Jake made sure everyone knew what was at stake. He’d been doing it for weeks on the advice of the midwife who couldn’t guarantee his wife Betts would carry their baby to term. Every day, as he was boarding the skiff that took him to the jobsite at the base of the New New York Bridge (New New for short) he’d remind his team captain that when he got the call, he’d need a ride back double time. It was the weather that screwed him over. While Betts pushed, Jake, stuck on the skiff tethered to the base of the bridge, played endless rounds of gin rummy. The river roiled and heaved and only grew still the following morning, at which point, Jake was hardly in a position to take issue with the ridiculous name Betts had chosen for their son ‑ Albert. On the list of boy’s names, it didn’t even crack the top one hundred.