“I’ll go get help.”
“Don’t you dare leave me! I’ll send death angels after you if you do.” Holiday grasped Della’s hand so hard, it might have cracked a bone.
Threats weren’t Holiday’s style, so Della knew this was serious.
“I won’t leave.” She watched Holiday reach down with her other hand and hug her bulge. That’s when Della saw the blood. Lots of blood now stained the front of Holiday’s dress.
Tears filled Della eyes. Was something wrong? She remembered the show she’d seen of the woman giving birth. There had been blood, but she didn’t recall this much.
“Get me in the backseat,” Holiday cried.
Della inhaled. She opened the car’s back door, gently picked up Holiday, and placed her in the seat.
As soon as she got Holiday down, Holiday screamed. And loud. “My panties,” Holiday yelled. “Take them off.”
“You sure you don’t want me to drive you to the doctor? I can drive fast.”
“No time,” she said. “Baby’s coming!”
Della mentally pulled her big-girl panties up and physically pulled Holiday’s big-girl panties down. The blood was already pooled between her legs. Fear clutched Della’s belly.
If something happened to Holiday or the baby, Della couldn’t live with herself. Then again, she wouldn’t have to: Burnett would kill her.
Holiday reared her head back on the seat and started grunting. Della saw what looked like the baby’s head between Holiday’s legs.
If someone had asked her what she would be doing today, not in a million years would she have said “delivering a baby.” Swallowing a ton of insecurities, she snagged Holiday’s purse. Finding the alcohol cleanser that Holiday always carried, Della squirted it all over her hands.
“What are you doing?” Holiday seethed.
“It’s okay,” Della lied. “I saw a show once on how to deliver a baby.” She tried to sound confident, but she had about as much confidence as an ant taking a stroll among a crowd of joggers.
Holiday, too busy gasping for air to answer, nodded.
“I see the baby’s head,” Della said. “I think this is when you’re supposed to push. As soon as the baby is born, I’m driving you to the doctor.”
Holiday did what looked like an ab crunch and let out another ear-piercing scream. The baby slipped out so fast, Della almost didn’t catch it. It … no, she, it was a girl. “It’s a girl” Della said aloud. But the baby was slimy and bloody, reminding Della of a wet puppy. Panic shot straight to Della’s heart when she realized that the tiny infant wasn’t breathing.
Again remembering the show, she reached into the baby’s mouth and used her fingers to dip out any fluid. Then, fitting her palm over the baby’s chest, she turned her over. She patted her back. One. Twice. “Breathe!”
She didn’t breathe.
“No,” Della muttered. She turned the baby back over, massaged her little chest, then turned her over again and gave her another pat, only stronger.
The baby jerked, gurgled, and took her first breath. Della, not even realizing she hadn’t taken in air, took in a breath of her own. Only when the child let out a cry did Della look up at Holiday.
“She’s okay.” Della’s relief vanished. The baby wasn’t the only one in trouble. Holiday lay unconscious.
“No,” Della said. “Holiday?”
When the camp leader didn’t answer, Della tuned her hearing, ignored the cries of the baby, and finally heard an erratic heartbeat still pumping in Holiday’s chest.
She looked at the cord still connecting the baby to Holiday. She remembered how they’d cut the cord in the show she’d watched. Grabbing Holiday’s purse again, she found some floss and used it to tie the cord. Then she used another piece and twisted it so tight it severed the cord. When Holiday still wasn’t moving, Della knew she had to get her help. And fast.
She tucked the crying baby beside her unconscious mom and shut the door. Racing around the car, she got in the front seat and drove like a bat out of hell straight to Dr. Whitman’s office.
As the tires hummed against the street, and with Holiday’s blood on her hands and making the steering wheel sticky, Della’s breaths shuddered in her chest and she prayed aloud, “Look, God, let’s make a deal. If you’re missing your weekly quota of souls, take me. But don’t take Holiday. Please.”
Della sat in the vet’s office, feet tapping on the floor, wringing her hands. She’d called Burnett as soon as the doctor and Steve took mother and child to the back. When Burnett answered, Della’s throat was so tight from emotion, she could hardly explain. The only thing she got out was “Dr. Whitman’s office.”
“Holiday?” he asked.
“Yes,” she muttered.
“Is everything okay?”
“No,” Della said. “Not okay at all.”
Then she called Kylie, thinking her healing powers might be needed. Della hissed. Of all the times for Kylie not to pick up. She left a message: “Holiday needs you,” she said. “We’re at Dr. Whitman’s office.”
The office door swung open less than two minutes later. Pain filled Burnett’s expression. And all she could think about was how romantic it had been when he stood up for Holiday in front of the FRU committee. The love he had for his wife was so much a part of him that if he lost her, it would no doubt be like losing a limb.
Or maybe even worse, his heart.
The tears Della held at bay fell then. Big fat tears, rolling one after another. Burnett didn’t ask for details. No doubt he saw the gravity of the situation in her expression. He took off for the back of the office.
Voices ordering him to get out echoed from behind the door. Orders Della knew wouldn’t be heeded. Burnett would never leave. He’d never leave Holiday.
But dear God, did Holiday have a choice not to leave him?
Della pulled her knees to her chest, hugged them, and continued to cry. “Take me instead. Take me instead,” she kept muttering.
“Hey,” a voice said. Steve’s voice. She’d seen him briefly when they took Holiday and the baby, but they hadn’t spoken yet.
Della wiped the tears from her face and looked up. “Are they okay?”
“The baby is going to be fine.”
“And Holiday?” she asked, her breath a big bubble of pain in her lungs.
Steve’s expression didn’t look promising, and more tears slipped from her lashes.