Andy stationed himself between Amy's legs while Barb continued to monitor the IV bag and the oxygen.

Susan looked at Barb expectantly. "So? Can she have something?"

"I'm not trying to be s.a.d.i.s.tic about this," Barb said. "But I'm afraid it'll slow things down."

"But maybe that's what we want to do," Susan said. "Then we could get her to the hospital."

"No way am I taking a chance on delivering a baby in a helicopter," said Andy.

Just then Amy began groaning again. Peter, who by now considered himself an expert on the warning signs of impending pain, announced to all that another contraction was coming on.

"Okay, Amy," said Andy. "Make this one count. I want to see the baby's head."

Amy moaned as Susan slid her arms underneath Amy's shoulders from behind, bracing her so Amy could put everything she had into bearing down. Peter and Don each did the same from down below, hooking their arms around her legs. It was a most awkward, animalistic position, and yet Peter found that it didn't faze him in the least to be doing this. As the contraction bore down, Amy brayed for ten, fifteen, twenty seconds.

"She's crowning!" Andy announced.

"You can see the head?" Susan cried. "Amy, did you hear that? He can see the head!"

"Lotta hair," Andy murmured.

"Hair!" Susan cried in wonder.

Amy took another breath and made that awful squeezing, grunting sound again.

"Push!" everyone shouted. "Push, Amy, push! Keep pushing!"

"Okay, stop now," Andy said. "You want to take a look, Gramma?"

Scrubbing the tears off her cheeks, Susan scooted down to where Andy was positioned, between Amy's legs. "Oh," she breathed. "Oh, Amy. There she is. Or he! Oh," she said. "Honey, you're going to have a baby!"

"I know that, Mom!" Amy shouted. "Get back here and hold my arms!"

Susan scooted back up to position herself by Amy's head again. But she bent her face down to Amy's ear. "It's beautiful, honey," she whispered.

"I don't care if it's beautiful!" Amy shouted. "Get it out of me!"

"Want to see?" Andy asked Peter.

"No thanks," said Peter.

"Okay then, Amy," said Andy. "Next push, I want the head out. But not too fast. I don't want you to tear."

"Scissors?" Barb asked.

"Not yet," said Andy.

"You really should see it, Peter," said Susan.

"Oh!" cried Amy. "It's half in and half out!"

"Not quite yet," said Andy calmly. "But we're getting close."

"Just take a peek," Susan urged Peter.

"Mom! Shut up!" Amy screamed. She began to pant, and Susan, Peter, and Don took up their counterpoint positions again, and Amy took a deep breath, and for Peter it seemed as though Amy was trying to pull them all into her heart. She folded and squeezed and grunted, and suddenly Andy shouted, "The head's out! Now hold! Don't push anymore! Suction!" and Barb handed him a little blue bulb, and Peter couldn't see what Andy was doing with it and didn't really want to see.

"I can't hold it!" Amy cried.

Andy said, "You have to! Just pant!" Peter, who suddenly felt more like part of any team than he'd ever felt in his entire life, relayed this command to Amy and told her again to pant, and he was amazed when she followed his command. Her eyes were wild with fear now, and she seemed completely dependent on his instructions. "Pant!" he kept telling her, over and over, and when this contraction had ended and Amy was still looking terrified, he thought, What an awful, awful thing, to have a baby half in and half out of you!

"It's okay!" he whispered to her. "I think you're almost there."

"One more push, Amy," said Andy.

"Oh!" sobbed Amy. "I can't I can't I can't," but then she drew in the longest, deepest breath she'd yet taken and squeezed so hard that Peter couldn't look at her face for fear that something would pop, and then-just like that-this thing thing torpedoed out from between her legs, this blue-gray seal with a rubbery corkscrew tail, shooting out so fast that Andy almost failed to catch it. But he did catch it, and the next thing Peter knew, Andy was cradling the waxy limp thing in his hands. It was a boy, and it was still and lifeless, alien and quiet, and what was first and foremost on Peter's mind had nothing to do with the miracle of birth but rather who in this group was going to have the courage to tell Amy that her baby was dead. torpedoed out from between her legs, this blue-gray seal with a rubbery corkscrew tail, shooting out so fast that Andy almost failed to catch it. But he did catch it, and the next thing Peter knew, Andy was cradling the waxy limp thing in his hands. It was a boy, and it was still and lifeless, alien and quiet, and what was first and foremost on Peter's mind had nothing to do with the miracle of birth but rather who in this group was going to have the courage to tell Amy that her baby was dead.

Andy laid the baby on his side across his lap. He worked quickly and with both hands at once, suctioning the baby's nose and mouth and vigorously toweling him dry.

"He's not crying," said Amy.

Andy said something under his breath.

"What's happening?" said Amy, looking from Susan to Peter. "Somebody tell me what's happening!"

Peter knew that the right thing to do at the moment would be to give Amy a running narrative of what he could see, since she was lying flat on her back and her stomach was still just as big as it was before the baby came out. But all he saw was Andy rubbing the baby so hard that it looked like he might be giving the baby a flesh burn.

"Just look at those b.a.l.l.s," Lloyd announced, peering over.

"Why isn't he crying?" Peter whispered to Don.

"Like you think I can't hear?" Amy screamed. "Why isn't the baby crying!"

Just then there came a faint trebly sound, a feeble little wail that seemed to string its way from ear to ear among those in the group. And then it came again, louder now, and a cheer erupted. The baby's skin flushed pink, and moments later, with a big smile, Andy reached over and placed him on Amy's stomach.

Amy looked stunned. "Do I touch him?"

Andy laughed. "Of course."

Amy shifted, and Peter had the good sense to help her partially sit up so she could hold the baby. He had done a pretty good job of not looking at Amy's b.r.e.a.s.t.s during this whole ordeal, but he could not help but look now as Amy cradled the baby. He had never seen b.r.e.a.s.t.s that big before. Nor had he ever felt so free to stare.

Susan bent down so that she was cheek to cheek with Amy. "A boy, honey," she said. "A baby boy."

Amy, still in a daze, stroked the baby's hand with her pinkie, and the baby grasped it. Peter sat back. He felt frayed and raw, exhausted and exhilarated, even a little proud of himself for his role in the birth.

In the meantime, Andy had placed a blue plastic clamp on the umbilical cord. He must have a.s.sumed Peter was the father because he handed him a small pair of scissors. "Cord?"

But this was a privilege that Peter didn't feel ent.i.tled to. He handed the scissors to Susan, who wasn't even making an effort anymore to wipe her cheeks. She sniffed loudly and took the scissors and held them against the rubbery tube, paused momentarily, and squeezed. The long tail fell away and Barb dabbed the translucent stump with a wipe.

Meanwhile, a crowd had gathered around the tent, for they had heard the shouts a few minutes back.

"Lloyd?" said Don. "You want the honor?"

Lloyd solemnly put his watch into his pocket and went out into the sun. He cleared his throat and searched among the faces. "Ruthie?"

Ruth stepped forward. "Right here, Lloyd."

The crowd waited. Lloyd was wheezing slightly. He shaded his eyes and kept looking from face to face.

"Lloyd," said Ruth, touching his arm.

"I'm so confused," he told her. "Who are all these people?"

"Was the baby born?" she asked gently.

"Yes."

"Is it healthy?"

"Oh yes."

"Is it a boy or a girl?"

There was a long silence as everyone waited.

"It's a boy" he finally said.

"Oh, how wonderful," said Ruth, smiling broadly.

The announcement seemed to have wrung every last bit of strength from the man. He hobbled across a patch of sand to sit on a rock nearby. He took out his handkerchief and wiped his brow. He patted his pockets, and when Ruth handed him her water bottle, he drank deeply, then wiped his mouth, making little sighing sounds, as though having a bad dream.

"Are you all right, Lloyd?"

The old mans face had grown pale. He dabbed his chest with his handkerchief, and Ruth could see now that he was sweating profusely. All sorts of worries ran through her mind.

"Lloyd? Can you see me?"

Lloyd gazed around.

"Can you hear me, Lloyd?"

He patted his pockets again and frowned.

"Where are we?" he asked, looking up. "How did we get here? I'm so confused, Ruthie," he said. "I don't understand any of this."

"Now now," said Ruth. "I'm right here."

"Don't leave me alone like that! I don't know any of these people!"

"There, there," she said, stroking his temple.

From a short distance away, Peter watched the old couple together. It pained him deeply to see Lloyd like this, but at the same time he thought about how lucky they were, to have each other right now. To take this trip, to manage the ins and outs of old age together. And he tried to imagine himself in their shoes, and found it was not as difficult as he might have thought two weeks ago, even if it wasn't Miss Ohio taking his hand and leading him off to sit down and collect himself.

47.

Day Eleven Below Lava They had no diapers, of course, but the blue high-tech towels everyone had brought along were just the right size. Duct tape held things in place, and thus the baby was kept from squirting all over as the paramedics readied things for Amy's transport.

There was momentary confusion when Susan insisted on going, for the helicopter would not hold mother, daughter, baby, and two paramedics. But Barb volunteered to stay behind and wait for the pilot to make a second trip.

Everybody gathered around the stretcher to say good-bye. Jill leaned over and kissed Amy's forehead. Dixie draped her blue sarong over her, and Peter fussed with the edges, straightening things out. Evelyn smiled broadly, grasping for words that never came. JT stood back and gave Amy his thumbs-up.

"Time's a-wastin'," said Andy.

They hoisted the stretcher up into the helicopter; Susan followed, and when she was settled in her seat, Andy handed her the baby. He was light as a doll, his mouth a tiny pout between fat round cheeks, and Susan just stared and stared into his funny, angry little face. She was full of questions for Amy-who and when and how and where, for starters-and as she gazed at the baby's features she couldn't help wondering who among Amy's cla.s.smates he looked like. She scolded herself because it didn't matter; besides, it was futile, because what baby really looked like his father an hour after birth? All newborns looked like little Russians to her.

But wonder she would.

And what would happen next? Would Amy want to keep the baby or put him up for adoption? If she kept him, how would she manage her senior year, with college on the horizon? How would she manage college itself, for that matter? Susan thought with a twinge of guilt about some of the plans she'd had for herself, once Amy left home-training for a marathon, for example, or taking Spanish. If Amy kept the baby-well, Susan imagined herself doing a lot of babysitting.

And finally, all those unanswerable questions. Was love a factor, or had this been a simple hookup? Had Susan failed to pa.s.s along some fundamental biological facts? And still: How could she herself have missed all the flashing lights? Fool!

The helicopter motor started up, drowning out any chance for conversation. Andy climbed up and buckled himself into his seat. With a slight jolt, the helicopter lifted straight up into the sky. Amy strained to look down but winced as she did so and lay back as they swung up over the canyon rim and headed east. Susan cradled the baby to her chest and peered down. The view was already panoramic, a vast branching tableau of tan and pink and dusty green, with a tiny silver ribbon weaving in and out. It was just like what the Grand Canyon was supposed to look like, and nothing like what it really was, down on the river.

"See Lava?" the pilot shouted over his shoulder, pointing to a fingernail of white.

Amy now managed to hoist herself on her elbows to look down. Instinctively Susan threw out her arm to guard her daughter. It was sudden and unnecessary-and wouldn't have been effective anyway-and it reminded her of her own mother years ago, throwing her arm across the front seat when braking quickly, to keep Susan from flying through the windshield.

Just then the baby's face broke, and he began to yawl. Susan jiggled him a little. Amy looked on, her eyes flat and expressionless. The baby continued to cry.

Then Amy reached out and stroked the baby's cheek, almost as much out of curiosity as anything else. He scowled in her direction, and without giving it much thought, she slipped the tip of her little finger into his mouth, and he grew quiet; and Susan glimpsed in Amy's face something that she, Susan, had forgotten: the sudden, wondrous awareness of one's innate maternal magic.

Emboldened by this, Susan leaned forward and tucked a strand of hair behind Amy's ear. And just as boldly, Amy gazed back without flinching.

Below, on the beach, everyone stood in a daze as the helicopter lifted off. Some, like Jill, felt the emotion finally hit them, like delayed thunder. Others recounted to one another their small roles in the birth sequence-Dixie giving Amy her blue sarong, for instance, when she started shivering; Evelyn recording every single contraction in her notebook.

Only the two boys seemed eager to put it behind them. They were glad to see the fat girl go, because it meant they could finally get back on the river again, and find the dog.

48.