AllFreeNovel
Share Us
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
AMBER
Noah’s only been gone a few hours, and I already miss him.
“Be gone three days at most,” he said before leaving. It might as well be a month for all that matters because every day he’s gone drags on endlessly. At least that’s how it felt the other times he was away on business.
Something’s been off with Noah lately, and I can’t put my finger on it. Better not worry, though, or I’ll start making stuff up.
Need to get out of bed and ready for work. Noah left at five-thirty this morning because he had to swing by the office before heading to the airport. I had gone back to sleep.
I crawl from under the covers and plant my feet on the floor. My stomach is queasy when I stand, so I hurry to the bathroom. Could it be last night’s supper? We did have chicken, and I’ve heard that if it’s not cooked properly…
Once in the bathroom, I lean over the toilet, brace myself, and let ’er rip. And there goes last night’s dinner. Won’t be eating chicken again anytime soon.
I give my teeth a thorough brushing and then hop in the shower and begin the dance. Glance in the mirror one more time after getting dressed and head for the kitchen. I’m better but pass on breakfast. No sense taking any chances.
At work, I have nothing but coffee until lunch, and by then, I’m starving. Not in the mood to travel to the sandwich shop on the corner, I grab my purse and hit the break room, sticking five dollars in a machine for tuna blanketed in whole wheat bread.
I snatch the sandwich and sit at a table. Unwrap it and take a bite. Yum. Glad I chose it. Take another bite, chew, and swallow. This time, my stomach roils and my mouth waters. It fills up with the extra saliva one gets before vomiting. I snag my purse, spring from my chair, and gallop to the bathroom, just in case.
Ends up being a close call, but I make it, and it’s not pretty. Proves to be painful as well.
I wipe my mouth, leave the stall, and wash up in the sink. A woman comes out of the lavatory cubicle (that’s what some people here call it) next to the one I was in, and we make eye contact through the mirror.
“Not feeling well, honey?” she comments. The woman is in her fifties or sixties and has gray hair. A little portly. With a warm smile.
“You heard?”
She nods.
“Sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“Are you pregnant?”
“What?”
She steps up to the sink and washes her hands. “Did you throw up this morning?”
“Yes.”
“Can’t keep food down?”
“I had two bites of a sandwich and had to race here.”
“There you go, then. Congratulations.”
I glance in the mirror; my head is bobbling. “This can’t be.”
“Don’t know what to tell you, hon, but if you don’t believe me, get yourself one of those pregnancy tests. You’ll find out in no time flat.”
The woman walks over to the hand dryer and dries her hands while I impersonate a lamppost. She might be right.
“You all right, hon?”
I nod.
She heads for the door. “Take the test, hon.” She walks out.
