"The joys of parents are secret, and so are their griefs and fears." -- Francis Bacon
Friday, June 19, 1998
5:44 A.M.
Hill Valley, California
"I'm so sorry, Marty! I didn't know....." "It's okay, Jen -- you didn't know. It's not like I had
anything to really do later today, anyway." Jennifer McFly let out her breath in a sigh as she and her husband entered
their house through the door that led from the garage. "I suppose,"
she said, her tone grumpy. "Maybe it was wishful thinking on my part. God,
I feel like a beached whale! Isn't this ever going to end?" Marty glanced at his wife as he closed the door at his back, hiding a smile.
Eight months and about one week pregnant -- with twins, no less -- he wasn't
about to deny Jennifer's mammoth belly. But he also thought she looked just
fine to him -- and loved her all the more for sacrificing her normally trim
figure to bring their kids into the world. "Soon," he said, tossing
the hospital bag on the dining room table as they passed it. "Didn't your
doc say it could happen any time now?" "Yes," Jennifer grumbled, still perturbed, waddling to the couch
in their family room and sinking down on it, grimacing at the uncomfortable
mound of baby on her front. "Which is why I can't believe that it was just
false labor! I don't get how that can happen this late in the pregnancy." "Apparently, it can," Marty said. "Look at it this way,
though -- we got a dry run of the whole thing and know that it only takes about
twenty minutes to get to the hospital with no traffic on the roads. And at
least we were both at home when you felt something. You didn't have to try and
track me down." "I guess," Jennifer said, leaning back and propping her feet up on
the coffee table. Marty paused in the doorway to the hall as he glanced back,
seeing her apparently settled down there. "Aren't you gonna go back to
bed?" The mother-to-be shook her head, picking up the current issue of TV Guide
and leafing through it. "Why bother? I won't sleep." Marty -- who, personally, was exhausted after being jarred awake a quarter
after two from Jennifer's voice announcing that she was sure it was
"time" -- stifled a sigh. He figured once the kids were born, no one
would be doing much sleeping under their roof. Which made it all the more
irritating that Jennifer's final month and a half of pregnancy seemed to
include a healthy dose of insomnia for the poor twenty-nine-year-old. Her
complaint was that she wasn't able to "get comfortable" and felt too
jittery and restless. Marty didn't really share in the problem, though his
wife's tossing and turning wasn't making it any easier for him to sleep -- and
when she did give up and get up, he felt bad if he stayed in bed and
didn't keep her company. It was simply one of the many things he'd felt guilty
about since his wife had become pregnant, as it seemed poor Jennifer was
getting the raw end of the deal. He'd had an equal role in creating the kids,
after all, but his body wasn't the one undergoing drastic and uncomfortable
biological changes. "Yeah," he lied to her, stepping back into the family room.
"I guess it's pretty pointless to go back to bed with the sun already up.
Want me to fix breakfast?" Jennifer looked up from the periodical to smile at him. "Sure,"
she said. "Thanks, Marty." "What do you want?" he asked, already changing direction to the
kitchen. "Ummmm... if we've got any eggs, maybe a bacon and cheese omelet, if
it's not too much trouble." Marty smiled ruefully as he flicked on the overhead kitchen light. After the
first trimester had passed for his wife -- during which she'd suffered through
agonizing daily bouts of morning sickness -- Jennifer's appetite had returned
full force, and then some. Normally -- or, as Marty had come to think of it,
Before Conception -- she was a cereal and fruit kind of person for breakfast.
Since about late January, though, it was pancakes, waffles, cinnamon rolls,
omelets, hash browns.... most any high maintenance breakfast goody. Marty
didn't mind that stuff once in a while, maybe for brunch, but Jennifer's new
"pregnancy diet" made him feel slightly ill, personally. He was still
sticking to cereal and fruit. A look in the fridge told him that his wife's omelet dreams would come true
that morning. Marty set all the ingredients out on the counter, then conducted
a hunt for the cooking pan. He was interrupted in his search by a faint whining
near his knees. Looking away from peering into a dim shelf, Marty saw Van
Halen, the golden retriever he and Jen had gotten a year previous, peering up
at him with huge, pleading eyes. "Ah, you want to eat, too, don'tcha?" Marty asked. The dog's tail
started to wag at the mention of food. He headed off to the pantry to collect
the kibble and fill Halen's dish. The dog gave him a happy sort of grin before
digging in. Marty's gaze lingered on the pooch, recalling how Jennifer had gone
behind his back with Doc to get the dog for him as a twenty-ninth birthday
gift. In retrospect, it was probably Jennifer's way of prepping him -- of them
both, actually -- to be parents. Halen -- his full name was a real mouthful
and, after a couple days, Marty had inevitably shortened it when he addressed
the dog -- had been a puppy when the McFlys had acquired him and Marty had
spent a lot of hours when he was supposed to be working in his home studio
chasing after the pet and trying to teach him why it wasn't good to chew on the
furniture, pee on the rug, or jump on people when they came into the house. He
certainly learned a lot about patience in the process. Though, no doubt,
children would be considerably harder to take care of than a single puppy. Marty's mouth went a little dry as he resumed his search for the cooking
pan, thinking about that. Although he had turned thirty less than two weeks
ago, he still felt pretty young -- and unprepared for being a father. Even the
title sounded foreign in his mind. Father. Pop. Dad. Daddy. Hell, he
still identified his own father, George McFly, with those words -- not himself! Parents -- at least, good parents -- were supposed to be old and
wise. The kids twisting around in Jennifer's belly were going to get a
freelance songwriter/musician for a dad, and a local newswoman as a mom. Not
that those weren't respectable positions, but they definitely weren't the
normal office jobs that most parents held. And although he was now the big 3-0,
Marty still didn't feel like much of a grown up, in spite of being married
seven years, making consistent payments on a house, having a pretty good career
going, and knowing how to cook omelets -- if he could ever find the damned pan. Maybe some of that had to do with how he appeared to others -- young, in a
nutshell. He still got carded whenever he got near alcohol and, a few months
ago, one of the music professors at HVU mistook him for an undergrad when, in
reality, he was there to deliver a guest lecture. Then their was what he did
for a living. It seemed glamorous to most people -- staying home and writing
songs, getting paid to go to L.A. to cut some session guitar work in a studio,
and work with other musicians who were up and coming in the industry. In
reality, Marty had put an awful lot of hard work into getting to the point
where he was now -- if not famous than at least successful in an
under-the-radar/ respected kind of way. He made good money, and, more
importantly, loved his work, but those who didn't really know him as a person,
and simply heard what he did for a living, thought his job description meant he
was either super poor, living off his wife's success, or else super lazy. A
slacker or a dreamer who never grew up. The elusive pan was finally located in the dishwasher, which contained a
clean load that hadn't yet been put away. Marty took a few minutes to take care
of that chore before he started cooking. The tasks helped distract him from the
same worries that had been flickering more and more frequently though his head
as the months had worn on and Jennifer's due date -- July thirteenth -- had
grown closer. He was excited about finally having kids of his own around, but
it felt so weird, too. Was he ready? Was Jen ready? And what if they
weren't and they somehow screwed their kids up, bad, for life? His own parents
were thirty when he came along, but that was different -- they'd already had
two, by then. Not just a dog. "Ow, dammit!" Marty dropped the metallic cheese grater on the counter and popped his pinky
in his mouth, an automatic reaction when he felt a sharp pain mid-grate. A
moment later he pulled it out and examined it, noting that it now bore angry
red scratches from where he had accidentally scraped it against the sharp
surface. "Perfect," he muttered, heading over the sink to rise it off.
"Nice going, McFly...." The musician wondered if the next thing he should make would be a big, fat
pot of coffee, for himself. He still didn't really care for the stuff, much,
but when the going got tired, it was the best way to get caffienated. Of
course, the real problem wasn't so much exhaustion as it was simple
preoccupation. I've gotta keep this together, for Jen's sake, he thought as he
found a Band Aid in one of the drawers and slapped it over the faintly bleeding
scratches. She's already got too much on her mind to deal with my weird
insecurities! Marty finished preparing the omelet without further incident and presented
it to Jennifer about twenty minutes later, on a tray that included a tall glass
of milk and small bowl of strawberries that he planned to munch on if his wife
didn't.. Jennifer looked up from the TV as he came in. "Sounded like you were having problems in there," she said as she
accepted the tray. The newswoman caught sight of the bandage on his finger and
arched an eyebrow. "Did you hurt yourself?" "Just a scrape," Marty said, not elaborating, as he took a seat
next to his wife. "I had more trouble finding the pan." He glanced at
the TV as Jennifer tried balancing the tray on her swollen stomach. "Which
one of these morning programs is this?" "The Today Show," Jennifer said. "The TV Guide said they were
supposed to have a segment on baby supplies and I was curious." She
glanced at Halen, who had followed Marty out of the kitchen and was standing
close to the newswoman's elevated feet, obviously hoping for a tidbit.
"Did you feed the dog?" "He wouldn't let me forget it," Marty said, patting the vacant
space to his right as an invitation to the dog to take a seat. Halen hesitated
a moment, clearly torn between the couch and looking pathetically at Jennifer's
meal in the hope for a bite. The mother-to-be fixed a firm look on him and
shook her head once. The dog made a sound close to a sigh and hopped up on the
couch next to Marty. Jennifer ate most of her breakfast, stopping when she had about a quarter
left with the grumbly complaint that the twins were taking up too much room in
her to cram anything else into her stomach. Marty polished off the rest for
her, not seeing the point in letting it go to waste. Halen stared at him, his
head on his paws next to Marty's side, emitting a few tentative whines.
Jennifer frowned as her husband took the last bite of the omelet and gave it to
the dog. "He'll never learn if you do that," she warned. "And that's
not good for his diet." "It's in moderation; once in a while won't hurt," Marty said,
unconcerned, letting his pet lick the last lingering traces of breakfast off
his fingers. Jennifer sighed her opinion of that philosophy as the musician leaned
forward to set the tray and empty dishes out of the way, on the coffee table.
"If it was up to you, that dog would be -- ow!" Marty snapped his head around to regard his wife, alarmed. "What's
wrong?" Hearing anything remotely painful sounding coming from her, now,
tended to put him immediately on edge. "A contraction?" "No," Jennifer said immediately, rubbing the side of her belly.
"One of the kids is getting a little punchy with his or her position.
Can't say I blame them. It blows my mind how people can have triplets or even
more...." Marty half smiled. "Yeah. I wonder if one of 'em could break your water
if they kicked hard enough...?" "Not likely," Jennifer said. "Though it's not like they're
not trying. Here, feel this...." Marty had already felt the kids moving around before, of course, but allowed
Jennifer to take his hand and guide it to where one of the twins was apparently
restless. It was rather awkward for him, since it was on her left side, away
from him. A better idea occurred to him before Jennifer was able to settle his
hand down against her side. "Wait a minute," he said, drawing his
hand back. "Lemme try something...." Jennifer watched, bewildered, as Marty lowered his head to her stomach,
almost as if he was using it for a pillow, one ear on the bulge. He snaked his
right arm around the front of her belly so he could slip his palm on the side
with the apparent turbulence. "What are you doing?" she
asked, amused. "Listening," he said. "I'm not hurting you, am I?" "No...." There was a pause. "Can you hear anything in
there?" "Turn the TV down... maybe then." Logic suggested to Marty that if the doctor could pick up the babies'
heartbeats with a stethoscope, and someone could hear your heartbeat if they
lay their head on your chest, he might be able to hear his kids' pulses in the
same manner. Jennifer turned the TV down to a quiet murmur. Marty closed his
eyes and concentrated. "Hear anything?" Jennifer asked softly, a minute later. "I'm not sure." He felt movement under his hand. His wife grunted
as the baby shifted, which created an external sensation that gave Marty
chills. It kind of reminded him of that old movie, Alien. He turned
his head, putting his mouth close to the black fabric of Jennifer's maternity
top. "Hey, guys, stop kicking your mom!" Jennifer snorted softly. "Yeah, like that'll work," she
said, rolling her eyes. It didn't seem to; if anything, when Marty lay his ear back down on
Jennifer's stomach, he could feel the faint twitches under his cheek as the
baby on the right apparently woke up to give a few kicks of his or her own. "They're rebelling already," Marty quipped around a yawn.
"Maybe we shouldn't be in such a hurry to have 'em come out...." The newswoman swatted him gently with the TV Guide. "Easy for you to
say -- they're not swelling you up like the Goodyear Blimp or using your
bladder as a soccer ball." Marty reached up to shield his head from the blows with his free hand.
"Okay, I surrender. The kids are past due and you deserve your body
back." There was another sigh from above. "Yeah. Soon, I guess, right? And
then we'll have night feedings and diapers to worry about -- double time." "Yep, that's what I hear." The couple lapsed into silence. Jennifer turned her attention to the TV,
which was about to present the segment she was interested in. One hand rested
on the back of Marty's neck, her fingers cool and gentle. The other she clasped
over his right hand, which he still held to her belly. With the quiet -- the
volume on the TV remained low -- Marty was able to take the time to listen,
hard, for a glimmer of life inside his wife. He closed his eyes and
concentrated again, focusing on nothing louder than the sound of his own light
breathing. After a moment or two, he detected a faint, steady sound -- a
heartbeat. It was extremely quick and close together and for a moment Marty
wondered if one of the kids was having a heart attack. Then he realized -- it
was simply two different heartbeats. Amazing. There was a flicker of movement under his cheek as one of the twins moved,
again. He couldn't hear the sounds that made -- they were probably too faint
for him to pick up without some sort of amplification device -- but he smiled
nonetheless, fascinated and delighted by the unique experience. They're in there, waiting, Marty thought. My kids. * * * Jennifer sat on the couch half-watching the TV, one hand absentmindedly
playing with her husband's hair as he rested his head on her stomach. Katie
Couric was interviewing a safety expert on some of the new baby products,
trying to weed the necessary from the frivolous, discussing some of the market
surveys and consumer use that the things had gone through. Although she had been
interested in seeing the story earlier, Jennifer found her mind wandering away
from the quiet murmur of the expert. Sitting still, oddly enough, was one of
those things that was becoming harder to do the more pregnant she got. Parts of
her got too stiff or swollen or fell asleep. It was, no doubt, one of the
reasons she was only getting a couple hours of sleep a night before she was
inevitably dragged awake to pace around the house, exhausted but jittery. The
idea of getting up in the night to feed the babies a few times was starting to
sound like a pretty good deal to her; she'd probably get more rest then. Jennifer glanced over at their dog as the segment concluded, ten minutes
later, with the promise of a look at the latest movies to debut that weekend at
the box office. Halen seemed to feel her gaze and looked back at her.
"Wanna go for a walk?" she asked softly. The dog raised his head immediately, interested. Jennifer smiled, though she
half expected to hear Marty nix the idea, that he could take care of the chore
himself. A rebuff was already on the tip of her tongue -- but there was no
argument. She couldn't figure out if she should be irritated or glad by the
silence as it ticked on, and the commercials ended on the TV. It wasn't until
she addressed him directly -- "Marty, you're gonna have to find a new
pillow; I need my belly back, now" -- and got no response that she
realized he had managed to fall asleep. Her first impulse was to not wake him. There was a part of Jennifer that had
sort of liked that her husband was so anxious to keep her company in her
nocturnal restlessness, not wanting her to suffer alone or get painfully bored
and reduced to watching Informercials at three A.M. But another part of her
felt badly for dragging him along for the ride -- especially today, making him
rush her to the hospital with nothing to show for it except Braxton-Hicks
contractions. Besides, Marty was still working -- and had a conference call
scheduled early that afternoon, from L.A., with a producer -- while she had
begun her maternity leave two weeks back on the advice of her doctor. Jennifer sighed once, then tried to go about moving without waking her
spouse. It was a next to impossible goal; she was neatly tucked between Marty
and the arm of the couch. While normally thin and deft on her feet, she was now
so large that the simple act of standing up from the couch took a little help
and creativity. After a few minutes of thinking and experimentation, Jennifer
was finally forced to push Marty away, gently, and rock forward in order to
gain enough momentum to stand. By the time she was up, so was he. "What's wrong?" Marty asked
her, clearly dazed, blinking a few times as his eyes focused on her. "Nothing," Jennifer said softly. "I'm just -- going to use
the bathroom." "Oh." The musician paused to yawn widely. "I guess I'll wait
here, then." He flopped down on the couch in the space she had just
vacated. Halen left the couch as Marty dragged his feet up on it, accidentally
nudging the dog a little in the process, and followed the newswoman as she left
the room and traveled down the hall to the small half bathroom. Jennifer hadn't
entirely lied to her husband; she did need to make a stop there before going on
the walk. There was a long list of things she was not going to miss about being
pregnant and the need to make frequent stops in the bathroom was at the top of
the list. Even the idea of changing diapers was starting to look better and
better. By the time she had left the bathroom, found the dog's leash near the back
door, in the laundry room, and located a light jacket to ward against the early
morning chill in the air, Marty had apparently fallen back to sleep. Jennifer
took a moment to turn the nearly muted TV off, and cover her husband with a
light cotton throw before setting out with Halen. Outside, the air was crisp and cool, the temperature hovering in the late
fifties. The promise of another brilliant almost-summer day was obvious,
though, if the clear sky was any indication of such things. Jennifer moved slowly
as she headed down the block with Halen trotting before her, savoring the fresh
air and the symphony of birds, the latter the only sound on the block at this
hour. Once the babies were born, she had the impression that there would be a
few insane house arrest weeks and simple pleasures, like taking the dog for a
walk, would be all but gone. Jennifer's heart gave a weird little skip as she thought about that. Her
life, she knew, was on the cusp of changing, drastically. She and Marty were
going to go from an young married couple to a family with kids. No longer would
there be long, lazy weekends, spent sleeping in late. They couldn't take off to
the lake for a spontaneous campout, or see a movie together last minute.
Vacations to the Carribean or Hawaii were probably going to be out; Disney
World or Disneyland would be in. Part of her was excited for the changes, even
if it meant that her personal freedom to do what she wanted, when she wanted,
would be reduced. She had always wanted kids, and getting two at once -- and
both a boy and a girl, if the ultrasound was right -- made her feel extremely
fortunate. Yet.... There was another part of Jennifer that was absolutely terrified.
She didn't know the first thing about infants, really, aside from what she had
read in books and observed with her friends' kids. She had babysat before, of
course -- but the youngest clients were typically a few months old. And she had
never been in charge of kids longer than a day. As an only child, there was
never the chance to watch a younger sibling on a regular basis. Also, she and
Marty were getting not just one, but two. Twice as many diapers, feedings, and
people to keep an eye on. There was also the matter of her job. Marty was fortunate in having the
ability to work out of their home from his basement studio. Jennifer's skills,
however, weren't of the freelancing sort. She didn't report the news by
writing; she used cameras -- and not for still pictures, either. It paid well,
however, and she enjoyed it. She hadn't even been too envious that her husband
was able to stay at home and work; if anything, she liked getting out of the
house for a change of scenery. However, she also didn't want her kids raised in daycare. Marty certainly
couldn't be expected to drop everything to chase after them -- not when he was
working. Jennifer didn't need to be in the television studio until three on
weekdays, but even if she and Marty managed to juggle their schedules to allow
their kids at least one parent at home who had their undivided attention, there
were still Marty's all but regular once-a-month business trips to L.A. to
contend with. And, on occasion, Jennifer was called in without warning to the
studio when there was a major breaking news story. The newswoman sighed as Halen pulled at the leash, desperate to pursue a
frolicking squirrel. That same panicky, choking feeling was starting to tighten
around her throat. I still don't know what I want to do! she thought,
frustrated. I love my job, but I don't want to send my kids into therapy
from not being there.... And if I drop out until they're in school, I might as
well give up any hope of working in the industry again! Jennifer had no false illusions over that; she had fought tooth and nail for
her current position at the station, though, admittedly, a fair bit of luck and
good timing was also involved. There were dozens of people who would be happy
to replace her in the plush weeknight co-anchor spot if she opted to resign. And, yet, she still wasn't entirely sure about what to do. Her supervisor
was certainly no help. His response when she had broached her internal debate
was to just take her three months maternity leave and let them know if she
wasn't going to be showing up no later than the end of July, so that they might
find a suitable replacement for her. Marty, too, had been of little help when she brought up the Be A Working Mom
or Be An At-Home Mom debate. "Do what you want to do," he said.
"If you go back to work, my mom would be happy to watch the kids 'til I
finished working. And Doc and Clara already offered to keep an eye on them at
their house if we needed that. The kids don't have to be shipped off
to some scary daycare hell." Her husband had spoken the truth; there were preferable options to daycare.
If she wanted to, she could keep her job. Except daycare concerns weren't the
only thing bothering her; she wanted to be the one to raise them, not
rely on family friends or in-laws. Since she could remember, she had fantasized
about that aspect of the future, of being a mom. Jennifer didn't want to pass
that buck on to anyone else, as qualified as they might be. Now that the babies could be born at, literally, any time -- and, if they
weren't by the end of June, her doctor wanted to induce the labor, as a
full-term natural delivery with twins would be mighty tricky the larger the
babies were -- it was hitting her hard how ill prepared she was at being a
mother. The ideas she had on moms and motherhood swung between her own memories
of her mother, idyllic little daydreams that were likely gleaned off of TV
commercials and old shows on families, and the screaming tantrums that she had
witnessed from her friends' children. Jennifer liked the thoughts of her mother
and the ideas from TV; she shuddered at what she knew was probably the more
realistic memories of the shrieking toddlers. That paled, though, compared to the immediate concerns: What if she dropped
one of the babies? What if she fed them the wrong foods, or too much, or not
enough? What if she put the diaper on the wrong way, or forgot to change them?
What if she couldn't stop them from crying? The worries and potential problems
chased through her head in a relentless cycle. Jennifer found her hand gripping
Halen's leash tightly, so much so that her fingers ached from the pressure. Oh, God, I'm going to be the world's worst mother! she thought,
miserable. Marty's going to think I'm crazy; he's so calm and he has
everything so together. I'll be locked in some bathroom with postpartum,
weeping and wringing my hands because I dropped one of the babies and he'll
just deal with it! He's probably going to want a divorce a week after the kids
come home! It was funny. If Marty had been nervous at all, she would've felt much
better, more sane and normal knowing that he was just as freaked out as she was
feeling. But seeing him so thoroughly unruffled was making her even more upset.
There was something wrong with her, probably. Obviously not every first time
parent felt panicky and helpless. Jennifer took in a deep breath and let it out, slowly, trying to calm down
before she made herself sick -- or crazy. There was still time before the kids
were born. Perhaps days, or hours, but there was no reason to tie herself up in
knots over this now. She focused her mind on the immediate here and now -- the
smell of dewy grass, the sounds of the birds, the feel of the leash in her hand
-- and away from the pointless worries. Something will happen, she thought. That instinct thing will
kick in. I'll be okay.... probably. And if I'm not, at least Marty looks like
he can handle things! Thank God one of us has things under control!
Saturday, June 20, 1998
5:44 P.M.
"C'mon, Doc. You know...." "Know what, Marty?" "Aw, c'mon, don't play naive and innocent with me.... Can't you give me
some kind of hint on when my kids'll be born?" Emmett Brown looked up, amused, at his thirty-year-old friend. Marty and
Jennifer had been invited over for dinner, and while Jennifer remained behind
in the dining room with Clara, nursing an after dinner cup of tea, her husband
had followed the inventor into the kitchen under the excuse of helping out with
the dishes. Doc knew that could only mean one thing -- Marty wanted to talk to
him without anyone else around. (The kids had, typically, scurried off to
various parts of the house the moment dinner had been done, lest they be roped
into any chores.) He hadn't quite expected to be bombarded by the questions
about what he knew on the near future -- though, frankly, Doc was rather
relieved it was just that and not some well phrased request to borrow one of
the time machines. "That wouldn't be particularly fair if I did so," the inventor
said in answer to his friend's request. "Just be patient; it's almost
over." Marty rolled his eyes as he set a couple plates into the dishwasher.
"Maybe, but I'm going nuts every time Jennifer makes the slightest face.
And if she's not around then I'm worrying that she's going to go into labor and
I won't be there and I'll miss it." "Oh, trust me, you won't miss it," Doc said. "You were there
when Clara had Jules, if I recall. Don't you remember how long it took from the
time her labor began to the time the baby was born?" "I guess -- but, come on, Doc, can't you give me one hint?" Doc thought a moment as he rinsed another plate off under the facet and
passed it to Marty. "The babies will be born in June," he said,
figuring that couldn't hurt. "And that's all you're going to get out of
me. I thought you already knew the birthdate? Didn't you come across an article
in the future, once, about the birth?" "Yeah -- but that future wasn't what it is, now, and I don't remember
if I even looked at the date. I had other things on my mind, then, you know,
and, jeez, that was more than ten years ago!" Marty frowned as he put more
dishes in the appliance. "Can you let me know if it'll be this week, or
next....?" Doc just looked at him. "Marty..... You asked for one detail. I gave it
to you. I don't want to rob you of the mystery and anticipation of this event.
Life without surprise isn't very fun." "It is if it means you can sleep at night.; I don't know how much more
I can take of Jennifer's insomnia. And I dunno what to tell people about when
I'm taking time off, either." The musician examined a fork for a moment
before he stuffed it into the utensil basket in the dishwasher. "Can I ask
you something, Doc?" "So long as it doesn't involve information on the future of any
sort." "No, I don't think so." Doc waited for the question, but Marty seemed reluctant to ask it,
immediately. The scientist allowed a minute to go by before he prodded.
"What is it?" Another minute went by, during which Marty seemed fascinated by his chore of
loading the dishwasher. "What.... I mean, how were you feeling before
Clara had Jules?" Doc turned his head a moment as he grabbed the last of the dinner plates off
the counter, hiding a smile from Marty's eyes. "How did I feel?" he
echoed. "You were there...." "Maybe so, but I had other things on my mind then, and I'm not you.
Doc, seriously, how did you feel?" The inventor cranked his memory back twenty-two-and-a-half years prior, to
those last weeks and days before Jules' birth in early 1887. "I was
nervous," he confessed. "Worried about Clara, especially, and if the
delivery would go well and if our child would be healthy." "Didn't you also worry about your ability to be a dad?" Marty
asked. "Oh, absolutely." Doc studied his friend, smiling a little in
spite of Marty's oh-so-serious tone. "You're having those thoughts, now,
aren't you?" "Maybe something like that," Marty half mumbled, turning back to
the dishes -- and fidgeting with the top rack when he saw that there was
nothing more to be done. "I think it's finally hitting me how soon this is
gonna happen -- and how much things are gonna change." "I'd say that's a fairly normal realization," Doc said. But Marty still seemed uncomfortable. "I don't think I'm ready,
Doc," he confessed in a low voice. "I don't feel old enough to be a
dad, to have that kind of responsibility on my shoulders. And I don't know how
to take care of kids!" "Oh, I don't know about that. You've watched mine often enough." "Yeah -- but only for a few hours at a time." The musician sighed
as he shut the door to the dishwasher. "I just don't know if I can handle
this." Doc's amusement over his friend's concern faded as he recalled those early
days of his own fatherhood. He had been sixty-seven when Jules was born, old by
many standards -- yet felt just as unprepared as if he had been four decades
younger. "You'll do fine, Marty," he said seriously. "I think
just about everyone feels that way before they become parents for the first
time. How is Jennifer coping with it?" "Fine," Marty said, almost enviously. "Her biggest worries
seem to be if she should return to work in September and if she'll lose all the
weight she put on from the babies." "Does she know what's going through your mind now?" Doc asked.
"Have you told her your concerns?" "No way!" The young man looked at him as if he was crazy.
"She's got enough things to worry about now and doesn't need to know that
I'm freaking out. Why upset her? Besides, the doctor told her she needs to keep
stress down -- that's why she started her maternity leave more than a month
before the due date." The inventor frowned his opinion over the decision. "You might feel
better if you both talk...." Marty shook his head stubbornly. "No, I've gotta be there now for Jen
-- not upsetting her more 'cause I'm feeling weird." Doc raised one eyebrow as he looked at the musician. "If you think
that's wise," he said, his tone neutral. Marty nodded once. "What did you do, Doc, when you felt like
this?" he asked, changing the subject slightly. "If, you know, you did
have cold feet, or whatever it is?" Doc opened his mouth to answer, just as the kitchen door swung open and his
ten-and-a-half-year-old daughter, Emily, charged in, dragging her
three-year-old brother, Clayton, by the hand. "Daddy, Mom told me that you
gotta put Clayton to bed now," she announced. "Me?" Doc asked, wondering why Clara hadn't foisted the chore off
to one of their other kids. "Why me?" Emily sighed, impatient. "Mom's talkin' to Jennifer and Verne's getting
ready to go on another date with Chrissy." Chrissy -- Christina Perry -- was Verne's latest girlfriend, an education
major at Hill Valley University, and a year younger than him. The
twenty-year-old had dated before, but no previous relationship had been so
serious -- or lasted as long -- as the five-month-and-counting courtship. The
couple spent nearly all of their free time together. Clara and Doc both liked
the young woman, who was a calming and practical influence on their more
creative and hyperactive son. And in the occasional checks he did on his family's
future, it was an almost constant that Verne and Chrissy would end up married.
She, apparently, was "The One" for his middle son. Emily didn't mention Jules, and with good reason -- he was spending his
summer down at UCLA working at the reception desk of an emergency room to earn
some money and gain some experience in the workplace environment he someday
hoped to have. "What's preventing you from doing it?" Doc asked his daughter,
noting shrewdly that she hadn't mentioned herself. Emily sniffed, tossing one of her long braids over her shoulder.
"Clayton's being a pill, not listening to me -- and I gotta finish a web
page layout before Monday. Even though it's summer break, I still got deadlines
and homework." Since Emily was getting paid for that web page layout -- she earned
good money designing them, running her own little business with her parents'
help on the Internet -- Doc let her off without argument. "All
right," he said, reaching for his youngest son's hand. "Come on,
Clayton." The toddler stepped back, trying to hid behind his older sister, shaking his
head of red-brown curls. "Uh uh," he said. "I don't wanna go
t'bed yet!" Clayton clutched Emily's hand tightly, but she was quick to pull out from
his grasp and step away. "Tough cookies," she said, not sympathetic,
leaving the kitchen before her brother could chase after her. Doc sighed as he reached again for Clayton's arm as the kid began a shrill
chant of, "No, no, no, no, no, no, no, Daddy!" "Why don't you come with me, Marty?" Doc said over his son's
indignant howls. "This oughtta give you some idea on what to expect with
parenthood." Marty visibly winced. He followed the scientist out of the kitchen, down the
hall, and up the stairs, to Clayton's bedroom. The toddler squirmed and dragged
his feet until his father, sick of it, reached down and hauled him up under one
arm, turning a deaf ear to his protests. "Why do I gots t'go t'bed,
Daddy?" he demanded, his face scrunched up in an unhappy pout.
"Ev'ryone's still up. An' I'm not sleepy yet." If Clayton was behaving the way he was, now, Doc knew he was tired.
The kid was usually pretty well-behaved, cheerful, and easygoing -- even during
his so-called "terrible twos." The only time he generally threw any
temper tantrums was when he was tired, hungry, or frustrated -- typical of most
little kids in the same moods. "It's past your bedtime," Doc said. "And you didn't get a nap
today, if I recall." Clayton scowled as his father set him down in his room. "Marty, can you
get the door?" the scientist asked, on the off chance that his son would
make a break for it. The musician obediently closed the door, standing with his
back against it. Clayton's green eyes darkened at this method of escape being
sealed off from him. He folded his arms across his chest tightly as his father
opened the chest of drawers to find his pajamas. "No jammies," he said sullenly. "All right," Doc said easily. "Then you can wear your clothes
to bed." Clayton screwed his face up again at this curve ball of a response.
"Daddy, I no wanna go t'bed!" "We've all got to do things we don't want to, once in a while,"
Doc said, not entirely unsympathetic. "Now, did you want to wear your
pajamas or your overalls to bed?" The toddler didn't want to answer that one. His eyes filled with tears at
this apparently cruel choice foisted upon him. "Da-ddy...." he
whined. "Clay-ton...." Doc said in the same tone, exaggerating his voice
not to mock his son but to show him how silly he sounded. The kid didn't seem
to see the humor in it. "If you don't draw this out any longer, there
should be some time for me to read you a quick story. But only if you stop
procrastinating now." The three-year-old stared at his father as a couple big tears trickled down
his freckled cheeks. There was a faintly challenging look to his gaze, but Doc
didn't flinch. He'd dealt with far tougher characters in his life than a cranky
toddler. "If I pick th' book?" he asked, finally. "Within reason," the inventor said, choosing his words carefully.
Kids were smart -- and his were no exception to the rule. If Clayton had time
enough to think about it, he could always select something with thick pages
that would take hours to read aloud, putting off bedtime even longer than if a
simple, thin picture book was selected. Of course, he did have the
ultimate veto power, but Doc preferred not to upset his kids over such little
things if he could help it. The deal seemed satisfactory to Clayton. He allowed his father to help him
get out of his playclothes and into his pajamas, then went off to use the
bathroom and brush his teeth, insisting he could do those things without help.
Doc allowed his son the benefit of the doubt, waiting outside the bathroom door
in case he was needed with Marty, who was looking increasingly nervous. "Is it like this every night?" he asked in a low voice. "Or
does he usually go down easier when you guys don't have company over?" "I think it's a new phase," Doc said. "For some reason, he doesn't
like to go to bed right now. All the kids went through it at some point or
another." "Oh, great," Marty said, half groaning. "If you're trying to
make me feel even worse, Doc, you're doing a great job!" The scientist rolled his eyes at his friend's lament. "Don't think too
far ahead of kids, Marty," he advised. "Take each day as it comes or
you'll have a nervous breakdown before they celebrate their first
birthday." "Yeah, probably," Marty agreed, sounding glum. He ran a hand
through his hair, agitated. "Doc, how am I going to get through the next
few weeks? And months? What if Jennifer leaves me alone with the kids and I end
up killing them or something?" Doc managed to choke back a laugh -- barely. "Oh, Marty, I doubt that.
You're dwelling on this far too much. Just relax and trust instinct to kick in
-- as cliche as that advice sounds." The musician seemed skeptical. "What'd you do the first time Clara left
you alone with Jules?" If he was hoping for a horror story, the inventor was going to disappoint.
"I did exactly what I did when she was in the same room." At Marty's
even more skeptical look, he explained, "I wasn't about to let Clara bear
all the parental burdens -- I felt it only fair to share them as equally as we
could. Even if that wasn't particularly conventional in the times we were
living." Marty looked at him and sighed. The sound of running water stopped in the
bathroom and a moment later Clayton came out. "Done, Daddy," he said.
"Now y'read." He said it as a demand and Doc nodded in agreement. "Yes, now you can
choose a book," he said. The toddler scurried off to his room and the
shelf of books within. To the inventor's great relief, his son selected
something that wasn't inappropriate or an obvious ploy to draw out the bedtime
ritual. It was, however, something he'd probably read a half million times
already, enough to have memorized it word for word. "'Where the Wild Things Are'?" he said when Clayton handed it to
him and settled down in his bed. "Are you sure you want to hear
this again?" The kid nodded once, emphatically. Doc looked at Marty, hovering near the
door. "Why don't you read to him tonight?" "Me?" Marty asked, aghast. "Why?" Doc smiled faintly. "You probably haven't read the book as much as I
have," he said. "And you might as well get some practice with this
sort of thing." Without giving Marty the chance to answer, he looked to
Clayton. "Would it be all right if Marty told you the story?" The three-year-old bit his lip, apparently thinking hard. After a moment, he
nodded. Marty looked almost terrified as he came over and took the book from
Doc. "Relax, Marty," the inventor advised. "You've done this
before, if I'm not mistaken." "Not with Clayton," Marty muttered as he sat down on a corner of
the bed. "I don't think I've done this since Emily was his age.
Maybe." Doc guessed that was fairly accurate. As Jules and Verne had grown older,
their parents had used them as sitters for their younger siblings over Marty
and Jennifer -- especially since the couple had gotten quite busy with their
own lives and careers in the last several years. "All the more reason to do it now," the scientist said, retreating
to an armchair in a corner of the room to wait. He opted not to leave the room
altogether because Clayton would probably object and he was curious to see how
his friend performed in this role. Marty started to read the book aloud, Clayton leaning in close to see the
pictures. The toddler interrupted him from time to time, offering words of
criticism -- "You're s'poseta sound more scary when y'read that" --
and questions, such as, "How come no one else found th' monsters?"
Marty seemed tense for the first part of the book, but by the end he had
relaxed enough to seem almost sorry that the story had concluded. "How'd I do?" he asked, closing the book and looking at his
friend. Clayton thought the question was directed to him, however, and answered
promptly. "Verne's best," he said with utmost seriousness. "An' maybe
after Daddy, you do best." The musician glanced at the kid and smiled crookedly. "Thanks,
kid." After tucking his son into bed and turning out the light, Doc turned to
Marty in the hallway. "Feel any better?" he asked as they headed down
the hallway. "No," Marty said truthfully. Doc sighed. "Give it time," he advised as they headed downstairs. * * * After their husbands had gone off to the kitchen to clean up the dishes, and
the women were left alone in the dining room, Clara Brown helped Jennifer to
one of the more comfortable chairs in the living room and prepared her a cup of
tea, over her protests. "You don't have to do that for me," she said.
"I'm not an invalid... just pregnant." "Very, very pregnant, with twins no less," Clara said.
"You'll be having to do your share of hard work soon enough," she
added, passing her one of the mugs. "Serving you tea is the least I can do
for you -- especially since I know how uncomfortable you must be feeling right
now. The last month can be hard." Jennifer smiled wanly. "Especially when there's two fighting for
space," she agreed. She took a sip of her drink, staring into the mug for
a moment before looking to Clara as the woman settled down in the chair across
from her. "Is it going to be that bad?" she asked. "Is what going to be so bad?" Clara asked, not entirely
understanding the question. "Well, to start with, the labor.... Marty and I went to Lamaze, and I
have friends who've had kids, and I heard it hurts tons.... I've never really
been a big fan of pain, but I want to have the kids without any drugs, you
know?" Clara smiled, reflecting to herself how terribly young Jennifer looked,
then. Granted, twenty five years separated the two woman, but physical age
tended to be one of those things that the older woman was fairly oblivious to.
Her husband, after all, was thirty five years older than she. She had seen that
same look Jennifer now wore on her own face, in the mirror, the first time she
had looked at her reflection after Jules was born. Wide-eyed. Scared. Like a
creature who had been thrust into an utterly foreign situation and felt little
more than helpless. "It will hurt," she said honestly. "The pain is not
comparable to any I've experienced in other circumstances. But it's a temporary
situation, and when it's over, as it will eventually be, you will have a child
in your arms. Two, for you." She sighed, slightly wistful. "I always
did want twins...." Jennifer looked pale with the confirmation of her expectations. "Yeah,
I feel lucky in some ways getting two," she said. "But I also kind of
wish I was just getting one, like normal, the first time. It's so....
overwhelming." Clara smiled, patting her on the arm. "It's overwhelming when it's just
one, as well," she said. "You're scared, aren't you?" The newswoman looked at her, alarmed. "Oh my God, is it that
obvious?" she asked in a whisper. "Only to me," Clara said with a smile. "But, then, I've been
in your position before. It's an awfully large change to have to cope with,
going from a couple to a threesome -- or foursome, in your case." "No kidding," Jennifer said softly. "It was sort of strange
adjusting when Marty and I got married -- especially since we didn't live
together before the wedding, and I'd never had a roommate or brother or sister
to share things with. But this is way more huge!" She
straightened up as best she could with her large belly, her hazel eyes wide as
she looked into Clara's darker ones. "I don't know what I'm doing... or
what to do when the babies get here." "Oh, I daresay that Marty is little more prepared than you are." Jennifer bit her lower lip, looking pained. "No, he has it together
pretty well. Real well," she added, emphatically. "He's so
calm, it's making me feel even worse!" Clara glanced down for a moment as she stirred her own cup of tea. "How
do you know he feels prepared, though?" she asked. "Have you spoken
to him about it?" The twenty-nine-year-old shook her head emphatically. "No way!" "Why not?" It didn't seem terribly logical to Clara. When she had
been expecting Jules, there had been a number of conversations with Emmett
about how ill prepared she felt -- and, Emmett, as well -- at bringing up a
child in the world. (And never mind their additional concerns at bringing up a
child in a time that was Emmett's past.) It had made her feel better that she
wasn't the only one with fears and doubts, not quite alone. She couldn't
imagine keeping those feelings to herself during her first pregnancy. Jennifer shifted, looking uncomfortable, though whether it was from the
subject or her physical state the older woman wasn't certain. "I can just
tell that he's fine with everything," she said. "If I'd mention
anything to Marty, he would just tell me to stop worrying about things -- and
he's right." She quickly changed the subject before Clara could grill her
further. "What's bothering me more is that I'm going to have to choose
between my job and my kids." "Oh? Why so? I thought in today's society that women were allowed to do
both?" "They can," Jennifer said. "I just never thought I'd
juggle both... at least when I was younger. I've always wanted to stay home
with my kids and raise them, not have other people do that -- no offense,"
she added quickly. Clara was confused for a moment, then recalled her offer of watching the
twins for a few hours every afternoon, if needed, during the time Jennifer and
Marty would both be working. "None taken," she said. "Although
with the jobs you and Marty both do, your children wouldn't be away from either
one of you for more than a few hours a day." "During a normal day, no," Jennifer agreed. "But Marty's
having to make more and more business trips to L.A. or San Francisco, and
sometimes I get called to the studio to do a broadcast when there's an
important breaking news story. Those times the kids will definitely be
in someone else's hands for more than a few hours." Clara took a sip of her tea, thinking. "Can you afford to leave your
job?" she asked. A look fluttered across the younger woman's face, a brief grimace. The
subject of money with the McFlys, Clara knew, had once been a tender area. For
several years, at least, Jennifer had brought home most of the income while
Marty had struggled to make a name and reputation for himself with songwriting
and performing. Now that Marty had, indeed, found himself with a lot of well-paying,
respectable work, Clara wasn't sure if that was still the case. The McFlys
certainly appeared to live comfortably enough on dual incomes, an impression
picked up from the simple fact that fretting about money never seemed to be
mentioned anymore as it had in the early years of their marriage. "We can afford it," Jennifer said. "Marty's doing very well,
now, and I think he's going to keep getting bigger. I love my job, though. I
love going out every day and feeling like I'm making some small difference in
the world, telling people what's going on, be it good or bad." Clara smiled faintly, clearly hearing the strain in Jennifer's voice.
"It sounds as if you've got a choice to make, soon," she said.
"My advice to you is to simply listen to your heart -- and wait until
after the babies are born before you try and make that difficult decision. They
may bring some perspective with them; you may find you simply cannot leave
them, or that getting out of the house and doing a job gives you a welcome break
from the responsibilities of childcare." Jennifer sighed. "Yeah, I know, that's what I keep telling myself. The
station wants to know by August, and that should give me about a month to see
how I can handle the whole Mom role." She paused, drumming her fingers
lightly on her belly. "The doctor doesn't want to wait past the end of
June if the babies aren't born by then." "Yes, I heard that. So you've only got a week or so more to be in this
uncomfortable state. You'll do fine, Jennifer." The newswoman tilted her head to the side, still nervous. "Do you have
any words of wisdom about parenting? Things you've learned in raising four
kids?" Clara drew in a breath to answer that, only to hold it when Emily suddenly
came in, looking annoyed. "Mom, can you put Clayton to bed?" she
asked, indicating the three-year-old right on her heels. "He won't stop
buggin' me, an' I'm trying to get work done on web page stuff." Clara glanced at the clock, saw that it was indeed past the toddler's normal
bedtime, and sighed to herself. "Why don't you ask your father to do
it?" she advised, not typically apt to passing along chores in that manner
but knowing just how scared Jennifer was feeling, now, and how important this
talk was to her. Emily blinked, surprised by the request. "Uh... okay," she said.
She grabbed her brother's hand and dragged him away to the kitchen. When they were gone, Clara turned her attention back to Jennifer.
"Possibly the most important thing you should keep in mind," she
said, "is this: Take things one day at a time. Don't sit and think about
all the tomorrows or what ifs or you'll drive yourself mad." Jennifer blinked, a hint of a smile twitching one side of her mouth. "I
know," she said. "Even though I keep forgetting that." Clara sighed, half to herself. "I need to remind myself of that more
often than not," she said softly, "and my husband has a time
machine. Even knowing of what tomorrow might bring is little comfort because it
can change in the blink of an eye." She paused, thoughtful. "You
should also remember that no one -- no family -- is perfect. You will make
mistakes. But I think that you and Marty will be wonderful parents, ultimately.
You shouldn't worry about your children in that regard, though I know you will.
And every child who ever lived will have an idea as to how they should have
been raised differently." "Probably," Jennifer agreed. "My parents could've done some
things better, I think. I always kind of wish they'd had another child, so I
had a brother or sister. At least I know that won't happen with my kids, not if
I'm getting two the first time." She reached up, playing with a loose
strand of her hair, twisting it around one of her fingers in a rather nervous
manner. "Perhaps, but no doubt twins will present their own challenges,"
Clara said. "Jules and Verne were the closest of our children in age, and
they've had the most difficulty in getting along. But you'll have a bit of time
before that should concern you." Jennifer nodded, biting her lower lip. In spite of the ear Clara was offering
to her troubles, she still looked skittish. The older woman caught her eye and
smiled warmly. "I know you're still scared," she said. "I doubt anything
I say right now can take that feeling away. But if you ever need any help --
with the babies or with adjusting to being a mother -- feel free to call me up.
I know that it's our husbands who were friends, first, but I've come to
consider you my own friend since I arrived in the future." The newswoman managed a faint smile at this confession. "Thanks, Clara,"
she said softly. "I've come to consider both you and Doc friends of mine
-- not just Marty's. And I think once I'm in the hospital, for sure, you'll be
the first people we call. I'm just.... oh, I don't know what's wrong with me
right now! I should be happy, right? I'm almost done feeling like a beached
whale and I'm getting twins and everything appears to be coming along fine. No
health scares or worries, really. But I just can't stop being so nervous and
scared!" Her mouth twisted to a frown. "Maybe it's hormones...." "No, dear, I think it's simply a realization that your life is going to
change in many powerful ways very very soon. And becoming a parent is one of
the greatest jobs you will undertake in your life. You hold a child's life,
development, and welfare in your hands. You are their mother. They will love
you unconditionally. And you will love them in the same way, in a way that's
very different from the love you have for your husband and your own
parents." "Are you sure about that?" When Clara tilted her head to one side
quizzically, uncertain once more by her partial question, Jennifer elaborated
in a low voice. "What if I don't love these kids? I mean, what if I see
them and there's no feeling there at all?" Clara didn't laugh, though the hyperserious tone that Jennifer asked the
question in, combined with her wide-eyed look bordering on terror, made her
lips ache in resistance to smile. "Don't worry over that," she said,
reaching across to pat her arm. "I wondered about that, too, every time I
was expecting. Having a child is a rather abstract concept, even if you feel
them moving about inside, but once they are put into your arms and you look at
them and know that they're your child.... it's like falling in love at
first sight." She allowed herself to smile even as Jennifer looked more
remorseful. "Jennifer, that is one thing you shouldn't fret over.
Many of the things you're concerned about will come out fine. Things will look
different to you once your children are born." "I hope so," Jennifer said fervently. "I hope that all that
stuff about instinct is right. Because if it isn't, I'll have to give careful
thought to using one of Doc's time machines to go back and tell myself to skip
the motherhood thing and make sure I never get pregnant!"
Tuesday, June 23, 1998
12:17 A.M.
Marty had been up late again, in his studio, working out a burst of
creativity that had been in his system since around the beginning of the month.
He wasn't sure where it was coming from -- maybe his nerves at becoming a
father were making it easier for him to "escape" in his work, or else
the impending role was stirring up a lot of emotions that wanted to be
channeled into songwriting, now -- but he was trying to take advantage of the
material as it came to him. He'd planned to take a month off when Jennifer had
the kids and hoped that stockpiling songs and music, now, would keep him up to
speed in spite of the time taken off. Unfortunately, when he was inspired like this, he literally lost track of
time. He'd started working in his studio sometime after lunch, been dragged out
for dinner by Jennifer, and gone back once that was over, anxious to get things
out and on paper before they were lost or forgotten. Marty hadn't realized how
late it had grown until he'd caught himself almost nodding off over the pages.
He blinked, a little dazed, and raised his head, only then aware of the deep
ache in his neck, his back, and his legs from spending a day bent over a desk.
As he reached back to rub the kink out of his neck, yawning, he looked at his
watch, stunned to see that it was a quarter after midnight. Jeez, he thought. Why didn't Jennifer say anything? The answer to that was simple -- aside from informing him about meals,
Jennifer never bothered him when he was in his studio with the door shut. Marty
had asked her to do that, long ago, and his wife had respected his wishes,
leaving him alone unless there was some sort of dire emergency that required
his immediate attention. Creativity could be fickle if bothered at an inopportune
moment. Now that he was conscious of the late hour, the full weight of the long day
quickly fell on his shoulders. Marty made sure he had enough notes assembled so
he could pick up where he left off, tomorrow, then shut things down and headed
upstairs. The first floor of his home was dark, save for one light burning
above the kitchen sink. Jennifer had left a Post-It note on the fridge for him.
"Went to bed early. Halen's been walked. Don't stay up too late!"
He smiled ruefully as he read the last part, knowing full well she had added
that in as a little joke. When he was younger, he'd never really understood how
Doc could so easily pull all-nighters on projects, but he'd done it more than
once, himself in the last few years, when properly inspired. Marty turned off the light in the kitchen and checked all the doors before
continuing on upstairs to the master bedroom. Jennifer had closed the door and
he eased it open as quietly as he could, not wanting to disturb her if she'd
indeed managed to get to sleep. His wife lay on her side -- really, the only
way she could lie down, now -- with her hair half covering her face. She
remained still, her breathing slow and deep, as Marty came into the room. He
sighed to himself, relieved that he wouldn't have to pace around the house all
night with her. Too tired to really bother changing out of his jeans and Hard
Rock t-shirt, Marty nudged Halen off his side of the bed, then climbed in next
to Jennifer. It didn't take him too long to fall asleep and, subsequently, dream. Unlike
most of his dreams lately -- all involving some nightmarish situation where
Jennifer went into labor in elevators or taxis with Marty completely panicking
and running away -- he was having a pretty good one, where he was getting
awarded a Grammy for a song that Aerosmith had picked up to perform. He was
standing at the podium with the award, staring into a sea of celebrity faces
and trying to remember all the names of people he needed to thank, when he felt
someone rudely poke him in the back. Marty ignored it, annoyed, and opened his
mouth to begin the speech. A second later he felt the same sensation, harder
and more persistent this time. He turned around, irritated enough to blurt out,
"What?!" The sound of his own voice, echoing that question, was what woke him up. It
came out considerably different in reality than the way he said it -- or wanted
to say it -- in the dream, half muffled from a pillow and slurred from sleep. "Marty?" Jennifer's voice called to him softly from behind. "What?" he mumbled again, not opening his eyes, wondering if this
was really happening or a new part of the dream. "Are you awake now?" That depends, he thought fuzzily. "Mmmmm," he managed. Another poke, one that felt harder this time, though he didn't know if that
was because he was now awake or it was given with more force. "Come on,
Marty, time to get up," Jennifer said softly. "I think this may be
it." "What's it?" he muttered out of the side of his mouth. Jennifer sounded unnaturally calm -- or maybe Marty's half asleep brain was
distorting things. "I think I'm having real contractions, now. This could
be another false alarm, but.... I don't think so." Marty finally opened his eyes, blinking a couple times to focus on the
numbers of the digital clock a few inches from his nose. Just after two in the
morning. He rolled over, narrowing his eyes against the glow of Jennifer's
bedside lamp. His wife sat on the edge of her side of the bed. When he had last
seen her, asleep, she had been in about the only pajamas that would fit her,
now, a loose summer nightgown. Now, she was dressed in a tank top and overalls,
her hair tied back with a scrunchie. She looked wide awake, too. Marty had to
wonder how long she'd been up, especially since not even two hours had passed since
he'd gone to bed. "Did you call the doctor?" he asked. "Did she say to come
in?" "If I felt the pain consistently for more than an hour. I woke up
around one from it, and it's still coming regularly, every twenty minutes or
so. So we should go, now." "Okay," He sighed the word out. "Just give me a minute to
wake up so I don't wrap the car around a stop sign....." His wife smiled at him, rubbing his arm. "How late were you up?"
she asked. "I half expected to still find you in your studio when I got
up...." "I was in here by twelve thirty." Marty yawned, covering his
mouth. "Did you get the hospital bag?" "It's in the car. I didn't want to wake you 'til the very last minute,
when I was sure we'd need to go. I put Halen outside and gave him some food.
I've got the list of phone numbers of people we need to call, and both of our
cell phones. I didn't want to call people until we got to the hospital, though,
and know for sure that this is it." Marty finally sat up, rubbing his forehead with one hand. There was an ache
behind his eyes, an exhaustion headache. He almost wished he hadn't gone to
bed; getting ninety minutes of sleep was almost worse than none at all.
"That's probably smart.... especially at this hour." Jennifer nodded, then grimaced. She glanced at her watch. "Still twenty
minutes," she half muttered, rubbing her belly, wincing. Marty pushed aside his own complaints and grumpiness. If this was indeed It,
he was going to need to be there every step of the way for Jennifer, stable and
awake and patient. She'd be doing the hardest part in the delivery, had
been doing the hardest parts, so far, with the kids. "Okay, maybe we'd
better get the show on the road," he said, forcing himself to sound more
with it than he was still feeling. "Let me get my shoes and keys and
wallet and we can take off." It took him about ten minutes to fumble through those chores. Jennifer
waited patiently, using the time to carefully make their bed and then go into
the room they had selected for the nursery -- where both kids would sleep until
they were old enough to need separate bedrooms -- checking, perhaps, that
everything was in order. By the time they made it out to the garage, Marty felt
marginally more awake. Though there was still the predominant sensation that
this was just something he was dreaming up, a feeling of unreality dogging him. This feeling persisted -- until he and Jennifer were in the Volvo and he
turned the key to start the engine. Nothing happened. Frowning, Marty tried it
again, with the same result. Nothing. "What's wrong?" Jennifer asked, noticing her car wasn't roaring to
a start. "I dunno," Marty said, squinting at the array of error lights
scattered across the dash. They told him nothing; all were automatic, things
that came on when the key was turned but the engine wasn't on. "Didn't you
just have the oil changed in this thing?" "Last week," Jennifer confirmed. "And we only got the car
last November -- it should still be under warranty." She sighed. "I
guess we'll have to take your car." Marty's head swiveled sharply to regard his wife. "You gotta be
kidding...." Jennifer blinked, then frowned, at his reaction. "Oh, honestly, Marty.
What's so bad about that?" "It's brand new, for starters." Jennifer rolled her eyes at this excuse. "You're the one who wanted a
Corvette," she reminded him. Marty knew that. He also knew his wife had frowned over the choice of car --
a 1998 model, in a shiny black color -- when he'd decided to take the plunge
and buy it, at the beginning of June, as a kind of thirtieth birthday gift to
himself. "It's not very practical, Marty," Jennifer had warned when
he had excitedly showed it off to her, in their driveway. Maybe not, with two
seats and decidedly un-kid-friendly leather interior. But he'd wanted a sports
car of his own for years. It wasn't his fault that just when he was making
enough to safely afford it, they were about to have kids of their own. "Yeah, but what if you start.... leaking or something in the ride over?
The seats are leather...." "And the Volvo's aren't?" At his continuing hesitation, during
which Marty tried to start the station wagon once again, with no luck,
Jennifer's eyes narrowed. "Fine," she said, rather crisply. "If
you want to be this way, I guess I'll go call a cab and you can -- ow!" The newswoman grimaced again, checking her watch. She took a deep breath,
held it a moment, then let it out, slowly. Her discomfort made Marty
immediately feel like an ass. Here he was, worrying about upholstery, and his
wife was in labor. "Okay, all right, let's get in the 'Vette. But can we
get some towels for you to sit on? Just in case?" Jennifer looked at him a moment then sighed, shaking her head. She didn't
answer the question, reaching instead for the doorlatch to get out. A part of
Marty knew he should let that issue go, ignore the idea of towels... but what
if he hit a bump and Jennifer's water broke and soaked into that fresh leather?
It wasn't like he'd have the time to mop things up at the hospital, once they
got there. And if it had hours to soak in... Gross. Trying to ignore his spouse's annoyance, Marty went back into the house,
found some old towels in the linen closet, and returned to the garage. Jennifer
stood next to the Corvette's passenger door, leaning against the side of her
car parked beside it. "I can't believe how much you're overreacting,"
she said as her husband unlocked the car. "My water hasn't broken yet and
we know it's a quick drive to the hospital at this hour of the night." "It's a new car, Jennifer," Marty said as he opened the door. The
scent of leather and the "new car" smell drifted out to meet him. He
climbed inside to spread the towels out on the passenger seat. "You know
I'm still parking blocks away from other cars at the mall," he added,
trying to make her feel better. "It's just a car," Jennifer said, her voice coming through the
passenger door loud and clear. "An expensive, rather impractical, and
flashy car at that. I don't know why you didn't just get an SUV like you were
thinking about...." "And have to fill up for gas every time I drove across the city? No
thanks." Marty popped the lock on the passenger door, allowing his wife to
get into the car. Jennifer settled herself gingerly down on the towels, clearly
still a little irked with his belief that she was going to "leak"
over everything. The couple didn't speak again until they were several blocks from their
house, on the main street that took them into the heart of Hill Valley.
"Are you still getting consistent contractions?" Marty asked, letting
his car travel about five miles over the posted speed. It was hard not to go
even faster, with the roads all but deserted and the power the Corvette had
under the hood. The engine and vehicle responded perfectly to everything he
wanted it to do, and, a few minutes after leaving the house, he realized
something, to his surprise: between the thrill of driving and the knowledge
that this could indeed be It -- that the next time Jennifer came back to the
house, it could be with two babies in her arms -- he was almost having fun. "Yes, still at twenty minutes or so," Jennifer said, one hand
gripping the handle next to her seat. "Do you have to go so fast?" "Might as well get to the hospital ASAP," Marty said, grinning as
he nudged the car up to fifty. "If any cops stop us, you can just pretend
you're in a later stage of labor than you are now." Jennifer snorted softly, not amused. "Maybe you should just slow down
instead." Marty sighed, cutting his speed to resemble the one posted -- which was
growing slower the closer they drew to the center of Hill Valley. They reached the hospital about twenty minutes after leaving their house.
Marty got a spot close to the emergency entrance -- the only place open to
people straggling in at this hour of the night. He helped Jennifer out of the
car -- "See, Marty, the towels are still dry!" -- and they walked to
the electronic glass doors. A nurse looked up from the ER desk as they came in,
bored, snapping a wad of gum between her teeth. "In labor?" she guessed. "Yes," Jennifer said. "And we know the drill." She and
Marty headed for the elevators down the hall, up to the third floor where the
maternity ward was, tracing the steps that they had taken a few days earlier
when the false labor had hit, but much calmer this time around. The desk that guarded the entrance to the floor was staffed by about three
people. It was fairly dead at this hour of the night. While Jennifer checked in
with the nurses, getting assigned to an examination room to see if she was
indeed in labor, Marty realized that the bag Jennifer had so carefully packed
for her delivery wasn't anywhere to be seen. And, in fact, he couldn't remember
if it had even been put in the Corvette. "Did you move the bag?" Marty asked his wife a few minutes later,
as a nurse led them to an exam room. Jennifer frowned a moment, thinking, then winced -- but not from a
contraction. "I forgot," she admitted, sheepish. "Do you want me to go back and pick it up?" "No -- stay with me," she said immediately, reaching out to take
his hand, as if he was going to bolt away at that moment. "We can send
someone to the house to get it if this is the real thing." Marty didn't protest, not really wanting to leave Jennifer's side. She was
probably a few hours away from delivery, at least, if this was It, but there
was an irrationally paranoid part of him that was sure the moment he stepped
away from her, the babies would arrive and he'd miss it. The nurse showed them into a small room that they had visited a few days before,
during the false labor scare, and told Jennifer to change into one of the fine
cotton gowns provided by the institution, that someone would be along shortly
to give her an exam and possibly put a monitor on the babies. Marty watched her
change after the nurse left, staring in wonder at her stomach and marveling
again much it had grown in the pregnancy. "I can't believe there's two kids in there," he said, for what
might've been the hundredth time since she had gotten pregnant. "I can," Jennifer said as she pulled the hospital gown on. She
frowned as she tied the strings behind her neck. "This thing makes me look
like a circus tent...." "But you're a cute circus tent.... and soon the show's gonna go
somewhere else," Marty said, grinning. "Are you still getting
contractions?" "Uh huh, pretty regularly." She eased herself onto the examining
table with a little wince. "But things seemed sort of steady the other
night, too. I wonder what the nurse will say....?" They found out in a few minutes. The older woman bustled in, looked Jennifer
over, then decided to hook her up to one of the fetal monitors, strapping a
band of sensors around her stomach that monitored the contractions and heart
rate of the babies inside. "You've started to dilate a little, but that's
normal in the last weeks of a pregnancy," she said. "We'll keep you
here and if the contractions keep progressing, we'll move you to a room." Thus began waiting. In spite of Jennifer's request to keep her husband at
her side, she soon sent Marty out in a quest for magazines or something to do.
The small room contained no TV. He came back with a few periodicals from the
nurse's station, and a copy of the newspaper from the day before. Jennifer
started to look through an issue of People, but as the hour wore on, she seemed
to get distracted, sidetracked from the printed words, her eyes drifting to the
readouts that were charting the action inside her on the small computer screen
and piece of paper below it. Marty, too, found his eyes frequently darting over
there, away from the Rolling Stone he had scored. The lines looked almost like
little mini earthquakes -- they would be sort of smooth and large, then
suddenly get all sharp and narrow for several seconds. When he made the comment
to Jennifer, she said, softly, "Those are the contractions." "Then you're having more of them," he said in the same soft voice. She nodded once, her hand touching her belly. "They're getting a little
more intense." When the nurse came in again, she looked over the readings on the screen and
print out, checked the heart rate of the babies -- which played with a
monotonous, almost hypnotic, sound over the monitor speakers -- then went to go
confer with the doctor on duty. The nurse came back a few minutes later with
the news: "We'll be moving you to a room, now. Looks like this may be the
real thing." Jennifer smiled wanly. "It better be," she said. Once they were checked into a room -- 318 -- Marty started making some phone
calls. He called his parents, got their answering machine, and left a message.
Then he called Jennifer's parents, with the same result. They'd probably slept
through the ringing of the phone. He tried Doc, then, figuring the scientist
might possibly be up at this hour -- almost four in the morning -- and that he
could probably fetch the hospital bag from the house. Marty knew his friend had
a spare set of house keys for their property, for the rare time either he or
Jennifer were locked out, or if they were both out of town and needed someone
to watch Halen. The phone at the Brown house was picked up after three rings. "Yeah,
baby?" a voice purred. Definitely not Doc's. Verne's. "Verne?" Marty asked, surprised. "Marty!" The young man sounded mortified. "Oh, sorry, I thought
you were Chrissy. She was gonna call me back after she got ready for bed,
and.... Wait. What are you doing calling now? Is something wrong?" "Jennifer's in the hospital," Marty said. "I guess keeping
late hours runs in your family, huh?" "Oh. Well, it's summer vacation. Y'know. Is she having the babies
now?" "Well, she's checked in, so hopefully, yeah. Can I talk to your dad?
Unless maybe he shouldn't be woken up...." "Oh, he won't care for this. Just a sec." There were a few moments of silence as Verne presumably went off to rouse
his father. A minute or two later Doc picked up an extension. "Marty," he said, soundly only slightly out of it.
"Jennifer's having the twins now?" "Not this second, but they moved her into a room." He looked at
his wife, lying back in the elevated bed with her eyes closed, trying to relax.
"Her water hasn't even broken yet, so I don't know how long this is gonna
drag out, but I think they're not sending her home 'til she has a baby in each
arm. The nurse said something about how they might induce labor if this is
another false alarm, because she's so far along and it's twins, but they don't
think they'll have to do that...." He realized he was kind of babbling and snapped his mouth shut.
"Anyway, maybe I shouldn't've called now, but we left the hospital bag
behind. It should be in Jen's Volvo. It wouldn't start, so we took the 'Vette
and accidentally left it behind. So I guess I was wondering if you could swing
by my place and pick it up, save me the trip? I don't really want to leave,
now...." "Of course," Doc said. "Certainly. I'll be over there
shortly." "You don't have to do it this second.... It could be a while." "I don't mind," Doc said immediately. "You waited it out with
Emily and Clayton, after all. I'll see you soon." Jennifer opened her eyes as Marty set the phone in the cradle. "He's
coming now?" she asked. "Is Clara, too?" "Ah... yes to the first one. I have no idea to the second. I'll bet she
will, though -- later, if not now." Jennifer nodded once. "And you couldn't get a hold of my parents? Or
yours?" "I left messages. Unless you want me to call them until the ringing
wakes them up." "No.... I'd try again in an hour or so, though. Dad usually gets up
around six for work, and if they didn't pick up the phone, they didn't hear it,
so I doubt they'll notice if something's on the machine." It was a good point. Jennifer closed her eyes again and sighed.
"They're not too bad now," she said, confusing her husband
for a moment until he realized she was talking about the contractions. "I
feel like I should try to sleep now, until they get worse." "So try," Marty said, brushing a lock of hair away from her cheek.
"That's probably smart to do." She nodded once and settled back with another sigh. Marty stood up from the
chair next to the bed, switching off the light above the bed, going over to
look out the window. The eastern sky was already starting to lighten a bit from
the forthcoming sunrise. It looked quiet out, serene, an hour when most of the
town was in bed. I could be a father today, he thought. His heart started racing at
the realization, and his mouth went dry. God, Marty thought. I still don't think I'm ready yet!
Tuesday, June 23, 1998
5:24 A.M.
"I would've been here sooner, Marty. I apologize. But Clara wanted to
come along, and we had to make sure one of the kids could keep an eye on
Clayton so he wouldn't terrorize the hospital staff out of boredom -- or tear
up our house. How is Jennifer doing?" Marty looked at the time on his wrist, sighing at the inventor's hurried
apology. He sat just outside Jennifer's room, opting to wait for his friend
there rather than have Doc burst in and perhaps wake his wife, who had managed
to fall asleep in spite of all the discomforts. The musician almost wished he
could follow suit, but he was the one, now, who felt overly wired and jittery.
There were too many things to do, anyway -- people to call and greet, errands
that should be run for his wife when she needed them, etc. "I think she's sleeping, now. The contractions aren't strong enough to
keep her from resting, yet. It could be a while." "That's not unusual, Marty," Clara said, a step behind her
husband. She carried in one hand a shopping bag, but the musician was too
sidetracked to bother asking what was in that. Doc had the duffle bag from the
house, and that was the most important thing. "I was in labor with Clayton
for nearly eighteen hours. Emily as well." Just the thought of having things drag out that long made Marty shudder.
"Great.... You can probably sneak in the room and set the bag down,
Doc," he added to the inventor. "Jennifer won't notice. And you can
put your stuff in there, too, if you want, Clara." "Oh, this isn't for me. I thought you might get hungry during your time
here so I've brought plenty of snacks for you and your guests that should be
better than the food they serve here. You might want to keep it away from
Jennifer until later, though. If I recall, the staff won't let the
mothers-to-be eat before the birth. If you're hungry now, I brought some
muffins for breakfast, and have a thermos of strong coffee." "I'll take the coffee now," Marty said, figuring it had to be
better than the stuff in the cafeteria. "I'm too nervous to eat, though.
Thanks." While Doc ducked into Jennifer's room, Clara headed for the waiting room
that was conveniently just across from Jennifer's door, presumably to set up
shop. For someone who'd probably woken up far earlier than she was used to, she
was uncannily alert, almost business-like. Marty wondered what other surprises
she'd thought of that he hadn't yet. Snacks would've been a good idea to bring
in the hospital bag, actually. Doc came out of the room a minute later. "Jennifer's awake now,"
he said. "I think she wants some company." Marty got to his feet and went back into the room, Doc discreetly going into
the waiting room to help his own wife. "Jen," Marty said softly,
approaching the bed, "How are you feeling?" Jennifer looked about the same as she had when Marty had last seen her.
"Hungry," she said. "Is Clara here, too?" "Yeah. She's getting set up in the waiting room across the hall. I
think she figures we might be here a while. Still getting contractions?" "Yes -- and they're about fifteen minutes apart. This could take
forever." She sounded glum. "Maybe the doctor can give you something to speed things along,"
Marty said, taking her hand "They probably will if you ask." "I know. I guess I wanted to see if I could get any sleep before things
really started kicking in. It's too hard, though. Impossible to get
comfortable." She sat forward a little, as if an idea had occurred to her.
"I think someone told me once that walking might speed things up.... Wanna
take me for a walk?" "Uh -- is that safe?" Jennifer gave him a look that told him that was the dumbest question ever.
"Undoubtedly. The kids aren't just gonna fall out of me when I'm up on my
feet. Not for a while, anyway." So Marty went off to get one of the nurses, who Jennifer wasted no time in
grilling about food -- "Ice cubes, juice, and Jello until an hour after
the delivery," she said promptly, provoking a frown from the patient --
speeding up the labor -- "I'll pass your request along to the doctor"
-- and a walk. The nurse didn't see any problems with that last one, though
they were to limit their travels to the hallways, take it slow, and move in a
pair. After donning the robe she had packed in the bag, they went out into the
hallway together and into the waiting room, so Jennifer could greet Doc and
Clara. Clara looked almost guilty as Jennifer stepped in the room, and Marty saw
why in a flash -- on one of the empty tables she had spread out quite a feast
of snack foods. A box of donut holes. A bag of pretzels. A plate of muffins,
homemade from the looks of it. A small fruit salad. Homemade cookies. A thermos
of coffee. Doc passed a paper cup of the steaming beverage to Marty as he came
in, without a word. Jennifer sighed wistfully as she looked at the spread. "I can't believe they won't let me have even a bite of anything
here," she said. "Jello and water... They're treating me like I've
got the stomach flu or something." "At least there's the Jello," Marty half muttered, thinking back
six months when he'd gotten his appendix out -- in 1912. He hadn't been allowed
to eat anything for more than a day after the surgery. It had been like some
form of torture. Clara smiled, the expression coming out slightly strained. "I didn't
mean for you to see all this, dear," she said. "That's why I brought
it in here, and not into your room." "It's all right," Jennifer said, though she still eyeballed the
food, clearly calculating how much it would hurt if she disobeyed the nurse's
orders. "We should be walking," Marty said, heading her off before she
could break the fast, taking her arm and guiding her back to the door. They made it to the end of the hall, where Jennifer had another contraction.
She leaned against the wall a moment, gripping Marty's hand 'til it passed.
"It's not so bad," she said when Marty asked if she wanted to return
to the room. "And it won't come back for another fifteen minutes, probably.
Let's keep moving and hurry this thing along." They walked around the maternity floor a few times, not saying much. Marty
sipped at the coffee -- which was strong -- and Jennifer seemed preoccupied.
Once, passing a room, they heard the most horrendous screams coming from
within. Jennifer stopped in her tracks, her hand drifting to her mouth and her
eyes widening. "Oh God," she half moaned. "That'll be me in a few
hours." She took her husband's hand, hard, and didn't let go. "There's always drugs, Jen," Marty reminded her gently. "Not if I can help it," Jennifer said, stubborn. Around six they returned to Jennifer's room so she could contact her family
again. Marty left her for a moment on the phone to check on Doc and Clara, who
were keeping to the waiting room, perhaps reluctant to intrude. They clearly
both thought they'd be there a while; Doc had brought along a laptop computer
and Clara had a sewing project. Marty studied them for a moment from the
doorway before they noticed him, amused at how the couple was pursuing things
that seemed so central to the times they had each grown up in. "How is Jennifer now?" Doc asked, glancing up a moment after Marty
appeared in the doorway. "The same. She's calling her parents again. I think they're gonna come
out here, now. It'll be like a party, I guess." "Are you all right, Marty?" Clara asked. "You
already look exhausted." Marty shrugged, looking into the now-empty coffee cup. "I actually feel
pretty wide awake -- just scrambled. Any ideas to hurry this along?" "The walking is a good idea," Clara said. "Her water hasn't
broken yet?" "Not unless she didn't tell me. You guys don't have to stay in here,
you know. I feel bad enough I dragged you out of bed when this is gonna be a
while. Jennifer doesn't care if you're in the room right now." Thus assured, the older couple followed the musician back to room 318,
arriving just as Jennifer hung up the phone. "I still can't get a hold of
my parents," she said, sounding worried. "Maybe they're just sleeping in late," Marty said. "We can probably
hold off on mine until it looks like you'll have the baby sooner than later.
Mom will just drive me nuts. Did you want to pace the halls again?" Jennifer shrugged. "Why bother? It doesn't seem to have helped at
all." She looked over to Doc. "Do you have anything that can hurry
this up?" she asked lightly. "Any thing you made?" "No," Clara said for him. "Unless he kept it hidden from me
when I was the one in here. Be patient; it will probably be a few hours
more." * * * A few hours passed, with progress just inching along. By noon, Jennifer's
water still hadn't broken, her contractions were only at ten minutes, and she
was clearly going batty from the strain of it. Adding to her stress, no doubt,
was her inability to reach either of her parents. Doc offered to drive out
there to personally rouse them, but when he came back, an hour later, he
reported that the house had appeared empty and their car gone. "Were they planning to go out of town this week?" he asked. "I don't know," Jennifer said, clearly worried. "They knew
that the kids could come any time, now." She winced, looking down at the
covers on the bed for a moment. "I hope they make it here before the
end." "I'm sure they will," Clara told her. Jennifer sighed, then looked up to Marty. "You should get something to
eat -- beyond the snacks across the hall," she added, tilting her head to
the waiting room. "Why?" Marty asked. "I'm not that hungry, and we're in this
together, Jen." "You can leave me for an hour," Jennifer said. "Nothing will
happen -- trust me." She sounded a little bitter. The musician studied her a moment, unsure. Doc took over. "I think
she's right, Marty. You'll need to keep your own energy up during this, too.
You don't want to pass out during the delivery -- from hunger." "I'll stay with Jennifer and make sure nothing happens," Clara
offered immediately. "If you don't mind, that is," she added to the
younger woman. "That's fine," Jennifer said, shifting the pillow behind her back
a little. Marty felt kind of hurt as Doc led him out of the room and down the hall to
the elevator. "Was I just kicked out?" he wondered aloud. "I think so," Doc said, sympathetic. "But Clara got a little
testy as her own labors wore on with very little progress made. I'm sure
Jennifer doesn't mean it personally." "Maybe," Marty muttered, doubtful, still feeling like he was being
punished for something he hadn't done -- unless it was getting Jennifer
pregnant in the first place. "How are you holding up?" Doc asked, pushing the elevator button.
"Still nervous about parenthood." "I'm definitely not any calmer about it. Christ. By the time I leave
this hospital, I'll be a father. For real." He shook his head once and
shivered. "It's freaky." "Not exciting?" Doc asked. "Freaky," Marty repeated. "It seems way more real
now than it did just yesterday. We've been here so long, now, that I've seen a
few couples go from walking the hallways with pregnant wives to walking the
hallways with little babies. It's really hitting home now." Doc nodded once. He didn't ask any more questions, to which Marty was kind
of grateful. He was feeling more than a little stressed at the moment and knew
that if he had to dwell on forthcoming parenthood he might crack all the way
right then. And he couldn't do that now, not with Jen still in labor and the
actual delivery and such to still live through. The hospital cafeteria left a lot to be desired in regards of food choice
and quality. Marty's stomach was so knotted up he didn't see how he could
possibly eat anything, but he selected a sandwich from the deli to at least
make a show of attempting to eat. They sat near one of the windows, with a nice
view of a park that was located in back of the hospital grounds. "If we're still here through dinner, I could run out for some
food," Doc said, eyeing his own sandwich choice with some distaste.
"I don't think they've made any improvements in the recipes or quality
since Clayton was born -- and by then you may not be able to leave the room to
eat." "Better yet, Jennifer will be done and able to eat. I can't believe
they're not letting her have anything except Jello...." "They don't want her to get sick," Doc said. "Labor can be
quite rough on the entire midsection of the body." "Yeah, but right now, it seems to be doing nothing. I mean, in the
movies people are always screaming from labor, and I know that's not entirely a
lie. Jen and I heard someone doing that earlier, when we were pacing the
halls." Doc sighed. "I hate to say it, Marty, but Jennifer's not that far
along, yet. Her water hasn't even broken, unless I'm mistaken. By the time it's
all over, I think you will definitely see why feeding her a steak
dinner now would be a bad idea." "Probably. What should I expect next?" Doc took a bite of his sandwich, chewing it thoughtfully, before responding.
"For the labor? I suspect if it doesn't get any worse, soon, the doctor
will probably give her something to hurry things along. Twins can make the
situation a bit more complicated than a single birth. Jennifer's not planning
to have a Cesarian, is she?" "No. She doesn't want any drugs or any surgery unless it's a life or
death thing. Wants to get the whole 'natural' childbirth experience. She's
crazy." "Women have done it for thousands of years that way," Doc said.
"And this would have to be her choice." "I guess." Marty took a long sip of his Pepsi, craving the
caffeine even as it made him more jittery, now. "So things are gonna get
worse for her before they get better? I just hope she doesn't start screaming
like she's being murdered -- that freaked me out when I heard it, and I know it
freaked Jen out." "She might, Marty," the inventor warned gently. "I suspect
you're going to feel mighty helpless before this whole thing is over. I
certainly did when Clara had our kids. Just know that your being there for her
will be all you can really do. Especially if her parents don't make it over
here in time." A web of frown lines snaked across the older man's brow.
"Had they mentioned being away from town?" "No, not that I remember. Jen's mom, Susan, was really anxious about
making sure she would be at the hospital for the birth. I know it's important
to Jennifer that her mom's there, even though the idea of dealing with my
mother-in-law while trying to coach Jennifer through contractions or whatever isn't
my idea of a fun time. I think the only other person I'd want in there, other
than the doctors and all, might be you." "I certainly wouldn't want to intrude in there, Marty," Doc said
immediately. "Clara and I can wait outside." Marty looked at his half eaten sandwich, shuddered, and pushed the paper
plate away. "I'd want you there," he said. "Only seems fair,
since I was there in the room when your first kid was born." "Not particularly by choice, if I recall...." "Yeah and that's yet another reason it might be good to have you in
there -- if I end up passing out at the eleventh hour, you can haul me to my
feet and give me a few good face slaps. I don't want to do that to Jen -- or
the kids." Doc scratched his head, looking a bit confused. "Didn't you and
Jennifer take Lamaze together? I thought that required watching a video of a
birth?" "It did," Marty admitted. "I just... kinda didn't watch
during the close up gory parts. I think I should be able to handle it okay, if
they don't make me look at anything coming out of Jennifer. There's probably
gotta be some way to sit in the room so you don't see any of the gore...
right?" "Perhaps," Doc said, thought he looked a bit skeptical.
"Well, maybe you're worrying for nothing about that. You've grown up a lot
since you had that problem." Marty didn't like the tone in Doc's voice. His eyes widening. "Should
I be worried?" he asked. "No," the inventor said immediately. "You're worrying over
enough already right now. It's foolish to worry about something that might not
even happen." "Either way, I think I might want to talk to Jen about letting you be
in the room for the birth," Marty said. He hadn't brought it up before
with his wife because it just hadn't seemed important -- and, not knowing when
the babies would be born, he had no idea if he'd be able to get a hold of his
old friend. But if Jennifer was going to drag her mom in there, Marty felt it
only fair to bring someone in to keep him from falling apart. His own mom would
just make him more anxious, and the idea of his dad standing there and handing
out cliched advice made him feel even worse. Doc shrugged. "If you want," he said. "I'll be here,
regardless, until the end -- whenever it may be." Marty smiled at him, feeling a tiny bit better. "Thanks, Doc." * * * Once she had kicked her husband out of the room, Jennifer let out a deep
breath and leaned back against the pillows in her bed. "Oh, thank
God," she murmured. "I never thought Marty would get on my nerves so
soon." Clara looked at her sympathetically. "He's trying his best to help you
out," she said. "Though I had similar feelings towards Emmett when I
had my children." "He's too calm," Jennifer said, wincing as she felt another
contraction kick in. "And at the same time he looks like he wants to jump
every time I -- ow -- get another contraction. Like it's catching or
something." "More likely he simply wishes he could do more," Clara said.
"You're doing most of the work with this, after all." Jennifer let out a breath as the worst of the pain ebbed away. "Maybe.
But he looks at me like I'm going to shatter or something. Like I can't handle
pain. I don't understand why people are so gung ho to using drugs in
childbirth, especially since people were doing it for thousands of years
without them." "It's a painful process," Clara said, rather bluntly. "I
think Marty just wants to save you from some of the agony. Emmett broached the
topic of an epidural when Emily was born -- and I knocked that one right out. I
had Jules and Verne in my home, without anything to ease that pain, so using
drugs on a third birth seemed to be rather pointless in my mind." "Yeah. If you got through it twice before, you could again."
Jennifer glanced at the phone on her bedside table with a little frown.
"Doc left the room number and everything in the note to my parents,
right?" Clara took a moment in answering, clearly thinking back. "I'm almost
certain he mentioned so," she said. "They probably haven't come home
yet to see it." "That doesn't make sense." The newswoman swallowed hard, trying
not to worry about that, but finding it almost impossible not to. There was no
reason she could imagine her parents would leave town now, not when she was so
close to having the baby. Her mother was supposed to be in here with her right now,
keeping her calm and telling her that whatever she was feeling was normal. She
thanked her lucky stars that at least Clara was there. The idea of going
through it alone, without another older and experienced mother at her side to
help her along, made her feel ill. Or else it was just her very empty stomach. A diet of water and Jello wasn't
doing anything to make her feel better. "Perhaps they had an emergency come up," Clara said of Jennifer's
parents. "Or they simply didn't think that your time would come now. Your
due date wasn't until mid-July, after all." "Maybe so, but they knew I was going to have the babies before then, by
the end of the month," Jennifer said. "I don't think women carrying
multiples ever make it to the actual nine month due date." "Well, things are coming along so slowly that they'll almost certainly
make it here," Clara said. Jennifer nodded once, examining the IV line that a nurse had put in the back
of her hand, a couple hours ago when they were pondering the administration of
drugs to speed up the labor. "If they don't, though.... do you think you
could be in here with me?" As Clara blinked at the request, clearly
surprised, Jennifer rushed ahead. "I think you're practically like family,
and I don't want to be left alone in here when the time comes with just doctors
and nurses and Marty.... I mean, I'd like someone who can tell me that what's
going on or what I'm feeling is normal." She swallowed hard, again, her
eyes suddenly burning. "I'm just... this is scary," she murmured in a
voice little more than a whisper. Clara reached out and squeezed her hand warmly. "Of course I'll stay in
here with you, if you'd like," she said. "And what you will be
feeling will be normal... though I can't say I've been in quite the
same shoes as you, as I've never had twins." "But you've still gone through childbirth," Jennifer said. She
looked down at the pale pink hospital blanket covering her legs. "This is
so real to me now," she added softly. "I'm so unprepared...
I didn't think I was this unprepared." "You're quite prepared, I think," Clara said. "Moreso than I
was when I had Jules. Consider yourself fortunate that the subject of
childbirth is one that is so openly discussed now. In the 1880s it was all but
taboo. What little I knew of what to expect came from other mothers that I was
friends with, and the doctor himself at the exams. And it was terribly
frightening to know that the possibility was very much there of having
something go wrong in the birth where the mother or child, or both, could lose
their lives." Jennifer thought a moment about what that would be like -- if she was having
the kids a hundred years ago -- and shivered. "No thanks." She
paused, leaning forward. "I think I"m going to use the bathroom real
quick, if that's okay...." "Do you need any help?" Clara asked immediately as Jennifer pushed
the blankets aside and slowly swung her legs over the side of the bed. "I think I can handle it." Moving was slow going, and the IV tethered to her hand didn't make things
any easier. Jennifer had just managed to get on her feet and a step away from
the bed when another contraction hit. She grunted, balling her hand into a fist
as the pain got more and more intense. Clara watched her from an arm's length
away. "Take a breath," she suggested softly. "Let it out." Jennifer nodded, shutting her eyes tight for a moment as the pain peaked.
"Ow," she murmured faintly. When it had ebbed away thirty or forty seconds later, she let out a long
sigh of relief -- then froze. Something warm and wet trickled down the insides
of her legs and in a moment she felt herself blazing hot all over in pure
mortification. Oh my God, did I just wet my pants? Clara saw a look of terror seize her features. "What wrong?" she
asked. "Nothing," Jennifer said immediately, looking down, trying to see
to the floor past her belly. A small puddle marked where she stood.
"Something," she added softer. The older woman glanced down, looked at Jennifer's face, then looked down
again. "Nothing to fret over, Jennifer," she said softly, though her
eyes glittered with a touch of amusement. "I believe that is simply your
water breaking."
Tuesday, June 23, 1998
4:44 P.M.
After Jennifer's water had indeed broken -- a matter confirmed by the nurse
-- the newswoman was aghast at the idea of letting Clara out of her sight.
Thus, Marty didn't find out about the new development until he and Doc had
returned from the cafeteria. The musician became so upset with the idea of
missing something else important, or not being there for his wife when she
needed him, that he refused the idea of leaving her side until it was all over,
for better or worse. By late afternoon, the contractions were getting more frequent -- about
every five minutes, lasting for a minute or so -- and more painful, which had
the natural effect of making Jennifer more irritable, in spite of the progress
being made. (The doctor informed her, cheerfully, that she was in the
"active phase" of the first stage of labor, finally out of the early
phase. "It's progress, slow but sure," Dr. Andrews had said, though
it was clear from the expression on Jennifer's face that she wanted to smack
the doctor for the painfully obvious comment.) Adding to her mood, her
parents had still not arrived home, in spite of increasingly urgent messages
left on their machine, and she was still forbidden to eat anything more than
juice, water, or Jello. The lack of food seemed to be what made her the most cranky, so when Verne,
Emily, and Clayton unexpectedly showed up at the hospital with boxes of takeout
Chinese food for a surprise dinner, Doc thought the newswoman might want to
take the heads off his offspring. Before the scent of the food could really
drift into the room, the inventor ushered his kids into the waiting room where
he could question them freely. "What on earth are you doing here?" he demanded. "I don't
recall anyone inviting you over." "Chill, Dad," Verne recommended, setting the bag of food on the
table. "Marty and Jennifer are our friends, too, and they waited with us
when Clayton was born. Besides, it's not like we're little kids." "Ahem," Doc said, looking down at Clayton as the boy snatched a
cookie from the tray on the table. "We'll keep an eye on him, Daddy," Emily said sweetly. "We've
been watching him all day already an' he's been pretty good." "Which is why he's stealing a cookie from the table before
dinner," the inventor said dryly, giving his youngest a stern look. The
toddler quickly hid his prize behind his back and gazed at his father with
innocently wide eyes and a guileless smile. "He's not runnin' away and being obnoxious," Emily pointed out.
She started to open the cartons as her brother pulled them out of the bag.
"What does Marty like to eat?" "You're not giving him food while he's in there with
Jennifer," Doc said flatly. "She's not allowed to have anything to
eat until after the birth, and that could be hours away." "That sucks," Verne said. "So is Marty going on a fast with
her?" "No -- but I doubt he'll leave the room to have anything to eat.
Jennifer's water broke while we were having lunch and he's been upset about
that ever since." Emily blinked, not getting it. "Why? I thought that was a good thing
and meant the baby was coming soon." "It is a good thing -- but he didn't want to miss it and
did." Doc looked at Verne, already preparing to pile the food on a plate.
"You shouldn't've come." "You and Mom have been here all day," Verne pointed out.
"Emmy and I are on summer vacation and it's not like we're doing anything
else. We'll stay out of the way, and if this drags out too late, I can take the
kiddies home to bed." Emily looked annoyed at the classification her brother had put her in, but
before she could protest, Marty ducked into the room to properly greet the
visitors. "Food," he said, his voice oddly flat. "Thanks,
guys." "Do you care if we're here, Marty?" Emily asked.
"Daddy wants to send us right back home." "I don't care, but you guys are probably just going to be doing a lot
of sitting around. And Jen's getting kind of weird with visitors, so I'm not
sure if she's going to welcome you with open arms into her room." He
looked at Doc. "The nurse wants to put a monitor on the babies. I guess
since the water broke about four hours ago they're getting anxious about stuff." Doc looked at his friend curiously, thinking to himself that Marty was going
to fall over if he didn't sit down soon. The stress was probably doing the most
damage -- and taking in nothing except coffee or Pepsi wasn't helping at all.
The musician hadn't even had half of his sandwich at lunch. "Are they
acting alarmed?" Marty shook his head. "No, they said this was normal or
something." "Then why don't you take a minute and have something to eat. Jennifer's
just across the hall and you look like you could use something that's not made
up entirely of of sugars and caffeine." The musician's eyes flickered over to the food as Verne dumped a bunch of it
on his plate. He looked like he wanted to gag. "No, thanks, I'm not
hungry. And if something happens, I don't want to miss it.. Things are getting
too intense now. I just left for a second to make a few phone calls to clients,
to let them know that I won't be working tomorrow or in the studio. They won't
let us use cells in the hospital 'cause it can mess with equipment, and I don't
want to tie up the line in the room, in case Jennifer's parents try calling. I
only had a few things going on this week, thank God." He was gone again before Doc could say anything else. The inventor sighed,
hoping it would be sooner than later that the twins would put in an appearance.
They were supposed to be born on June twenty-third, but there were still more
than six hours remaining of the day, and he couldn't offhand remember what time
it was that they had come into the world. "If Marty doesn't care that we stay, we'll stick around," Verne
said. "I don't have anything else to do -- Chrissy's got some kind of
family get together in Sacramento tonight." "Thank God," Emily said, rolling her eyes. "Otherwise we
probably wouldn't even be here." Doc sighed again as he took an empty paper plate from the bag and started to
dish some of the food on it. "Marty's right about his wife right
now," he said softly. "Jennifer's been in labor for more than twelve
hours, now, and she's not in the mood to be annoyed. You're going to have to
respect her wishes if she doesn't want you all visiting her, and especially
keep an eye on Clayton." The toddler, who had been straining to reach one of the boxes on the table,
recoiled at the sound of his name, as if he was being reprimanded. "No problem, Daddy," Emily said in the same sweet voice -- a tone
her father recognized from when she wanted something. She looked at her little
brother. "What did you want to eat, Clayton? The General Tsao chicken? The
Mongolian beef? The fried rice?" "Chick'n an' rice," Clayton answered after a moment of grave
thought. Emily dished out a few spoonfuls of each and ordered her brother to sit at
the other table in the room, taking it upon herself to supervise his eating as
she consumed her own meal. Verne, however, moved closer to his father, who was
standing near the door and eating on his feet, for the better of conversing
without the younger kids overhearing. "Is Jennifer okay?" he asked. "I know Mom's labors took
forever with the both of them--" He waved his fork in the direction of
Emily and Clayton. "--but I also know there were some close calls." "She seems to be doing fine, so far as I know," Doc said.
"First children tend to take a longer time in coming. I think the doctors
are being more cautious with her because she's having twins, but I believe
things are normal so far." "Do you know what time the kids are born?" Verne asked. Doc hesitated before he answered that question. "They arrive
today," he said. "Before midnight -- but what time, specifically, I
can't recall." "Well, at least it's not gonna be an all-nighter thing. And,"
Verne added, almost cheerfully, "at least Jules isn't here. He'd be
charging into Jennifer's room and acting like the doctor he isn't, yet. He called
this morning about the Fourth of July weekend and when he heard you guys were
at the hospital with Jennifer, he spent at least ten minutes muttering about
how he wanted to take the day off and drive up here." "From L.A.? Good Lord, that's an eight or nine hour trip!" "That's what I said. I told him that by the time he got up here, it'd
be all over, and he'd just tick off his bosses or whatever down there. And then
he'd have to turn around and go all the way back. So he's staying put, but not
without a lot of bitching and moaning about how he misses all the
excitement." Doc thought about what it would be like if his oldest was here and said a
silent prayer of thanks that circumstances had placed him far away. Jules had
driven Jennifer nuts enough when he had come home for his breaks in the last
year, and if he was buzzing around her room, reciting statistics about labor
and childbirth and clinically noting the stages she was in, he could easily
imagine the newswoman arranging to have him sedated or banned from the hospital
grounds altogether. "That's a good idea," he remarked. "I don't
know if his car could deal with a round trip like that in less than twenty-four
hours, either." "Really? I don't know if Marty and Jennifer could deal with him,
on top of everything else," Verne said. Doc frowned a little at his middle son, though he secretly agreed with him.
"It was nice of you to bring the food by," he said, deliberately
changing the subject. "I'll have to see if I can pry your mother from
Jennifer's bedside before it gets cold. We haven't been able to get a hold of
her parents, and she's a little upset by that." "Why? I mean, are Marty's parents here?" "No -- but I don't think he wants them hanging over his shoulder in the
room, and even I know his mother enough to know she would definitely do that.
They agreed to stay home until after the babies are born -- there really isn't
much they can do here, after all, especially if Marty doesn't particularly want
them around." "So you and Mom are the only people here with them? They don't have any
other friends or family?" "Jennifer's an only child, and Marty's not particularly close to either
his brother or his sister -- and I'm not sure if they even live very close
anymore. As for friends, I suspect they don't want to drag them out of the
house to keep watch over something that could take several more hours. Most of
their friends have their own families and jobs and responsibilities now, after
all. Remember, it is a weekday." "Yeah, I didn't think about that," Verne admitted. "I guess
all those movies and shows with tons of people cramming the waiting room must
be mostly fiction. It seems pretty quiet around here." "Well, there are new babies about... and I suspect in some
families, everyone does come to the hospital to celebrate and kill
time together. If Jennifer's parents knew what was afoot, they would no doubt
be here right now with their daughter." He finished the last bite of the food and tossed the paper plate in the
trash. "I'm going to see how things are progressing -- and if I can talk
your mom into getting a five minute reprieve." In the room, Jennifer wasn't lying in bed but standing at the window,
holding onto the side of the wall, while Marty and Clara bookended her.
"You're doing great, Jen," Marty said softly, allowing her to grip
one of his hands, tightly. Jennifer didn't appear to hear him, leaning heavily
against the wall, her eyes screwed shut, and moaning softly under her breath.
Clara glanced up as her husband came into the room, giving him a faintly
frazzled smile. Doc thought it might be a bad moment to bring up dinner with
her and waited quietly as the latest contraction finally passed, leaving
Jennifer's face pale and damp. "It hurts," she all but whimpered. "How can it hurt so
much?" Neither of the men in the room were even going to begin to try and answer
that. "Your body is having to change an awful lot in order to bring a baby
into the world," Clara said softly to her. "It will be over
eventually." "You can have some drugs, Jen," Marty put in tentatively. Jennifer looked up at him, almost in a glare. "No," she said
immediately. "No, no, no drugs -- for the last time. Quit saying that to
me every time I get a contraction and complain about it. These hurt,
Marty -- but I don't want drugs!" Marty blinked, looking a little hurt himself from her sharp words. He didn't
say anything, though, continuing to hold her hand. "What can I do? Do you
want to listen to a CD?" Jennifer took a deep breath and let it out slowly, turning away from the
window. "Okay," she said softly. "You can do that." Marty hopped to the task eagerly as Clara escorted Jennifer through a few
slow, careful, steps about the confines of the room. "Did you want to use
the bathroom again, before they hook you up to the monitors?" she asked
the younger woman. "Probably," was Jennifer's response. Clara helped her into the small room, then left her alone to join her
husband's side. She looked almost as tired and frazzled as Marty. "I don't
envy her now," she said softly. "This seems to be dragging out a
great deal longer than I remember my deliveries -- or maybe it's different to
wait on this side of things." "You should take a break and get some fresh air," Doc told her
gently. "The kids came and brought some food -- go have a bite. I know
that Jennifer wants you at her beck and call right now, but I'm sure she'll
understand that you have to eat." "I suppose. I am starving." She still looked undecided.
"I guess it can't hurt, and I'll be just a few feet away. I'll eat
quickly." "Take your time," Doc told her. "There's plenty of people
here to play the role at keeping Jennifer company." "Yes -- but no one else who knows quite well what she's going
through," Clara said. She did leave, though, and Doc sighed at her
departure, relieved she was showing a bit more sense than Marty. The musician
was near the bed, plugging in a small CD player which had unfortunately been
left on in the radio portion of the switch; staticy rock music blasted out for
a moment with the surge of electricity before Marty found the volume and turned
it way down. "Are you all right?" Doc asked him, again. He lowered his voice
even more. "I can see that Jennifer is far from the best of
moods...." Marty snorted as he flipped through a few CDs that had been filed in a small
book. "That's an understatement," he muttered. "I know
she doesn't mean it, though -- I just don't get why she doesn't take something
for the pain if it's hurting her so much." "It's her right to want to tough it out." "Then maybe she shouldn't complain," Marty said, a little sharply.
He winced as soon as the words left his lips, apologizing as his eyes darted to
the still-closed bathroom door. "Sorry, I guess I don't mean that. I know
she's going through hell, now. I feel like I am, too. It's tearing me up,
seeing her hurting so much, Doc. And I caused this!" "How so?" Doc asked. "Because I... you know, I got her pregnant." "Oh, I hardly doubt you were the only one to play a role in that,"
Doc said, unable to resist smiling faintly at Marty's strained face. "You
both wanted these kids and had tried to have them. This wasn't an accident --
unless I'm mistaken." "Nooooo.... We wanted this. But she's in agony, Doc, and it's still not
the worst part, yet." "It's her choice whether or not she wants to take something,
Marty," Doc said. "You have to respect that, even if that means you
have to listen to her moaning and screaming. It certainly didn't make me feel
wonderful when Clara had to go through this -- four times. Especially when she
denied wanting any drugs when we were here, and they were safe and available.
But it's her body, and not using them won't be of any harm to the baby; in
fact, some people believe it's better for the child. So I really think there
isn't much you can say on the matter." "Yeah, I know," Marty said, glumly. He selected a CD and put it
into the stereo.