I positioned the phone where she could see him without turning her head.
Ryan looked at me.
He did not ask whether everything was going to be all right.
He knew me too well to ask for a promise no honest doctor could make.
“What do you need?” he asked.
“Keep talking to her.”
So he did.
He told Emily about the yellow nursery they had argued over for three weeks.
He reminded her that she had already packed three different outfits for the baby’s first ride home because she could not decide which one looked luckiest.
He told her he loved her without trying to make the words graceful.
The baby’s heart rate dropped again.
“Now,” I said.
The next minutes passed in fragments.
Clara calling out numbers.
Rain striking the roof.
Ryan’s voice breaking through the satellite speaker.
Emily gripping my hand between contractions and releasing it only when I needed both hands to work.
Voss standing against the far wall, watching the room continue without him.
Damon remained near the doorway.
The man feared across half the Maine coast could control companies, contracts, gates, boats, and people, yet he could do nothing but wait while his cousin fought for her child.
The first attempt did not bring the baby far enough.
Emily sagged back against the pillow.
“I can’t.”
I leaned close.
“You already are.
One more time.
Look at Ryan.”
On the phone, my brother pressed his hand to the screen.
“Come on, Em.
Bring our baby home.”
The monitor slowed again.
I guided Emily through one final effort.
Then the room changed.
The terrible pressure of waiting broke all at once as the baby was delivered into my hands.
For one second, there was no cry.
The storm seemed to vanish behind the silence.
The baby was small, pale, and still.
Clara and I moved immediately.
We had prepared for this possibility, and there was no room for panic.
We warmed the baby, cleared the airway, and began the steps needed to support breathing.
Emily tried to lift her head.
“Why isn’t she crying?”
“We’re helping her,” I said.
“Stay with me.”
Ryan’s voice came through the phone.
“Amelia?”
I could not answer him.
Five seconds felt like a minute.
Ten seconds felt like an hour.
Then the baby drew in a thin breath.
Another followed.
Her face tightened.
The cry that came out was not loud or dramatic.
It was small, furious, and perfect.
Emily sobbed.
