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“Taylor,” he repeats with a kindly smile that puts me at ease. “My name is Dr. Baranov. Would you mind answering a few questions for me?”
I nod, in part because he does seem genuine and competent, and also because I can sense Mila lurking right next to me, and I don’t doubt that she’d love to pull out her gun and convince me to talk to Dr. Baranov if I was entertaining any notions of doing otherwise.
He gives me another warm smile. “Wonderful. How far along are you, Taylor?”
“Ten weeks. I went for a check-up this morning, actually.”
“Excellent, excellent. Do you mind if I examine you, Taylor? You’ll feel mild discomfort, but no pain.”
I nod again mutely.
“Mila,” Dr. Baranov says as he tugs on a pair of black latex gloves, “would you mind giving Taylor and me some privacy?”
Mila doesn’t look very happy about it, but she slips out of the room without argument. The moment the door snaps shut, I sigh. “Well, that’s a relief. Tell me, Doc, did she come out of her mother’s womb scowling?”
He chuckles as he begins to poke and prod at my stomach. “No, that was her brother. Mila came out with tears in her eyes. It was almost like she was made for suffering.”
I shudder as I regard the old man with new curiosity. “That’s… bleak.”
“Life is indeed bleak at times, in this house more than most,” he agrees solemnly. “The fact that you’re here at all proves that.”
I have no idea if he’s referring to me being here with the Zakharovs, or me being here miscarrying. Honestly, it’s a toss-up, and I don’t feel like asking him to clarify.
“Can I ask you a question and will you promise to be honest?”
“As honest as I can be.” He rummages through his bag for some complex-looking medical device and begins gliding it around the surface of my stomach.
“That’s a shady response.”
He chuckles again. I like that; it makes me feel more at ease. It makes me feel like things can’t be so bad as long as that sound exists in the world.
“Yes, I suppose it is. I can only promise that I will do my best.”
“That’s not much better, but I’ll take it. Are you a mob doctor?”
He doesn’t so much as lift an eyebrow. “I’m whatever I need to be to serve the Zakharov family.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
He smiles and peers at me over the top of his glasses. “Where’d they find you, little truth-teller?”
“They didn’t,” I rasp. “They found my sister. I’m just… a casualty.” The truth of that statement hits deeper than I intended.
The doctor shakes his head. “No, I think not. You’re no casualty.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“A casualty would never have made it past the door.”
“Are you trying to tell me I’m special?” I snort. “Because I gotta tell you, Doc, I just saw my mother get shot. I have no idea where my sister and father are. I have no idea if any of them are dead or alive. I have no trust in any of the people here, and—no offense, because you truly do seem lovely—that includes you. And on top of all of that, I’m miscarrying. Which I should want, but the fact is, I don’t.”
The tears are sliding down my face by the time I’m done speaking, but I’m too wrecked to care. Dr. Baranov rests his liver-spotted hand over mine and gives me a smile that makes me feel guilty about telling him I don’t trust him.
“You’re dealing with many burdens,” he says. “But miscarrying isn’t one of them.”
“W-what?”
“The fetus is intact, Taylor,” he informs me, helping me to sit upright. “I heard a heartbeat and it was strong as an ox. You’re still pregnant, and from what I heard, it sounds like you’re going to stay that way.”
