by Geneva Lee
“What happened?” I ask, but before she can answer. The door to my hospital room opens and Felix steps in, holding a cup. His eyes widen when he finds me awake, and he shuts the door quickly behind him.
“I’ll let him tell you, and I’ll send a doctor in. They’ll want to talk with you.”
“Give us a few moments alone before you do that?” Felix requests. His gentle nature radiates from him, and she agrees easily.
If Felix is here, then that means…
“Oh God,” I blurt out. “They called you. They called…” My family. More importantly, my father. Of course, they would. That’s what happens when you wind up in the hospital. I just wish I could remember why I’m in the hospital.
“Yes,” he says soberly. “But please don’t stress. It’s not good for you—either of you.”
“You know?” My voice is so small I’m not sure I even said it aloud until he gives me a grim nod. “And my father?”
“He’s out at the moment, tending to some business. I expect he’ll be back soon.”
“Does he know?” I don’t have to clarify about what. There’s some minuscule piece of me clinging to the idea that my dad might be more concerned with seeing to business affairs than me. Maybe he sent Felix to handle it. Maybe he hasn’t been here himself.
“He knows about the baby, if that’s what you mean. Certain decisions needed to be made, and he is your next of kin. We flew out as soon as we heard. Your father has been staying at your apartment. Only one of us can be here overnight.”
I stare blankly at him, trying to process what he’s telling me. My father knows, but he’s not here. Not for the moment. Naturally, it’s Felix that stayed. I wonder if he even had to fight him on it. Dad doesn’t like hospitals. He sees them as places of weakness, as though illness is a fault of character.
“He’s going to kill me,” I whisper.
Felix’s mouth thins into a line. His lack of response tells me that my father is as angry as I expected.
“You are an adult now,” Felix says. “You make your own decisions.”
“That’s a lovely lie,” I murmur. “I wish I could believe it. What happened anyway?” Maybe it’s whatever they’re pumping through my IV, but I can’t seem to recall more than bits and pieces.
“Your horse startled and you fell.”
“But I’ve fallen a hundred times.” I grasp for why this happened now. I’m a good rider. I’m better than good. I know how to take a fall. It’s been drilled into me since I started riding as a child.
“You hit the back of your head on a tree. It knocked you out. Your friends got you to the hospital.”
Poppy. Cyrus. I cover my mouth with my hand. Everyone will know now.
“They’re quite worried about you,” Felix continues, coming over to adjust my pillow. “They weren’t allowed to see you at first, and as soon as we arrived, your father had you moved to a private hospital. He’s not allowing visitors.”
“Have they come by?” I ask.
“Yes, but they don’t know everything,” he says significantly, guessing the real question that I’m asking. “They are very discreet here.”
My relief is short-lived because the door opens and a doctor steps into the room.
“Miss MacLaine, I’m Doctor Thompson. It’s nice to see you’re awake. You must be feeling rested.”
I think she means it as a joke, but it falls so flat I swear I hear it thud against the tiled floor.
“Mr. MacLaine?” she asks Felix.
“No.” He shakes his head. “I’m Felix, her…”
“Uncle,” I butt in, afraid she’ll make him leave.
“Well, then, Uncle Felix we’re going to be doing some tests and…”
“I’ll step into the hall,” Felix offers, before he can be asked.
I want to stop him. I want to beg him not to leave me. But the word tests has me frozen in place. What kind of tests? How hard did I hit my head? I wiggle my toes, relieved to feel them.
“The baby is okay?” I press once I’m alone with Doctor Thompson.
“We’re going to check on that.” She flips through some paperwork, furrowing her brow as she reads notes, and then checks the monitors. As she does, a nurse wheels a cart into the room. “Let’s have a look, shall we?”
I force myself to nod, reminding myself of the strong heartbeat on the other monitor. The doctor applies some blue gel to my stomach and fiddles with the machine, typing and adjusting.
“There we are,” she says, turning the screen to face me. “Everything looks alright, but let’s just take a closer look to be sure.”
The last time I’d had an ultrasound the baby resembled a wiggling gummy bear. Now? There’s no doubt that it’s a baby. “Is it a…”
“Would you like to know?” she asks kindly.
I nod.
“A nice little break from all this troublesome business, I think. It’s been a while since I did this,” she warns me. “Let’s see if I can do it. If not, we’ll call someone down.”
I wonder how much my father is paying for the first class treatment I’m clearly receiving. I peer at the screen, looking for any clues, but I have no idea what I’m looking at. Some things are obvious, a head and legs and arms, but as she zeros in, I find I can’t make sense of anything.
“Well, that’s clear as day.”
“What is?” It looks like a mess to me.
She draws a line on the monitor, followed by two more. “Congratulations. It’s a girl.”
A girl. Tears leak from the corners of my eyes. Apparently, I’m not dried up, after all. I’m not sure why it matters. I don’t suspect I’d have a different reaction if she’d told me I was carrying a boy. My dream flashes to mind. Sterling said she like he knew somehow. I have to remind myself that didn’t happen. It wasn’t real. Sterling doesn’t know. He doesn’t care. And yet…
“And she looks perfectly healthy,” Dr. Thompson says after measuring a few more things. I can’t tear my eyes away as she continues her inspection, pointing out what she’s looking at along the way. She falls silent, and I’m so preoccupied that I don’t notice until I realize she’s focusing on a large black spot on the screen.
“What is it?” I ask when the silence continues. I try to stretch my neck to see what she’s looking at better.
She turns, offering me a reassuring smile. “There is a slight Subchorionic hematoma.”
My heart stops beating for the longest second of my life. “What does that mean?”
“First, it is quite mild and not a definitive cause for concern. It appears the placenta has detached slightly from the uterus, just enough to allow some blood to gather there. It’s a bit like a pocket. The good news is that it’s very small.”
“And the bad?” I can barely ask. How can she be perfectly healthy if this has happened?
“You might experience some bleeding, and we should keep an eye on it. You’ll need to be very careful. Bedrest might be necessary at some point. We will monitor you and the baby very closely. I’m going to recommend you remain in London until you give birth, particularly given that injury to your tailbone.”
“My tailbone?”
“You had quite a fall. You really shouldn’t have been riding.” The admonishment is gentle but stern.
“I’ve been riding my whole life,” I say, feeling suddenly defensive. “I know how to take a fall.”
“There’s no good way to take a fall when you’re expecting and hitting your head didn’t help,” she says, holding up a hand. “It’s very likely there will be delivery complications. Your tailbone has fractured, which could prevent the baby from descending properly. It might be necessary to perform a cesarean-section. You can try for natural childbirth, which is ideal, but you will need to be closely monitored during labor.”
I haven’t even thought as far as that, about what happens when I actually have the baby. Isn’t that the easy part? Painful, sure. But just something that happens. You get pregnant. You have the baby.
“I have to stay in London?” I cling to this one bit of good news. My father can’t make me leave.
“I can’t stop you from returning to the states, but I would caution against it. It’s an unnecessary risk to travel that far. What’s done is done, but you will need to be more careful if you continue the pregnancy.”
“If…” I choke on the words. “How…”
“Your father seems to think you might not wish to continue it,” she says. It’s matter-of-fact as though she’s just passing on information, but out of the corner of her eye, she watches me as she continues her assessment. “It’s up to you, of course.”
What had he told them? I realize with horror that while I’d been unconscious, he’d been making medical decisions on my behalf. “Did he…”
“He’s not allowed to make that kind of a choice for you,” she assures me, “unless you’re ruled permanently incapacitated or the courts have granted him power of attorney.”
“And then?” I ask.
“He makes the decision,” she says, confirming what I already suspect. “Unless you appoint someone else.”
“Can I do that?” I ask quickly.
“If you’d like. Would you like me to send someone in with the paperwork.”
“Yes,” I say, “as soon as possible.”
Dr. Thompson smiles and I realize she’s been feeding me breadcrumbs, trying to get me to follow her. Whatever my father tried to pull while I was unconscious must have alarmed her. I’m not surprised. Even if I could be, I doubt I’d have the energy for it.
When the doctor leaves, Felix comes back inside.
“Did you tell my father I was awake?” I ask.
“No, but I think I should call him.”
I shake my head. “Not yet. There’s something I need to do first.”
I don’t tell him what I’m up to, because I’m not sure he’ll like it any better than my father will. When a hospital administrator comes in with the paperwork, I fill it out quickly and sign as Felix looks on.
“What was that about?” he asks.
I take a deep breath and prepare myself. “I gave you power of attorney. If something happens to me, I want you to make the decisions.”
“Adair,” he breathes. “I don’t think…”
“I do,” I say firmly. “In fact, I know. He won’t respect what I tell him. If he has the chance, he’ll terminate the pregnancy. The doctor admitted as much. I don’t want that.”
“Are you certain? You know how difficult this will be—how difficult he will make it for you.”
“I know,” I say in a small voice. “But I’m not going to get rid of her. I already decided that. It’s why I came here.”
Felix remains silent, studying me with his own quiet wisdom, before he gives me a tight smile. “Her?”
“It’s a girl,” I tell him.
“And the father?” he asks. “Does he know?”
Felix knows the truth. He’s been watching. He will have pieced everything together. But that means, so will my father. That only leaves me one choice.
“I don’t know who the father is,” I lie. “I’d really rather not waste time trying to figure it out. It will be embarrassing—for all of us.”
“Don’t you think he should know? Whoever he is?” His challenge is mild, but I recognize it.
“No guy I know will want a baby,” I say flatly. I squash the memory of the dream back into some dark, unvisited part of my mind. That’s all it was: a dream. Sterling isn’t here. If he hadn’t left, he’d probably have disappeared after I told him. He didn’t even bother to say goodbye. In the end, he gave up. He let Angus MacLaine scare him out of town. He let me stay angry instead of confronting me to explain his side of the story. He didn’t even put up a fight.
“But you still want her?”
He sees what I’m hiding. The question is will he keep it a secret for me? “I love her. I don’t need to understand why. I just do.”
“Then, I will make certain your wishes are respected, but, Adair, you know there will be consequences.”
“I know.”
Outside the door there’s a sudden fluster of activity and for a moment, I think there must be an emergency, until I hear a familiar booming voice shouting orders.
“Are you ready? I can tell him you’re sleeping,” Felix offers.
“It’s okay.” There’s no sense putting this off. It won’t change anything. My father won’t have a sudden epiphany and grow a heart overnight. I was always going to have to face this day. At least, Felix is here. It’s not quite as lonely as I feared. He squeezes my hand just as the door flies open. He storms inside, an annoyed Dr. Thompson at his heels. It’s the first time I’d seen my father on his feet since he began physical therapy after his own accident. I’d heard he was walking, but I didn’t know what to expect. Despite the physical presence he’s always projected, there’s a hitch in his step, a slight tremor shaking his body, and he leans heavily on a polished black cane with a silver wolf as its handle.
“Why wasn’t I called?” he demands. “I told you to let me know if there was any change.”
“This is quite extraordinary,” Dr. Thompson says, rising rather than shrinking to his intimidation. “We were seeing to your daughter’s medical care—a much higher priority than making a phone call. You would have been informed when time allowed.”
“I imagine you’ll find time to cash and spend my check,” he growls, before turning and pointing his cane at Felix. “You were under strict instructions—”
“He just got here,” I cry out. “He was just telling me that he was about to call you.”
This successfully redirects my father’s rage away from Felix, but not in the way I expect. He turns his dark, beady eyes on me and shakes his head, disgust curling his lip. “Why would I believe a thing you say to me? My lying, slut of a daughter!”
“Mr. MacLaine!” Dr. Thompson steps forward. “I don’t care if you bought this hospital. No patient here will be treated like that by a visitor. Get a hold of yourself or you will be escorted off the premises.”
“Why don’t we ask your board if they’ll support that stance?” he suggests. “I think you’ll find I can speak to my daughter any way I damn well please.”
“I think you’ll find that I am always true to my word,” she spits back, not showing any signs of being flustered. “Control yourself or leave. Those are your options. There are no more choices available for purchase or otherwise.”
He considers for a moment before finally lowering his cane. “I’d like to speak with Adair alone.”
“I don’t think—”
“It’s fine,” I cut in before she can save me once more. I’d always expected his ugliness. I’d run from it before, but I can’t run from it forever. I need to stand and face it. It’s the first step in claiming what I want.
Felix casts a concerned look in my direction as they leave the room, and I manage to force a grin. He doesn’t look any more reassured.
Dr. Thompson pauses at the door. “There is a call button on your bed. If you need a nurse for any reason, please don’t hesitate.”
When the door closes, neither of us speaks. Daddy clutches his cane. I wonder how much he hates needing it. He’d treated rehabilitation therapy like a hostile takeover. I’m not surprised he managed to prove the doctors wrong. MacLaines are stubborn like that.
“You’re walking,” I say to break the silence, hoping to direct the conversation in any other direction than me.
“You’re pregnant,” he says flatly.
Well, that didn’t work the way I intended.
“I am.” There’s no point in trying to change the subject now.
He walks slowly toward my bedside, his cane landing with an ominous thud with each step. As he gets closer, I realize that he looks older than the last time I saw him. There’s more gray at his temples. Lines fold his face into a weathered, weary profile. Even his black suit jacket fits him differently, pulling at the
waist in a way it never has before. Maybe I looked past it when I saw him every day. Perhaps, he aged overnight. “What exactly was your plan?”
“Stay in London and figure things out,” I admit.
A nostril flares as though he’s holding down a snarl. It’s there in his beady, hawk-like eyes: reproach, disappointment, disdain. “I don’t know what’s worse. That you're pregnant with some bastard or that you couldn’t even come up with an intelligent plan to keep it quiet!”
“Sorry to disappoint.” My arms wrap protectively around my waist. I don’t know when babies can hear inside the womb, but I won’t allow her life to be dictated by father’s temper.
“Don’t pretend as though you are the victim,” he growls. “You put yourself in this situation. Who’s the father? That piece of trash you were seeing?”
“I don’t know.”
“Tell me. It will make things easier.”
“Easier how?” I ask suspiciously.
“You have three options, Adair.” His lips curve into a rueful smile as he looks at my arms still cradling my baby bump.
“You don’t tell me my options,” I cut him off, wishing I’d asked Dr. Thompson to stay.
“Don’t pretend that you’re an independent woman. You are here on my dime. Do you know how much it cost to keep this quiet? To keep your friends away so they wouldn’t know? To make certain no one ran a story about you?”
“Considering you own half the world’s media, I suppose it shouldn’t be too hard.” Of course, that’s what this is about. Appearances. Just like my parent’s accident. Just like telling Ginny to remain silent about her miscarriage. Weakness won’t be tolerated. Vulnerability could never be shown.
“Exactly! Half,” he repeats. “The other half would love to publish a story about Angus MacLaine’s whore of a daughter.”
“I am not a whore.” It seethes from me. I can’t claim I meant to get pregnant. I didn’t. But she was created by an act of love—at least, on my part. Every time he acts like it was just meaningless sex, he chips away at my resolve to see her existence that way.
“Is that so? Then who is the father?”
“I don’t—”
“Know,” he finishes for me. “Only a whore would say that. Don’t argue otherwise. If you knew, that might suggest otherwise, but if you don’t…”