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“Well, if it isn’t little Dakota McGraw. I swear I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw your name on my chart.”
I look up from my spot on the bed and smile weakly. “Lucky you, I guess.” Every sigh inside of me is fighting to come out.
My old babysitter, Agnes Winfrey, is now the town obstetrician. And why wouldn’t she be? It makes perfect sense she’d be the one to see my vagina after she changed my diapers.
In her early fifties, Winfrey’s a woman of boisterous laughter and solemn serenity. I remember her sneaking me Red Vinesfrom her purse when she bribed Fallon and me to get back into bed and leave her and her boyfriend alone.
“What’re you doing back in town?” Winfrey shakes her head, her silver locks curling over her shoulders. “Haven’t seen you in ages.”
“New move,” I say, trying for breezy when all I want to do is melt into a puddle. “Back home.”
Winfrey makes a snippy little noise of consternation and snaps on a glove. “You know, I left Resurrection once. To get my degree. And then I came back. I swear this town has some kind of alien-beam hold on you.”
I stare at the cracked ceiling with fluffy white clouds painted on a blue surface. The cheery scene does little to reassure me. So much for keeping a low profile. Within an hour, everyone will know I’m back home.
“Haven’t seen a doctor yet?”
“No,” I tell her, ignoring the way her gaze bounces to my cast and back to my face. “I haven’t.”
A lie. I didn’t try to find a doctor.
Aiden finding out was one risk I couldn’t take. This baby was my little secret.
Silence lapses for a second and Winfrey clears her throat. “Okay. Let’s get down to business, then take a look at this baby.”
Winfrey completes her internal exam, snaps off her gloves, and discusses the results of my labs. She informs me I have low blood sugar, but I can fix it by eating frequent small meals and healthy snacks.
“Scoot,” she says, slipping on a clean pair of gloves. “Time for that Kodak moment.”
I recline on a table and lift the upper portion of the two-piece gown.
Winfrey glances at the door, then pins me with a curious look. “Would the father like to come in?”
“He’s not here,” I say quickly and leave it at that.
Inhaling a steeling breath, I glance down at my belly. I’ve avoided looking at myself in the mirror. Like looking makes this real. And it is. Suddenly, there’s my belly. My breasts are full, spilling out of my bra.
An overwhelming sort of hopelessness coasts over me.
I need bras.
I need books.
I need prenatal vitamins.
I need so many things.
A job. A home. A life. The heavy weight of responsibility, of happiness.
I squeeze my eyes shut as she squirts a cold gel on my stomach. While the wand coasts over my bump, blood roars in my ears and my heart pumps double time. To calm myself, I grip the cool metal of Davis’s dog tag and rub my thumb over the bumpy, raised lettering I’ve memorized like a prayer.
I wish Davis and his rumbling voice were here to fill the space inside my head. But he’s not. I have to handle this myself.
“There.” Winfrey’s gentle voice breaks the silence. “There’s your baby, Dakota.”
Breathe, Dakota. Rope that moon.
I open my eyes and incline my head to the monitor.
