66
CONNOR
“Rafaela—I need your help!” I shouted. “My wife is in labor!”
Rafaela ran up the stairs. Lynne was in bed, I was at her side. I had prepared carefully for the birth. The mattress was covered with a vinyl protector and an extra layer of sheets. At the foot of the bed were clean towels, a washbasin and scissors for cutting the umbilical cord. On the nightstand was a large bowl of ice chips, which I was hand feeding to her.
I wiped her face, whispering to her. “It’s going to be all right,” I told her.
“When did the pains begin?” Rafaela asked.
“About one-thirty, I think,” I said. “Her contractions are at five-minute intervals.”
“I thought it was just cramps at first,” Lynne said as she braced herself for another contraction.
“That’s how it normally starts,” Rafaela assured h
