Chapter 20
Then, on the final night of March at 3:07 a.m., my phone rang.
I had been asleep.
I’ve never awakened faster.
“Miranda?” Lauren’s voice was small and breathless, threaded with panic. “It’s happening. It’s early. The doctor said to come in, and Trevor’s at the store getting…” She stopped. She gasped. “I’m so scared. I’m sorry to call, I know it’s the middle of the night, I just…”
“I’m here,” I said.
I was already standing, reaching for my keys.
“You’re here?”
“I’m here. I’m leaving right now. Stay on the line with me. Tell me what you’re seeing. I’ll be there in twenty minutes. You are not alone, Lauren.”
She released a long trembling breath.
Then came a soft, amazed laugh.
“You picked up on the first ring,” she said.
“Of course I did.”
I drove through the sleeping town with Lauren in my ear, telling stories and asking questions to keep her talking until the hospital appeared ahead.
Trevor stood in the hallway clutching unwanted sandwiches.
I held my sister’s hand through the long hours afterward.
When her baby finally arrived, red, furious, perfect, I cried harder than I ever had.
Her name was Nora Diane.
When the nurse placed her in my arms and her unfocused dark eyes opened toward my face, something old and heavy inside me finally lifted.
Mom and Dad waited outside.
Mom’s phone rested face up on the table, ringer and volume fully on.
Dad had removed his watch and held it as though he’d been checking each minute.
They rose when I approached.
“She’s here,” I said. “Nora Diane. Seven pounds, one ounce. Everyone’s healthy.”
Mom covered her mouth.
Dad made a broken, joyful sound I’d never heard before and reached for me.
I let him embrace me.
We stood together beneath fluorescent hospital lights, flawed and learning.
For once, nobody counted anything.
The Tenth Call
The anniversary arrived quietly.
A Sunday in late September, almost exactly one year after the delivery truck ran the red light.
The morning was clear beneath a sharp blue sky.
I woke early with the feeling of standing atop a long staircase, looking back over every step.
I made coffee and sat on my porch, thinking about the year behind me.
Harbor House had opened in June and already hosted forty one families.
The Open Line operated in six hospitals and was expanding to twelve.
Marisol led its first volunteer training in a borrowed conference room while I sat in the back applauding louder than anyone.
Sofia announced to the room that “this is my mom’s job now.”
Tessa had joined as chief executive and already made three brilliant decisions I’d never have considered.
Dev was helping build the recovery program at the lake.
