Tiel popped in her contact and blinked it into place.
Then, as everyone including Ronnie was watching the old man gasp and gurgle in an effort to regain his breath while Gladys smacked away as though beating a rug, she reached into the tote bag for the camera.
She was familiar enough with home recorders to know where the power switch was located. She flipped it on and punched the Record button. She then set it on a shelf, wedging it between cartons of cigarettes and praying it wouldn't be noticed. She didn't have high hopes for the quality of the picture, but amateur videos had proved invaluable in the past, including the Zapruder film of JFK's assassination and the disturbing video of the Rodney King beating in Los Angeles.
Vern's coughs subsided. Gladys asked Ronnie's permission to get a bottle of water for him.
Tiel replaced the contact-lens cleaner and wetting solution in her bag and was about to withdraw her hand when she spotted her audiocassette recorder. She sometimes used the minuscule recorder during interviews as a supplement to the video recording. Later, when writing her script, she didn't have to sit in an editing booth and watch the video in order to hear the interview. She could replay it on the tiny recorder.
She hadn't intentionally brought it along. It was a tool of her trade, not a vacation item. But there it was, buried in the bottom of her bag, looking to her like a broadcast news icon waiting to be excavated. She imagined it radiating a shimmering, golden aura.
She palmed the recording device and slipped it into the pocket of her slacks just as Sabra gave a sharp cry. Franti cally, Ronnie looked around for Tiel. "I'm coming," she told him.
Giving the elderly thespians a thumbs-up as she stepped around them, she rushed back to Sabra's side.
Doc looked worried. "Her pains have slowed down somewhat, but when she has one it's acute. Where the hell is that doctor? What's taking so long?"
Tiel blotted Sabra's sweating forehead with a pad of gauze she had moistened with cool drinking water. "When he-or she-does get here, how effective can he be? What will he be able to do under these circumstances?"
"Let's just hope he has some experience with breech births. Or maybe he'll be able to convince Ronnie and Sabra that a C-section is mandatory."
"And if neither is the case…?"
"It will be bad," he said grimly. "For all concerned."
"Can you do without a bulb syringe?"
"Hopefully the doctor will bring one. He should."
"What if she hasn't dilated…?"
"I'm counting on nature taking its course. Maybe the baby will turn on its own. That happens."
Tiel stroked the girl's head. Sabra appeared to be dozing.
The final stages of labor hadn't even begun, and already she was exhausted. "It's good she can take these short naps."
"Her body knows that later it'll need all the strength it can muster."
"I wish she didn't have to suffer."
"Suffering is a bitch, all right," he said, almost to himself.
"The doctor can give her an injection to relieve the pain. Something that won't harm the fetus. But only up to a point. The closer she gets to delivery, the greater the risk of giving her drugs."
"What about a spinal? Don't they administer that in the final stages of labor?"
"I doubt he'll try to do a block under these conditions, although he might feel confident enough."
After a moment of thought, Tiel said, "I think going the natural route is nuts. I guess that makes me a disgrace to womankind."
"You have children?" When his eyes connected with hers, it felt like she had been poked lightly just below her navel.
"Uh, no." She quickly lowered her gaze from his. "I'm just saying that if and when I ever do, I want drugs with a capital D."
"I understand completely."
And Tiel got the impression that he did. When she looked at him again, he had returned his attention to Sabra. "Do you have children, Doc?"
"No."
"Earlier you made a comment about daughters that led me to think-"
"No." His fingers loosely encircled Sabra's wrist, as his thumb pressed her pulse point. "I wish I had a blood-pressure cuff. And surely he'll bring a fetoscope."
"That…"
"Monitors the fetal heartbeat. Hospitals now use fancy ultrasound devices. But I'd settle for a fetoscope."
"Where did you get your medical training?"
"What really concerns me," he said, ignoring her question,
"is whether or not he'll perform an episiotomy."
Tiel winced at the thought of the incision and the delicate area subjected to it. "How could he?"
"It won't be pleasant, but if he doesn't, she could easily tear and that'll be even more unpleasant."
"You're doing my nerves no good, Doc."
"I imagine all our nerves have had better days." Again he raised his head and looked across at her. "By the way, I'm glad you're here."
The look was just as intense, the eyes as compelling, as before, but this time she didn't chicken out and look away. "I'm not doing anything constructive."
"Simply being with her is doing a lot. When she's having a pain, encourage her not to fight it. Tensing the muscles and tissue surrounding the uterus only increases the discomfort. The uterus was made to contract. She should let it go about its business."
"Easy for you to say."
"Easy for me to say," he conceded with a wry smile.
"Breathe with her. Take deep breaths inhaled through the nose, exhaled through the mouth."
"Those deep breaths will help me, too."
"You're doing fine. She feels comfortable with you. You neutralize her shyness."
"She admitted to being shy with you."
"Understandable. She's very young."
"She said you don't look like a doctor."
"No, I don't suppose I do."
"Are you?"
"Rancher."
"You're a real cowboy then?"
"I breed horses, run a herd of beef cattle. I drive a pickup truck. I guess that makes me a cowboy."
"Then where'd you learn-"
The ringing of the telephone brought their private conversation to a halt. Ronnie snatched up the receiver.
"Hello? I'm Ronnie Davison. Where's the doctor?"
He paused to listen, and Tiel could tell by his expression that he was hearing something that distressed him.
"FBI? How come?" Then he blurted, "But I didn't kidnap her, Mr. Galloway! We were eloping. Yes, sir, she's my main concern too. No. No. She refuses to go to a hospital."
He listened longer, then glanced at Sabra. "Okay. If the phone'll reach." He dragged the telephone to Sabra, stretching the cord as far as it would go. "The FBI agent wants to talk to you."
Doc said, "It won't hurt her to stand up. In fact, it might do her good."
He and Tiel supported Sabra beneath the arms and together assisted her to her feet. She baby-stepped far enough to take the extended receiver from Ronnie.
"Hello? No, sir. What Ronnie told you is true. I'm not leaving without him. Not even to go to the hospital. Because of my daddy! He said he'll take away my baby, and he always does what he says." She sniffed back tears. "Of course I came with Ronnie voluntarily. I-" She caught her breath and gripped a handful of Doc's shirt.
He lifted her and carried her back to the makeshift birthing bed, depositing her gently. Tiel knelt beside her and, as Doc had instructed, coaxed Sabra to relax, not to fight the contraction, and to breathe.
Ronnie was speaking anxiously into the telephone. "Listen here, Mr. Galloway, Sabra can't talk anymore. She's having a contraction. Where's the doctor we were promised?" He glanced through the plate glass. "Yeah, I see him. You bet I'll let him in."