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“Don’t apologize, sweetheart. It is really fucking cold.” I just about die hearing the word “fuck” come out of this woman’s mouth. She winks. “There now. Just relax…”
She touches the ultrasound wand to my stomach. In my mind, I think back to the first time I ever found myself in this position. My mother was there—and so was the boy I thought would be my forever.
Now, it’s just me and a doctor I’ve never met. Crazy to say that this time around is the better version of events. I hold onto that feeling—that whatever happens now isn’t going to be a repeat of what happened then.
“Ooh! Would you look at that?”
Dr. Lee turns the ultrasound machine’s screen to me. It’s a gurgling, blobby sea of monochromatic gray and black. But in the middle of it, in that space where I know my uterus is, is a definite silhouette.
“I hope it’s not too bold to say congratulations, Ms. Olivia. You’re going to be a mother.”
My breath stops when she says it. You’re going to be a mother. A hundred, a thousand, a million emotions flood through me at once. I wish Reese was here, getting the news with me. I wish I had told my mother about this—but I didn’t want her coming around here, just in case, and we haven’t spoken since that fateful lunch.
I don’t know whether I should sob or jump for joy. I think I might do all these things at once when Dr. Lee speaks up again.
“I’d say you’re about seven weeks along. Little thing is coming along nicely.” She looks at me with a big, sunshiny smile on her face. “Now, I feel like I need to give Mr. Dalton a good ol’ kick in the pants next time he comes in for a broken bone or something else silly. Missing the big reveal! How dare he? Men, I swear.”
I flush. “He had practice. But he’s on his way.” When my stomach rumbles, I add, “He’s actually bringing food with him, too.”
“Well, good.” Dr. Lee pats my hand. “You two can celebrate and let the little one have a treat.”
She cleans my stomach up, wiping the jelly off it and swiping a wet cloth over it so I’m not sticky. She keeps up a constant stream of chit-chat as she stows her equipment back in the satchel.
“We can set up regular check-ins to keep an eye on the little one. I’ll leave you my information so you can get in touch with me directly, alright? We’re gonna want to keep a regular eye on you and monitor to make sure this one’s well on his or her way to a happy and healthy arrival into the world.”
Her optimism bleeds into me. A ray of hope that I didn’t know I needed.
“Yeah, I’ll make sure to do that. Thank you, Dr. Lee.”
“Oh, call me Brenda! We’ll be getting to know a lot about each other in the next few months.”
I help her to the entrance and outside. When I close the door, I lean against it for support.
I’m going to be a mother.
My nerves aren’t completely gone, but there’s a weight lifted off me. Finally having a definitive answer will do that.
I push off the door jamb and head into the kitchen. Miraculously, Violet has been asleep the entire time. Her ability to nap through damn near anything is enviable.
As I’m making a sandwich, another sound comes from the front door. My brows furrow. Did Dr. Lee—er, Brenda—leave something behind?
Another set of raps to the door echoes through the kitchen.
“Hold on!” I call out.
I pull the door open again without looking out the peephole first. I expect Brenda to be there, probably saying that she dropped a pen or left something small behind.
But when I open the door, there’s no one outside. The car that she came in isn’t at the curb, either. With a frown, I also realize that the cop car that had been stationed across the street early this morning isn’t there anymore.
I peek around the sides, seeing if maybe there’s a kid or something playing around.
Suddenly, there’s a clatter at the side of the house. A crash. The sound of running feet. My heart rate ticks up—but the sound isn’t getting closer to me; it’s getting further away. Slamming the door closed, I run around to the side of the house, breathing heavily. My phone is at the ready.
What if I can get the person on camera?
The side of the house comes into view. The trashcan is tipped over on the side, bags and loose trash spilling out of it like guts. It looks like an animal tried rummaging through it. I might’ve accepted that answer if it weren’t for the next thing that catches my eyes.
A discarded spray paint can tipped on its side drips fresh paint from the nozzle onto the ground. If the trash can was spilling guts, this one is leaking blood. Red, sticky blood. My eyes drag from the paint can up to the siding, where the freshly sprayed words are still dripping.
