by Tamie Dearen
“I think you should tell him today. But if you don’t tell that boy by the time he comes in here, he’s going to get a really big surprise at his checkup.”
After that, every day without fail, both Leesa and Noelle nagged her about telling James. And every day she put it off. She had no time to think about it. Her evenings were filled, wiping up drool and urine puddles and collecting enough black fur from her living room to stuff a winter coat.
But the real reason she postponed telling James the news was she didn’t really feel pregnant anymore. Since the spotting stopped and her queasiness was no more than any average day with bulimia, she began to doubt the doctor’s diagnosis. And if the baby existed, she felt certain she couldn’t carry it to term, partly because the idea was too terrifying to consider, with images of her body in bloated condition, floating through her dreams like ghostly nightmares. She could’ve easily ignored the whole pregnancy thing until she miscarried, were it not for Leesa and Noelle, reminding her on a daily basis.
A bell dinged, indicating someone had come in the reception room door. Who could that be, this late on a Friday?
A face appeared at her window. “Hey, baby!”
“Dang it, Dad! You scared me to death. What are you doing here? You know Dr. Madison said—”
“I know, I know. She doesn’t like me, for some reason. But she’s gone, isn’t she? I didn’t see her car.”
“Yes, but this isn’t a good idea.”
“I didn’t have any choice. Donovan wanted to meet you, and last time I brought someone to your apartment, you chewed me up one side and down the other.”
Her face felt hot. “You brought a man here?” she rasped. “To my work?”
“Would you rather we go to your apartment later tonight?”
“No,” she mumbled, with her teeth closed together. “I’d rather you stopped bringing strange men to meet me.”
“I feel it’s my duty as a father to see you happily hooked up with a guy. You’ve got a lot of potential, Shara. I can’t let you waste it.”
A thousand rebuttals passed through her mind, but none seemed harsh enough to express her fury.
“Go away, Dad.” As a wave of nausea enveloped her, she rummaged in her purse for her trusty lemon wedge baggie. The smell alone doing nothing to dispel her queasiness, she pulled the wedge out and bit it, sucking the juice.
“That won’t work, you know.” He made a tsk-tsk sound.
“What won’t work?”
“Eating lemon won’t make you pass a drug test. Believe me, I’ve tried it all.”
“Dad, I’m not trying to fool a drug test—”
“Now, putting eye drops in your urine... that’s a real thing. It works and all, but they can tell you did it.”
She closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose.
“You got a headache? You know, I got something that’ll make your head feel great—”
“Go away, Dad.”
“Okay, but first...” He called over his shoulder, “Come over here, Donovan.”
“I don’t want to meet him.”
“He just came out of the john, but I’m pretty sure he washed his hands. You did—right, Donovan?”
“Sure.” A second face appeared in the window, at least six inches shorter than her father’s. At five feet nine inches, Shara didn’t need a short boyfriend to make her feel more insecure about her height.
“Nice to meet you, Shara.” He smiled, revealing a space where one of his front teeth should’ve been.
Her father slapped Donovan on the back, knocking him off balance. “Unlike that idiot boyfriend of yours, Donovan here caught on the first time I explained the Man Hands franchise. He’s in all the way, when his next unemployment check comes in.”
Shara’s brain pounded against the inside of her skull. “Donovan, I’m sorry my father wasted your time. Dad, you need to take your friend and leave. I have work to finish up, and Dr. Madison doesn’t want you here.”
“That’s okay,” said Donovan, looking down at his feet. “I didn’t really figure you’d want to go out with me, on account of I’m kind of short.”
Shara’s heart melted, despite her irritation with her dad. “I think you’re plenty tall, Donovan. I’m sure lots of girls would love to go out with you. But I...” God, forgive me for lying again, but it’s almost true. “I’ve already got a boyfriend.”
“Can you introduce me to any of those girls? The ones who would love to go out with me?”
“I... uh...”
“Come on, Donovan.” Her dad slung an arm over his shoulder and turned him toward the exit. “Soon you’re going to be busy with the new franchise. And believe me, when you’ve got money coming in, the girls will be all over you.”
“You think so?”
“I know so.” Their voices faded, and tension flowed out of Shara’s body, leaving her limp and drained.
HOW WAS IT POSSIBLE James could miss that furry bag of yelping slobber? And yet he’d found himself checking his phone multiple times each evening, hoping for another picture of Fezzik’s antics on Instagram. Shara had no idea he saw the images she posted, since she’d blocked him on all her social media when she broke off their relationship. Fortunately, a few years ago James had helped David set up his Instagram account. Now James stalked Shara on David’s Instagram, careful never to like, love, or comment.
As he drove toward Shara’s apartment, he found himself looking forward to his week of “custody.” But tonight he had a more pressing engagement. He’d convinced Shara to pay up on the first of his two earned dates. He refused to allow her lack of enthusiasm to dampen his spirits, knowing he had much to prove before she would trust him again.
She answered the door and stepped back to allow him inside, shuffling her feet, her fingers gripping the purse on her shoulder so tight her knuckles were white. “I’m ready to go.”
“I see that.” He took in the boots on her feet and her thick coat, buttoned to her neck. “But we don’t have to be in such a hurry to leave.”
“I figured the sooner we start, the sooner we finish.”
“Is that so?” He stepped closer, crowding her until her back pressed against the wall. “I guess that means you’re looking forward to the end of the date...” He bent his head down and whispered in her ear, “The end... when we kiss.”
With pleasure, he noticed her cheeks turning fiery red. She looked away. “I never said that.”
“We don’t have to be in such a rush, though. No need to wait until the end. We could have our kiss whenever we want... even right now.”
He fell back, her hands shoving at his chest. Daggers flew from her icy blue eyes. “If you came over here thinking you were going to sleep with me again, you should leave now.”
“Wait!” He took a step away from her, lifting his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I promise you, Shara, that’s not my intention at all. For the record, I’m truly sorry I didn’t show you the respect you deserved. You are precious and valuable, and I treated you poorly. All I want is a chance to show you I can be a better man.”
Her hand came up and swiped at her face. Tears? What did I say wrong this time?
“Can we go, now?” She sniffed, avoiding eye contact.
“Sure. Let’s go.” He glanced toward the den. “Fezzik’s in his kennel?”
“Noelle and David are keeping him this evening. I told her you’d pick him up by ten thirty.”
“That gives me two and a half hours, when I thought I had almost four. I suppose I’ll have to be doubly charming to convince you in such a short time.”
The corner of her mouth twitched, like she wanted to smile. He was making progress.
“WHAT ARE WE DOING HERE?” Shara’s curiosity finally got the better of her when James pulled into the parking lot of the city park.
“We’re having dinner under the stars.”
“Here? In the cold?”
“You doubt me?” His right dimple winked as he opened his door,
but left the car running. “Stay right here.”
He grabbed two large bags from the back seat and headed over to a picnic table, where he laid out the contents. Then he retrieved something from the trunk—two folding chairs he set up beside the table.
He returned and shut of the engine, before opening her door. She stood up, but before she could take a step, she was hefted up into his arms. He carried her, squealing, to one of the chairs and set her down, wrapping her bottom half in a zero-degree sleeping bag. Then he zipped her into a coat, large enough to fit over the one she already wore, and fastened a fur cap on her head.
“Warm enough?” he asked, concern lining his face.
“Toasty. May have to unzip something in a minute.”
Next, he poured something steaming into a cup and handed it to her. On her lap, he placed a plate with some saltine crackers. “That’s chicken broth, if you can handle it. If not, I’ll drink it myself.”
He poured himself some broth as well, and took the chair beside her.
“I feel bad you’re eating nothing but chicken broth tonight,” she said, carefully maneuvering her soup and crackers with gloved hands.
“No worries. I ate something before I came. Figured your stomach might rebel if you had to watch me scarf a bunch of food.”
His thoughtfulness chipped away at her barrier, and she fought to retain her earlier anger. If she relented and they started dating again, it would be as if she were using him. Though he’d clearly stated his negative feelings toward fatherhood, news of her pregnancy would cause him to renounce his expressed opinion. He would chain himself to her as husband and father to a child to whom he felt obligated. She wasn’t about to ruin James’ life.
“That’s Orion, I think.” He pointed into the sky at the multitude of stars, all of which looked the same to her.
“Cool,” she answered, not wanting to disappoint him.
“Look.” He pulled up a star-gazing app on his smart phone. “When you hold this up to the sky, it labels the constellations on the screen.” He held the phone up, and she could see “Orion” with an arrow indicating a clump of stars.
“This is awesome. I’ve never been sure which ones were which.”
His smile indicated his satisfaction. “I love looking at stars, but it’s more fun to share it with someone... to share it with you.”
She nibbled on another cracker, passing the rest of her soup to James, who swallowed it in a few gulps.
“Tell me about your family,” he said.
She considered how to answer. She didn’t want to say anything to give him false hope. On the other hand, knowing the truth about her past could serve as a strong negative to discourage him.
“My real mom died when I was a baby,” she began. And Dad got stuck with me.”
“But he remarried, right?”
“Yeah. Three times. But none of them could tolerate him when he was drunk, so they didn’t stick around.”
Even in the starlight, she could see his jaw muscles bulging. “What about you?” he asked. “You were only a baby.”
“I was fine. He would never hurt me. Never really got abusive when he was drunk.” She sighed, remembering her painful childhood. “I guess his words were a little abusive. He tends to say things without thinking of how it might come across.”
“What sort of things?”
“Things he should’ve kept to himself.” She clenched her eyes tight against a flood of emotion. “Like when he told me my first stepmother left because I cried so much.”
“You don’t believe that, do you?”
“I do. I’ve met her. Some people aren’t cut out to be parents.”
Quiet settled over them like a blanket of snow, and she let her mind wander, grasping at the few good memories from her childhood, most of which centered around the rare occasions when her father was stone cold sober.
James blurted out, “I think you’ll be a great mother someday.”
A lump the size of Texas grew in her throat, and she couldn’t reply.
“I really mean it,” he insisted. “You’re disciplined, yet you have a soft heart. You’re loyal, to a fault. You listen. And you have a knack for understanding people. It’s like you get inside their heads. That’s the makings of a great mom.”
She didn’t even realize she was crying until she noticed how cold the air felt on her face. And the kiss he gave her—sweet, tender, heart-wrenching—ripped away the last shreds of her protective barrier. In that moment, she would’ve done anything he asked her to do. Yet, he only made one whispered entreaty under the stars that night...
“Please, give me another chance.”
Chapter Twelve
It’s like I’ve been sent to the principal’s office. Despite the chilly air, Shara’s antiperspirant had failed. As she waited, propped on the edge of the brown leather chair, she studied the pictures on Dr. Garcia’s desk. In particular, one photo caught her attention—Dr. Garcia and her husband holding an infant. It was one of those artsy images, both parents wearing white, the baby draped in a soft white cloth, the light reflecting, to give the baby an ethereal glow.
Shara knew it was a manipulation that made the baby look so sweet and heavenly. Even more than a puppy, babies were taxing creatures who demanded every last bit of your time and energy. They started in pregnancy by taking over your body and sucking out all the nutrients they needed for growth, while expanding their sac and stretching the mother’s skin beyond recognition. It was as if an alien creature had moved inside and taken control. Thoughts of the child she carried often involved tamping down abject terror and dread at the changes to come.
Yet, as she gazed at the photo, she knew the joy on the parents’ faces was not a result of Photoshop alterations. For the first time, she wondered about the baby. Was it a girl or a boy? Would it have dark hair like James, or blond like hers? Was the baby destined for blue eyes? How would it feel to hold your newborn infant in your arms?
“Thanks for talking to me in the office.” The doctor’s arrival startled Shara from her musings. “I don’t like to discuss these important matters during an examination.”
“I appreciate it,” Shara responded. “I prefer as little time as possible in the freezer wearing nothing but a napkin.”
Dr. Garcia chuckled. “We get that complaint all the time. We actually tried turning the thermostat up, but we got even more complaints from all the patients and staff sweating.” Then her expression darkened. “I’m not happy about your numbers right now.”
“The baby’s not growing?”
“We’re estimating you at nine weeks now. The baby is growing, but your body is taking a toll. Your iron is depleted, you’re dehydrated, and you haven’t gained a single pound in three weeks.” She looked up from her computer. “If we don’t change something, your baby could have serious issues.”
She hitched a breath, surprised by the doctor’s assessment. “I read that the baby will always get the nutrients it needs, because it takes them out of the mother’s body, whether she eats well or not.”
Dr. Garcia’s somber look made Shara’s stomach turn a flip. “But in your case, you were already malnourished, so your body didn’t necessarily have everything the baby needs. Your baby is likely to have low birth weight, with a ton of possible complications, ranging from problems with organ development to premature delivery or even miscarriage.”
Her chest muscles contracted, preventing her lungs from expanding. All at once, she realized she didn’t want to lose the baby. She would do anything to protect it, even if she had to sacrifice her body. “What can I do?”
“First, I want to see you every week for a while. Are you taking the prenatal vitamins I gave you?”
“Yes, I’m trying.”
“Trying?”
Shara wiped her damp palms on her jeans. “Sometimes those vitamins come back up. I promise I’m not doing it on purpose, but I never know if they were in there long enough to dissolve.”
“We’re switchin
g you to nutritional shakes.” She nodded, tapping on the computer keyboard. “And how are your counseling sessions going?”
Shara cleared her throat. “They’re not.”
Dr. Garcia’s features distorted, producing an expression closely resembling Dr. Madison’s scary face. “Why not?”
“Because I used up all my insurance allowance for bulimia counseling. I have to wait for January when my benefits start over.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake! I’ll rewrite the referral and find a different code. There’s got to be a way to get this covered. You need to see that counselor every single week.”
“Okay.”
“And we’ve got to get some iron in your system. You’re so anemic I don’t know how you’re even walking around.”
“Okay.”
“And you have to drink more water.”
“It makes me queasy. I can eat ice, but Dr. Madison doesn’t like it.”
“Leesa and I work out at the same gym. She’s got some awe-inspiring biceps, but I think I can take her.” She chuckled, but then her brows plunged. “Seriously, either you get more fluids in your system—water, ice chips, juice, tea, broth, whatever—or you end up in the ER getting an IV. It’s your choice.”
“Okay,” she said, feeling more overwhelmed than ever. But a niggling doubt preyed on her mind. “Dr. Garcia, are you certain I’m actually pregnant? Because I don’t feel pregnant. I mean, I’m queasy and exhausted, but that kind of feels normal. And the bleeding stopped. Honestly, if I’d waited one more week before I came to see you, I would have no idea I was pregnant.”
She folded her hands, twisting her mouth to one side. “You know what? Let me give that Doppler one more try, and see if we can hear that heartbeat. I’ll get the nurse to set you up.”
“You don’t have to do that.” Her pulse raced. What if there was no heartbeat? What if she’d killed her baby by not eating and drinking enough? How could she live with the guilt?
“No, I want to.” Dr. Garcia stood up, and the decision was made.
