33 The Return of Bowie Bravo Read Online Free PDF

down for a minute or two and Glory closed her eyes and seemed to be dozing, he thought of how he should have been there like this for her and for Johnny, when Johnny came. He thought about how much he’d missed, how many ways he’d gotten it all wrong.
    And then he thought about Wily Dunn. He’d lost Wily only two months ago. The old man had died nice and peaceful in his sleep on the day after Thanksgiving. But if Wily was still around, Bowie knew what he would say about now. That is water under a very big bridge. Let it flow on by, son. ’Cause there sure ain’t no bucket big enough to catch it.
    “Bowie?” Glory squeezed his hand. “Another one. Starting now…”
    He checked the watch on his wrist and then she was screaming and he stopped thinking about all that he’d done wrong—stopped thinking altogether. He said soft, soothing things and told her to take quick, shallow breaths and to go with it. Just go with it and keep on breathing.
    An hour and fifteen minutes after he’d gotten her upstairs, she was all the way down at the end of the bed, her head and shoulders supported by a pile of pillows, her feet on two chairs, knees wide. Bowie knelt on the floor between them. It was the last place he’d ever expected to be on the day he returned to New Bethlehem Flat.
    The top of the baby’s head appeared. Bowie said what the book had told him to say. “Pant, don’t push. Easy, easy…” Glory moaned and panted. She seemed pretty focused now, and she wasn’t even screaming. She did mutter a string of bad words, though, as she blew out quick, short breaths and moaned and swung her head to get the sweaty hair out of her eyes.
    He used his hands—washed again a few minutes before—to apply gentle pressure as the head emerged. The goal, the book said, was to keep the head from popping out suddenly. The faster, the better, Bowie thought. But, hey. He followed the instructions and told himself to be grateful that so far, everything was going pretty much the way the book said, which he took to mean that everything was going okay.
    The head slid free. It was all scrunched up and covered in sticky white stuff. The tiny, distorted mouth opened. But no sound came.
    He reassured Glory. “Good, good,” he said. “Really good.”
    “What does that mean?” she demanded furiously. “ Good, good. Hello? That could mean anything.”
    He glanced up into her sweat-shiny face. “It means that so far, we’re doing fine.” And then he was back to business again. Gently, he stroked the sides of the tiny nose and downward toward the neck. And then he went the other way, upward from under the chin, to expel mucus and amniotic fluid from the nose and the mouth. It worked. Slimy, gooey stuff came out.
    “What’s happening?” Glory moaned, straining to see. “Is the baby…”
    “Fine. It’s fine. Shh, now. Shh…”
    “Don’t you shush me, Bowie Bravo.”
    “Shh…” Next, as gently as he could, he took the baby’s sticky head in his two hands. “Okay, Glory. Now. Push!” She stopped griping at him and started grunting and bearing down and he pressed the baby’s head very carefully downward at the same time.
    And it happened. Just like in the book. One shoulder slid out.
    After that, it was all so quick that he didn’t have time to do what the book said. Nature did it for him. The other shoulder slid out. And then the rest of the tiny body came sliding fast in a rush of fluid, so fast he barely had time to catch it, let alone have the receiving blanket ready.
    Glory cried, “My baby, my baby…”
    And he said, “It’s a girl,” and then the tiny little thing opened her mouth and let out a big yelp followed by a long, angry cry. He smiled. Just like her mother, the dark haired little scrap of a thing didn’t hesitate to make her feelings known.
    “Is she…”
    “She’s perfect, Glory. Just perfect, I swear it.” He got a blanket and put the baby on it, still with the cord connected. The book had said