She Gets That from Me

by Robin Wells

  I nod. An assistant called this morning to tell me this and to see if I wanted to postpone my appointment, but I’m too eager to see the baby. I’d rather try and fail than wait another week.

  “I’m so glad you could come with me,” I tell Sarah as soon as the nurse leaves the room.

  “I’m thrilled you asked me. I was so excited when I had my first ultrasound. The excitement turned to shock when I learned I was having twins.”

  “I can’t even imagine!” I say. “I don’t know what I’ll do if I have multiples. I’m worried about being able to take care of Lily and a baby all at the same time.”

  “Do twins run in your family?” Sarah asks.

  “Not that I know of.”

  “You weren’t taking fertility drugs and you had insemination instead of IVF, so your chances are low. And as for taking care of Lily and a baby, you’ll be a wonderful mother.”

  “When I decided to get pregnant, I thought I’d have Brooke by my side.” A wave of grief washes over me. Will I ever be able to think of Brooke without feeling sad about her death? “I was with her at the ultrasound where she found out she was having a girl.”

  “I know you miss her,” Sarah says.

  “I do.” Especially at moments like this. I blink back the tears gathering in my eyes.

  “Have you thought about who you want as your labor coach?”

  I’d been unable to go to classes with Brooke because I lived in Atlanta, but I’d read several books, and I’d taken a leave of absence so I could be with her for the delivery.

  “I figure I’ll use the doula that Brooke used. She was terrific.”

  “Don’t you want a friend or family member with you, too?”

  “I don’t really have any family I’m close to,” I confess.

  “What about your mother? I know she’s in Dubai, but surely she’ll want to come.”

  I haven’t really discussed my mother with Sarah. “We’re not close. We talk every couple weeks or so, but . . .” I stop. I don’t think I can get into it without crying, and now is not the time.

  Sarah’s eyes are warm and sympathetic. “If you decide you’d like me to be there, I’d be honored to help you.”

  Tears fill my eyes. “Oh, Sarah—that’s so very, very kind!”

  “Don’t answer now,” she said. “I don’t want you to feel pressured. Take your time and think about it, because everyone in the single parents group would love to do it—we’ve all talked about it.”

  Before I can answer, Dr. Mercer comes in. She’s a middle-aged woman with a dark pixie haircut and friendly brown eyes. She asks for Sarah’s business card when I tell her that Sarah’s a psychologist. “I have some patients who could use your services,” Dr. Mercer says.

  She turns to me and rubs her hands together. “Ready to see if we can view this baby?”

  “Absolutely.”

  It was the same thing I said when I came here to be artificially inseminated.

  “Are you completely sure you want to do this?” Dr. Mercer asked me.

  “Absolutely,” I replied.

  “Okay. Here’s the specimen I’m going to use.” She handed me a medical vial. “Check and make sure it’s the right donor number.”

  I compared the number on the vial with the number Brooke had copied for me. “That’s it,” I confirmed.

  “All right, then. Lie back and put your feet in the stirrups.”

  “Can you sing a few bars of ‘I Will Always Love You’ while you do this?” I joked.

  Dr. Mercer laughed. “Sorry, but that’s beyond my skill set.”

  I lie back on the exam table now, Sarah on one side of me, Dr. Mercer on the other. I pull up my black-and-white top and tug down my black pants to expose my stomach. She tucks a paper medical cloth into my pants’ waistband. “I’m going to apply some ultrasound gel, and I don’t want to get it on your clothes.”

  “I appreciate that,” I say. I raise my eyebrows as she squirts the gel over my belly. “Oh, it’s warm!”

  “We do everything we can to make our mothers comfortable.” She turns on the ultrasound machine, and the screen lights up. Then she picks up an object that looks like a computer mouse. “This is the transducer.” She puts it on my belly and slides it around. “Let’s see if we can find this little one. At nine weeks, your baby is basically the size of a grape.”

  “Nine weeks?” I lift my head from the table. “I was inseminated just seven weeks ago!”

  “Yes, but pregnancies are dated from the mother’s last period.”

  “Even when you know the exact date of conception?”

  She nods. “Even then.” She runs the transducer over my belly. “Let’s see if this new machine lives up to its hype.”

  My heart feels as if it’s about to beat out of my chest. Sarah stands beside me and holds my hand.

  “Ah—there it is! Hear that? That’s the heart.” She turns up the volume, and I hear a loud, fast swooshing sound. “That’s your baby’s heartbeat!”

  “Oh, wow. Wow!” I listen in amazement, my throat growing thick. “Is it supposed to be that fast?”

  “Yes,” Dr. Mercer says. “At this age, it’s supposed to be between about one hundred and fifty and one-seventy beats per minute, and this is showing one hundred and sixty-five. That’s perfect. As your baby gets older, it’ll slow down a little bit, but it’ll stay really fast.”

  “That’s incredible.”

  “Everything looks wonderful,” Dr. Mercer says. I stare at the screen, tears pooling in my eyes. I can only make out black and gray shapes. Nothing looks like a baby.

  She adjusts a knob on the machine, zooming in on part of the image. “That’s the head.”

  I squint. “It looks enormous!”

  Dr. Mercer laughs. “Don’t worry. The rest of the body will catch up. All of your baby’s organs are starting to grow. The heart already has all four chambers.”

  I peer at the screen. “That’s what we’re hearing?”

  “Yes.”

  “The chambers of my baby’s heart,” I murmur. Goose bumps run up and down my arms. “I’m listening to chamber music.”

  “Yes.” The doctor smiles. “Yes, you are.”

  My heart feels so full I think it might burst. This is really happening. Thanks to Brooke, Lily’s half sibling is growing inside me. “Sarah, would you please grab my phone out of my purse? I want to record this.”

  “I’ll make a DVD you can take with you,” the doctor says.

  “Oh, that’s great! But I still want it on my phone so I can listen to it anytime I want.”

  Sarah pulls out my phone and hands it to me. I put it on Voice Memos, aim it at the screen, and hit record.

  “I’m going to measure the baby.” The doctor puts some dots on the screen, and during the silence I record the lovely swoosh of my baby’s heartbeat.

  “It’s perfect,” Dr. Mercer says. “Just where it should be.”

  She turns off the machine. “The next time we do an ultrasound, you’ll be able to see a lot more. The face, the arms, the feet—even whether it’s a boy or girl.”

  For now, I think, it’s enough to know that he or she has a beating heart, a heart that is rhythmically beating right beneath my own.

  Chamber music, I think. Chamber music of the heart.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Margaret

  Friday, May 17

  I AWAKEN FROM an afternoon nap, and it takes me a moment to reorient myself. I’m in the hospital, but I’m in a different room. Oh, right—they moved me yesterday after lunch. How long have I been in this place? Before I can figure it out, the door to my room starts to open.

  “Jessica!” I hear a man’s voice from the hallway say. “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to see Miss Margaret,” replies a woman. I don’t recognize t
he voice, but “Miss Margaret” is what my granddaughter’s friends call me. A female hand curls around the door, holding it ajar. It’s a lovely hand, with silver bangles on the wrist, shiny nails, and youthful skin.

  I don’t remember any of Brooke’s friends named Jessica. The male voice sounds like the man who was here this morning—what’s his name? Oh, shoot! He has some connection to Brooke. My memory these days is as full of holes as a fishing net.

  “You don’t even know her,” I hear the man say.

  “I want to meet her. She’s become a big part of your life, so I naturally want to include her in mine. Besides, you said that today is her birthday, so I wanted to bring her a little gift.”

  The doctor and nurses wished me happy birthday this morning, and an aide told me that some friends are bringing me a party. Apparently I’m eighty years old today. Eighty! How on earth can that be? “I can hear you talking about me out there,” I call. “You might as well come on in.”

  A beautiful young woman pushes open the door. She has long dark hair, brown eyes, and a big smile, and she’s carrying a large bouquet. It looks like sunflowers, oleander, roses, and tulips. “Hello, Mrs. Moore,” she says.

  “Hello,” I say.

  “I’m Jessica Bradley—Zack’s wife.”

  Zack—that’s his name! He follows her through the doorway, looking a tad apologetic. “Hello, Miss Margaret.”

  “Oh! I didn’t know you were married, dear,” I say. From the expression on the young woman’s face, this appears to be exactly the wrong thing to say.

  “We’ve been married nearly three years,” she says.

  “I’m sure he told me, and I just forgot,” I say, although I’m sure of no such thing. “My memory is like a colander lately.” Zack’s relationship to Brooke suddenly pops into my head: he’s Lily’s father. And he’s married? Oh, dear. I’m sure I was never told that!

  “I’m so sorry about your heart attack and fall,” Jessica says.

  “Thank you. I don’t remember anything about it, but apparently Zack saved my life.”

  “He’s handy to have around,” she says.

  “Handy as a paddle in a pirogue,” I agree.

  She laughs. “How are you feeling?”

  “Getting better every day.” I was taught that when someone inquires about your health, a lady always gives a positive response. I’m not at all sure my health is improving, but at least I still have good manners.

  “That’s wonderful to hear.”

  “Thank you, dear.” I smile at her. “Forgive me if I’m being rude, but have we met before?”

  “No. I was in Seattle when you fell.”

  “Seattle!”

  “Yes. I was house hunting. Zack and I are moving there in a month or so.”

  “You’re moving to Seattle?” I look at Zack. “I don’t remember you telling me that, either.”

  “I’m, uh, staying in New Orleans for a while longer.”

  “Oh?”

  “Just for a few weeks,” Jessica adds, giving him the kind of disapproving look married people sometimes use on each other. Thank heavens Henry never tried that with me.

  “While he finishes up a couple of cases at his law firm,” she adds.

  “I see.” I hadn’t considered the possibility of Zack moving so far away, just as I hadn’t considered that he might be married. That makes this woman Lily’s stepmother. My stomach drops, but I keep my polite face on. My experience with stepmothers is not good—not good at all.

  I look from her to Zack and continue smiling. He’s the child’s father, I remind myself—her blood relative. “Lily’s coming to the hospital today. Quinn has arranged a little birthday party for me.” I’m pleased I remember this. A nurse’s aide told me just before I dozed off for that little nap. “They should be here any minute. You’re welcome to stay and meet them.”

  “Oh, that’s very kind of you, but I don’t want to crash your party,” Jessica says.

  “You won’t be crashing, dear. I’d love to have you.” It will give me more time to assess her and see what she’s like.

  “Well, then—I’d be delighted.” She steps forward and lifts up the vase of flowers. “I brought you these.”

  “How thoughtful! They’re gorgeous.”

  “I’ll put fresh water in them, then set them down.” She moves to the sink in the bathroom. I hear the faucet turn on, then the door connecting the room to the hallway bursts open again.

  “Grams—look what I brought you!” Lily skips into the room, holding a big bouquet of shiny balloons anchored onto a weight. She’s wearing a pink-and-white dress. Her hair is pulled back from her face and fastened on top with an enormous pink bow.

  My heart leaps at the sight of her. “How wonderful to see you, sweetie! Oh, I’ve missed you!”

  “I missed you, too, Grams. I was very, very worried that you’d die ’cause you’re in a hospital.”

  “Oh, sweetheart!” I say.

  Quinn is right behind her. She’s wearing a blue dress and sandals, and she’s carrying two large gift-wrapped packages. “I’m so glad they moved you to a room where Lily can visit.”

  “Me, too,” I say.

  Lily studies me. “Do you hurt?”

  “No,” I lie.

  “Can I give you a hug?”

  “Of course.”

  Zack takes the balloons from Lily, and Quinn picks her up.

  “Be very gentle,” Quinn tells Lily as she carries her to my bedside. “Don’t hit her hip or squish her oxygen tube.”

  Lily puts her arms around my neck and gives me a wet smooch on the cheek. My eyes grow full.

  “Grams! You’re crying!”

  “It’s because I’m so glad to see you.” I kiss her back, and Quinn lowers her to the floor.

  “I love you, Grams,” Lily declares.

  “Oh, I love you too, honey.”

  Lily turns to Zack. “Hello, Mr. Zack.”

  Zack squats down. “Hi there, peanut.” He, too, gets a big hug from Lily.

  As he releases her, Lily spots the brunette standing in the bathroom doorway, the vase of flowers in her hands. Quinn notices her, too.

  “This is Zack’s wife, Jessica,” I say. I’m pleased that I remember her name.

  “You’re the pretty lady from Auntie Quinn’s shop!” Lily exclaims.

  Zack’s eyebrows rise in surprise. He looks at Jessica. “You were in Quinn’s shop?”

  “I went by a couple of days ago.” The color in her cheeks rises. “We met, but we didn’t introduce ourselves.” Jessica crosses the room, puts the flowers on the window ledge, then holds out her hand to Quinn. “Nice to officially meet you. I’d heard a lot about you and I was in the area so I thought I’d run in, but then it just seemed awkward to explain the connection, so . . .”

  “No problem,” Quinn says, smiling and shaking her hand. “It’s nice to meet you, too.”

  Jessica bends down and extends her hand to Lily. “Hello again, Lily.”

  Lily shakes it. “Hello, ma’am.”

  “Birthday party coming through!” calls a voice from the hallway door. I look up to see some of Brooke’s and Quinn’s friends entering the room.

  Lily jumps up and down like a frog on a pogo stick. “Miss Sarah brought cake!”

  Sure enough, the salt-and-pepper-haired lady I remember from Brooke’s funeral is carrying a bakery box. Behind her is the sweet, petite young woman with big glasses who’s always been so kind to me. She’s carrying a present and a bag of what looks like paper plates and forks. Another woman I’ve met before, older than the others, trails in behind them.

  “Sarah, Annie, Terri—some of you have already met Zack. For those who haven’t, this is Zack—and this is his wife, Jessica.”

  Hellos are said all around.

  Another woman I re
member as being a part of that group comes in, carrying a small green plant. She’s dressed as a nurse. Quinn touches her arm. “Lauren, this is Zack and his wife, Jessica. Lauren works in the pediatric oncology department here.”

  They all say hello. “I’m on my break, so I can only stay a minute, but I wanted to pop in and wish Miss Margaret a happy birthday.” Lauren comes to my bedside, bends down, and gives me a kiss. “You’re looking so much better than you did when you first got here.”

  I didn’t remember seeing her, but then, I don’t remember anything about the accident or much about the first few days after it.

  “Thank you, dear.”

  She lifts the plant. “I brought a bit of greenery to cheer up your room, but it’s mighty cheerful already. Look at all these flowers and balloons!”

  “That was very thoughtful of you,” I say.

  A man with short, bristly gray hair hesitantly enters the room. “Mac!” Quinn exclaims. “So great to see you!”

  “Welcome back!” Sarah says.

  “I got the email about the birthday party and came straight here from the airport,” Mac says. He holds himself very stiffly and looks in my direction, but not quite at me. He doesn’t smile, but he dips his head in a “hello” bow. “Happy birthday, Miss Margaret.”

  “Thank you.” I vaguely remember him as the sole male member of the single parent group. “Where have you been?”

  “In New Jersey, then in Illinois. I had two back-to-back training seminars on new equipment,” he says.

  Now I remember what it is about him. Quinn had explained that he has trouble making eye contact and he’s awkward around people. I think his shyness is endearing.

  Quinn steps forward to play hostess again. “Mac, this is Zack and his wife, Jessica.”

  Mac shakes his hand, but he looks puzzled, as if he’s trying to place him.

  “Zack saved my life when I had a heart attack,” I say.

  “Oh, yes.” He pumps Zack’s hand harder. “You’re Lily’s dad—and the father of Quinn’s baby!”

  Silence falls over the room.

  Lily’s sweet voice cuts through the sudden, unsettling quiet. “Did that man jus’ say Mr. Zack’s my daddy?” She peers up hopefully at Quinn.