Into the Sunshine: Of Love and Loss Series Book Two

5

Locking the bolt, Iris stayed there a moment longer, listening to the rumble of the car drive away and bracing herself against the doorframe as another cramp arced from her belly to her back. Once it eased, she took a ragged breath and plodded toward her bedroom, intent on keeping her promise to rest.

However, she'd only made it partway down the hall when a flood of warm liquid rushed from between her legs. It drenched her chemise and skirt and pooled on the floorboards at her feet.

Iris stared in confusion, her stomach churning. Had she lost control of her bladder and soiled herself? The thought had no sooner crossed her mind when a successive wave of intense cramps doubled her over.

She cast a desperate look out the window, hoping to see Frank's car. But the lane was eerily quiet, devoid of any traffic.

Whimpering and groaning, she wrapped her arms around her belly. When the pain finally eased, sweat dampened her forehead, her limbs trembled, and her mouth grew parched. Another agonizing pain struck, and she crumpled to her knees, racked with the powerful urge to bear down. Iris resisted, petrified of what it meant. The acrid smell of panic filled the air, and the taste of copper lingered in her mouth.

"No, no, no—It's too soon," she cried, her voice barely above a whisper, but her fear deafening.

Terrified she'd fall if she tried standing, she crawled toward the phone. Every movement was a battle against her leaden-filled limbs and the floor that seemed to have turned into a bog of molasses. But she pressed on, refusing to give in to her overwhelming distress.

She paused with each successive contraction but stopped at the kitchen table when the pain and her body's insistence to push could no longer be ignored. Undressing down to her sodden chemise in between contractions, Iris laid her blouse and skirt nearby on the floor, gripped a table leg for support, and began pushing.

Time slowed, punctuated by the dull ticktock of the clock on the kitchen wall and its eight whistled bellows, marking the hour. Instinct replaced panic, and she adjusted her position. Excruciating pain and pressure escalated, combining with a terrible burning sensation.

A primal groan tore from her throat. The agony and pressure shifted. Then, a massive contraction seized her, and with one desperate push, Iris bore down with all her remaining strength until the baby slipped free in a gush of warm liquid.

A boy, her heart rejoiced one second, then a strangled sob escaped her. The cord lay twisted around his neck, and his skin held a bluish tinge. As though she was gripped in a nightmare and watching while standing outside herself, Iris quickly unwrapped the cord, cradled his slippery, tiny body, and smacked his rump.

"Breathe, my love."

He made no sound.

Iris smacked his rump again in mounting despair, then swept her trembling finger in his mouth to clear his airway and tried once more.

Silence.

A ragged wail escaped her as she rubbed his back like she'd seen the doctor do with Celia's youngest.

Fear and exhaustion caused her limbs to quake. Tears flooded her eyes and spilled freely down her cheeks. She smacked his rump once more. "Breathe," Iris brokenly commanded, "you must breathe."

However, his continued stillness confirmed the terrible truth. Clutching the lifeless body to her bosom, Iris bowed her head and wept.

The cuckoo chimed just as a persistent knock came at the front door, jolting Iris to wakefulness. She blinked and looked at the clock in confusion. 9:30. Had it only been an hour and a half since having the baby? It'd felt like an eternity.