Read Online Stork Raving Mad: A Meg Langslow Mystery (A Meg Lanslow Mystery) by Donna Andrews - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Donna Andrews
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I noticed that they hadn’t asked about him—clearly they shared my view that he was a lesser menace. “He wanted privacy for his important phone calls. If you want a room not already filled with either anxious students or hostile faculty, I’d suggest either the pantry or the nursery. Sorry, having all these students around does rather complicate things sometimes.”
“It’s the nursery, then,” Abe said. “If you don’t mind.”
“Top of the stairs,” I said. “I’ll—”
“Oh, my God!” Art was pointing at something at my feet. A small puddle.
“Did your water break?” he asked. “Do you need to go to the hospital?” He had clutched Abe’s arm and his eyes were as wide as I’d ever seen them.
“No, I’m fine,” I said. “That’s only some spilled ginger ale.”
“Are you sure?” Art asked.
“Now, now,” Abe said, patting his arm.
“If my water broke, it wouldn’t contain ice cubes,” I said, pointing to one sitting in the middle of the puddle. “Trust me, only ginger ale.”
“That’s a relief,” he said. “I was so worried that your water had broken.”
“Why worried?” I asked. “I’d be relieved. It would probably mean I was going into labor soon. I’m looking forward to getting this over with.”
“Isn’t it dangerous?” Art asked. “Wouldn’t we have to rush you to the hospital if it broke?”
“Dangerous?” I echoed. “It’s a normal part of pregnancy.Although it doesn’t happen to everyone; according to Dad, seventy-five percent of the time it doesn’t happen until well along in the delivery. And the only danger is that if you don’t give birth within twenty-four hours of your water breaking, there’s an increased risk of infection. So if it breaks, I call my doctor, very calmly, and do whatever she tells me to do.”
“What if you can’t reach her?” Art asked.
“Then we call my dad,” I said. “Remember, he’s a doctor, too.”
“But they don’t live here,” he said. “I thought they lived in Yorktown. That’s at least an hour away. What if—”
“He and Mother bought a farmhouse here so they can come to visit as often as they like without being a bother, as Mother puts it. And they’ve been staying here for the last few weeks, just in case. And Dad’s been giving Michael and Rose Noire all kinds of lessons in what to do under every possible circumstance—Michael says it’s the next best thing to med school. So there’s no danger that I won’t have help if I need it.” Of course, there was some danger that I might trip over all the eager helpers and well-meaning worriers, but I decided it wouldn’t be tactful to say so aloud.
“That’s a relief,” Art said.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “We’ve got everything covered. Why don’t you go on upstairs? I’ll send Michael up.”
“We could fetch him,” Art said. “So you don’t have to exert yourself. How about—”
“I’m just going to call him,” I said, holding up my cell phone. “These days, we both carry our cell phones twenty-four/seven.”
“Let’s go upstairs and let her make her call,” Abe said. He was patting Art’s shoulder in a reassuring manner. I found myself wondering how Art had survived his own children’s births if the mere possibility that I might be going into labor unnerved him so much. I made a mental note to ask his wife one of these days.
They trooped upstairs. Abe seemed to take the stairs well enough, but Art lagged a little. Was he still worrying about me, or was he feeling unwell? He’d come through heart surgery last year just fine, but everyone was trying not to put too much stress on him. Everyone in the drama department, that is. I felt a sharp surge of anger and resentment against Drs. Wright and Blanco for causing Michael and his closest colleagues so many headaches. If they were fretting Art into some kind of stress-related medical problem . . .
Nothing I could do about it now. Except maybe ask Dad to take a
“It’s the nursery, then,” Abe said. “If you don’t mind.”
“Top of the stairs,” I said. “I’ll—”
“Oh, my God!” Art was pointing at something at my feet. A small puddle.
“Did your water break?” he asked. “Do you need to go to the hospital?” He had clutched Abe’s arm and his eyes were as wide as I’d ever seen them.
“No, I’m fine,” I said. “That’s only some spilled ginger ale.”
“Are you sure?” Art asked.
“Now, now,” Abe said, patting his arm.
“If my water broke, it wouldn’t contain ice cubes,” I said, pointing to one sitting in the middle of the puddle. “Trust me, only ginger ale.”
“That’s a relief,” he said. “I was so worried that your water had broken.”
“Why worried?” I asked. “I’d be relieved. It would probably mean I was going into labor soon. I’m looking forward to getting this over with.”
“Isn’t it dangerous?” Art asked. “Wouldn’t we have to rush you to the hospital if it broke?”
“Dangerous?” I echoed. “It’s a normal part of pregnancy.Although it doesn’t happen to everyone; according to Dad, seventy-five percent of the time it doesn’t happen until well along in the delivery. And the only danger is that if you don’t give birth within twenty-four hours of your water breaking, there’s an increased risk of infection. So if it breaks, I call my doctor, very calmly, and do whatever she tells me to do.”
“What if you can’t reach her?” Art asked.
“Then we call my dad,” I said. “Remember, he’s a doctor, too.”
“But they don’t live here,” he said. “I thought they lived in Yorktown. That’s at least an hour away. What if—”
“He and Mother bought a farmhouse here so they can come to visit as often as they like without being a bother, as Mother puts it. And they’ve been staying here for the last few weeks, just in case. And Dad’s been giving Michael and Rose Noire all kinds of lessons in what to do under every possible circumstance—Michael says it’s the next best thing to med school. So there’s no danger that I won’t have help if I need it.” Of course, there was some danger that I might trip over all the eager helpers and well-meaning worriers, but I decided it wouldn’t be tactful to say so aloud.
“That’s a relief,” Art said.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “We’ve got everything covered. Why don’t you go on upstairs? I’ll send Michael up.”
“We could fetch him,” Art said. “So you don’t have to exert yourself. How about—”
“I’m just going to call him,” I said, holding up my cell phone. “These days, we both carry our cell phones twenty-four/seven.”
“Let’s go upstairs and let her make her call,” Abe said. He was patting Art’s shoulder in a reassuring manner. I found myself wondering how Art had survived his own children’s births if the mere possibility that I might be going into labor unnerved him so much. I made a mental note to ask his wife one of these days.
They trooped upstairs. Abe seemed to take the stairs well enough, but Art lagged a little. Was he still worrying about me, or was he feeling unwell? He’d come through heart surgery last year just fine, but everyone was trying not to put too much stress on him. Everyone in the drama department, that is. I felt a sharp surge of anger and resentment against Drs. Wright and Blanco for causing Michael and his closest colleagues so many headaches. If they were fretting Art into some kind of stress-related medical problem . . .
Nothing I could do about it now. Except maybe ask Dad to take a
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