Chapter 21 - The Heartbeat in the Storm
For the first several weeks after Claire told Vincent she was pregnant, he tried very hard not to become unbearable.
He failed magnificently.
Every morning, before Claire even opened her eyes, Vincent was already awake beside her, watching the slow rise and fall of her breathing as though personally supervising oxygen itself.
If she shifted under the blankets, his hand immediately moved toward her.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
“Any pain?”
“No.”
“Cramping?”
“Vincent.”
“Nausea?”
“Vincent.”
“Dizziness?”
She opened one eye. “If you ask me one more medical question before coffee, you’re sleeping in the kiln room.”
He nodded solemnly.
“Understood.”
Then he waited approximately thirty seconds.
“Can I make you ginger tea?”
Claire threw a pillow at him.
For all her teasing, she understood the fear beneath his vigilance.
Their first child existed in both of their memories as two tiny purple footprints on a hospital card. Pregnancy was not innocent for them anymore. Every appointment carried ghosts. Every ultrasound room smelled faintly of Bellevue no matter how clean and bright the clinic in Portland actually was.
At sixteen weeks, the obstetrician turned the monitor toward them.
“There’s the heartbeat.”
A rapid rhythm filled the room.
Strong.
Steady.
Alive.
Vincent gripped Claire’s hand so tightly she finally whispered, “Honey, circulation.”
He instantly loosened his fingers.
“Sorry.”
The technician smiled.
“First baby?”
Claire and Vincent exchanged a glance.
Claire answered quietly.
“Second.”
The technician immediately understood there was a story she should not ask about.
Later, driving back toward Camden through miles of pine forest, Vincent kept one hand on the steering wheel and the other resting palm-up on the console.
Claire slipped her fingers into his.
“You know you can be happy,” she said.
He stared through the windshield.
“I am happy.”
“No. You’re terrified.”
His jaw tightened.
“That too.”
“Those aren’t mutually exclusive.”
Vincent finally looked at her.
“What if I let myself believe everything will be okay?”
Claire knew exactly what he meant.
What if the universe punished hope?
She squeezed his hand.
“Then we believe it together.”
That evening they returned to the cooperage and discovered three trucks parked outside.
Harold stood near the barn doors with two executives from the Bennett-Moretti Foundation.
Claire frowned.
“What happened?”
Harold removed his glasses.
“Flooding in West Virginia. One of the mobile pediatric clinics is trapped outside Greenbrier County. Roads are washed out, local hospitals are overloaded, and several rural communities have no pediatric medications.”
Vincent’s former corporate instincts activated instantly.
“How many trucks?”
“Eight.”
“Helicopters?”
“State assets are committed to rescues.”
Vincent was already reaching for his laptop.
“We have freight aircraft under foundation contract in Pennsylvania.”
Claire touched his arm.
He stopped.
It was small, that pause.
Years earlier, he would not have noticed her hand.
Now the entire world stopped when she touched him.
“You want to go,” she said.
“Only if you’re comfortable.”
“I’m not asking permission. I’m asking whether they need you.”
Harold answered for him.
“They do.”
Claire looked toward the harbor.
“Then go.”
Vincent shook his head immediately.
“You’re pregnant.”
“I’m pregnant, not made of glass.”
“The doctor said avoid unnecessary—”
“The doctor said I’m healthy.”
A long silence passed.
Finally Claire smiled.
“Go save some children, Vincent.”
He kissed her forehead.
“I’ll be back tomorrow night.”
But the storm over Appalachia intensified.
Tomorrow night became two days.
Two became three.
On the third evening, Claire was finishing a clay bowl when a sudden sharp pain tightened across her abdomen.
The rib tool fell from her fingers.
She froze.
Another tightening came.
Not severe.
But unmistakable.
Silas looked up from across the workshop.
“Claire?”
She placed one hand against the workbench.
“I’m okay.”
“You don’t look okay.”
Then warmth suddenly spread down the inside of her leg.
Claire looked down.
A thin streak of blood darkened her jeans.
Her breath stopped.
“No.”
Silas was beside her before she could move.
“Phone.”
Claire’s hands were shaking too violently.
Silas grabbed the wall phone.
Within fifteen minutes, an ambulance was racing toward Portland.
Claire lay strapped to the gurney, staring at fluorescent lights.
For one terrible moment, she was back on FDR Drive.
Rain.
Blood.
Sirens.
Vanessa’s cold voice.
You’ll have to handle this yourself.
Claire squeezed her eyes shut.
Then the paramedic leaned close.
“Mrs. Moretti, your husband is on the line.”
Claire’s eyes opened.
“What?”
He handed her the emergency headset.
Vincent’s voice exploded through it.
“Claire?”
She broke instantly.
“Vincent.”
“I’m here.”
“You’re in West Virginia.”
“I’m at the airport. We’re wheels-up in seven minutes.”
“I’m bleeding.”
“I know.”
“I’m scared.”
His voice cracked.
“So am I.”
Claire pressed the headset against her ear.
For the next ninety minutes, Vincent never disconnected.
Not when his plane took off.
Not when the doctors wheeled Claire into the emergency obstetrics unit.
Not when the nurse inserted an IV.
Not when a monitor was strapped around her belly.
Finally, the doctor studied the screen.
Then smiled.
“The baby is okay.”
Claire burst into tears.
“You experienced cervical irritation and a small subchorionic bleed,” the doctor explained. “It looks frightening, but the heartbeat is strong. We’ll monitor you overnight.”
Claire closed her eyes.
Through the headset came the sound of Vincent sobbing.
Six hours later, shortly after midnight, he ran into her hospital room still wearing muddy work boots from West Virginia.
He stopped beside the bed.
Claire held out her hand.
He crossed the room and took it.
No calendar.
No assistant.
May you like
No fifteen-minute limit.
He simply sat beside her until morning, listening to the heartbeat that refused to disappear.
