Piece by Piece
Page 13
“I—Okay. Thanks.” Pulling the clipboard to her chest, Dani made her way toward the waiting area and the row of empty seats bookended along the back wall by two large potted plants.
The first page was easy enough. She read the standard disclaimer, signed and dated on the appropriate lines, and moved on, her fingers tightening around the pen as she stared down at the second page.
Returning to her feet, she picked her way around the couple she’d seen entering the building, a woman reading a magazine while repeatedly checking her phone, and a nervous-looking teenager seated next to her equally nervous-looking mother. At Dani’s approach, the receptionist looked up. “Yes? Do you have a question?”
“I’m not sure if—” She stopped, cleared her throat of its audible tremor, and dug into her purse for her wallet. “Does insurance stop if the person who carried it through their job is . . .”
Unable to continue, Dani looked up at the ceiling.
“Mrs. Parker?”
Blinking hard against the tears she wanted nothing more than to keep at bay, she modulated her voice down to a rasped whisper. “My husband . . . He . . . He’s . . . He . . .” She squeezed her eyes closed. “He died. Two months ago.”
The woman’s chair groaned with the sudden shift of her weight as she jumped up. “I’m so sorry, dear. Come. Come with me.”
Warm hands shepherded her through a door next to the receptionist’s desk and into a long hallway flanked by a series of doors—some open, others closed. At the first open one they came to, the woman, who introduced herself as Martha, guided her inside and over to an exam table, her thick glasses unable to mask the empathy in her warm brown eyes. “Here,” she said, handing Dani a tissue. “You poor thing. I’m so sorry.”
She wiped her eyes and nodded.
“So you had insurance before, yes?” Martha asked.
Again, she nodded.
“Did you get notification from the company about continuing?”
“I don’t know.” She played with the tissue a moment, wiped her eyes again, and then crumpled it inside her palm. “I’ve been staying here. In Lancaster—Blue Ball, actually. I haven’t been home to deal with mail in almost five weeks.”
Martha cringed. “Five weeks, huh?” Then, wrapping her hand around Dani’s, she offered a gentle if not entirely reassuring squeeze. “I’ll see what I can find out on my end while you wait in here for the doctor.”
“Will he see me if I don’t have insurance?”
“Let’s hold off worrying about that until I know more, okay?” Martha turned toward the door, glancing back at Dani before she slipped into the hallway. “What a beautiful gift your husband gave you.”
She listened to the receptionist’s receding footfalls and, when they were gone, took in the walls of the examination room as she struggled to slow her breath. A poster next to the door showed a growing fetus inside a womb. A check of the two-month mark showed the embryo to be roughly the size of a kidney bean.
The wall to her left boasted the doctor’s medical school credentials as well as a number of awards he’d won for his work in obstetrics. To her right, a series of cabinets lined the wall above a narrow countertop with a small sink on one side and a trio of silver-lidded glass jars filled with cotton balls, gauze, and swab-topped sticks. A calendar sat beside a calculator and a stack of notepaper edged in a rainbow of whimsical colors.
On the only remaining wall, a smattering of framed photographs were arranged in rectangular fashion—black and white for some, color for others. All were stunning in their own right, but it was the one in the center that seemed to reach out to Dani with a calming hand.
A quick knock pulled her attention off the picture in favor of the slowly opening door and, seconds later, Martha’s wide smile. “You have insurance, Mrs. Parker.”
“I-I do?”
“You do. And it’s quite good.” Martha retreated, said something to someone farther down the hall, and then popped her head in once again. “Becky will be right in to take your vitals and go over your medical history with you. When that’s done, Dr. Braden will be in to see you.”
Swallowing against the growing tightness in her throat, she tried for something as close to a smile as she could muster. “Thank you.”
“Oh, honey, you are most welcome.”
Then Martha was gone, replaced, within seconds, by a dark-haired woman of about forty. “Mrs. Parker? I’m Becky, Dr. Braden’s nurse.”
“Hello.”
“If it’s okay, I need to go over your medical history with you real quick.”
The forms . . .
“Oh. I-I didn’t finish those papers the receptionist gave me.”
Becky held up her hand. “It’s nothing we can’t do together here.” The nurse rolled out a stool from beneath the counter and stopped it in front of a small laptop. “You’ve taken a home pregnancy test?”
The tightness was back. “Yes.”
“When was that?”
“Last week.”
“First day of your last period?”
She said the date aloud as her mind’s eye skipped back two weeks further—to her last and oft-revisited night with Jeff.
“Is this your first pregnancy?” Becky asked, her own eyes fixed on the laptop screen.
“ No. ”
“First live birth?”
“ No. ”
Becky glanced over her shoulder at Dani, waiting.
“It’s my fourth.”
“Any problems with those births?”
In a flash, she was back in the delivery room with first Maggie, then Spencer, and, finally, Ava, her arms aching with a longing so powerful she could hardly breathe.
“Mrs. Parker?”
“No,” she finally answered. “No problems.”
“C-sections?”
“ No. ”
“Morning sickness with those?”
“Nothing too bad. A little queasiness now and again. Some body aches, that sort of thing. But nothing major.”
“And now?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know what’s from the pregnancy and what’s from . . .” She straightened her back, the motion stirring a crinkling sound from the paper beneath her. “Anything else?”
Becky looked at her for a moment and then returned to the computer screen. “How about your parents? Still alive?”
Swinging her focus back to the wall of photographs, Dani willed the one of the Amish farmhouse at sunrise to work its earlier magic, but whatever calming properties it had once held were gone. “No. My father died when I was a teenager. Heart attack.”
“And your mom?”
She closed her eyes.
“Mrs. Parker?”
“Car accident.”
“I’m so—”
“With my husband.”
She heard the gasp, but, still, she couldn’t open her eyes.
“Oh, Mrs. Parker, I’m—”
“And my three children.”
The answering squeak of the stool’s wheels was quickly followed by a whiff of lilac-scented perfume and the press of a tissue against the palm of her hand. “Can I get you anything?” Becky whispered.
She shook her head. Swallowed.
“Are you sure?”
Nodding, she turned away from the voice.
“Okay. But I’ll be right outside if that changes. In the meantime, once you’re ready, here’s a cup. Use the bathroom right behind that door to collect a sample and set it behind the small metal door in the wall next to the sink. When that’s done, get yourself undressed and put on the gown I’ve left on the counter here for you. Put it on—open to the front—and give a knock at the door so I know you’re ready to see Dr. Braden.”
“I will. Thank you.”
“Of course.” The woman’s footsteps receded against the click of the door as it was opened and closed, leaving Dani alone, once again.
Breathe in . . .
Breathe out . . .
Breathe in . . .
She didn’t need to hear what they were saying to know they were talking about her—the woman in Room Three. The one who’d lost her husband, her children, her mother in a single car accident and was two months pregnant with her fourth child. The words were impossible to pick up, but the pity with which they were spoken was as palpable as the slamming of her heart inside her chest.
Slipping her bare arms and body into the coarse cotton gown, she crossed to the door, gave the requested knock, and climbed back onto the exam table seconds before a portly man in his late fifties strode into the room with a warm smile and solemn eyes. “Mrs. Parker, I’m Dr. Braden. Welcome.”
She released the edge of her lip from between her teeth just long enough to issue a quick greeting in return.
“My nurse ran your sample. I’m happy to confirm that you are, indeed, pregnant. And based on the date of your last cycle, I’m putting you at about ten weeks.”
“Yes.”
“How are you feeling? Physically? Emotionally? My nurse filled me in on what happened and I’m terribly sorry about the loss of your family.”
She managed a quick thank-you and a half nod.
“Were you in the accident?” he asked, lowering himself to the stool and wheeling himself over to the exam table.
“ No. ”
“Thank God.”
She stared at him as he continued. “So the biggest hurdle we have in regards to this baby at the moment is managing your stress. Have you been eating?”
“A nibble here, a nibble there.”
“No appetite?”
“No appetite,” she repeated.
“You need to eat, Mrs. Parker. If you can’t handle a big meal, then eat smaller amounts more often. Fruits and vegetables are important, sure, but calories are, too. So get yourself a milk shake from time to time. That’ll help.”
He looked down at the tablet in his hand, typed something in, and then looked back up at Dani. “How about sleep? You getting any?”
“Some,” she said, shrugging. “Here and there.”
“You’ll need more of that, as well, although I’m sure that’s easier said than done in light of everything you’re going through.” At her slight nod, he slipped the tablet into the pocket of his white coat and stood. “Exercise can help in that regard, as well as with the kind of body aches you mentioned to Becky.”
“I try to walk in the evenings.”
“Good. Good. Any cramping in your legs when you’re walking?”
“No. Not really. Maybe once in a while.”
“Eating better will help with that. But, just in case, don’t walk too far by yourself.” He crossed to the sink, washed his hands, and then moved toward the door to summon Becky in for the exam.
“You have family here in Lancaster, Mrs. Parker?”
She shook her head and looked down at her hands. “I’m staying with a friend. She . . . she’s Amish.”
“Friends are important. Especially now.” He opened the door, poked his head into the hall, and then returned with Becky and her laptop in tow. “We’ll need to call in a prescription for prenatal vitamins to Mrs. Parker’s preferred pharmacy before she leaves, and I’d like you to send her home with some pamphlets on appropriate support groups in the area. I think they might be helpful.”
At Becky’s nod, he turned back to Dani. “Before we get to the exam, do you have any questions or concerns for me at this point?”
Lifting her attention to the center photograph once again, she drank in the simple farmhouse, the quiet dirt lane, the rocking chairs on the front porch, and the sun rising above it all. “Yes, I have one.”
Lowering himself to the wheeled stool, he scooted closer, waiting.
“Have any of your patients ever placed their child up for adoption?” she asked.
“On occasion, yes.”
“Is it difficult to do?”
“Emotionally, yes. Of course. But if both parental parties are in agreement, the legal aspect tends to go quite smoothly.” He paused, considering her words. “Do you know someone who is considering placing their child up for adoption?”
Dropping her gaze to his and her hand to her abdomen, she nodded. “Yes. Me.”
Chapter 16
She spotted the stack of mail the second she let herself into the grossdawdy house. Secured with a rubber band and standing roughly six inches tall, the pile sat atop the kitchen table with one of Lydia’s flowery sticky notes affixed to the top.
Releasing the sigh she hadn’t realized she’d drawn in at the sight, Dani crossed to the table, dropped the adoption pamphlets onto the otherwise empty surface and took in her friend’s careful penmanship:
This came for you today.
I hope it brings you a smile.
Your friend,
Lydia
“I doubt it,” she mumbled, flicking the edge of her index finger down the upper right corner of the stack.
Even without removing the rubber band, she knew the bulk of the envelopes were of the personal greeting card variety. Sympathy cards, no doubt. A few others appeared to be the more standard bill fare, while one—a cream-colored one with the logo of Jeff’s company emblazoned in the return address field—caught and held her breath for a beat, maybe two.
Lowering herself onto the closest bench, she slipped the envelope from the stack and fingered the logo she’d helped Jeff create over a pair of lattes and a double chocolate brownie at a local coffee shop some eleven years earlier. Together, they’d played with fonts and graphics on his laptop for hours, his enthusiasm more than a little contagious. When the one they’d come up with won the go-ahead from the board he and Tom had painstakingly assembled, she’d helped Jeff celebrate by putting it onto cupcakes and cookies she’d made from scratch and delivered to the simple, storefront style office that had housed Parker & Gavigan in those early days. Two weeks later, Jeff had gotten down on bended knee during a Saturday afternoon picnic and asked for her hand in marriage—her “selfless spirit,” “sweet genuineness,” and “crazy beautiful smile” three of the qualities he’d professed to loving as he slipped the half-carat ring he could afford at the time onto the fourth finger of her left hand.
Seven years later, when they were driving home from the hospital with their third baby in five years, they’d marveled at just how far they’d come. The fancy five-bedroom home, so different from the studio apartment they could barely afford their first year of marriage . . . The brand-new car he was driving and the minivan he’d bought her when, in the beginning, they’d shared a two-door hatchback with more rust than actual paint . . . The could-barely-afford lease on the ten-thousand-square-foot office building on the outskirts of town that had been replaced with an almost paid-off mortgage on a two-story brick building in a more sought-after and visible location . . . And, of course, the twosome they’d once been had grown into a family of five.
As they’d pulled into the driveway and Mom had come running out to greet them with a then five-year-old Maggie and an almost three-year-old Spencer, Jeff had reached for her hand across the center console and interlaced her fingers with his own.
“We’ve come a long way, babe. A long, long way. What do you say we keep it just like this for the rest of forever?”
She closed her eyes against the memory of her response. Her misty-eyed “yes” had prompted him to lift her hand to his lips and linger a kiss against her skin even as Maggie and Spencer were jumping up and down near the back window, anxious to welcome their new sibling home.
“I said yes,” she whispered fiercely. “I. Said. Yes.”
Flippi
ng the envelope over, she slid her finger beneath the seal, ripped the flap back, and yanked out the matching cream-colored linen paper she, herself, had selected for company correspondence. Like the envelope, the logo was prominently displayed, its rust-and-gold color scheme popping across the top of the now-unfolded piece of paper.
Dear Dani,
I know, from your neighbor Emily, that you are visiting with a friend out of state and that is why you haven’t reached out or returned any of the dozen or so voicemails I’ve left you since the memorial service. I know you need your space. I get that. I really do. But, in light of the company and our clients, we could not wait any longer to deal with certain matters.
First, your insurance. Jeff made arrangements for your medical insurance to continue as necessary in the event of his death. I had Kelly submit all the necessary paperwork changing over subscribership to you, and everything is all set there. A new card will be sent to you in the next seven to ten days. The number is the same, but it will now list only your name. It is Kelly’s hope, and mine as well, that this change will eliminate any unnecessary pain every time you go to use it.
Her laugh held no shred of humor as she continued reading.
Jeff’s last check was direct deposited into his account, as always, and we took the initiative of sending a copy of the death certificate to the life insurance company listed in Jeff’s file in order to get that ball rolling for you, as well. From what I gather, that money will be direct deposited into your account by the end of the month, if it hasn’t been already. If any issues arise with that, let me know.
If you need anything, no matter how big or small, I am here. Day or night. We’ll get you through this, Dani. I promise. We’re not going anywhere—also a promise.