“We’re not that far into this,” I said, taking the magazine from him. “Don’t get psyched out about things that haven’t happened yet.”
“What has happened to you so far?”
“Well, for a while I was vomiting at odd times of the day with little to no warning, but that seems to have passed. Now I pee all the time instead. My boobs have gotten huge—”
“So I noticed,” he said, arching one brow.
“And they ache.”
“Oh.” Hurley looked disappointed, and his eyebrow resumed its original position.
“I’m also dealing with a long list of foods I’m not supposed to eat, which pretty much rules out anything that tastes good.”
“So this pregnancy stuff isn’t a fun thing?”
I considered his question for a few seconds, and as if the child inside me had heard him, he or she kicked. I smiled. “It definitely has had its high moments,” I said, rubbing my tummy. “I just felt the baby move.”
“Really?” Hurley stared at my belly with a mix of fascination and awe. “Can I feel it?”
“I don’t know. It’s been pretty random so far, and it’s subtle. At first I thought it was a gas bubble.”
The nurse came out then and called my name, so Hurley and I followed her into the examination area of the office. Unfortunately, we detoured at the scale.
“Step on up,” the nurse said, not realizing I’d rather strip naked and parade down Main Street than let Hurley know my weight. Fortunately, Hurley seemed to sense my hesitation, and he wandered over to a plastic model of a uterus with a baby in it. The nurse was kind enough to record my weight on a slip of paper without announcing it, and with that trial passed, we moved on to the exam room.
After taking my blood pressure, temperature, and pulse, and announcing that these figures all looked good, she handed me a paper-thin gown that had been used and laundered so many times the print on the material was faded into near oblivion. “Please strip off everything and put this gown on,” she said. “If you need to pee, it’s best if you hold it for now. It will make it easier to see things when we do the ultrasound.”
I stripped, feeling a little self-conscious about Hurley seeing me naked in the harsh, clinical lighting of the exam room, and tried to make the gown wrap around me, which it refused to do. With my butt cheeks hanging out, I sidled up onto the exam table and laid the sheet the nurse had left out over my lap. I glanced over at Hurley, who was staring at the tray the nurse had set up with the vaginal speculum, lubricant, and gloves.
“Have you ever seen a pelvic exam done before, Hurley?” I asked, tucking the sheet in around my thighs.
He shook his head.
I then gave him a brief description of what was about to happen. “I think it will be better if you sit up here by my head. Some things just aren’t meant to be seen.”
“I’ve seen it before,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows.
“That’s different. Trust me.”
He nodded and scooted his chair up to the head of the table. His mouth was hanging partway open, and his eyes were huge; he looked like a fish out of water.
Dr. Rita Carson came into the room, looking all efficient and professional in her crisp white lab coat, tailored gray slacks, and sensible shoes. Her brown hair was pulled back into a neat little bun that made her face look a little taut, but when she smiled, she looked warm, friendly, and approachable.
“Hello, Mattie,” she said. She shifted her gaze to Hurley. “And I assume this is the father, Mr. Hurley?”
“It is.”
Hurley looked a little surprised that Dr. Carson knew his name, so she explained. “Mattie and I have discussed the situation between the two of you, so I’m familiar with your history. Congratulations on becoming a dad.”
“I’m already a dad,” Hurley said.
“Ah, right. I forgot. The teenage daughter you didn’t know you had.”
Hurley shifted uncomfortably in his seat and shot me a frown. “You are very well informed, it seems,” he said.
“I’m sorry,” I told him. “For the past two months, Rita has been the only person I’ve had to talk to about this pregnancy, so she’s been my confidant.”
“I get it,” Hurley said. He didn’t sound angry, but he still looked annoyed.
“Shall we get on with the exam?” Dr. Carson said. “Any issues or questions since the last time you were here?”
I shook my head. “I did experience my first quickening,” I told her.
Hurley looked panicked. “What is that? Is the baby’s heart going too fast? Is Mattie’s?”
“No,” Dr. Carson said with a smile. “Quickening is a term for feeling the baby move.”
“Oh,” Hurley said, still wearing his fish-out-of-water expression. I found it amusing. Up until that day, Hurley had always seemed so self-assured and confident. It was sweet seeing this vulnerable, unsure side of him.
Dr. Carson had me slide down on the examining table and put my feet up in the stirrups. She positioned herself between my legs, lifted the sheet, and grabbed the speculum. Hurley reached up and took my hand. It was a sweet gesture that nearly brought me to tears.
“Mattie tells me you’re a homicide detective,” Dr. Carson said as she started her exam.
“That’s right,” Hurley said. He was leaning to the side ever so slightly, trying to see what was going on beyond the sheet.
“Your cervix is thick and closed,” Dr. Carson said next, an odd conversational segue.
“Is that good?” Hurley asked.
“Yes, it’s very good,” Dr. Carson said. She wheeled out from behind the sheet, placed the used speculum back on the tray, and said, “You can put your feet down.”
I lowered my legs from the stirrups and repositioned the sheet.
“Let’s take a listen to that kid’s heart, shall we?” Dr. Carson said next, grabbing a small handheld Doppler device—used to magnify the sounds of pulses and, as in this case, heartbeats—and a bottle of gel. She lowered the sheet to below my belly and raised the gown up. Then she squirted a big glob of the gel onto my stomach a few inches below my navel and pressed one end of the Doppler device into it. After she moved the device around a patch of skin about four inches square, the sound suddenly came through loud and clear.
Thumpa-thumpa-thumpa-thumpa-thumpa . . .
“Sounds like a healthy heart,” Dr. Carson said with a smile. “Everything seems to be progressing as expected.”
She pulled the Doppler device away and started to set it down, but Hurley said, “That was my kid’s heartbeat ?”
“Yes,” she said, her smile broadening.
Hurley looked awed and amazed. “Can we listen to it a little longer?”
“Sure.”
She returned the device to the same spot, and once again the sound echoed through the room: thumpa-thumpa-thumpa-thumpa-thumpa-thumpa-thumpa-thumpa-thumpa-thumpa . . .
“Is it supposed to be that fast?” Hurley asked, looking a little worried.
“Yes, it’s absolutely normal,” Dr. Carson assured him. She let him listen a little longer, and when I felt Hurley squeeze my hand, I looked over at him. His eyes were brimming with tears. He looked over at me, and with the biggest grin I’ve ever seen on his face said, “We’re having a kid, Winston! That was our kid!”
His enthusiasm and excitement were contagious. “If you think the kid sounds great, wait until you see how it looks,” Dr. Carson said. “The ultrasound tech will be in with you in a few minutes. See you both next time?”
Hurley nodded hard and fast, like a bobblehead doll, and as Dr. Carson turned to leave the room he said, “Thank you!”
“You’re very welcome.” She winked at me and then left the room.
“That was amazing,” Hurley said. He popped up out of his chair, kissed me on the forehead, and then sat back down again.
I started to say something to him, but the door to the exam room opened and a young girl wheeled in the ultrasound machine.
&
nbsp; “It’s about to get even better,” I said.
Hurley fidgeted in his chair, occasionally squeezing my hand, as the ultrasound tech—who introduced herself as Amber—explained what she was doing. She got the machine in place, squeezed more gel on my belly, and then placed the ultrasound wand on top of the gel. She pressed down a little, moved the wand a couple of times, and then reached over and turned the machine toward us so we could see the screen.
“There’s your baby,” Amber said.
Hurley and I both stared in awe at the tiny, human-shaped figure on the screen. Amber pointed to a tiny blinking light. “That’s the heart beating,” she said. She left the wand there for a second or two, then moved it slightly. “Would you like to know the sex?” she asked.
“Yes!” Hurley said.
“No!” I said at the same time.
Hurley and I turned and looked at one another. “Hurley, we discussed this,” I said.
“And disagreed.” We stared at one another a little longer. “Fine,” he said. “You win. Besides, I told you I already know it’s a boy.”
Amber arched a brow at him. “And how do you know that?” she asked.
“I have the second sight,” he said.
“You’re Irish?” Amber asked.
“Irish enough,” Hurley said.
“Interesting.” Amber printed out a picture and handed it to me; then she printed out a second one and handed it to Hurley. “Your baby’s first picture,” she said.
Hurley held that picture in his hand like it was the most precious thing he’d ever seen. And the grin on his face when we left the office was bigger than any I’d ever seen.
He drove me back to the motel, escorted me inside, and minutes later we were in bed together. But there was no hanky-panky that day. Instead we lay there, side by side, Hurley’s hand gently caressing my stomach. We didn’t speak, we didn’t even kiss. Yet I’d never felt as close to him as I did that day.
An hour later when he got up to leave, I wanted to ask him to stay. But I didn’t. Instead I made myself a sandwich for dinner, watched some TV, and then cried myself to sleep.
Chapter 35
Jacob Ames was arraigned and held without bail for the murder of his father. Stanley Barber the Third would be in charge of his defense, and I was pretty sure the money for his fees was coming from Blake. Jacob’s situation depressed me, but I wasn’t sure if it was because I truly didn’t believe he was guilty, or because I just didn’t want to believe he was guilty.
Saturday was my birthday, and while I hadn’t planned for any sort of celebration short of being able to move back into my cottage, Hurley had other things in mind. He still didn’t want me out in public any more than I had to be, so he came up with an alternate plan. “Emily and I are going to cook you dinner at my house,” he said. “We’re even going to bake a cake.”
This summoned up an image of a father and daughter together in the kitchen, both of them covered with a dusting of flour, laughing and sharing this bondable moment as they stumbled through the process. It was a heartwarming picture that gave me hope for the future. It was also an example of just how much of a dreamer I can be.
Hurley picked me up around two in the afternoon, and after helping me move back into the cottage and get the animals settled, he drove me over to his place. Things started going bad almost as soon as I arrived. Hurley warned me on the way over that Emily had been very moody all week and hadn’t wanted to go to school. An argument had ensued every morning, and while Hurley had always managed to get her off to school, when she came home she locked herself in her bedroom and wouldn’t come out.
“She stays in there all evening watching TV, drawing in her sketchbook, or writing in her diary. She hasn’t tried to hook up with any of her friends from before, she isn’t participating in any social networks that I know of, and whenever I go in there and try to talk to her, she says she needs her privacy and asks me to leave. When I do, she slams the door behind me.”
“Maybe she’s going through some female stuff, Hurley. Maybe she just got her period for the first time.”
Hurley shot me a terrified look. “What am I supposed to do for that? I don’t know anything about women’s periods beyond the fact that there’s blood and moodiness involved.”
“I’ll talk to her when we get there and see if I can figure out what’s going on, okay?”
“That would be great. Thanks.”
When we arrived at the house, Hurley headed into the kitchen while I made my way upstairs where Emily was, as predicted, in her bedroom. I knocked on the closed door.
“Emily? It’s Mattie. Can I come in and talk to you?” There was no answer, so I tried again, knocking a little louder this time, thinking she might have earphones on that were interfering with her ability to hear. When I got no answer the second time, I stood there for a moment, trying to decide what to do. Finally I reached down and tried the doorknob. It turned easily, so I slowly pushed the door open, knocking on it again and announcing my presence loudly.
“I heard you the first two times,” Emily said. She was sitting on her bed, a sketch pad propped up against her bent knees, scowling at whatever she was drawing.
“I’m sorry,” I said, walking over to her. “I don’t mean to intrude, but—”
“But you’re doing it anyway?” she said, still not looking at me.
Her demeanor saddened me. Back before she had left town with Hurley to find her mother, I felt she and I had bonded. We had spent some time together in my office, where Emily demonstrated some kick-ass drawing skills by successfully rendering the face of the woman whose skeleton was hanging in our office library, all without knowing that the woman was someone known to us and that her picture was hanging in another part of our office. Emily had even seemed accepting of—in fact encouraging toward—my relationship with her father. No doubt the death of her mother had had a devastating effect on her, but at the time I didn’t realize just how devastating.
I peeked at her drawing. “That’s your mom, isn’t it?”
She shrugged.
“It’s very good. I’m sorry about what happened.”
“Are you?” Her tone was surly, challenging, a little shocking.
“Of course I am. I can’t imagine what it must feel like to lose your mother that way. It must be really hard for you.”
“What would you know about it? What would anyone know about it?”
I thought about sharing my own childhood with her, and telling her how for many years my mother’s hypochondria had me living in fear from one day to the next that I would end up an orphan. But wisely I didn’t, knowing it really wasn’t the same thing.
Emily was angry, and understandably so. Not only had she lost her mother, she was now forced to live in a strange town with a father she barely knew. Add to that the fact that I threatened her relationship with her father, both because of my romantic interest in Hurley and because I was introducing another child into the picture, a child who she probably saw as a competitor for her father’s affection. It was also a child Hurley would have the chance to know from day one, and that was a privilege Emily had never had the chance to enjoy. I knew it had to make her uneasy, and angry that her mother had first lied to her and then left her, however involuntarily. But she couldn’t very well direct that anger toward her mother, so I was the next most likely target. Clearly this wasn’t going to be easy.
I thought for a minute and then decided to skip any more platitudes and get right to the point with her. “Hurley said you’ve been acting a little strange lately. Is there anything I can do to help you?”
She finally looked at me, and I wished then that she hadn’t. “I think you’ve done enough already,” she sneered. “Please go away.”
“I’d feel better if you’d tell me what it is I’ve done,” I tried.
She threw the sketch pad down on the bed and held the pencil in her fist. Then she hopped off the bed. For one terrifying second I thought she was going to stab me with tha
t pencil, but instead she stormed over to the door and held it open. “Please leave,” she said, her face a dark storm.
“Okay, but I want you to know that I’m here to talk to if there’s anything you want to discuss.” I walked toward the door, stopping just over the threshold. “I want to be your friend.”
“I don’t need any friends,” she snapped, and then she slammed the door in my face.
“How did it go?” Hurley asked as I entered the kitchen.
“Not well.”
“I heard the door slam.”
“Yeah, I don’t think I’m high on her list right now, unless we’re talking about a hit list.”
“Not funny,” Hurley said. “Did you get any feel for what’s bothering her?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” I said. “She misses her mother like crazy, and not only is she dealing with that, she’s dealing with all the uncertainty of her future and her relationship with you, the fear that she is about to be usurped and replaced by our baby. Right now she needs time to grieve for her mother, and all the attention, love, and reassurance you can give her.”
Hurley shook his head and sighed. “I wish this parenting stuff came with a user manual.”
We went about fixing dinner, or rather Hurley went about fixing dinner. He insisted that I sit and watch.
“Want a glass of wine?” he asked.
I shook my head. “That’s on the list of no-nos, I’m afraid.”
“Oh.” He looked at me for a moment and then shrugged. “There’s no reason why I can’t have one, is there?”
“Not at all. Have two, one for me and one for you.” I looked toward the ceiling and added, “I suspect you’re going to need them.”
When it came time to sit down to eat, Hurley went to the foot of the stairs and hollered for Emily to come down.
Stiff Penalty (A Mattie Winston Mystery) Page 28