A Different Blue(73)

Wilson reached over and clasped my hands in his, turning toward me as much as the wheel would allow.

“Blue, this whole experience has been a revelation to me.”

I tried not to recite all the R words in my head as he continued.

“I, like every human being, needed to know who I was. My parents understood that, and, unlike what you've dealt with, there were no secrets in my life. I knew everything . . . except the why. I never understood why my biological mother made the choice she did. I always thought if someone really loved me, they would never give me away. Watching you go through all of this, I think I finally understand that that isn't necessarily true.”

My eyes were glued on our clasped hands, our fingers laying side by side. I couldn't look at him. Not when the words he spoke were so intensely personal that the glare from the truth hurt my eyes. Wilson continued, his voice choked with emotion.

“Loving someone means putting their needs above your own. No matter what. Somehow, you figured that out. I'll be damned if I know how, but you did. So, no. I don't think you're making a mistake, Blue. I think you're bloody amazing. And when I get home, Jenny Woodrow is going to get a call. She deserves a little thank you – finally – for loving me and letting me go.”

We sat quietly for several breaths, letting the emotion ebb, our hands intertwined, heat circling the interior of the car and fogging the windows.

“What did the old man say?” I questioned softly.

“He told me not to worry. He said, 'Women cry. If she's crying over you, she still loves you,'” Wilson tried to mimic the shaky voice of the old man. He looked at me and grinned playfully. “He said I should only worry when you stop.”

I couldn't smile back and swiftly looked away. I was the one who should worry. Not because I had stopped crying, but because I'd started in the first place. The old man had it all figured out.





We tried to wait out the rain, but it never let up. We got back on the road only to fight rain and snow for the next three hours. Snow in Boulder City was almost unheard of, but we were a long way north of the Las Vegas area, and snow in Reno was commonplace. However, October snow was not. My anxiety grew as the journey lengthened. I didn't want to whine or worry Wilson, but my back and lower belly had been cramping steadily since we had stopped at the rest area. Maybe it was the stress of the trip, or all the R words raining down without relief, or maybe it was simply time. Two weeks early wasn't really considered early. It was considered full term. And I had a sneaking suspicion I was in labor.

“I'm going to pull off wherever I can find a hotel. We're still three hours out, maybe more at this speed, and I've had enough,” Wilson sighed, squinting to make out road signs.

“We have to keep going,” I insisted, gripping the armrest as a wave of pressure moved through my lower body.

“Why?” Wilson didn't look at me, he was so intent on the road ahead.

“Because I really don't want to have a baby in a Super 8 Motel.”

“Bugger!” Wilson's head swiveled toward me, his eyes wide with horror.

“I'm not in any pain. Not really. It's just uncomfortable. And it's been going on for about three hours. Just keep going and we'll be fine.”

The next three hours were the longest three hours of my life – Wilson's too, I'm guessing. He was white around the lips, and his face was haggard by the time we saw the Vegas lights smeared like an oil spill beyond the windshield, a muted rainbow in a sea of black. I had timed my contractions, and they had grown steady and increasingly painful at about five minutes apart. I had no idea what that meant, or how far I had to go. But we were both too tired to go home and wait for it to get worse. Getting to the hospital was a feat in itself. Some of the roads were knee deep in water, and the rain wasn't letting up.

We pulled into the parking garage, and Wilson was out and at my door before I could get my seat belt off. Together we made our way to Labor and Delivery, breathing a small sigh of relief that we had made it. Visions of highways births had been our constant companion for three long hours. I'm sure it was a relief for Wilson to turn me over to the perky blonde nurse who oozed competency. She got me settled in a room, set out a gown, and told me she'd be back momentarily.

Wilson turned and walked toward the door. Panic bubbled up in my chest as I watched him leave. My fear made me bold.

“Will you stay with me?” The words came out in a jumble and my face felt hot with shame that I had even uttered them. But I had, and I didn't want to take them back. He was frozen in place, his hand still resting on the door handle.

“Please.” I didn't know if he heard the final plea, and I had to close my eyes so I didn't see his response. I was afraid to see him shrink, to see his eyes shift away, to hear him make excuses.