The Secrets of Midwives (24 page)

“And you've been taking your prenatal vitamins since the beginning, Neva?”

I nodded.

“Good. Then this is going to be pretty straightforward. Now, we can do the C-section this side of Christmas, if you like. That's only a week early. Give you a nice little Christmas present.”

Scheduling a date and time wasn't something I'd expected to do for my labor. But before I could feel too sorry for myself, Patrick broke into the most adorable grin. “The best Christmas present ever.”

“Fine. You can book in the date with Amelia on the way out. Is there anything else? Any concerns?”

We bumbled through the rest of the pleasantries, and then Patrick walked me to the birthing center for my shift.

Halfway there, he stopped. “Nev, I've been thinking.”

I resisted making a joke about it hurting his head, as his expression was somber. “Go on.”

“All those hereditary conditions Lorraine asked about today—that's important information. I deal with kids all the time who are born with genetic disorders. It's horrible, especially if it comes as a surprise. Having that information in advance is invaluable—for early treatment, for readiness, for planning.”

“This baby won't have any genetic conditions.”

“Are you sure?” Patrick was tight in the jaw. “Do you know the father well?”

“Yes. I know him very well.”

He paled. I took his hand.

“You're the father, Patrick. In every way that counts.”

It wasn't the answer he was looking for. Or maybe it was. I got the feeling that, over the past few weeks, Patrick had gotten as attached to my secret as I had. The idea that there was no father would be much easier to accept than the idea of an unknown man lurking out there, liable to burst in at any minute and turn our lives upside down.

Resignedly, he kissed the side of my head and we continued along the corridor. Perhaps it was a victory, but it didn't feel like one. It wouldn't be long before the subject came up again. And eventually, we were both going to have to admit the truth.

 

23

Grace

Neva and Mom sat on kitchen stools as I tossed flounder fillets in bread crumbs. I'd been looking forward to hosting our monthly dinner. Robert had been verging on mute for days—so consumed by his work—and I'd hoped I'd get a chance for some real conversation tonight. No such luck. Mom and Neva stared at the wall beyond the peas they shelled, barely answering the questions they were asked. They must have eaten a slice of the same silent-pie Robert was eating.

I thought about divulging my secret to them, that I was actually delivering babies while the investigation was going on, but I decided against it. I was actually quite enjoying my double life. Somehow, it felt like my way of giving the finger to that smug doctor who'd issued the complaint. The only difficult part was the technicalities. Two nights earlier I'd received a text from a mother in labor. At two in the morning. Robert roused as I started to get dressed, and I'd had to pretend I was sleepwalking. A few minutes later, once he'd fallen back into a deep sleep, I'd seized the keys and left the house in my pajamas.

Only occasionally, when I really allowed myself to think about it, did I worry about the consequences that would come about if I were caught. By the Board of Nursing. By Robert. But whenever those thoughts popped into my head, I chased them out again.
Positive thinking, Grace. Positive thinking
.

“Having any food aversions, darling?” I asked Neva, trying to get some conversation out of my unusually quiet daughter. “When I was pregnant with you, the mere sight of a mushroom was enough to send me running to the bathroom.”

Neva shrugged. “I've gone off tuna, I guess.”

“Oh.” I paused, my hands still buried in fish and bread crumbs. “Are you okay with flounder?”

“Should be. Though I won't know for sure until you put it in front of me.”

I chuckled, trying to catch Mom's eye. Any woman who'd been pregnant could sympathize with that. “Did you get any food aversions when you were pregnant, Mom?”

Mom focused steadily on her sleeve, picking off some lint. “I suppose I did.”

“What about cravings?” I asked. “When I was pregnant with Neva, I could have eaten fried rice all day long.”

“Oh, I don't know … It was a long time ago, dear.”

It was odd, how hazy she was sometimes. Even though she was eighty-three, I'd have thought these kinds of things would be burned into her mind.

The doorbell chimed as we were about to sit down. “Neva,” I said, “your father's eating in front of the hockey game. Can you take him his dinner in the den? Be nice—he's in a mood.”

I dried my hands on a tea towel as I made my way to the door. Behind it stood a small woman with a cap of short, blond-gray hair. She held the neck of her navy anorak with one hand against the wind.

“Can I help you?”

“Hello. I'm Marie Ableman. From the Board of Nursing.” Marie clutched the coat as a gush of wind ripped past. She shuddered.

“Oh. Uh … Come in.” I held the door open and she came into the foyer. “I wasn't expecting you, was I?”

“No. I was going to call you tomorrow, but I thought it might be a good idea to speak in person. I hope you don't mind me stopping by.”

“No, I guess not.”

But I did mind. Good news was given via the fastest possible means, be it a phone call or an e-mail. Bad news was given in person. At least, that was how I figured it.

“The investigation is still under way,” she said, possibly in response to my face. “We still need to speak to a few more people yet.”

“Okay.”

“The reason I'm here is about this.” She reached into her pocket and unfolded a piece of paper. A photocopy of a prescription. “I was concerned to find that you had prescribed Tylenol 3 for this woman the day that her son was born. I was even more concerned when I saw that she was a former client of yours. And then, when I found that no medical professional had signed her birth certificate, I became a little suspicious.”

Marie had the stance of someone who was trying to be fair. It was a stance I was sure she used regularly, in her particular role. “Believe it or not, Mrs. Bradley, I am on your side. I am a nurse myself. I know it is a difficult, sometimes thankless, profession. I don't believe you were intentionally negligent, or that you tried to hurt Gillian or her baby. I'm sure you did what you thought was best. But I now have reason to believe that you are delivering babies while your case is being reviewed, which is something you were expressly told not to do. I want to help you, but if this is the case, my hands are tied.”

I felt the heat in my cheeks. I'd been caught. In some ways it was a relief. This secret was weighing on me, perhaps heavier than I'd allowed to myself to believe. Part of me wanted to share the load. “Marie, I'm sorry—”

“It's not the case,” Neva said from the doorway. She stood beside Mom. It was funny, they were two tiny women, but suddenly, together, they seemed so large.

“What's not the case?” Marie asked.

“The prescription. That's not Grace's signature. It's mine. I'm Grace's daughter, Neva.”

“
You
wrote a Tylenol 3 prescription for Molly Harris, your mother's former client?” Marie asked.

“Yes. And I delivered her baby. I offered to take over all Grace's clients while this investigation was going on. That way, at least Grace could attend and they could have some continuity of care.”

“So … this … is your signature?” Marie said.

Neva stepped forward, barely glancing at the paper. “Yes.”

Marie looked back at the paper, and Neva also looked. The paper clearly said G. Bradley, but to Neva's credit, she didn't miss a beat. “I'd just attended a fifteen-hour labor. You want to argue over my penmanship?”

I became aware of Mom advancing until the three of us—Mom, Neva, and I—stood, shoulder to shoulder in a row. Marie looked from one to the next to the next, then shook her head. She knew she was right. But she couldn't prove it.

“No. I don't want to argue anything. I'm here because I want people to have access to a good standard of nursing. Believe it or not, I don't always think doctors are the best judge of that. But I need you to work with me.” She looked at Neva. “So, if you do deliver any more of your mom's client's babies, please make sure you sign the birth certificate. All right?”

Neva nodded. “Yes. I will. Sorry about that.”

“And try to get your initial right on the prescription.”

A trace of red appeared on Neva's cheeks.

“I'll get the door,” I said as Marie reached for the handle.

“It's fine, Mrs. Bradley. I'll let myself out.”

We all watched her leave. After the door had snapped shut, I turned to face my daughter. “Thank you, darling. Thank you so much.”

“I don't know what you are up to, Grace,” Neva said, shaking her head, “but a little prior warning might have been helpful. By the way, what's with the easy-to-read signature? God, couldn't you be more like a—?”

“Doctor!” we all said in unison, then laughed, a little giddy with our small victory.

“Come on.” I linked arms with Mom and Neva. “I guess I owe you an explanation. I'll fill you in over dinner.” We turned toward the dining room.

“Perhaps you'd do me the courtesy of filling me in too?”

I froze, then lifted my eyes to the top of the stairs, where Robert was standing. And, all at once, my giddiness bubbled away to nothing.

 

24

Neva

When I arrived for my shift at the birthing center, I was already tense. Patrick had been strangely unavailable for a few days. He'd said he was exhausted from his week on night shift, and that was probably all it was, but … I missed him.

It might have been everything that was going on with my family that was putting me on edge. After overhearing what Marie Ableman from the Board of Nursing had to say, Dad was furious with Grace. Gran and I had tried not to listen, but they were yelling pretty loud. At one point, I got up to go and set Dad straight. He was laying it on too thick—what she did was stupid, but ultimately a kind act. But Gran stopped me. People a lot weaker than Mom handled worse every day, she told me—it made them stronger.

Something was up with her too, but I had no idea what.

In any case, all I wanted to do on this shift was kick back with Susan and bring a life into the world. It was probably what I needed to restore my equilibrium. But I'd forgotten Susan was on vacation. And I was rostered on with Iris.

Iris was my least favorite birth assistant. While she was patient and undeniably good with the clients, she had an irritating habit of talking to everyone like they were preschoolers, and today she'd taken to talking to me only indirectly, using the mother in labor as a medium.

“Just breathe through the contraction,” she was saying to Brianna. “Good girl. When this one's over Neva might suggest a nice bath to ease the pain. She's in charge.”

Brianna was on her hands and knees on the floor, clearly approaching transition. Her husband, George, was beside her, rubbing her back and generally looking out of his depth. I scanned the birth notes and saw that she was six centimeters dilated at the last examination and her water hadn't broken. A bath wasn't a bad idea.

“How about a nice bath?” I said brightly when the contraction finished. If Iris heard the humor in my voice, she didn't respond to it.

“Wonderful idea,” she said, not meeting my eye. “I'll go get it started.”

Iris disappeared into the bathroom and I frowned after her. She seemed preoccupied herself. Had I done something to upset her?

“Neva,” Brianna said, stealing my attention. “It hurts.”

“This is the hardest part,” I said, squatting beside her. “Just a little bit longer and we are going to meet your little one. In the meantime, the water will help ease some of the pain. Did you bring your iPod with the playlist you talked about? A lot of women find music helpful at this point.”

George was already searching in Brianna's bag for the iPod, clearly grateful for something to do. I decided he could be useful. “How about I show George some of the pressure points in your feet? Some of them are known to reduce pain significantly.”

“Bath's ready,” Iris said, returning. “George, you come and sit at the end of the tub if you're going to rub Briann's feet.”

“Briann
a
,” I whispered to Iris with a conspiratorial wink that she ignored. Weird. Something was definitely up with her. She was normally patronizing, but it wasn't like her to be rude.

“Uh … okay, let's get this show on the road,” I said. “George, why don't you help Brianna get undressed? I'm just going to get a few things ready out here.”

Once Brianna was undressed, Iris wordlessly scooted her out of the room and into the tub. In the delivery room, I turned on the baby warmer and went about preparing my instruments.

“Brianna wants to put her iPod on surround sound,” Iris said, alerting me to her presence behind me. “Do you know where the speakers are?”

“They're in the cupboard with the towels. Wait,” I said. “Is everything okay?”

“Of course. Why wouldn't it be?”

“I don't know. You just seem upset with me.”

“Not upset.” She frowned, clearly contemplating whether to say more. “Just surprised. I'll admit, I thought better of you.”

“Iris, will you please just come out with it?”

“Fine,” she said. “I heard about you and Sean. Having an affair behind Patrick's back.”

My mouth fell open but it took me a moment to formulate words.
“What?”

Iris folded her arms. “So it's not true?”