“Allergies to any medications?” she asks.
“Nope. I’m good.”
My mouth suddenly feels dry, and my heart starts racing as I anticipate answering personal questions with Fitz sitting right there. I also want to check and make sure everything is okay with the baby after my fall, but…My palms are sweaty, and I feel dizzy.
“Family history of anything on this list?” She hands me the iPad, where I scan the list of ailments from heart disease to gout. I glance at Fitz, considering asking him to give me some privacy, but he’s scrolling on his phone and doesn’t seem to be overly invested in my medical history. It’s just my ankle we’re dealing with, after all, so I suppose there’s no harm in him sitting here while the doctor examines it. “Nothing. Healthy ancestors,” I say, my voice an octave too high.
“Date of your last menstrual period?”
My stomach drops. I start to sweat, and my pulse pounds in my ears. I do all sorts of mental gymnastics, trying to remember the date of my last period, which was over two months ago, and then a few backflips and cartwheels, figuring out how to get out of answering the question.
“Um…”
“Approximate is fine.”
I blink as though she’s asked me to find the square root of the national debt in my head. I go so long without answering that Fitz finally looks up.
“June twenty-first,” I blurt out. “Approximately. My cycle is irregular.”
The nurse hesitates before typing. “Are you pregnant or breastfeeding?”
Words choke in my throat. My face heats. I look away from Fitz, hoping he doesn’t notice. In all the scenarios I worked through in my mind before driving out here, a few included blurting my news at the Hitching Post over loud music or following him out to the parking lot. None included me wearing a modesty shield in an urgent care clinic.
“I-I don’t see what any of that has to do with my ankle,” I stutter. “And, in fact, it feels fine. I think I just bruised it, so…”
“These are routine questions.” The nurse looks at the iPad, as though to make sure the question is still there.
“Irrelevant routine questions. Should we just go? I feel fine, really.” Why can’t I show this much swagger when I depose a witness for one of the partners’ cases? I wriggle to get up, but Fitz shoots me a glare.
“Just answer the question and don’t make things harder than they need to be.”
“Um, no?” My response sounds like a question I can’t answer myself, and I feel like a weakling.
The nurse has been looking between Fitz and me. Then she starts coughing into her elbow. Fitz asks if she needs some water, and she nods and points him out of the room. “I know where it is. Be right back.”
The second the door closes, the coughing stops. “You’re pregnant.”
My heart floods with relief. I nod, touched that a stranger understands. “Yes, I think so.”
“You think so? Do you want me to run a test?”
“No, no. I’ve been to the doctor. I didn’t want to discuss it in front of Fitz. I don’t know him that well. But I did fall, and I want to make sure the baby is okay.”
“I doubt you have anything to worry about, but let’s do a quick check.”
She plugs in a Doppler, and moments later, I hear the whoosh of the baby’s heartbeat, strong and steady. It hits differently now that Fitz is right in the next room. I feel a surge of emotion at the sound of the baby.
Our baby.
“Sounds perfect. I’m putting a note in your chart about the pregnancy, but I’ll let the doctor know to keep it confidential.”
“Thank you.” I sense a rare opportunity to dig for information. “Also, I’m not from here, but I noticed a lot of people seem to know Fitz. What’s that about?”
She laughs. “You really aren’t from here. John Fitzgerald owns half the land in this town and pays half the taxes. You’re either an FOF or you’re on the wrong side of history.”
“FOF?”
“Friend of Fitz.”
