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I take her free hand and Autumn’s in both of mine. My eyes darting between the two of them. “I swear to you, I am safe. And if that ever changes—for any of us—we tell each other.” They both nod. “No matter what.”
“No matter what,” they say in unison.
After a squeeze of my hand, Cora releases mine from her grasp. “Enough of the heavy talk.” Autumn nods in agreement. “Please call your doctor in the morning.” She points a finger at me and narrows her eyes like a stern mother. “And tell Devlyn. I understand you not wanting to worry him, especially if it’s nothing, but he deserves to know. This is his baby too.”
I love and hate that she is right. But this is why I talk with my best friends. They look at my situation from a different angle, with a fresh perspective.
“I will. Promise.”
The last hour at Jonas and Autumn’s house goes by a bit lighter. Devlyn curls me into his side as we sit by the fire bowl and chat with our friends. By the time we exchange hugs and goodnights, I breathe easier.
Tomorrow, I will call Dr. Webster and set an appointment. Tomorrow, I will tell Devlyn what I felt earlier. Tell him about the pain in my chest. That is what partners in committed relationships do; we share everything. No matter the outcome.
FOURTEEN
DEVLYN
My phone ringson the drafting table, inches from where I’m sketching a new piece. A drawing requested by a new client. A portrait of the woman’s grandchildren, their adorable smiles—one of which is missing a front tooth—glowing in the photo she sent.
I set my pencil down and swipe my phone off the table to see Shelly’s name on the screen. I tap the green phone icon and smile as I say, “Hello.”
“Hi,” she replies, her voice a breath over a whisper. “Do you have a minute?”
My muscles tense up at her question. Why would she ask that? Of the two of us, my schedule is nothing but flexible. “Of course. What’s wrong?”
“I, uh…” She goes quiet, but I still hear noises in the background. Then she exhales audibly. “I had to set a new doctor’s appointment with Dr. Webster.”
Metal scrapes wood as I rise from my stool. My vision blurs and stomach twists as my mind conjures up countless reasons why Shelly would need to see Dr. Webster sooner than her next appointment. Unable to be still, I pace the length of the room. Take a deep breath and inhale the scents of the studio. Allow the earthy smells to ground me as I grow more frantic with each breath.
“Why?”
“I, uh…”
Shelly goes quiet again. I picture her fidgeting with her apron strings as she works up the nerve to answer. Why is she so hesitant? Did something happen to her? Is the baby okay? The longer she remains silent, the longer my list of worse-case scenarios gets.
After what feels like a week, she speaks again. “I’ve been having pains,” she says a breath above a whisper.
As I reach the landing for the stairs, instead of spinning around to pace the room again, I take the stairs two at a time. Reach the bottom floor before the next words leave my lips. “What kind of pains? Is it the baby?”
I dash to the bedroom, put the phone on speaker and strip out of my clothes. I grab a clean pair of jeans and a fresh shirt, slipping them on as she talks.
“No. I don’t know. I-I don’t think so.” Her voice stutters. “It’s in my chest, near my heart.”
My hands freeze as I slip on socks.Her heart. No. No, no, no.I take a deep breath and beg my mind to not travel down the road of misdiagnoses. Not to think of things such as heart failure or angina or embolisms. Shelly is too young for heart problems, isn’t she?Stay calm. You can’t help her if you’re freaking the fuck out.
“When is your appointment?” My voice cracks at the end.
“Today at four.”
“I’ll pick you up.”
“Dev, no.” She huffs on the other end as I pick up the phone and take it off speaker. “My car is here. I’ll meet you there.”
My eyes close and I clamp them tightly. Let the discomfort distract me momentarily. Tell myself to take another breath and not force my insistence upon her. We don’t know what the problem is. It could be something minor. Completely normal. I need to let her make decisions. I need to not steal her choices like my mother did for me.
Unless the doctor says otherwise.
“Okay, I’ll be there.” I wander out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. Stare blankly at the counters and cabinets and appliances, unsure what to do next. “Do you need anything until then?”
