resting, and crying, Summer gave it her all. The moment before her baby burst into the world, she sobbed for Arnie.
Time stood still.
One moment, she was alone in the world, and the next, at nine fourteen to be exact, she was a mother with a beautiful, healthy baby girl to look after, protect, and love with all her might.
When they placed the baby on her chest for their first skin-to-skin bonding moment, she was stunned by how much the eight-pound, six-ounce child looked like her father. She had Arnie’s lips and nose. Only time would tell if she also shared his baby blue eyes.
A vise of warmth squeezed her heart. Love like she never imagined filled her to the point of bursting.
The baby Summer and her golden Adonis had made was beautiful and wondrous.
“Oh, Arnie,” she murmured.
A nurse standing nearby touched Summer’s hand where it rested on the baby’s back. “Is that her name? Ari?”
She didn’t bother to correct the nurse. Not when a name for the beautiful child in her arms appeared in her mind. She knew it was perfect and smiled at the friendly face who asked the question.
“Her name is Arianne. Ari for short,” she explained.
“Arianne Leigh. That’s a lovely name for a beautiful baby girl, who, by the way, scored a perfect ten on the Apgar test.
“Of course, she did.” Summer giggled. “My daughter is a perfect ten.”
The nurse smiled. “Happy day of birth, Ari. May the seventh of October prove an auspicious day in the years ahead.”
After hours of heart palpitations, uncomfortable visions, and the fear he was losing his mind, Arnie threw in the towel and did something he knew would have consequences.
First rule of the psychic club—don’t use your skills for evil.
Second rule—don’t get cocky.
Third rule—never use what you’ve been taught for personal gain.
He was trampling on rules two and three but didn’t give a fuck. He’d answer for the transgression later. Right now, he needed some sort of clarity.
Making a silent vow to call Dr. Ortoma sooner than later, he threw off all restraints and