Chasing Castles (Finding Focus #2) (27 page)

The tears.
Oh, my God. The tears.

They come at less than a moment’s notice. Just this week, I’ve cried over running out of Sprite and Oreo cookies. I cried when I saw a dead squirrel leading up to the cottage, sure that I was the one who killed it, and now a baby squirrel is somewhere without a mother.

Just thinking about it again has my eyes watering up, blurring the mostly-blue canvas in front of me.

I’ve taken the advice of my doctor, and I stopped waitressing four days ago. The week before that, Annie, Kay and I finished up all the pertinent shopping for the baby. Now, I’m just waiting. And what better way to pass the time that sitting in front of a canvas.

My dreams have been so vivid lately. I’m not sure if it’s the extra hormones or the late night eating, but every morning I wake up with some new image burned into my brain, and I just have to put it on canvas. I’ve been finishing a painting every other day, which is the fastest I’ve turned out paintings since I was a starving college student in New Orleans.

For a brief moment, when I found out I was pregnant and everything went south with Tristan, I thought maybe this part of my life was over. How could I support myself and my baby
and
be a struggling artist? That just didn’t add up in my mind.

Deacon is the one who made me realize I can’t give up on my dreams. He’s encouraged me to continue to chase my castles, and when I didn’t believe in myself, he still believed in me.

So, here I am, finishing one of my most important pieces to date.

It’s a painting for my baby’s room.

Well, he doesn’t technically have a room yet, but he will one day. And when he does, this will hang there. It’ll be a reminder of everything important in life. It started from a dream I had a few days ago. In my dream, I was running through an open field. My long hair blew behind me like a cape, and my arms reached out to the sides. I seemed so carefree, so happy.

Usually, I’m an active participant in my dreams, but this time, it was like I was merely an observer. I watched myself get to the edge of the field and there, among the trees, waiting for me, was my mama. She was beautiful, just like I remember her. She stared at me for quite awhile, the two of us standing in silence, and then she reached out and touched my face . . . and then my protruding belly. A bright smile graced her features, and then she was gone. The wind picked up, and she drifted away like a flock of birds.

But I wasn’t sad when I woke up. I was happy. I felt like I had been with her, and even though it was only a brief moment, she touched me . . . and my baby.

I knew I had to paint something that represented that dream and gave my mama a place in my baby’s life.

The painting took on a life of its own once I sat down. Looking over the almost completed piece, I follow the swirls of blue and smile when I see the small castle I painted into the clouds. At the edge of the canvas is where the field ends and a forest of trees begin. In that forest, on a tree trunk, I painted a heart. That’s my mama. She’s there. She’s watching over us. And I get the feeling she’s already met this wiggly baby in my tummy.

I hope he looks like her.

I hope he has sparkling blue eyes and curly blond hair, just like her.

As I dip my brush in some dark green paint to finish up the shading on the large oak trees, I feel a slight popping sensation and then liquid seeping through my cut-off jean shorts.

Looking down, I’m worried that I peed myself. It wouldn’t be the first time in the last nine months, but all of the times before, I at least sneezed or laughed beforehand. This came without warning.

When I stand up, more liquid runs down my leg and realization dawns on me.

My water broke.

Oh,
shit
.

I’m having a baby.

I drop the small palette and my brush and walk cautiously out of the barn. I feel like if I run or make any quick movements, the baby is going to come out, and as much as I love this barn, I do not want to have a baby here.

It’s dirty, and there aren’t any doctors.

As I walk a little quicker, I begin to pant as the first real pain hits me.

I felt a few contractions this morning but assumed they were stupid Braxton Hicks once again, because that’s what they felt like and they weren’t that close together.

Pausing to let it pass, I look up and feel like the big house is a million miles away, but I have no choice but to make it there. I didn’t bring my phone with me to the barn. And the big house is closer than the cottage. So, I waddle my way down the path.

The sweat is starting to bead up on my forehead when I get close enough to the house to holler for some help.

“Annie!” I yell, not wanting to freak her out, but as another contraction hits me, I can’t help it.

I need a hospital.

Stat.

“Annie!” I call again, taking a few more steps and almost making it to the patio when the back door flies open.

Sam is standing there in his three-piece suit looking like he’s ready to go into a boardroom, but the panic in his eyes when he sees me is enough to make me start panicking.

“My water broke,” I say, trying to sound calm, but feeling anything but.

“Are you sure?” he asks, grabbing at the tie around his neck and loosening it.

“I think. Or I peed myself, but I don’t think—”

“Of course, your water broke,” he says, beginning a ramble. “I’ll, uh, call Annie and then we’ll drive to the hospital. I’ve done this twice before. Don’t worry.”

One hand is in his hair as he holds the phone to his ear with the other. I watch as he mumbles to himself about no one ever answering their phone when he needs them and wondering why he pays so much money for phone service if no one is going to answer the
damn
things.

“Annie!” he yells into the phone when she finally picks up.

While they’re talking, another contraction hits me full force, practically bringing me to my knees. I bend over and start breathing like the video I watched showed me. I felt stupid going to Lamaze classes by myself. So, my doctor gave me a video to watch at home. And they lied. They all lied because these stupid breathing exercises are
not
helping.

I scream out in pain and Sam whirls around to me, still talking on the phone.

Suddenly, he drops the phone to the ground and ushers me straight into the garage and then into the front seat of his SUV.

I realize when he jumps in and peels out of the gravel drive, that he’s left his phone.

Annie’s going to be pissed, but I can’t think about that right now.

Right now, all I can think about is breathing.

Whooo whooo wheee.

Whooo whoo whee.

“Should we call your doctor?” Sam asks, and when I look up at him, I feel bad. He looks a wreck. Just five minutes ago, he popped his head out of the back door looking like a suave model for J Crew. And now, he looks like the hot version of Nick Nolte’s mug shot. His eyes are a bit crazed, and the top button of his shirt is undone, leaving his tie hanging haphazardly. And his hair. His hair is all over the place. Kinda like Micah’s, but worse.

“I don’t have my phone,” I tell him, squeezing my eyes together as I feel another contraction coming on.

He shoves a hand down into his suit coat pocket and then his pants pockets.

“Outside,” I tell him, losing the ability to form complete sentences.

“What?” he asks, trying to keep both eyes on the road and me at the same time.

“Outside. You dropped . . . ahhhhh,” I pause, breathing through clenched teeth. “You dropped it.”

“Oh, fuck,” he groans. “Sorry.” His hand flies up like he’s going to somehow protect my unborn baby from hearing his profanity.

“It’s okay. He’s heard worse,” I joke, trying to lighten his mood as the pain subsides.

“I’m kinda out of practice,” he admits as we fly down the road, making record time getting onto the highway.

“It’s okay,” I assure him. “I’m just glad you were home.”

“Oh, God. Me too.” He pauses and then reaches over to grab my hand. “It’s gonna be fine . . . you’re gonna be fine.”

His normal, soothing tone is back, and it helps me relax.

Until the next contraction.

We continue in that cycle—Sam soothing me, me panting through contractions—until we finally reach the hospital.

He screeches to a halt under the canopy of the emergency room at the Woman’s Hospital in Baton Rouge.

“This is it,” he announces, and I think he means more than the fact that we’ve arrived at the hospital.

This is
it
.

This is the day that changes everything.

This the beginning of the rest of my life.

This is the day I become a mom.

I’m unusually calm as Sam runs through the doors and shows back up a minute later with a nurse and a wheelchair.

The rest of the events happen so quickly. It’s a blur.

One second, I’m being wheeled down the familiar hallway, the same one I was in a couple of months ago when I got the scare of my life. The next second, I’m in a room, hooked up to every monitoring device available and waiting on my epidural.

When I got here, I was already four centimeters dilated. My nurse told me I’ve probably been in labor since this morning, but it picked up when my water broke.

An hour later, everything is calm, and my room is full of all the people I love, except Tucker. His plane is supposed to be in within the hour. Annie flew through the doors about thirty minutes behind us and cussed Sam a blue streak for dropping his phone.

My dad and Kay had been in Baton Rouge already, running a few errands, so when Annie got here, she called them.

Deacon and Micah showed up about fifteen minutes ago, and now we’re all just sitting here, waiting on a baby.

“Guys,” I say, and everyone turns their attention to me, thinking I’m going to make some grand announcement. “Y’all should go find a comfortable spot or take turns or somethin’. We could be here all night.”

“We’re fine here with you,” Annie says, squeezing my hand from her spot right by my bed.

“Yeah, I’m not plannin’ on going anywhere,” Kay says. “You’ll have to kick me out.”

I smile at them. They’ve both been nothing short of amazing the last few months—fielding every question, quieting every concern, and giving me all the motherly advice I could ask for.

Kay’s never had children of her own, but it’s not because she didn’t want them. She miscarried twice in her early twenties, and she and her late husband stopped trying, deciding to be happy with each other. But she loves getting to be in mine and Tucker’s lives now. And she’s even more excited about this baby getting ready to be born. She already has a name picked out for herself: KayMa.

I love it.

Annie wants to be called Nannie.

Get it?
nAnnie
.

Sam and my daddy both say they’ll settle for whatever the “lil’ guy” comes up with.

Speaking of the “lil’ guy,” as most of my family has resorted to calling him, I have to decide on a name. A few have been floating around, and I’m pretty sure I know what I want it to be, but I want to see him first, just to make sure.

Besides, I think it’s kind of fun to torture them and keep it to myself.

“Hey.” Tucker’s voice comes from the crack in the door as he slides quietly inside my room.

“Hey,” I tell him, reaching a hand out for him. “I was wondering when you were gonna get here.”

“I got here as fast as I could. I told the pilot to step on it.”

I laugh lightly, but twinge as I feel a contraction, even through the epidural, but they’re nothing like they were earlier.

“You okay?” Tucker asks, moving closer and being careful not to wake the two ladies sleeping on either side of my bed.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“I can’t believe you’re havin’ a baby,” he says in a low whisper with a small smile creeping up on his handsome face. He looks tired but happy.

“You’re tellin’ me,” I smile back and squeeze his hand. “I don’t think there’s any backin’ out now.”

“Nope, only one way out of this thing.”

“Don’t remind me.”

Kay begins to stir when we laugh again, her eyes peeping open and catching a glimpse of Tucker.

“Hey, baby,” she says in a tired voice. “Glad you made it in safely.”

“Thanks,” he says, leaning over and planting a kiss on her cheek. “Can I get you ladies anything?”

“I could use a cup of coffee,” Kay says. “I bet Annie could too.”

“I’m on it.”

He slips back out of the room, and I close my eyes for a while longer. The doctor told me to rest up as much as possible because this baby will be here by midnight.

I hope he’s right.

I doze off for a while, but even with the epidural, I can still feel the pressure from the contractions. So, when Deacon slips in the door quietly, I’m already awake but turned on my side to try to get some relief.

“Sleepin’?” he asks as the bed dips beside me.

“Tryin’,” I tell him, slowly rolling over to face him.

He reaches up and brushes the hair out of my face.

“Shouldn’t be long now,” he says. “I overheard the nurse when she left, and she said just a little bit longer.”