Ezoic
I put my hand over my mouth.
“The storm lasted four minutes,” Gabby said. “When it was over, the roof was gone. The walls were half gone. The rain was coming straight down into the bathroom. And my mom was pushing.”
She smiled.
“Jean delivered me,” she said. “In the bathtub of Room 18. With no roof. In the rain. At 10:43 p.m. With a flashlight in her teeth.”
She laughed. Tears running down her face.
“Seven pounds, two ounces,” she said. “Jean wrapped me in a towel from this motel. And she sang to me. While we waited for the ambulance.”
“You Are My Sunshine,” I said quietly.
Gabby looked at me.
“You Are My Sunshine,” she said. “My mother said Jean sang it over and over. For two hours. Until the paramedics could get through the debris on the highway.”
The room was very quiet.
Mark was sitting on the mop bucket by the door. He hadn’t said a word. He was staring at the floor.
