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I frowned at her. It wasn’t fine for me. I wanted to find the doctor and tell him that Emily was more important than all those other people.
As selfish as that thought was, I didn’t care. But the nurse escaped before I could say anything.
I got up and started pacing, and Emily’s eyes followed me.
“Relax,” she murmured. “You’re about to give me a stroke.”
“That’s not funny. How am I supposed to relax?” I asked her, my voice tight. “There could be something seriously wrong with you. There’s no way I can relax.”
“Mhmm,” she muttered with a cryptic smile that disappeared as her face grew more thoughtful. “Did my dad really die of some incurable disease?”
I glanced at her. “You didn’t know how he died?”
She shook her head. “Mom said he drank a lot, so I just assumed it was from that. Or maybe he got in with the wrong people.” Her eyes slipped away from mine as she uttered the last part.
“You thought I had him killed, didn’t you?” I asked wryly, extrapolating what she was trying not to say.
She blushed and then nodded. “But I don’t think that now.”
“Obviously.” I shook my head, unable to believe there was a time when she thought I was a murderer. “He died of an incurable disease. I thought it was cancer, although he never went for chemo. He never would tell me what it was, and after he died in the hospital, I just didn’t see the point in finding out.” I told myself that, but the truth was that I didn’t want to know. It hurt less not knowing, and I didn’t want to picture him as that dying man.
I wanted to remember him as the fun-loving indefatigable Dom.
She nodded and leaned back against the bed. “I hope I don’t have that. Whatever it is.”
Even hearing her refer to it made me feel sweaty and suffocated. My blood ran hot and cold at the same time, and I continued pacing to get rid of some of the pressure that was building in my chest.
Finally, the doctor came in about forty-five minutes later, and he did look stressed. There was a drop of blood staining his scrubs, but I didn’t mention it because he looked harried enough.
“Alright,” he said. “You’re the pregnant one?”
We both froze and blinked at him.
“No,” Emily murmured. “You got it all wrong.”
He frowned as he looked down at the folder. “Emily Jane?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh.” He glanced around. “I thought the nurse had already talked to you. According to your blood test, you’re pregnant. That would explain the nausea and tiredness you’ve been feeling, but we’re still waiting for the rest of the blood test to come back.”
It felt like the floor was giving way beneath my feet.
No, she wasn’t dying. But this was almost as bad.
She was pregnant.
My mother had died in childbirth. She was a small woman with a narrow hip canal, and my family was notorious for having large babies.
Emily was even smaller than my mother.
I had killed my mother, and now I was killing Emily too.
As the doctor stepped out for a second to answer another emergency call, I stared at Emily. Her face was blank, and there was nothing there. No anger, sorrow, nothing. She did not seem to know how to react. But then again, she didn’t know yet what was done.
“I thought you said you were on the pill?” I said exasperatedly.
“I must have forgotten to take it that time.” Her voice sounded light, faint.
