Page 43 of Cascade

“I guess that’s why Ma and Dad’s house is dark and locked up,” he says.

Once I get Opal tucked into her Prius with a large coffee and a promise to update her hourly if she does the same, I give Fletch a tutorial for how to become Oak Creek’s most elusive and beloved tradition. “You’re going to have to come around more after this,” I tell him. “Gotta update those naughty and nice lists all year for the kids and all that.”

Fletcher rolls his eyes and stuffs his feet into the black boots while I adjust his fake beard. “Ok, well you’ve got this and I gotta meet Aneke, so we will reconvene later.”

“You still didn’t tell me who that woman is or why she’s in your house with a cat who obviously lives here,” he says, hoisting a decorative red sack over one shoulder. “Fuck, I always forget how cold it is here.”

“Yeah, we get winter here, dude. Every year. Anyway, I gotta go.”

I scoop up Oscar and gently put him in his carrier. I managed to get Aneke on the phone and explain what happened, and she thinks she can help Oscar here in town. It’s faster to jog to Main Street than drive and try to park around all the people heading into town for candle light church services and whatnot, so Oscar and I head off toward the vet clinic.

“Thank you so much for meeting me here,” I tell her, pulling her in for a one-armed hug as I hand off the cat carrier. “I don’t want to be in your way, but I promised Opal I’d stick with him every second. So. Here I am.”

“Hey,” she says. “No worries. I’m doing this for Opalandfor Abigail. And Hunter, too. You’ve all been so good to me, Arch.” She gets to work listening to Oscar’s vital signs and checking him out. I try to stay out of her way, but close enough so Oscar doesn’t feel alone. I am, after all, the human he seems to like the most. Oscar keeps pawing at his face, which makes Aneke frown.

“That can’t be good,” I try to joke and lighten the mood, but she remains quiet as she hurries around the clinic.

“I’m going to draw some blood and see how much of the idioblasts are in his system,” she says. Within a few minutes, she’s got Oscar hooked up to an IV and has started washing out his mouth with some sort of solution she says will help get the stuff out of his cheeks and lips. I feel like I’m going to cry, seeing how still he lies while she works on him. This is so unlike Oscar, and I’m overcome by how strongly attached I feel to this little guy.

“We’re going to monitor him for awhile,” she says, “But I think he’s going to be ok once he barfs all that yucky stuff out.” She looks at her watch and gets Oscar situated with different sensors. She pats my arm. “Now we hurry up and wait.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Opal

"NOW WE HURRY up and wait,” I say to Hunter as he paces around Abigail’s room. Abigail’s contractions began soon after her water broke, and by the time I arrived at the hospital, she was progressing along really nicely all on her own. She looks small and still, lying on her left side in the bed and breathing slowly. She’s got a string of beads clutched in one hand, the blessings from her shower that all the women in her life had given to her for just this moment.

Abigail’s blood pressure is actually lower than it has been for weeks, and I smile while I go over her options with her. She can’t get out of bed and move during labor like I know she wanted to, but I had the staff bring her a peanut shaped ball she can put between her legs while she lies on one side. “You can rock your hips and move your back if you want,” I say, rolling a tennis ball on her lower back.

Abigail’s mother comes in the room for a bit at her request, and reminds her that she and each of her brothers took just a few hours to come out once Mrs. Baker’s contractions began. Abigail breathes long and slow and groans a bit before she turns to Hunter and says, “Babe, I need the drugs.”

I call for the attending anesthesiologist to come in. “I know this isn’t what you planned for,” I whisper. “You’re doing the best you can with the information we have right now,” I reassure them both. “In this moment, everyone is safe and comfortable.”

The OB comes in to check on us awhile later, and seems pleased with Abigail’s progress. “She’s at 6 already?” I nod and hold a finger to my lips. Abigail and Hunter have their foreheads pressed together through a contraction. She can still feel the intensity of her body’s work through the epidural, and she grips Hunter’s hands with white knuckles. “Not too long now,” I say.

Twenty minutes later, I’m gloved up and squatting at the foot of the bed, easing a slippery baby boy Earthside. Abigail drops back to the bed, spent and glowing, and Hunter emits an uncharacteristic whoop of joy. I rock back on my heels, giving them a moment to enjoy the fresh miracle on Abigail’s chest.

These are the moments I live for. The pockets of joy and happiness I file away and draw upon when I feel twitchy and anxious, when the darkness of my childhood comes rearing up to gnaw at me. When I have a good day, it’s because I start my morning remembering times like this.

I’m lost in thought when Hunter suddenly grabs my hands and starts dancing around the room. “Opal, you saved them,” he says, tears running down his face. “You kept my family safe!” He pulls me in to a tight hug and Abigail says, quietly, “She definitely did.”

I feel like I didn’t do much. Especially since she’s been at the hospital, the obstetric team has really brought Abigail over the finish line, and I open my mouth to say so, when Hunter shushes me. “You keptmecalm. Do you know how unusual that is? I feel like I need to hire you to assist me through 100 percent of my future ordeals.”

Abigail squeals in delight as her son latches on to her breast in his first attempts at nursing. Even a few weeks early, the little guy is wide awake and sucks voraciously. The nurse attempts to pull the baby for his weight and measurements, but I place a hand on her shoulder to delay her. Those assessments can wait.

Hunter is back at his wife’s bedside, looking on in awe as his tiny son tastes his first meal. “Can we go with Louis,” he whispers, and Abigail nods. Hunter grins at me. “For Louis Pasteur. You know, the famous biologist?”

I do know. And hearing the name of the famed vaccine inventor reminds me that I haven’t been checking in on Oscar. “Excuse me for just a minute,” I say, but the Crawfords are in their own world.

I duck into a dimly lit corner of the room and check for my phone. It’s 11pm, still Christmas Eve. I dial up Archer and he answers right away.

“Precious!” He and I talk over top of each other, asking how everything is going and then, laughing, both saying everything is fine. “You first, babe.” His voice is echoing strangely, so I don’t think he is home.

“Abigail had the baby,” I whisper. “Louis. They’re calling him Louie.” I look over and see the nurse is weighing and measuring him. “We’re going to check her blood pressure and likely continue the magnesium drip, so she will be a little out of it for Christmas this year.”

“My brother has a kid named Louis,” Archer breathes. “That’s amazing. Hey, so Oscar is going to be fine. He hadn’t ingested much of the paper white and he puked most of it up. Aneke says I can take him home in like a half hour.”

“Really?” I sink to the ground, finally feeling the heavy weight of my fear for Oscar, for what could have happened. “I feel so guilty, Archer.” I start to cry. “I should have known about the paper whites. Most plants are poisonous for pets…”

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