by Jacki Renée
“Mommy, will you watch us play with Trevor in the backyard?”
“I was going to unpack the boxes in your room. Can you guys wait until after lunch?”
“I’ll keep an eye on them,” Willis offers. He steps out of the garage.
“Stay where Mr. Willis can see you at all times,” I tell the girls.
“Danielle, I have an appointment. I’ll be back by dinner.” Jessica is backing out of the garage in Bryan’s Silverado.
An idea pops into my head.
I go back inside ready to get Marie out of the house for a little while. When I step into the foyer, she’s walking up the stairs with the laundry basket in her hands. That’s even better. I go to the wall near the stairs and feel my way from one end to the other, searching for the door.
Bryan pushed and pulled on the wall panels in his office. There’s nothing on the wall for me to pull, so I push on it.
Light bulb moment. I run upstairs to get the keycard. The one the guard gave me that day I went to Bryan’s office. Marie is in the upstairs supply closet and humming a tune. She won’t be able to see me.
I hurry down the stairs and wave the keycard in front of the wall. Nothing happens. Face up and face down, from one end to the next, I slide the keycard on the smooth surface of the drab-colored wall.
Nothing happens.
I give up, for now, and go upstairs to Kourtney’s room.
***
Three weeks of sleeping in messed with my internal clock and I’m almost late for work. Bryan tried to convince me to call in sick. He was nibbling behind my ear. Last night he came home in a better mood and it trickled over to this morning. Willpower and dedication to my job, got me out of bed before I gave in.
No time for breakfast, Marie made me a breakfast smoothie to temporarily satisfy my hunger while I’m with patients all morning.
By eleven I’m checking my watch and my stomach is having a loud conversation with me. Jessica said she would meet me here.
I search my purse and desk for a bag of nuts or a piece of candy. The desk phone rings right when I find a fun-size candy bar.
“Dr. Edwards,” I answer, cradling the receiver between my shoulder and cheek, leaving my fingers free to rip open the wrapper.
Silence.
“Hello?” I take a bite.
“Is this Danielle Edwards?”
“This is Dr. Edwards.”
I hope I’m not smacking in the caller’s ear.
“That’s not what I asked,” he says. “Is your name Danielle Edwards?”
“How may I help you, sir?”
“Is your name Danielle Edwards?”
The voice sounds familiar.
“Sir, I’ve told you, I’m Dr. Edwards. How may I help you?” I toss the last of the candy in my mouth.
“Is this Danielle Tatum-Edwards?”
The line goes dead.
My heart stops.
“Danielle, are you okay?”
I look up. Jessica is standing in the doorway, concern in her eyes. I put the receiver on the base.
“I’m fine. Are you ready for lunch? I’m hungry.” I stand, ignoring the warning bells going off in my head.
My coat is on the hook near the door. I pick up my purse and we leave my office.
Jessica and I walk to the restaurant around the corner on Pearl Street.
The small Italian restaurant is bursting with smells of fresh baked bread and homemade sauces. Checkered tablecloths cover the square tables; black-and-white photos of Italy decorate the walls. The heated enclosed patio is packed, but we’re seated right away, inside.
The waiter brings a basket of warm, mini garlic bread sticks and our side salads. I don’t need a menu. I order the Chicken Alfredo pasta.
“What were you doing downtown this morning?” I bite into the hot, buttery, garlicky, fresh bread. Hmm, I momentarily close my eyes in appreciation for the homemade treat.
“I had a business meeting.”
“I thought you were on vacation.” I toss the rest of the yummy grain in my mouth and reach for another.
“It’s turning out to be a business vacation.”
“What business are you taking care of while on vacation?” My mouth is full of bread. I have table manners, I’m just hungry. Usually I get like this the week before my period, but I’m not craving foods covered in gooey red sauces. Like french fries smothered in ketchup or hot wings dripping with wing sauce. A wet chicken burrito drenched in red sauce.
Tears pool in her eyes. “I’m moving my practice here to Boulder. I met with the hospital board this morning and finalized the paperwork. Iggy’s been helping me.”
I take a break from stuffing my face to give her my full attention. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Samantha broke up with me,” she cries.
“I thought things were good between you two.”
“She’s fucking her therapist.”
“She’s what?”
“You heard me.” Jessi looks down at her hands.
The waiter brings our food and another basket of delicious mini bread sticks. Jessica asks if I want to share a bottle of wine. I decline. This is a workday for me. She orders a glass.
“I sent a locksmith to the house.”
“Can you tell me what you hope to accomplish?”
“Please don’t shrink me right now, Dani. I need a friend, not a therapist!”
I shovel pasta in my mouth, thinking of a plan a friend would come up with. This is one area where I’m greatly lacking experience. Being advanced in high school had its pros and cons. The biggest con: I was too young to hang out or go on dates so I didn’t have girlfriends to do catty stuff with.
“Okay, Jessi, after lunch, let’s drive to a home improvement store in Colorado Springs. We’ll need industrial glue, spray paint, and two cordless electric staplers.”
“Why? What are we doing?”
I mimic my daughter’s mischievous smile and tell her what I have in mind. We finish our lunch plotting revenge, knowing we’d never follow through, but it feels good to plan someone’s demise. It’s therapeutic.
We walk the long way back to hospital, laughing at our outrageous scheme.
“So you’re an Ob/Gyn?” I ask.
“One of the best in the state.” She pats herself on the back.
“How soon will your practice be up and running? I’m due for a PAP and need to get on some form of birth control.” I link my arm with hers as we step off the curb in the crosswalk. “It’s getting close to my period so I can start the pill right away.”
“Danielle! You’ve been sleeping with my brother and not using any birth control? Not even condoms?”
I hang my head in shame. “We haven’t been having sex that long.” I realize I sound like an uninformed teenager.
“Don’t give me that bull. You know the consequences of having unprotected sex,” she chastens.
Bryan and I haven’t talked about our sexual status. I know I’m STD free. He hasn’t said how many women he’s slept with. Considering he trained women to be escorts or mistresses, I assume he’s into the double digits.
He hasn’t used a condom with me. How many others hasn’t he used one with?
“Danielle, if the past few nights are any indications of how often you two have sex...”
I stop walking.
She stumbles back.
“You heard us?”
“Who hasn’t heard you guys? Well, the girls. And dad. He sleeps like a log. I got horny listening to you have multiple orgasms the other night.”
“I’m sooo embarrassed,” I sing, closing my eyes.
“Don’t be! My little brother knows what he’s doing. Mom didn’t think a woman could climax that many times in one night. Dad’s in trouble.”
I groan.
“What’s the first day of your last menstrual cycle?”
I pull out my cell phone to check the calendar. “December ninth.”
“How long have you been sleepin
g with my brother?”
“Two weeks.” It’s also on my calendar.
“Let’s go,” she says, pulling my arm.
“Where are we going?” I reluctantly let her lead the way.
“To run tests and examine you. It’s still early, but it doesn’t hurt to check you out.”
I stop walking, the action so abrupt, she bumps into me and we almost topple over.
“Too early for what? Check me for what?” I screech.
“You could be pregnant, Danielle,” she says matter-of-factly and yanks me forward.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Jessica asks for the use of an exam room and a technician to process lab work. I go into the restroom and pee in a specimen cup. She draws blood.
“I have a patient coming in fifteen minutes. Please come to my office when you get the results.” I leave the exam room in a daze.
Bryan and I haven’t gotten to this point in our relationship.
I silently get off the elevator and walk to my office, unaware of my surroundings. I take a moment to pull myself together, then read over my notes. Ms. Stewart is one of my least talkative patients. Based on our telephone sessions over the holidays, I have questions prepared.
I stand and greet her when Vanessa, the intern, escorts her into my office.
No matter what’s going on in my life, I’m able to push it aside and give my patients the full attention they deserve. Today is no exception.
For an hour, Ms. Stewart and I discuss the loss of her son. She was against him joining the military, but he did it anyway. Her behavior has been erratic since learning of his death and she is under court order for therapy.
Once her session is over, I have no distractions and my mind runs through the “what ifs.”
What if I’m pregnant?
What if he leaves?
What if he doesn’t want the baby?
Termination isn’t an option for me.
My next patient is escorted through the door. For once, I’m happy I scheduled appointments close together. I need the constant distraction from the what ifs.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Brumfield.”
When the last patient of the day leaves my office, I no longer fight it. I let my tears run free. Surely the results are back by now.
“Why are you crying, Danielle?” Jessica asks.
My eyes open and zero in on the medical file in her hand.
“I checked with Vanessa to see when you were free.” She comes in and sits across from me.
I muster up the courage to sit up straight and square my shoulders.
“Just say it.”
“You’re pregnant.”
I close my eyes and let my forehead drop to the desk. Thump.
Will this rollercoaster ever end?
“I’d like to examine you and start your prenatal care. Your iron level is a little low. That is if you want me to be your doctor.”
I nod with my forehead still on the desk.
“Let’s go back to the exam room.”
I follow her out of my office, tears running down my cheeks. Physically, I know I’m walking. I know I’m on the elevator. I don’t feel it. My body’s on autopilot.
In the exam room, I step behind the screen to undress and put on a hospital gown.
As I climb onto the table, I come to terms with what’s happening, nine years later. I’m pregnant.
Jessica goes through the standard pelvic exam.
I cry. Not because I’m pregnant. I’m fighting a losing battle against feeling disconnected. Last time, I didn’t share my pregnancy highs and lows with anyone. I was dealing with too many emotions. This time, there are people I call friends. They’re my friends because of Bryan. Will they abandon me too?
“I’m going to give you a vaginal ultrasound. We won’t be able to see much. I just want to pinpoint the placement of the embryo.”
I nod.
Jessica inserts the probe, moving it around and tapping the keyboard while looking at the monitor. I try to keep still.
“Do you want to see?” She turns the monitor, not waiting for a response.
She points to a small circle at the top of the screen. “That’s the life you and Bryan created.” Her excitement pushes me over the edge.
I cry harder, drifting further away from him. Again.
Jessica withdraws the probe and turns off the machine. “I need you to sign release forms so I can contact your doctor in Arizona. How many pregnancies have you had?”
“One.”
“Was Kourtney full term?”
I nod my head.
“Did you deliver vaginally or by cesarean section?”
“Vaginally.”
“Dani, don’t condemn my little brother just yet.”
“Please don’t tell him or your parents.”
“I’m your doctor. I cannot disclose any information without your consent. And you guys aren’t married so he can’t make demands.” She squeezes my hand. “That’s my niece or nephew you’re carrying. I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize the health and safety of either one of you.”
I take my feet out of the stirrups and slide off the exam table. On autopilot, I get dressed. Before leaving, I sign the release forms without reading them. Silently I leave the exam room with a heavy weight on my shoulders. I reach for my ring finger, but there’s no ring for me to twist.
Back in my office, I force myself to concentrate on typing patients’ notes in their files and leave exactly at the end of my shift.
Jessica sent me an email to let me know she called in a prescription. I stop at the pharmacy, then head home—unsure if it will be my home much longer.
The girls are in the family room. Kourtney’s reading a book. Emma’s drawing a picture.
“Hi, you two. How was your day?”
Emma smiles up at me. “It was good.”
“No, it wasn’t. We got in a fight over the TV. Ms. Marie won’t let us watch it now.” Kourtney slaps her book closed.
“Have you guys finished your homework packet?” I ask.
“I finished mine last week. Emma still has three pages.”
“No, I don’t, Kourtney. I finished today.”
“That’s enough, you two. I will check both packets after dinner. I’m not feeling very well. I’m going upstairs to lie down for a little while.”
“Can we watch TV?”
“Not until Marie says you can. Please get along for the rest of the evening.”
Kourtney opens her book, tearing through the pages until she finds the one she was on. Emma opens her sketch book. I head upstairs, take a shower, and put on a pair of comfy pajamas. Crawling under the covers, I cry myself to sleep.
***
“Dani, is everything okay?” Bryan shakes my shoulder.
I clear my throat. “Yes.”
“Are you getting sick? Emm said you’re sick. Do you want me to call Ig?” His hand touches my forehead.
“No.”
“Dinner’s ready. Marie made fried chicken. Are you coming down?”
I open my eyes and read the numbers on the clock. I’ve been asleep for three hours.
“Not hungry.”
“The girls are worried about you.”
I sigh. “Okay, give me a minute and I’ll come down.”
He kisses my forehead and leaves the room.
I drag myself out of bed and throw on sweats and one of Bryan’s sweatshirts to hide the evidence. Mentally I know I’m not showing. Emotionally I’m due any day.
I join them in the kitchen and go through the motions of a happy family dinner. All the while, I push food around my plate. In the background of my reality, the girls are complaining about going back to school on Monday.
Bryan is watching me; I sense it.
After dinner we sit in the family room and play a board game. I cover my nonexistent baby bump with a throw pillow.
At eight thirty, I take the girls upstairs and get them ready for bed. Bryan takes Trevor for a run.
Since the New Year’s Eve fireworks, Kourtney and Emma want to sleep in the same room. Even though they were at odds this afternoon, they put aside their differences to sleep in the same bed tonight.
Tonight they don’t ask me to sit with them. Mr. Cuddles is placed on a pillow between them. I leave the door cracked so Trevor can take his place at the foot of the bed when he gets back.
I put my pajamas back on and climb into bed, facing away from the bedroom doors. “Take a deep breath and relax your body,” I chant to myself. But relaxation and sleep elude me. From as far back as I can remember, I don’t think I’ve ever felt as lonely as I do right now. Who do I have to talk to about this? Where do we go from here? Is history going to repeat itself or will we rewrite it like I thought we’d began to do?
The door opens then closes. I remain still, listening to him move around the room. I keep my eyes closed hoping he thinks I’m asleep already.
He goes into the bathroom and I hear the water running in the shower room. The tears I’ve been fighting all evening start to seep through my closed lids.
Relax and go to sleep. I chant to myself. I’m too emotional to relax my body.
The bathroom door opens. I crack my eyes open: the room is dark. No moonlight shining through the double glass doors. He pulled the shades down over them.
Through the darkness, I watch Bryan pad to his side of the bed. The covers shift as he climbs under and scoots close to me.
“Dani. Please talk to me. I can’t help you unless you tell me what we’re dealing with.”
I can’t say anything.
“Tell me what you need.”
“I need you to hold me.” My voice is so low I don’t know if he heard me until the warmth of his body is against mine.
He spoons me.
“Talk to me,” he pleads.
I can’t.
With his lips against my ear, he whispers, “I love you, Dani.”
Covering my face, I sob into the palms of my hands. Bryan’s arm tightens around me.
“Whatever it is, we will face it together.”
“I’m pregnant.” I blurt it out.
He’s reaching over me. Then I hear the click of the switch on the lamp. My hands are pried away.
“You think I’ll find an excuse to leave,” he says.