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Sal sits on the exam room table, her leg bouncing a mile a minute. Five vials of blood drawn. She needs to lie down. Or better yet, have a drink.
She closes her eyes, her mind automatically going to her botched Sunday supper. Worse, what she overheard that night. She had been coming downstairs to find Luke but instead found him and Seth. Luke’s worry practically burned a hole in the screen door. His pained words to his brother: I can’t take anything else. She retreated before they could spot her, but Luke’s distraught words have haunted her for the last two days.
It’s taking a toll not only on her, but on Luke too. She hadn’t realized just how much. He’s been trying to be so strong for her, while hiding his own pain.
Well, no more.
She can’t do this to him. To them. She has to give this up. She has to be strong for Luke and let whatever will be, be.
The sound of the door opening has Sal looking up. Tawny steps into the room, carrying Sal’s chart.
It’s Tuesday night, their shift over. Her friend offered to stay with her while Nurse Buntin ran a panel.
“Well?” Sal rubs her sweaty palms on her jeans. “What’s the verdict?”
A strange smile grows on Tawny’s face. “You ready for this? You’re pregnant.”
Sal’s jaw drops. “What?”
“Yep. Got the results from Buntin right here.”
“But, but ...” Sal’s world whirls. “I’m on my period.”
Her brain tries to make sense of it, her legs, her mind Jell-O. She’s had her period the last two months. Lighter than usual, but she’s still had it.
“Not a period,” Tawny says. “Implantation bleeding. Some women have it their whole pregnancy.”
Sal shakes her head, sets her mouth in a hard line. “Run it again.”
“Sal.”
“Run it again, Tawny.”
Tawny settles beside Sal at the exam table, her eyes sympathetic, yet tinged with humor. “Look, I knew you’d say that and I did. I ran it twice. You’re officially, definitely pregnant.” She pokes a finger at Sal’s chart. “The fainting was probably caused by anemia, because you’re low on iron. And you need to drink more water because you’re dehydrated as fuck.”
Sal shakes her head, disbelief, worry, sideswiping joy. “There’s something wrong. There’s no morning sickness, no—”
“Sal,” Tawny soothes. “A lot of women don’t have morning sickness. That’s doesn’t mean something’s wrong.”
Her heart aches to hope.
For a long minute, Sal sits stunned, touching her fingertips to her lips. Then out of her mouth comes a tear-filled laugh. “Oh my god. I don’t believe it.”
“Well, believe it, sweetcheeks.” Tawny nudges her shoulder. “Let’s go up to obstetrical and see McKibbon. She owes me a favor.”
“Ten weeks?” Sal asks, shocked. She sits up on her elbows, turning her eyes to the screen.
Dr. McKibbon runs the ultrasound wand across Sal’s stomach. “Looks like it.”
Sal’s eyes fill with tears at the sight of her beautiful blur of baby. She can make out the head, what will be feet, hands. And the heartbeat. It’s steady. Strong. It’s really there. A baby.
Her and Luke’s baby.
Dr. McKibbon presses deeper on her stomach with the wand. “So, that would put the date of conception right around June fifteenth.”
Sal chokes on a laugh. She’d never forget that date. Alabama and Griff’s wedding reception. It was held at a 125-acre ranch outside Nashville. She and Luke had been having a grand old time, enjoying a night off from everything, and then two beers turned into five, and before Sal knew it, they were sneaking off to the upstairs bathroom, Luke lifting her up on the sink, his big hands running warm over her body, Sal hiking up her dress.
“Right now,” McKibbon’s calm voice sideswipes Sal’s memory, “it looks like a healthy baby.”
