“It is,” Shelby said, “but it happened.”
We all went into panic mode, the day of celebration, then sorrow, now ripe with anxiety.
“Call nine-one-one!” my mother demanded. “Tell them to get back here!”
“Shell…” Rip was on his knee at her chair. “What can I do?”
“I’m gonna call Steve,” Goose said. “Just in case. I’m sure he’s delivered babies. It’s gonna be okay, Shell,” he assured.
“I have a feeling it is,” she said, the definite calm in the storm after the literal one. “I can’t explain it, but I do.”
The paramedics arrived quite quickly, and we were off to the hospital by small caravan, Rip with Shell in the back of ambulance. Patrick and I somehow squeezed ourselves into the back of Carrie’s small car, and Patrick’s mother brought more O’Hanlons with her.
“Gramma’s here,” Goose tol
