The Pregnancy Test

by Susan Gable

  He nodded. “So, I need to ask. What are your intentions toward my daughter?”

  “You mean, like marriage?”

  “If you don’t intend to marry her—”

  “Actually, sir, I’ve asked her to marry me. She hasn’t given me an answer yet.”

  “Ah. Somehow I’m not surprised. My daughter has always followed her own mind. If she decides not to marry you, then I expect support of some kind for the child. Assistance for Jenna.” His lips quirked. “I am, after all, a lawyer.”

  “I assure you, sir, neither Jenna nor the baby will want for anything. I’m already covering her medical bills since she doesn’t have any insurance.”

  Her father groaned. “No insurance?”

  “She couldn’t afford it and figured she was healthy. The doc is giving us a break for cash payment.”

  “All right. As long as you behave well toward her, I’m sure we can handle this in a civilized manner.” Her father thrust out his hand. “I have your word you’ll take care of them both?”

  “You do.”

  “Good. I’ll hold you to that.” With a final shake, he released the firm clasp. “Now, I need to speak with my daughter.”

  “She’s sleeping. On the sofa.” Sloan followed him up the stairs. Once in her apartment, he took her father’s coat, then puttered around in the kitchen, trying to appear uninterested in the scene unfolding a few feet away in the living area. Robert bent over, just looking at her for a moment. Then he caressed her hair. “Jenna?”

  She stretched. “Hmm? Dad?” She sat up, rumpled and adorable like a sleepy kitten. “What’s up?”

  Robert eased himself onto the couch beside her. “I need to talk to you, hon. First of all, try to give your mother some slack. She’s a little…overwhelmed right now. I figured with her on the edge, putting the two of you together wasn’t a good idea, but she wouldn’t let me drive up here alone. And I needed to talk to you. In person.”

  The sleepiness vanished, replaced by wariness. “About what?”

  He took her hand. “I’m having surgery next Wednesday.”

  “What kind?”

  “A double bypass. But don’t worry. I have the best cardiac surgeon in the area, and she says it’s going to be a snap. No problem.”

  “Oh, Daddy!” Jenna sniffled.

  Her father drew her into his arms. “Don’t cry. I’m sure it’s going to be fine. Believe me, doctors are extra careful when treating lawyers.” He laughed. “And besides, the news you just gave us is the best reason I can think of for getting healthy fast. I’m going to be a grandfather.” A note of awe flickered in his voice.

  “Th-thanks, Daddy.”

  “For what?”

  “For being good about the whole thing. For not lecturing me.”

  “Lecturing won’t change anything. I’ll finally have some photos to brag about at the firm.”

  “Wh-what did Mother say?”

  Robert cleared his throat. “She said to let you know that ice pops are a good idea for the nausea. She threw up damn near every day for the first two months with you.”

  “She did?”

  “Yes, she did. But the idea of becoming a grandmother is going to take some time for her to get used to. Says it makes her feel old.”

  Jenna giggled. “Well, if you want something to really tweak her with, to distract her from your surgery, you can tell her that if Sloan and I get married, she’s not only going to become a grandmother, but she’ll be a great-grandmother first.”

  Sloan froze in the midst of dropping a strawberry into the smoothie machine. Robert glanced over Jenna’s head at him. “Ah. So he does understand how I’m feeling.”

  Sloan nodded. “I do.”

  The words caught in his throat.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  THE LAST DAY of school before April vacation hadn’t gone well at all, with two tests Brook hadn’t been prepared for. And now she had a meeting with her father and the guidance team. Yippee, she could hardly wait.

  The chaos and confusion of dismissal swirled around her: the press of the bodies in the hallway, the chatter of voices once again glad to be free—temporarily. In the process of reaching for her English book, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the locker-door mirror. She grimaced, then tugged on the hem of her sweater. Despite the loose clothes, the small swell of her stomach was becoming unmistakable.

  At the far end of the hall, Dylan’s lanky form appeared. He looked in her direction. His head bobbed and he gave her a little wave—the only acknowledgment she ever got from him, since the scene at his house. His father’s orders to stay away from her had been obeyed.

  Wuss boy.

  She pulled her coat from the locker and draped it over her arm. Her backpack was lighter than normal because only Mr. Davidson had been cruddy enough to assign a project over the vacation.

  The noise died away as kids filtered out of the building. Brook trudged down the hallway, passing the custodian pushing a dust mop over the tile. Her dad stood outside the guidance counselor’s office, face drawn and tired. But he smiled when he saw her. “Hey. Do you have any idea what this is all about?”

  Brook lifted one shoulder. “No clue.”

  “All right. Let’s get on with it, then.” He took her backpack from her hand.

  The scent of stale coffee greeted them, along with Ms. Sheldon, the school psychologist; Mr. Berger, the guidance counselor; and Mrs. Jackowski, one of the Family and Consumer Science teachers. They all introduced themselves to her dad. Then, after everyone settled in the cushy chairs at the round table in the middle of the office, awkward silence descended. Brook resisted the urge to squirm. What the hell had she done now?

  “Mr. Thompson,” Ms. Sheldon began, “we’ve asked you here today because we’re all concerned about Brook’s future, as we’re sure you are. We wanted to be able to come up with a plan of action.”

  “Okay,” her dad said. “Sounds reasonable. But what exactly are we talking about? I mean, is she disrupting classes, or do you see a special talent in her you want to nurture? What?”

  “Oh, Brook’s a fairly good student—”

  “When she wants to be,” Mr. Berger injected.

  Ms. Sheldon frowned at him and continued. “But we’re more concerned right now with helping Brook make decisions regarding her pregnancy. We have a variety of programs in place to assist teen mothers, but it seems that every time any of us tries to discuss these options with Brook, she tunes us out. It’s as if she’s still in denial.”

  “Welcome to my world,” her dad said. “She tunes me out anytime I want to talk about something she doesn’t want to hear.”

  Brook stared at the purple nail polish on her fingernails.

  “See? Just like that.”

  “Oh, for crying out loud,” Brook said. “Give me some papers to read on whatever programs we’re talking about. I’ll read them over spring break and we can figure it out when school starts up again.”

  “Actually,” said Mrs. Jackowski, “we had a different sort of project in mind for you for over vacation.” She leaned over in her chair to pick something up. She laid it on the table. “This is an infant simulator. Have you ever seen one of these before?”

  A knot of dread formed in the pit of Brook’s stomach as she shook her head.

  “This computerized baby will give you a real taste of what it’s going to be like to have a baby of your own, Brook. It will cry to be fed, changed, rocked, or just because it feels like it. It requires constant care, either from its mother—you—or from a designated baby-sitter. The computer chip inside it will report you for abuse if you don’t respond to the baby’s cries or if you handle it too roughly.”

  “That’s pretty neat,” her father said, reaching for it. A little pink romper showed it was a girl. “The technology to accomplish all that is amazing.”

  “I don’t think they’ll let you take it apart, Dad, to see how it works. I’m guessing that would be abuse, too, right?”

&n
bsp; Mrs. Jackowski retrieved the baby, cradling it in her arms. “It most certainly would. Mr. Thompson, we will hold you responsible for replacing this simulator if anything happens to it.”

  Her dad chuckled. “I wouldn’t actually take it apart.”

  “Good. Then if you both agree to participate in this program, we’ll run the training video, and you can be on your way with your baby.”

  “Oh, joy,” Brook muttered. “It’s a girl.”

  BROOK STRUGGLED with the car seat, yanking on it with growing frustration. Her dad stood beside her, holding his “grandbaby” in his arms. A cold wind blew across the deserted parking lot of the high school.

  “Brook, do you want me to do that? Those things can be kind of tricky.”

  “Fine.” She stepped aside and accepted the baby, whom she’d named Rebecca, from him. He maneuvered the car seat into position and got it strapped in.

  Brook then gingerly placed the baby into the restraints. The last thing she needed was an abuse report before they’d even left the parking lot. The simulator had a sensitive neck that required the same gentle handling a real baby did. Mrs. J. had demonstrated proper holding several times before Brook had gotten the hang of it.

  Brook climbed into the truck’s front seat, slamming the door. “Okay, let’s go. Vacation, here I come.”

  Her dad gave her a weirded-out look.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  They weren’t halfway home when the baby in the back seat began to cry, starting soft and slow and working up into a rip-roaring pitch in no time. Her stomach started tumbling, and she was pretty sure it wasn’t caused by her real baby. “Crap. What do we do now?”

  “We? What’s this we stuff, sugar? You’re the momma. Just remember, if you let the baby cry for more than thirty seconds without doing something, it’s considered neglect.”

  “Then pull over!”

  Dad jerked the truck into the parking lot of the tire place at the end of Powell Ave. Brook jumped out, quickly vaulting into the back seat. The blue diaper bag with the Baby Think It Over logo—a wailing baby, cute, very cute—sat on the floor. She grabbed it and started digging through it. This was going to be some vacation.

  THE BABY HOWLED from the room next door. Sloan groaned. When the bleary red numbers on the clock snapped into focus, they read 2:47 a.m.

  The crying grew louder, and the door to his room burst open. He sat up. Brook held the infant simulator in his direction. “I can’t get it to stop. I tried changing, burping, feeding, rocking. Daddy, make it stop!”

  “Did anything happen to it?” He took the computerized baby from her.

  “You mean, like, is it defective or something?”

  “I don’t know. Sounds like something’s wrong.”

  Brook pulled on the bottom of her pajama top, twisting the fabric. She shuffled her feet. “Well, um…”

  “Um? Brook, what happened to the baby?”

  “It kinda, sorta, fell out of my bed.”

  “Brook!” He clicked on the small nightstand lamp, examining the baby for any obvious damage. A few seconds later the unit stopped crying, and he slumped with relief—apparently the crying jags had a cutoff time, fortunately shorter than some he’d experienced with his own kids. He laid the simulator on its back on his bed and swung around to his daughter.

  Who had tears streaming down her face.

  His heart twisted. “What’s wrong, honey?”

  “I— I haven’t been a mother for twelve hours yet, and already I’ve let her get hurt. The crying is making me crazy, I’m tired, and I need some sleep.” She placed a hand over her rounding tummy. “If it’s not the fake baby, it’s this one, rolling around in here and keeping me awake.”

  He opened his arms to her. “C’mere.”

  She sat sideways across his knees, locking her hands behind his neck and burying her face against his shoulder. Sobs broke loose from deep inside her, and her hot tears dampened his T-shirt and the skin beneath. He rocked her as he had when she was little. “Shh.”

  “You’re—you’re supposed to tell me it will be all right,” she choked out.

  He hesitated only a second. “It will be all right, Snickerdoodle.”

  “H-how? I don’t know anything about babies!”

  “Neither does any other first-time parent. You’ll learn the hard way, just like your mom and I did.” He caressed her shaking back.

  “Re-remember when Mom and I used to play tic-tac-toe? And sometimes we’d just scribble out the boards and yell ‘Do over’?”

  Sloan nodded, recalling his wife’s laughter as she and Brook competed with purple and red crayons.

  “I wish I could have a do-over.”

  So did he.

  JENNA PROPPED the portable phone between her ear and her shoulder, reaching into the display window to reposition the terra-cotta pots of silk daffodils and tulips. The early May sunlight glinted off the pieces of gold jewelry she’d chosen to feature this week. Soon that sunlight would have real flowers popping up in the landscaped beds along her sidewalk.

  She sighed. It felt great to be back in her shop full-time instead of sneaking down the stairs when she could manage it. “Yes, Dad, Sloan’s been great,” she said into the phone.

  And he had been. He’d been there when she needed him—and sometimes even when she hadn’t. There was no way she’d have gotten through the weeks of intense nausea without his help, without his making smoothies and urging her to drink something, not to mention the million other things he’d done to make her more comfortable. Fortunately, although the doctor’s prediction had been off a little, by fifteen weeks the nausea had stopped.

  “So why haven’t you given the man an answer about his proposal? If you’re going to say no, then say no. But don’t leave him hanging like this indefinitely. What are you doing, waiting for the baby to go to school before you make a decision?”

  “Hey, whose side are you on?”

  “I like Sloan, honey. He seems to be a very good man. You could do a hell of a lot worse.”

  She knew that. But still…she’d sworn off impulsiveness. “Didn’t your doctor tell you to avoid stress? Doesn’t meddling in my life constitute stress?”

  Her father laughed, a sound that warmed her far more than the rays of the sun through the window. She’d heard more laughter from him since his bypass surgery than in the rest of her life put together. “I’m in great shape now, Jenna, no need to worry on my account.”

  “That’s good, Dad. So, when are you going back to the firm full-time?”

  “I’m not.”

  Jenna lost her grip on the phone. It knocked over two pots of red tulips and clattered to the floor of the display window, narrowly missing a pair of dogwood-blossom earrings. She scrambled to retrieve it. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to drop you. You’re not going back to the firm full-time?”

  “No. I think I’m going to make time to do some of the other things I’ve always wanted to do.”

  “Really? Like what?”

  “Never mind. Let’s get back to the focus of this discussion. You and Sloan. Do you love him?”

  The baby chose that moment to make its presence known, a soft fluttering deep in her stomach. Jenna pressed her hand over the long sweater that hid the little round swell.

  “Jenna? I asked if you loved him.”

  She’d never been involved with a man like Sloan. Part bluster and hard on the outside, but soft and squishy on the inside. He had a heart as big as the state he came from but didn’t want anyone to know it. “I think so. I’ve never been in love before, so I’m not certain.”

  “What are you afraid of? It’s so unlike you. You’ve never in your life been afraid to take a chance, afraid to fail and have to pick yourself back up and start over again.”

  Jenna considered it as she drew the curtain on the display window. “I guess… I’m afraid to lose myself. To end up compromising who I am. To have to be accountable to someone else.”

  “Oh,
Jenna.” Her dad’s voice softened. “You’re going to be accountable to someone else from now on. Your child.”

  Her chest tightened. “Yeah. There is that. I’m not just making decisions for myself anymore, am I?”

  “No, honey. You’re not.”

  “That terrifies me, Dad. What if I make the wrong decisions? I mean, it’s one thing to make a mistake for myself. Like you said, I’m an expert at starting over. But this isn’t just about me now.”

  “Listen to yourself, Jenna. You’re already showing signs of being a great mom. You’re thinking not about yourself but about your child.”

  A long stretch of silence passed along the phone line. She had to do the right thing for her child—which meant facing her fear and giving Sloan the trust he’d earned from her. Goose bumps popped along her arms. The one man who hadn’t been fitting her for an apron might just be the one to tie one around her waist. She’d come to adore Ashley, who’d been visiting her at the shop at least twice a week, sometimes more. And she’d cared about Brook long before she had really known anyone else in the Thompson family, even though she and the teen still weren’t back on good terms.

  Laughter floated from the earpiece of the phone. “What are you chuckling about, Dad?”

  “Oh, I just had a thought. What are you going to do if your child turns out to be an introverted bookworm who wants to be a lawyer?”

  “Ack! You bite your tongue! Why, the horror of it!”

  “Seriously, what would you do?”

  “Well, I guess I would want her to do whatever is going to make her happy. Even if that means being a lawyer.”

  “Despite what you may think, that’s all I’ve ever wanted for you, honey. And that’s what I want for you now.”

  She couldn’t resist tweaking him. “You still want me to be a lawyer?”

  “No! I want you to be happy.”

  “That’s all I’ve ever wanted, too. Thanks, Dad.” She said her goodbyes and disconnected, carting the phone back to the office. Cheryl, the teenager she’d hired to replace Brook, was putting away the glass cleaner and paper towels.

  “I’m done wiping down the cases,” Cheryl said. “If you don’t mind, even though it’s a little early, I’d like to leave.”