Little Earthquakes Read Free Page B

slowwwly ascend into Downward Dog,” Theresa intoned. Becky eased herself onto her hands and feet, feeling the sticky yoga mat against her palms, and sent her tailbone sailing up. She heard Yoga Barbie beside her sigh as she got herself into position and the beautiful woman—AyeINday—groan softly.
    Becky tried to lock her elbows so that her arms wouldn’t shake. She hazarded a glance sideways. Ayinde was wincing, and her lips were pressed tightly together. “Are you okay?” Becky whispered.
    “My back,” Ayinde whispered back.
    “Feeeeel yourself rooooted in the earrrrth,” said Theresa. I’m going to feel myself landing on the earth in about a minute, Becky thought. Her arms wobbled…but it was Ayinde who dropped first and rocked backward on her hands and knees.
    Theresa was kneeling beside her in an instant, one hand on Ayinde’s back. “Was that posture too challenging?” she asked.
    Ayinde shook her head. “No, the posture was fine; I’ve done yoga before. I’m just…” She gave a small shrug. “I’m not feeling right today.”
    “Why don’t you just sit quietly for a moment?” Theresa said. “Focus on your breath.”
    Ayinde nodded and rolled onto her side. Ten minutes later, after Proud Warrior and Triangle Pose and an awkward kneeling posture that Becky decided she’d call Dying Pigeon, which was probably a lot easier if you didn’t have breasts, the rest of the class joined her. “Shivasana,” Theresa said, turning up the sound of the wind chimes. “Let’s hold our bellies gently, breathing deeply, filling our lungs with rich oxygen, and send our babies a message of peace.”
    Becky’s stomach growled. Peace, she thought, knowing that it wasn’t going to work. She’d felt exhausted for her first trimester, queasy on and off for her second, and now she was just hungry all the time. She tried to send her baby a message of peace but instead wound up with a message of what she was going to have for dinner. Short ribs with blood-orange gremolata, she thought and sighed happily, as Ayinde sucked in her breath again.
    Becky pushed herself up on one elbow. Ayinde was rubbing at her back with her eyes squeezed shut.
    “Just a cramp or something,” she whispered before Becky could ask.
    After Theresa had clasped her hands over her enviably firm chest and wished them all namaste, the women made their way down the twisting staircase and walked out into the twilight. Kelly followed Becky. “I just love your restaurant,” she gushed, as they walked south on Third Street toward Pine.
    “Thanks,” Becky said. “Do you remember what you ordered?”
    “Chicken in mole sauce,” Kelly said proudly, pronouncing the Spanish word with a flourish. “It was delicious and…oh my God!” Kelly said for the third time that night. Becky looked to where she was pointing and saw Ayinde leaning with both hands against the passenger’s side window of a tank-size SUV with something white fluttering on its windshield.
    “Wow,” said Becky, “either she’s taking that parking ticket awfully hard or…”
    “Oh my God!” Kelly repeated and race-waddled away.
    Ayinde looked at them helplessly as they approached. “I think my water broke,” she said, pointing at the sopping hem of her pants. “But it’s too early. I’m only thirty-six weeks. My husband’s in California…”
    “How long have you been having contractions?” Becky asked. She put her hand between the other woman’s shoulder blades.
    “I haven’t had any,” Ayinde said. “My back’s been hurting, but that’s it.”
    “You might be having back labor,” Becky said. Ayinde looked at her blankly. “Do you know about back labor?”
    “We were going to take a class at the hospital in Texas,” Ayinde said, pressing her lips together, “but then Richard got traded, and we moved, and everything just…” She sucked in a breath, hissing, with her forehead pressed against the car window. “I can’t believe this is happening.