Page 17 of Point of Contact

His Aunt Marilyn stepped up to the bed, and she and Riley each took one of Larissa’s hands and let her squeeze them as hard as she wanted, Marilyn’s soft, motherly voice coaxing Larissa into calming down and riding the waves of the contractions with a little more control.

“There, there, sweetheart,” Marilyn crooned, stroking Larissa’s forehead with her free hand. “Doing such a good job. Such a brave girl.”

Trevor remembered that the anesthesiologist had bustled in with his tray, making quick work of Larissa’s epidural. The relief had been immediate, and Larissa even drifted off to sleep afterward, the rhythmic thump of the baby’s heartbeat through the fetal monitor the only sound breaking the silence.

Marilyn stood next to Trevor, both of them watching Larissa sleep. “Babies having babies,” she murmured, and Trevor put his arm around her shoulders, letting Marilyn lean against him.

“Thank you for supporting us, Auntie,” he choked out. “Now that he’s actually coming, I—I’m so scared.”

Marilyn wrapped her arm around Trevor’s waist. “I am, too, darling,” she admitted. “You’re both so young. It’s not going to be easy—”

“I’ll do whatever it takes,” Trevor interrupted, putting his hand on Larissa’s belly again over where his son rested. “Whatever it takes to give him a good life.”

Marilyn stretched up to kiss his cheek. “I know you will, Trevor. It’s so clear to me how much you love him already. And I was going to say that it’s not going to be easy, but it will always be worth it. You know that your uncle and I are here for you both.”

Trevor rested his cheek against the top of Marilyn’s head. “I love you, Auntie.”

Marilyn squeezed him. “Love you more.”

Trevor smiled at the memory, turning the page of the album and catching his breath as he looked at the next set of pictures captioned Riley James Estes, December 22nd, 1987, 4:05 p.m.!!!

He didn’t remember much of the delivery itself, having blocked out Larissa’s cries and grunts, the stirrups, the pushing, and all the blood and slime.

But when the blanket-wrapped bundle was first placed in his arms, well, that moment was forever burned into his brain. Trevor looked down into alert bluish-gray eyes, and felt a rush of pure love so intense that his knees weakened.

“Steady there, my darling.” Marilyn guided him to a chair next to Larissa’s bed, and he sank onto it, unable to tear his eyes away from this—from this miracle he’d helped to create.

“Liss, just look at him,” he rasped. “We made this, and he’s perfect.”

Trevor rose from the chair and attempted to put the baby in Larissa’s arms, but she shook her head and turned away. “You hold him,” she whispered. “I’m so tired, and I feel like shit.”

Marilyn stepped up next to the bed and wiped Larissa’s face gently with the warm cloth she’d wet in the bathroom sink. “Giving birth is one of the hardest things you’ll ever do as a woman,” she said comfortingly. “It takes a lot out of you, so you just rest now. Trevor will look after the baby.”

Larissa simply nodded, and turned on her side away from Trevor, huddling under the thin hospital blanket. He could hear the sound of her quiet weeping, and he looked up at his aunt, who knelt down next to his chair.

“I can’t look at him, and see a mistake. I just can’t.”

Marilyn put her hand on the baby’s downy hair. “Give her time, Trevor. She’s so young, and I know she’s scared. Just give her time, honey.”

As Larissa slept, Trevor fed his son a bottle, and changed his first diaper, yelping when cool air hitting tiny genitals caused a fountain to suddenly spray him in the face. The nurses’ laughter wasn’t unkind, and they brought washcloths to help him clean up. One of them offered to take the baby to the newborn nursery for a while so Trevor could sleep, too, but he refused, not wanting to let him out of his sight. He spent an uncomfortable night sitting in a scratchy recliner next to his son’s bassinet, dozing in and out, feeding and changing him on demand, or just simply holding him to his chest.

Sometime during the next morning a lactation consultant stopped by the room and offered to coach Larissa through nursing, but Larissa declined. She still hadn’t held the baby, and at last Trevor picked him up and sat next to Larissa on the narrow bed, placing him firmly in her arms.

He put his own arm around her shoulders, and pulled her close. “He’s like a little burrito,” he teased her, brushing his finger over the baby’s swaddling blanket. Larissa held him, but didn’t cuddle him, sending a wave of disquiet through Trevor.

“We need to name him, Liss,” he said, thinking that maybe calling the baby by name would help Larissa bond with him. “I have a couple of names that I like. How about you?”

She shrugged but didn’t reply, and Trevor said, his voice tentative, “I’ve always kind of liked ‘Riley’ for some reason.”

Larissa glanced at him, a glimmer of interest in her eyes. “I like that name,” she said, bringing one finger up to stroke the baby’s downy smooth cheek. Trevor wanted to sigh in relief, but he bit it back, settling his arm more firmly around her shoulders. She put her head on his chest and sighed.

“Liss, I’m here for you, and I want to be involved in Riley’s life. Okay? I’ll pay child support, take him on weekends, holidays, whatever you want.”

“You’re such a good guy, Trevor,” Larissa mumbled. “I know you thought I should have had an abortion, but I—”

Trevor’s arm tightened. He didn’t say anything, wanting to let her get this out now that she was at last opening up to him, but Larissa pressed her lips together, clamming up.

“I didn’t want to pressure you into any decision, Larissa,” he said gently, rubbing his thumb over her shoulder, remembering how his aunt and uncle had sat down with the two of them and laid out all their options, their gazes steady, their tone reasonable. “It was your body, your choice. I would have supported you either way.”