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Joyce took a sip of her coffee. “Did you take anything for it?”
“Amy made me take 800mg of Naproxen.”
“That should help.”
It did, but not as much as I wanted it to. A hot bath, a soft bed, and not moving for at least twelve hours would be perfect. But I kept those thoughts to myself.
“I need to go check on Lucy,” Joyce murmured over the lip of cup.
“She’s fine,” I said. “I already checked on her and the baby. They’re both are in good spirits and bonding. Obviously, we’re all stuck here for the time being.”
Joyce sighed. “Full moons. Get you every time.” She stood, then squeezed my shoulder. “I’ll still go make my rounds. We have three new babies and tired moms, plus a desperate, idiotic father.” She gave me a stern look. “You never overheard me say that last part.”
I zipped my lips and threw away the key. “I heard nothing.”
“Good.”
Once I was done pumping, I stored the milk in the freezer, then took the time to wash out the pumps. Joyce was right. The father was just making everything worse for those of us on the floor with him. He could demand all day to see his son, but unless he took a trip to the NICU—which would not happen after he threatened us with a gun, real or not—he was stuck here.
I opened the door to go back to work and heard the dad arguing with Amy once again. One of us was going to have to relieve her or knock dad out. She couldn’t keep up at the rate his manic fear was going. I swung by the kitchen on the way and gathered some sodas and a couple of packages of crackers before making my way to the front desk.
“Here,” I said, placing everything in front of her. “You need to eat if you’re going to continue to deal with him.”
To my surprise, she didn’t argue with me. It told me everything I needed to know. Amy was just as shattered, if not more so, than the rest of us.
“Thank you,” Amy whispered, tearing into the cheese crackers first.
“You’re welcome,” I stated. “What is taking so long?”
“I wish I could tell you. But we can only argue with him for such a prolonged period before things eventually go sideways.” Amy gave the distraught father a once-over. “He’s losing it, Waverly. Be careful.”
Chapter7
Waverly
No surprise when the dad started back up moments after Amy started eating.
“I swear if you don’t let me out of here to see my son,” he snarled, leaving the threat open-ended.
Amy ignored him, letting him rant and rave while she continued to munch on her cheesy crackers. She needed to teach me those tricks of ignoring the bluster and rage. He finally shut the hell up when the phone rang.
I snatched up the handset before Amy could to allow her time to breathe. “L&D, this is Waverly.”
The dad paced, but at least he’d stopped muttering and demanding to see his deceased wife or his son.
“Hi, Waverly,” the woman said, surprising me. Her tone was tranquil with a hint of underlying authority, and I immediately felt at ease. “My name is Detective Ava St. James. I’m a negotiator with the Police Crisis Team. First things first. Is everyone okay?”
Her calming voice made sense now. The police were going to do something. Getting us out of here and dealing with the dad was my biggest hope.
“Yes. We’re good.”
“Next question, Waverly. Are you free to talk?” she asked.
“I think so.” I eyed up the pacing dad. “He hasn’t stopped or prevented us from answering the phone before now.”
For a while after the initial lockdown, the phone had rung almost nonstop. Around 1 am or so, it stopped and then it had been dead silent since.
“Good. Good. Has he made any demands?”