Page 99 of The Devil Gets His Due

“Do you actually want all these people in here?”

“Well,” she says, “no, but they just want to celebrate and—”

I stand. “Everyone? I’m this kid’s father. Nice to meet you. Now get the fuck out unless you’re assigned to this room.”

People glare at me and glance at each other, undoubtedly thinking“what did Keeley ever see in this asshole?”I don’t blame them. It’s a question I’ve asked myself many times.

But they leave, and once the room is empty, aside from a lone nurse currently taking Keeley’s vitals, her sigh is pure relief.

“They’re all going to hate you,” she says. Her eyes fall closed. It seems early in the process for her to be this tired.

“Like I give a shit,” I begin.

“Youneedto give a shit,” she says with a too-small smile. “We can’t piss them off in case we ever decide to have another one.”

My heart stops. I didn’t write that letter hoping to change her mind about us, but that she wants me here and is talking about a futureushas me hoping for it anyway. “You mean…together? We’d stay together?”

“God, Graham, you haven’t already changed your mind, right? I mean, you only sent that emaillastnight.”

I can’t speak for a moment. I lift her hand and press my face to its back. “No, I haven’t changed my mind,” I say. “I just thought…”

I don’t finish the sentence. I can’t.

“People aren’t quite as unforgiving as you seem to think,” she says. “And besides, we both know I can’t afford a Mariah Carey closet on my own.”

I squeeze her hand. “I’m so sorry, Keeley. I’m so fucking sorry.”

“I know,” she whispers.

Her eyes close, and I wait for them to open so she can tell me about all the things she wants in her new closet, or describe the outlandishReal Housewivesmural she’d like to paint on our daughter’s wall.

It takes me a few seconds to realize she’s fallen asleep.

Keeley, in one of the most exciting moments of her life, has fallen asleep. It’s wrong. It’s wrong for her in particular, but aren’t women in labor, at the very least, supposed to be red-faced and hyper-alert, screaming obscenities at the guy who did this to them?

I look at the nurse on the other side of Keeley, who’s writing something in a chart. “Is this normal?”

She glances at me with a frown. “Her blood pressure is really high. We gave her something but it’s not helping. Dr. Seever is on the way.”

Keeley wakes with the next contraction, squeezing my hand through it, watching the second hand of the clock like it’s her only lifeline. She exhales in relief as it ends and her gaze turns to mine, followed by another weak smile.

“I’m glad,” she says.

“Glad?”

“I’m glad you had a story. Mark said you would. I had stories, too, but I think they were my mom’s stories.” Her eyes close. “I’d rather have my own.”

I look up at the nurse, on the cusp of demanding she find someone who’s available now, but I don’t need to.

She hits a button on the machine next to Keeley. “Get the attending,” she announces. “Her pressure’s up and I need more handsnow.”

Within seconds, a woman I’ve never seen before walks in, with several others behind her. She looks at the monitor and after a hushed conversation with the nurse, she looks over her shoulder to a tech behind her.

“We’ve got to get this kid out,” she says. “Open an OR.”

Keeley’s eyes open slowly, as if by force, and she swallows.

“Keeley, I’m Dr. Asif,” the woman says. “The mag isn’t controlling your blood pressure, and the baby’s in danger. We need to do a section right away.”

---