Page 3 of Ghosts, Ghouls, and Growls
Fish twitches an ear as she speeds my way.Bizzy, is it true?
“I think so,” I call out, and in less than three seconds flat, Fish, Sherlock, Gatsby, and Cinnamon begin racing in circles and barking in a panic all their own. And all four of them ring out in a choir ofIt’s time! It’s time! Tiny hooman alert on the horizon!
“Tiny human alert is right,” I say, twice as panicked. “Now if only I can figure out which direction to move in next without falling over or giving birth on a beach.”
Mom spins my way with a crazed look in her eyes. “Bizzy Baker Wilder, you are not allowed to give birth on this beach, young lady.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I call out while giving her a mock salute.
Honestly, though, if anything can keep me from doing so, it’s a reprimand from my mother. I can’t help it. It’s ingrained in me to bea good girl, and not a contraction on earth is going to change that. I hope.
“Car keys!” Jasper pats his pockets frantically like a man searching for his last brain cell. “Where are?—”
“In your hand,” I point out, because apparently, impending fatherhood has temporarily short-circuited his observation skills.
He looks down at his clenched fist. “Right. Hospital. We need to go to the hospital.”
“That’s generally where babies are born in this century, yes,” I agree, surprisingly calm once again despite the fact that I’m about to push an entire human being out of my body. “Unless you’d prefer I defy my mother and deliver right here on the beach with snickerdoodles as our only medical supplies and seagulls as witnesses.”
That gets him moving with the speed of someone who’s just remembered that beaches are not optimal birthing locations. Before I know it, I’m escorted—half carried, really—to our newly purchased minivan that we bought specifically for this moment, while Emmie promises to take the pets to her place and meet us at the hospital.
Mom and Georgie insist on following us, already arguing about who can drive there the fastest, which is terrifying for multiple reasons.
And just like that, the contractions start coming in fast and hot—and have I mentioned with a lot of PAIN that no one adequately prepared me for despite nine months of nonexistent warnings?
The sunset blurs past the minivan window as Jasper drives like we’re in a high-speed chase, muttering under his breath about speed limits and hospital routes.
“Breathe, Bizzy,” he reminds me, reaching over to squeeze my hand at a red light.
“I am breathing,” I assure him through gritted teeth. “It’s kind of a non-negotiable activity.” Or at least I pray it is.
“Right. Right.” His knuckles are white on the steering wheel. “Are you in pain? How far apart are the contractions? Should I call ahead for reservations? Is there something else I should be doing? Should I order a pizza?”
I laugh despite the fact my stomach is contracting at Mach 5. “Jasper Wilder, homicide detective extraordinaire, undone by a baby. Who would’ve thought?”
On second thought, I’m feeling rather undone right about now, too.
A pizza does sound nice.
Heaven help—we’re about to have the baby!
CHAPTER 2
The next few hours blur together like a bad dream involving fluorescent lights, beeping machines, and medical professionals who keep telling me to just breathe while I’m pretty sure a tiny human is trying to karate chop their way out of my body. And how I wish it would already.
Cider Cove General’s maternity ward transforms into controlled chaos that would make a Black Friday sale look organized. Nurses appear and disappear like they’re playing some sort of medical hide-and-seek, doctors pop in to check my progress with the enthusiasm of someone inspecting a broken appliance—that they didn’t break, but they have to fix anyway—and I’m pretty sure more people have seen my lady parts today than in the entire rest of my life combined. At this point, I should probably start charging admission.
But then, after what feels like approximately seventeen hours of pushing and wondering if I’m actually going to survive this experience, the doctor announces those magic words?—
“It’s a girl!”
A tiny, indignant cry fills the room, and suddenly there’s a squirming, red-faced little person placed on my chest. She’s warm and perfect and absolutely furious about her eviction from her cozy womb apartment.
“Hello there, beautiful,” I whisper, and just like that, I’m completely smitten. Head over heels in love with this angry littlepeanut who’s currently expressing her displeasure with the outside world in the most adorable way possible.
My sweet babe is finally here.
She has a shock of dark hair that sticks up in every direction as if she’s been electrocuted by cuteness, and when she opens her eyes between protests, I catch a glimpse of light gray—just like her daddy’s. The combination is devastating in the very best way.
