Time of My Life_ A Novel - Allison Winn Scotch [97]
“She’s pregnant,” I cry to the pair of paramedics who are lifting Meg onto a stretcher. “She’s pregnant!”
I see alarm rise over their faces. “You know her?” one asks.
Yes, I nod, unable to say more, as an earthquake of sobs makes its way through me.
“Come with us then.” A strong arm tugs on my elbow, and I’m whisked into a blaring, too loud ambulance. Meg, her eyes still closed and with a line of blood snaking down her forehead, follows on the stretcher. One of the EMTs places an oxygen mask over her mouth, and the other slams the door closed with a heavy thud that shakes the entire vehicle.
The siren continues to swirl, cutting through the icy night air, and the tires spin beneath us. We rush down the avenue and over the streets and hurry forward toward the hospital, hoping, furiously, that time will creep ahead slowly enough for us to catch up and undo the damage that we are certain will come.
I AM BARGAINING with God in the waiting room. Tyler is pacing the halls outside of the ER, and Jack has gone to hunt down semi-digestible coffee, and I am left alone with my guilt and blame.
Please God, let Meg keep the baby. I will marry Jack and never complain about anything ever again. Thank you very much. Love, Jill.
Dear God, I know that I’ve been asking for a lot lately, and that you’ve been very flexible in terms of accommodating me. But if you just do me this favor—keep that baby in there—I’m open to pretty much anything you need. Jill.
God, are you there? You name the price, you can have it from me. Just keep Meg out of it. This is between you and me, not her. If you’ve sent me back here to make your point, you’ve made it. Please let that baby live. All best, Jill.
The doors to the waiting room fly open and a balding resident tugs a surgical mask over his head, then weaves his way through waiting patients toward me.
“You came in with Megan Callahan, correct?”
I nod and lick my lips, waiting for the penance that I’m destined to pay. Because I know, in my gut, that if I hadn’t come back, if I hadn’t asked for so fucking much, that none of this would have happened. That Meg wouldn’t have been waiting for me outside of fucking Tiffany and that she wouldn’t have been mowed down by a taxi that lost control on black ice and that her baby would still be thriving inside of her as it was supposed to be.
I remember, for a fleeting moment, that, in fact, it wasn’t supposed to be—that last time around, this baby was nothing more than a gasp of hope for Meg and Tyler—but that doesn’t seem to matter now because this is the reality, not then. And this, clearly, is my doing.
I look around for Tyler, but he’s nowhere to be seen, and the resident presses on.
“She’s stabilized,” he says. “She took a very bad bump to the head, but she’s conscious and talking.”
“And the baby?” I ask, barely managing to breathe out the words.
He nods. “We have a heartbeat,” he says, and I feel my face crumble, purging tears flooding my eyes. “But we’re not out of the woods yet,” he continues delicately. “She’ll be here for monitoring for a few days.” He starts to walk away, then says over his shoulder, “If you’d like to see her, you may.”
Meg’s room is silent, except for the sound of two beeping heart monitors that echo each other, and when I enter, I think she is sleeping, so I slowly start to creep back out. But then she opens her eyes and turns to me and smiles.
“Come in,” she says. “I’m up.”
“Oh, sweetie.” I try to say more but choke on the swell of emotion. I move to the bed and clutch her hand.
“I’m fine,” she says, squeezing mine harder. “Just a few bruises and bumps.”
“The baby . . .” I say.
“Look at that.” She nods her head toward a monitor just beside us. “Look at my baby’s heart. Thriving. This baby will be fine.” Meg’s eyes are bright with promise.
“I hope so.” It sounds flimsy,