THE JOURNEY FROM Newton to Providence had taken an age, an accident on the highway slowing things as Gina Forrester drove to the Rhode Island nursing home where her father now resided. She had brought him candy and some lightweight pyjamas and a smart short-sleeved polo shirt. For some strange reason she was anxious to see him.
He was sitting outside his bed in a comfortable support chair, and she kissed the top of his head as if he was a child. His lips and eyes smiled at her. There was no recognition, just a response to the kiss and the sight of the bags with her gifts.
‘Here, Dad! You can open these.’
She watched as he pulled frantically at the wrapping paper and cellophane, tumbling the items onto his lap and the bed. The clothes ignored, he stripped a peanut butter cup of its wrapper and began to eat. She laughed: he’d always loved peanut butter ever since they were kids. Any time he’d ever minded them while her mom was out or away, his solution to feeding them had been a massive plate of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
She rambled on, talking to him, knowing he would not tell her anything of his daily routine and that it was up to her to fill the silence between them. She told him he was going to be a grandfather, and about her last visit to the obstetrician who’d told her everything was going well and that the baby was in the right position. She told him of the spare bedroom, beside their own, which was to be turned into a nursery. The colours and curtains and expensive wooden cot and changing table and wardrobe were already picked and paid for, but Gina was too superstitious to let Bob or the decorator touch the room till her child was born.
One of the nursing aides walked by and kindly offered her a cup of tea. Gina was glad of the refreshment as she sat there all afternoon with her father, fussing with his locker and checking if he needed anything, though she knew her half-brother Scott who lived close by would drop in once or twice a week to make sure the old man was all right.
When his evening meal was served at 4.45 p.m. she helped him to eat, knowing that not long after he would be prepared and changed for bed. She got ready to go, kissing him and promising to come back soon.
‘Dad, I’ve got to go home now, Bob will be waiting for me,’ she said, stroking the side of his face, wondering if in a few minutes’ time her father would remember anything about her or the baby.
Driving home she felt a little tired and disappointed; perhaps she’d hoped that her father would react more to her good news and be excited for her, something she knew in her heart he was no longer capable of. The traffic was heavy, only easing off as she got up onto the highway, listening to the news channel as she drove. A half-hour out of Boston she felt it, a warm trickle of water running down her legs as if she was peeing herself and soaking the seat of the car. Shit! she thought, scared. The baby wasn’t due for another four weeks! And now her waters had broken. Undecided between pulling over into a lay-by and phoning for assistance or putting her foot on the pedal and driving to Mass General Hospital, she chose the latter. Praying under her breath, she tried not to think of the cramping pains in her stomach as she drove . . .
It was 5 a.m. when the phone went. Martha jumped up in bed and reached for the receiver, relieved to hear Bob Forrester’s voice on the other end of the line.
‘Martha, it’s a girl! We have a baby girl!’
‘Oh, that’s great, Bob, I’m really pleased for you.’ She yawned, still half asleep. ‘How’s Gina?’
‘Oh, she’s fine. She asked me to phone you cos she’s concerned. The baby’s a little early and she’s small. Real small! They put her in one of those incubator things and she’s up in a special ward with all the other premature babies. Gina’s real worried for her and she wondered if you’d come in as soon as you can and see her.’
Martha agreed straight away, knowing that neither Bob nor Gina were alarmist and wouldn’t have asked unless they thought it necessary.
‘Tell Gina I’ll be there first thing this morning,’ she promised, putting down the phone.
The baby was beautiful, her tiny head a cap of black hair with the face of a pixie. She lay still under the special lights and kicked her legs gently now and then.
‘I couldn’t bear it if anything happens to her.’ Gina broke down. ‘I couldn’t take it, Martha!’
‘Hush now, don’t go upsetting yourself. You have a beautiful daughter who is already a born fighter.’
Martha studied the baby closely, watching the rise and fall of her chest, the rhythm of the pulse in her veins. She was fragile. Another few weeks would have made a big difference but at least here she had all the medical equipment she needed. Without thinking she reached across into the incubator, her fingertips touching the baby’s little hands and fingers, one connecting to the other, warmth and strength flowing from the healer towards the sleeping infant.