Page 149 of Moonlighter

“Six forty-seven p.m.!” Bingley announces. “It is five hours and thirteen minutes until midnight.”

“Thank you, Bingley,” Eric says with a sigh.

“You just thanked a computer program,” I point out.

“I’ll thank all kinds of inanimate objects if the baby can just sit tight for one more night.”

She doesn’t.

By nine p.m., my back pains turn into front pains, and the space between them narrows from nine minutes down to four.

Eric spends half the time rubbing my aching back, and half of it staring out at the fat snowflakes falling past the window. When he calls down to the front desk to ask about road conditions, the doormen are not optimistic. “We don’t plan on making it home tonight,” they tell him. “The plows have been doing their best, but they’re running out of places to put the snow. Madison Avenue has at least two fresh inches on it already. Nothing is getting through.”

And when I come out of the bathroom, I overhear a whispered conversation between Eric and Duff, who’s on shift again out in the hallway. “No way,” Duff says. “The Mercedes has rear wheel drive and performance tires. We wouldn’t make it two blocks.”

“Can Max get an SUV up here? He must have a Jeep or a Hummer somewhere in that collection of his.”

“I’ll call it in. But he’s all the way downtown.”

Oh God. Eric told me not to panic. But I’m now starting to panic.

“Alex,” Eric says in a calm voice when he returns to the bedroom. “New plan. We’re not going to NYU. Mount Sinai is only eighteen blocks away. We can walk it.”

“Walk it?” I squeak. And before I get a chance to voice my objections to this plan, another contraction hits me. I sit down on the edge of the bed and rub my lower stomach. It’s tight, like a giant rubber band.

“Breathe,” Eric reminds me.

“It’s—really starting to hurt,” I pant.

“Okay. Okay. Okay,” he says in a voice that’s a lot less calm than it was a few minutes ago. “We’re going to put some boots on you, and a coat. And we’re going to go outside and see if we can get a taxi. If we can’t get that, I’ll call 911 and see what they want us to do.”

“Okay,” I agree. Eric has a plan. Plans are good.

I stand up. And that’s when I feel a popping sensation, followed by a flooding sensation. “Oh!” I gasp. “Water. Broke.”

Then things begin to move very fast. And by “things,” I mean Eric. First, he brings me a dry pair of yoga pants. Then he brings me a coat and a pair of hiking boots I’d forgotten I owned. Those must have come from the back of my closet. He even laces up the boots while I breathe through another contraction.

And, wow, I thought I knew pain before. “These aren’t fooling around,” I gasp.

“I know,” he says, bundling me into my coat.

“My b-bag for the hospital is in the front hall closet.”

“Bag?” he asks. “Okay. Sure. Let’s go.”

And then I’m in the elevator with Eric and a freaked-out Duff. “What happens if we can’t get to the hospital?” the young man asks.

“We’re getting there,” Eric says.

“But what happens if—”

“Shut it!” I gasp as another contraction digs in.

Eric glances at his phone. “Three minutes? Shit.”

The moment the elevator doors open, Duff shoots out, running for the street like a man on fire. “Taxi!”

Eric and I exchange a glance. “Just don’t saymucus plug. I don’t think he can take it.”