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Sal turns her head to her. “What about the spotting?”
“It should stop,” says McKibbon. “It’s rare, and terrifying, but some women do spot their entire pregnancy. It’s not always a sign that something is wrong. I understand why you’d be more worried than usual, but everything looks good, Sal.” McKibbon smiles and powers down the machine. “Congratulations.”
She inhales deeply and nods. “Thank you.”
As Dr. McKibbon exits the room, Sal slowly sits up on the exam table, dazed yet euphoric. Still, she stays seated on the exam table. She doesn’t trust her legs.
A quick knock sounds on the door and then Tawny’s popping her head into the room. “How’d it go?”
Sal’s mouth works the words over. “Everything’s okay. I’m ten weeks.”
Tawny laughs, giving her a hug. “Hot damn. You want me to call Luke?”
It’s automatic. “No,” she says, snagging Tawny’s arm.
Tawny arcs a brow. She’s already pegged her thoughts. “Sal, you can’t keep it from him.”
“Only until I’m twelve weeks.” She gives Tawny a pleading look. “I’ve never made it this far before. I don’t want to get his hopes up. I just want to be sure.”
“Whatever you think.” Tawny sighs. “You know what’s best.” She pats Sal’s hand. “I’m so happy for you, Sal. I’ll let you get dressed.”
Sal covers her face and laughs into her palms as a burst of happiness so huge crashes into her heart. Holy shit, she’s pregnant. It’s a dream. A miracle. A damn out-of-the-blue present from the universe.
Less than a week ago, she and Luke were bemoaning the fact that they couldn’t get pregnant. And now, everything’s suddenly rearranged in her world. Her palms drift from her face to cup her stomach. She has to keep this close. Safe. Quiet. It’s just for two weeks, until the risk of miscarriage is lower. She needs to do this for Luke. For the last year, he’s been her rock. Always making sure she knew she was loved. Gentle with her memory and kind with her heart. Putting her first, protecting her.
Now, it’s her turn to protect him.
After several deep breaths, Sal slides off the exam table, dresses, and exits the room. She’s walking down the hall in a happy haze when there’s a hand on her elbow. Sal stops in her tracks. She blinks at the girl in front of her. “Molly.”
The girl bites her lip. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know where else to go.”
“Don’t be sorry,” Sal says. “C’mere.” She leads the girl to an empty lounge. “What’s going on?” She keeps her voice even and calm even though it’s clear as day what’s going on. Molly’s got a black eye, a busted lip as big as Texas.
“I need help. And you said—”
“Yes.” Sal nods, her heart beating out a relieved beat. That this girl is asking for help. That she left before it was too late. Sal’s been there. She’s done it. She knows how hard it is. “The Mary Parrish Center is a shelter. They’ll help you and your baby.”
Molly shrinks back against the wall. “He’ll find me.”
Sal shakes her head. “He won’t. I promise you.”
Molly’s brown eyes dart down the hall, then back to Sal. “I need to go home and get my things—”
“No.” Sal’s voice is sharp. Adamant. “No, you don’t.” She digs into her pockets and pulls out the cash she keeps on her for lunches and coffee runs. It’s not much, but it’ll get the girl a toothbrush, a change of clothes. She presses it into Molly’s palms. “Take this, okay? Get yourself what you need and then go straight to the shelter.”
Tears well in Molly’s eyes. She grips the cash and Sal’s hand. “Thank you so much.”
“Go,” Sal urges.
After a long glance at Sal, Molly lets go of her hand and exits the lounge.
Sal stands there for a long while, covering her stomach protectively with her palms, and then closes her eyes.
Lucky.
She’s damn lucky.
