Rachel loves that I said that to Ian. I love that Ian told her that.
The doctor comes in and tells us we can go home now. Ian
helps me take everything to the car and pull it up to the exit.
Before I go back to Rachel’s room, Ian touches my shoulder. I
turn around and face him.
I get the feeling he wants to tell me congratulations, but
instead, he just hugs me.
It’s awkward, but it’s not. I like that he’s proud of me.
It makes me feel good. Like I’m doing this right.
Ian leaves.
So do we.
Me and Rachel and Clayton.
My family.
I want Rachel in the front seat with me, but I love that she’s
riding in the back with him. I love how much she loves him. I
love that I’m attracted to her even more now that she’s a mom.
I want to kiss her. I want to tell her I love her again, but I think
I tell her way too much. I don’t ever want her to get tired of
hearing it.
‘‘Thank you for this baby,’‘ she says from the backseat. ‘‘He’s
beautiful.’‘
I laugh. ‘‘You’re responsible for the beautiful part, Rachel. The
only thing he got from me was his balls.’‘
She laughs. She laughs hard. ‘‘Oh, my God, I know,’‘ she says.
‘‘They’re so big.’‘
We both laugh at our son’s big balls.
She sighs.
‘‘Rest,’‘ I tell her. ‘‘You haven’t slept in two days.’‘
I see her smile in the rearview mirror. ‘‘But I can’t stop staring
at him,’‘ she whispers.
I can’t stop staring at you, Rachel.
But I do stop, because the oncoming traffic is brighter than it
should be.
My hands grip the steering wheel.
Too bright.
I’ve always heard your life flashes before your eyes in the
moments before you die.
In a sense, that’s true.
However, it doesn’t come at you in sequence or even in
random order.
It’s just one picture that
STICKS
in your head and becomes everything you feel and everything
you see.
It’s not your actual life that flashes before your eyes.
What flashes before your eyes are the people who are your life.
Rachel and Clayton.
All I see is the two of themmy whole lifeflash before my
eyes.
The sound becomes everything.
Everything.
Inside me, outside me, through me, under me, over me.
RACHEL, RACHEL, RACHEL.
I can’t find her.
CLAYTON, CLAYTON, CLAYTON.
I’m wet. It’s cold. My head hurts. My arms hurt.
I can’t see her, I can’t see her, I can’t see her, I can’t see him.
Silence.
Silence.
Silence.
DEAFENING SILENCE.
‘‘Miles!’‘
I open my eyes.
It’s wet, it’s wet, there’s water, it’s wet.
Water is in the car.
I unbuckle my seat belt and turn around. Her hands are on his
car seat. ‘‘Miles, help me! It’s stuck!’‘
I try.
I try again.
But she needs to get out, too.
She needs to get out, too.
I kick my window and break the glass. I saw it in a movie once.
Make sure there’s a way out before there’s too much pressure on the
windows.
‘‘Rachel, get out! I’ve got him!’‘
She tells me no. She won’t stop trying to get him out.
I’ll get him, Rachel.
She can’t get out. Her seat belt is stuck. It’s too tight.
I let go of the car seat and reach for her seat belt. My hands are
underwater when I find it.
She slaps at my arms and attempts to push me away from her.
‘‘Get him first!’‘ she screams. ‘‘Get him out first!’‘
I can’t.
They’re both stuck.
You’re stuck, Rachel.
Oh, God.
I’m scared.
Rachel is scared.
The water is everywhere. I can’t see him anymore.
I can’t see her.
I can’t hear him.
I reach for her seat belt again.
I get it off her.
I grab her hands. Her window isn’t broken.
Mine is.
I pull her forward. She’s fighting me.
She’s fighting me.
She stops fighting me.
Fight me, Rachel.
Fight me.
Move.