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“Your blood pressure is still too high,” Dr. Gordon said.
“Oh. Bad high, or just let’s-keep-an-eye-on-it high?”
“Bed-rest high.”
Carly looked down at the Wombat-bump. “Preeclampsia.” She’d read her pregnancy books. At one time, she’d read nothing but pregnancy books, one after another. She knew the score.
“Possibly preeclampsia,” echoed the good doctor, with an expression that suggested she was going to off herself as soon as she left the room.
“That’s not good.” Carly tried to think of something funny to say to deflect the worry, but she couldn’t. She just couldn’t.
Sliding her hand into her pocket, she wrapped her fingers around her phone. It was so pitiful to want Jamie here. No doubt the urge would pass as soon as she got her land legs back. She wanted him only because he’d shared so much of this pregnancy with her, and because she’d just had such a shock. A really fucking awful shock.
“Do you have anyone who can help you? You’re going to need family or friends to take care of you.”
Jamie.
But Jamie was gone.
“Caleb,” she said, clutching the phone so tight her fingers started to hurt. “He’s right outside.”
Chapter Sixteen
Carly was white, her lips compressed in a flat line. She looked like hell.
The doctor offered him her hand. “Thanks for coming in, Mr. Clark.” She was younger than him and nearly as tall, with a long face and kind eyes.
“Carly has elevated blood pressure,” she explained. “We’ve been keeping an eye on it, but it’s not coming down, and combined with the protein in her urine, we need to be concerned about the possibility of preeclampsia. I’m putting her on a modified form of bed rest.”
“What does that involve?”
“She’ll be permitted to leave her bed for bathroom visits, and she can spend two hours a day sitting up on a bed or couch. I don’t want her walking around or climbing up and down stairs any more than necessary. She’s going to need help. She tells me you can be counted on to assist her.”
Carly stared down at her lap, clearly uncomfortable.
“Of course,” he said. “We’re watching for bad headaches, blurry vision, and abdominal pain, right?” His sister Amber had been on bed rest with high blood pressure the first time she was pregnant. He remembered the drill.
“Yes. Also nausea or vomiting, dizziness, or sudden weight gain. I’d like to see her back here on Monday, and you should call the office if she experiences any of the symptoms, alone or in combination, before then.”
“Got it.”
They covered a few other details, the doctor gave Carly a quick pep talk, and she left. Caleb turned to Carly. She was biting her knuckle, a bad habit he’d thought she’d kicked in middle school.
“Sorry about that,” Carly said. “She asked if I had anybody who can help me, and I … I said I had you.” Her eyes filled with tears, which she swiped at viciously. “But you don’t need to put yourself out. Just give me a ride home, and I’ll call Nana. We’ll be fine.”
He wondered how many appointments she’d had to come to all by herself. Her husband had walked out on her when she finally got pregnant after years of trying, Nana was too frail to take care of her anymore, and Jamie Callahan had high-tailed it out of town the second their relationship started getting difficult. Carly was effectively alone, and Caleb had been too self-centered to think about how she must feel, stuck by herself in the house she’d grown up in, trying to cope with her losses and plan for the future.
Some friend he’d turned out to be.
He put his arm around her and rested his chin on top of her head. “You’re going to be fine. Both of you. We’ll get you sorted out. This is just a precaution. The doctor said so herself.”
Carly put her face against his shoulder, the closest thing to a surrender he’d ever known from her. He let her rest there, already thinking ahead about how to make this work. Thinking about this new wrinkle to his mission, now that protecting Carly meant a lot more than keeping her out of view of the press.
Nana would want to help, but someone would have to help Nana. He and Katie would need to put together a list of Carly’s friends who’d be willing to take shifts with her and bring food over.
Should he call Mitchell? Did the not-quite-ex-husband have a right to know, given that he was in Baja drinking too much and chasing after board bunnies?
Probably not.
