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“Mr. Black.”
I peek up at the sound of Doc’s old voice, digging deep for the grit I need to appear fine, when now, more than ever, I feel the sickest.
“Rose,” Danny calls, sounding all too happy about my impending examination. I don’t even want to ask what he thinks I might be hiding from him. Am scared to. Like I’m scared to seriously ask myself. I drag myself to the bedroom, finding Doc setting his medical bag on the end of the bed.
“Hi, Doc,” I sing, way too happily, dropping to my back on the mattress.
“Mr. Black said you’re feeling under the weather.” He pulls his stethoscope out and taps the end before hooking it around his neck.
“He’s worrying over nothing.” I keep my eyes off Danny, avoiding his displeased look, but I see him lower to a chair by the bed. So he’s going to supervise?
“Well let’s put his mind at rest, shall we?”
“Yes, let’s.” I smile sweetly and drop my head to the side to get Danny in my view. “He’s busy mutilating men.”
Doc laughs as he plucks a thermometer from his bag. He actually laughs. I don’t know if it’s genuine humor or nerves.
I keep my potent stare on Danny, who’s silently observing, the side of his finger thoughtfully brushing across his lips as Doc takes my pulse, checks my heart, my temperature, and flashes his pen light in my eyes. “These waves of sickness,” he says, packing his stethoscope away. “How frequent and how long do they last?”
“They’re sporadic. Some last longer than others.” Depending on the level of stress I’m being subjected to.
“Headaches?”
“Sometimes.”
He packs his things away and snaps his bag shut. “A virus, I’d say.” He reaches for his gray beard, stroking it thoughtfully. “Nothing to worry about.”
“Good.” Danny rises from his chair and appears above me, his face hovering close to mine. “Wasn’t so bad, was it?” My nose wrinkles. “And now you have a content husband who can get on with business worry-free.”
“Good for you.”
He takes my cheeks, squeezes, and slams a kiss on my lips. “What are you doing this afternoon while I’m working?”
“What time will Daniel be here?”
“He’s at soccer practice. I’ve got eyes on him. My man has his instructions.”
“Will I be able to take him soccer practice?” I ask, not at all hopeful, so when Danny smiles and nods, it’s all I can do not to squeal my happiness. Such a simple thing, but at the same time everything. I know I’ll have Tank a few paces behind, and I know we’ll be driven, but it still delights me. “I’m going to Walmart to buy him a soccer net. Maybe some new cleats. And a ball.” The grounds will be the biggest and best soccer pitch ever. He’ll love it.
“Okay. Do you have money?”
My eyebrow curves of its own volition. “Yes, I have all of yours.”
He smirks dirtily and straightens, pulling his phone out when it rings. A quick glance at the screen. A definite narrowing of one eye. Then he slowly turns and leaves, taking it to his ear. But he doesn’t speak. Not until he’s out of the room.
I flop back onto the bed on a sigh. “Okay,” Doc says, perching next to me. “Let’s speak frankly now Mr. Black has left the room.”
“Pardon?”
“Rose, I have been a doctor for forty-five years. I ran my own practice for forty of those.”
“What are you saying?”
“Are you pregnant?”
I recoil, so much so, I shift a few inches up the mattress. “God, no. That’s impossible.”
“How?”
She’s hemorrhaging. She’ll need a transfusion.
Will she be able to carry again?
Unlikely.
I push back the brutality of my past and sit up. “Doc, you need to trust me, it’s not possible.”
“As you wish,” he says quietly, taking his bag from the bed and walking slowly to the door. “Enjoy your shopping trip, Rose.” He leaves, and I close my eyes, immediately wishing I hadn’t when I’m bombarded with flashbacks. I hold my head, fighting away the faces of evil. “No.” I slam my fists down and jump up, set on going to find Beau.
I swing the door open. Tank’s back. For such a mammoth guy, he disappears and reappears like magic. “I’m going shopping,” I tell him as I pass.
“I know. I’ll get the car ready.”
“Beau still in the TV room?”
“Sure is.”
“Thanks.” I take the stairs fast and approach the doors, tapping at the wood delicately. She’s been in there for way longer than I know she’s comfortable with. It’s time to save her.
“Come in,” she calls.
I smile at the wood as I push my way in, her high-pitched, relieved tone giving her away. Her face says a thousand words, part pained and part pleased to see me.
“Is it that time already?” she asks, jumping up.
“Yes, we’ll be late.”
“Dad, I’m sorry, I promised Rose I’d help her with something.”
