Not Quite Perfect
Page 3
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“Son of a—”
A horrendous thud followed Dakota cussing and had Mary running toward her friend.
Dakota sat crumpled at the bottom of the stairs, one hand on her belly, the other on her leg.
“What the heck?”
“Oh, damn. Oh . . .” Dakota started to rock back and forth, her eyes closed and her face squished in pain.
Mary managed to put her cup on the floor as she knelt down beside her. “What hurts? Did you fall?” Stupid question, but Dakota didn’t call her on it.
“Slipped,” she said, gritting her teeth.
Mary glanced at the stairs, noticed liquid on the surface of the polished wood.
“Did you spill something?”
Dakota finally opened her eyes and pulled up the edge of her pants on her right leg. It was already turning red.
“Damn . . . just, son of a bitch!”
“Are you okay?”
“No. I think I broke it.”
Mary’s heart leapt in her chest. “Really?” She peered closer.
“Oh, damn.”
Mary swept back her hair and tried to catch Dakota’s eyes. “Should I call an ambulance?”
Dakota shook her head.
“I’ll call Walt.”
“No . . .”
“What?”
“Yes. Oh, God it hurts!”
“Your leg?” Mary glanced down again.
“No.”
“Your leg doesn’t hurt?”
“It. All. Hurts!”
Mary stood quick enough to feel a little dizzy. “I’m calling an ambulance.”
“No, Mary . . . Walt will freak.”
Mary didn’t listen and found the cordless receiver sitting on the counter in the kitchen. She dialed 911 and hurried back to her friend.
“Mary, I’m okaaay.” Dakota winced as she said it and closed her eyes.
“Nine one one, what’s your emergency?” The operator sounded bored.
“Yeah, my friend fell down the stairs.”
“Is your friend awake?”
Dakota started to pound her fist on the floor beside her. At first Mary thought maybe it was a tactic to end the phone call, then she noticed the grimace on her face.
“She’s awake.”
“Any visible injuries?”
“Her leg. But she says everything hurts.”
It took Dakota moving her hand from her leg to her belly for Mary to report the obvious. “She’s pregnant. Nine months pregnant.”
“Is she in labor?”
“No . . . uhm.” Once again the liquid on the stairs had her pause. “Dakota?”
“What?” Her friend bit the question out.
“Did your water break?”
“No my water didn’t—” Dakota didn’t finish her sentence. They both looked down at the same time.
“Oh, shit.” This time it was Mary cussing. And Mary didn’t cuss out loud.
“Ma’am?”
“Uh, yeah. Her water . . . yeah, she’s in labor.”
“How far apart are her contractions?” The monotone questions coming from the operator sounded as if they came from a computer and not a person.
“How far apart are your contractions?” Mary repeated the question.
“How the hell should I know?” Dakota barked.
Mary tilted the receiver to her mouth. “She doesn’t know. It all just happened. Is an ambulance coming?”
The operator confirmed the address and told her the paramedics would be there within four minutes. When Mary tried to end the call, the operator continued to ask questions. Are the contractions coming fast? Was the baby crowning? Mary’s eyes moved to the wet spot on Dakota’s pregnancy pants.
“What are you staring at?”
“They want to know if the baby is coming out.”
Dakota shook her head as the sound of an ambulance rang closer.
“Thank God,” Mary muttered as she left Dakota’s side and moved to the front door. As soon as she saw the lights, she thanked the operator and hung up.
The small fire medic truck pulled into the drive just as the full-size truck rounded the corner onto their street.
The medic stepped from the truck without rushing.
“She’s inside.” Mary forced her breathing to slow.
The fortysomething man offered a nod and followed her in while the second medic went to the back of the truck to grab some kind of box.
Another siren filtered into the mix while neighbors started to emerge from their houses.
Within the course of ten minutes the medics had cut Dakota’s pants away, splinted what did appear to be a broken leg, gotten up close and personal enough to know the baby wasn’t flashing the color of its hair, and had loaded her friend onto a gurney.
After a brief argument as to which hospital the medics were going to take her to, Dakota finally met Mary’s gaze.
“Call Walt.”
The medics extended the gurney and started to roll her out of the house.
“And grab my purse. My overnight bag is by Walt’s side of the bed,” she yelled.
“I got it.”
“And lock the door.”
Mary smiled. “I’m right behind you.”
“Call my mom . . . but don’t tell her about the fall.”
She’s going to find out eventually. “Okay.”
“Mary?”
“Yeah?”
“Hurry.”
“Right behind you!”
A horrendous thud followed Dakota cussing and had Mary running toward her friend.
Dakota sat crumpled at the bottom of the stairs, one hand on her belly, the other on her leg.
“What the heck?”
“Oh, damn. Oh . . .” Dakota started to rock back and forth, her eyes closed and her face squished in pain.
Mary managed to put her cup on the floor as she knelt down beside her. “What hurts? Did you fall?” Stupid question, but Dakota didn’t call her on it.
“Slipped,” she said, gritting her teeth.
Mary glanced at the stairs, noticed liquid on the surface of the polished wood.
“Did you spill something?”
Dakota finally opened her eyes and pulled up the edge of her pants on her right leg. It was already turning red.
“Damn . . . just, son of a bitch!”
“Are you okay?”
“No. I think I broke it.”
Mary’s heart leapt in her chest. “Really?” She peered closer.
“Oh, damn.”
Mary swept back her hair and tried to catch Dakota’s eyes. “Should I call an ambulance?”
Dakota shook her head.
“I’ll call Walt.”
“No . . .”
“What?”
“Yes. Oh, God it hurts!”
“Your leg?” Mary glanced down again.
“No.”
“Your leg doesn’t hurt?”
“It. All. Hurts!”
Mary stood quick enough to feel a little dizzy. “I’m calling an ambulance.”
“No, Mary . . . Walt will freak.”
Mary didn’t listen and found the cordless receiver sitting on the counter in the kitchen. She dialed 911 and hurried back to her friend.
“Mary, I’m okaaay.” Dakota winced as she said it and closed her eyes.
“Nine one one, what’s your emergency?” The operator sounded bored.
“Yeah, my friend fell down the stairs.”
“Is your friend awake?”
Dakota started to pound her fist on the floor beside her. At first Mary thought maybe it was a tactic to end the phone call, then she noticed the grimace on her face.
“She’s awake.”
“Any visible injuries?”
“Her leg. But she says everything hurts.”
It took Dakota moving her hand from her leg to her belly for Mary to report the obvious. “She’s pregnant. Nine months pregnant.”
“Is she in labor?”
“No . . . uhm.” Once again the liquid on the stairs had her pause. “Dakota?”
“What?” Her friend bit the question out.
“Did your water break?”
“No my water didn’t—” Dakota didn’t finish her sentence. They both looked down at the same time.
“Oh, shit.” This time it was Mary cussing. And Mary didn’t cuss out loud.
“Ma’am?”
“Uh, yeah. Her water . . . yeah, she’s in labor.”
“How far apart are her contractions?” The monotone questions coming from the operator sounded as if they came from a computer and not a person.
“How far apart are your contractions?” Mary repeated the question.
“How the hell should I know?” Dakota barked.
Mary tilted the receiver to her mouth. “She doesn’t know. It all just happened. Is an ambulance coming?”
The operator confirmed the address and told her the paramedics would be there within four minutes. When Mary tried to end the call, the operator continued to ask questions. Are the contractions coming fast? Was the baby crowning? Mary’s eyes moved to the wet spot on Dakota’s pregnancy pants.
“What are you staring at?”
“They want to know if the baby is coming out.”
Dakota shook her head as the sound of an ambulance rang closer.
“Thank God,” Mary muttered as she left Dakota’s side and moved to the front door. As soon as she saw the lights, she thanked the operator and hung up.
The small fire medic truck pulled into the drive just as the full-size truck rounded the corner onto their street.
The medic stepped from the truck without rushing.
“She’s inside.” Mary forced her breathing to slow.
The fortysomething man offered a nod and followed her in while the second medic went to the back of the truck to grab some kind of box.
Another siren filtered into the mix while neighbors started to emerge from their houses.
Within the course of ten minutes the medics had cut Dakota’s pants away, splinted what did appear to be a broken leg, gotten up close and personal enough to know the baby wasn’t flashing the color of its hair, and had loaded her friend onto a gurney.
After a brief argument as to which hospital the medics were going to take her to, Dakota finally met Mary’s gaze.
“Call Walt.”
The medics extended the gurney and started to roll her out of the house.
“And grab my purse. My overnight bag is by Walt’s side of the bed,” she yelled.
“I got it.”
“And lock the door.”
Mary smiled. “I’m right behind you.”
“Call my mom . . . but don’t tell her about the fall.”
She’s going to find out eventually. “Okay.”
“Mary?”
“Yeah?”
“Hurry.”
“Right behind you!”
