I meet Anne’s eyes, and we both smile. This is a perfect night, warm, happy, peaceful. I vow to remember tonight. It’s exactly the kind of night I want to remember. My kids are healthy and happy. My friends are with me. Everything is good. Everything is just as it should be.

Chapter Eighteen

Eighteen

The fireworks finale seems to last forever, a triumph of pyrotechnic technology, and as we head home, the kids are comparing favorites.

I like the loud silver ones.

I like the big red ones that turn blue.

I like the ones that look like rain.

In the house I herd them up the stairs, to the bathroom to brush teeth before changing into PJs and climbing into bed.

Sometime in the middle of the night, I wake, needing to pee.

I stumble my way into the bathroom, hike up my nightgown, and sit on the toilet. I pat the wall to find the toilet paper and tear off a strip to wipe—and I recognize immediately that something’s not right. I peer down to look at the toilet paper in the semi-darkness and it’s colored. My underwear’s colored.

I’m up, flicking on the bathroom light and standing there all by myself, seeing what I shouldn’t be seeing. Blood. Lots of it, too.

I feel almost dizzy with dread. It’s July 5, and I’m losing the baby.

I sit back on the toilet, my nightgown hiked up, my underwear still around my ankles, and I try to think, try to be calm. I can’t be losing the baby. I can’t be. It’s been the best day. The best holiday. I was so relaxed tonight. So happy.

I press a hand to my eyes, press back the tears and scream of panic.

Maybe it’s not over, maybe it’s not too late. Doctors can do all kinds of things. I just need to talk to my doctor. Get to the hospital.

Heart pounding, hands shaking, I roll together long sheets of toilet paper to pad my underwear before flushing the toilet and going to my room to find some sweatpants and a T-shirt. I’ll go to the hospital. They’ll know what to do.

But in the hallway, I freeze. What about the kids? What do I do about them? I can’t drag them to the hospital, and I can’t just leave them here alone.

I check my watch. Nearly two in the morning.

Whom do I call to come stay so I can go?

Anne would come. So would Kris and Nic. They’re all home now. I just saw them all earlier tonight.

I pick up the phone, poised to dial Anne’s number. But I can’t. It’s not fair to her. She has a family, kids. How do I just call in the middle of the night and wake everyone up?