Making Waves

by Laura Moore

  Dakota emerged from the bedroom. She’d put on makeup, and highlighted her eyes so that they appeared even larger. The blush and lipstick were artful, too. If he’d arrived and seen her this way, he wouldn’t have been able to guess that she’d been sick just minutes ago. She’d covered her white shirt with one of those long, drapey sweaters that didn’t button. Grabbing her handbag off a side table and scooping her keys from a shallow ceramic dish, she turned to him, all brisk efficiency. “All right, I’m ready.”

  He hoped he was.

  —

  The Healthcare Center was just outside of East Hampton, on a cul-de-sac off Route 27. Dakota led him into the low-slung shingled office building. He followed as she turned right down the carpeted hallway and opened a maroon door with the names of several doctors affixed to it.

  Inside, a placard greeted them with the following: We kindly request that all patients refrain from using their cellphones in the waiting room.

  “Take a seat. I’ll go check in,” Dakota said, and went over to speak to the receptionist sitting behind a glass partition.

  Three women sat in the windowless waiting room. Three very pregnant women. The only other male besides Max was about two years old. He was busy trying to grab his mother’s cellphone. She, in turn, was waving it in the air with a distracted, “No, Joey,” her eyes never leaving the screen. Whenever she lowered the phone to get a better look at what was playing, the kid made another attempt to snatch it.

  Max supposed the woman thought the cell ban only applied to others. He’d have liked to ignore it, too, since there were several messages he should be checking, but he was determined to be on his best behavior.

  Max took the seat farthest from the women. But as the chairs were arranged around a large square coffee table, there was only so much distance he could create. Aware that they were studying him, he fixed his attention on the magazines covering the table. Maybe there’d be something to read or flip through. Among the glossy stacks were Parents, Fit & Healthy Pregnancy, Child, and Women’s Health. He looked away.

  Hanging on the wall were pictures of East Hampton sights—a photo of Hook Mill, the windmill located on North Main Street; some swans swimming in the town pond; and a picture of boats moored in a harbor. He assumed it was Three Mile Harbor—he hadn’t been out there yet. Unfortunately, there weren’t enough pictures to occupy his attention.

  The toddler chose that moment to erupt in a full-blown tantrum. Wincing, Max glanced over at the reception desk. Dakota was putting something back inside her wallet. Returning the wallet to her handbag, she picked up a clipboard and walked over to him.

  He tried to picture her looking like she’d just ingested a basketball, tried to get his mind around the idea that his kid could be growing inside her. The little boy continued his screaming.

  Dakota sat down and began filling in what looked like twenty pages of questions, somehow ignoring the howling that was bouncing off the walls. Max wondered if he had enough cash on hand to bribe the mother into giving her kid the phone.

  “Stop,” Dakota said quietly.

  He cast a sideways glance. Her pen was poised over the form. “Stop what?”

  “Your leg. You’re jiggling it.”

  He looked down. She was right. His leg was twitching uncontrollably. He pressed his foot down on the maroon carpet, and Dakota returned to the forms. The kid kept screaming, and he tried to keep it together. If these women could take it, so could he.

  Just as he was about to go over to the receptionist and demand that the doctor see Dakota, the door opened. A nurse in pink scrubs called out, “Dakota Hale?”

  He jumped to his feet. Dakota glanced at him, gathered her things and the clipboard, and then rose slowly. “I’ll have the nurse call you when—”

  “You can’t leave me alone here.” He hoped she could read lips, since the toddler’s shrieks were now as loud as a car alarm. “I promise I won’t look at anything you don’t want me to see. I won’t talk or do anything.”

  She gave him a look that spoke of disbelief, amusement, and pity. He truly did not care. He’d rather be flattened by a 250-pound linebacker than remain in the waiting room with this screaming child and these women who looked ready to burst.

  “Fine.” Going over to the waiting nurse, Dakota said, “This is Max Carr, my—” She hesitated. “My friend.”

  Friend. He’d take that. It was a lot better than many things she could call him.

  “I’d like him to be in the exam room so he can meet Dr. Davis,” Dakota said.

  The nurse smiled approvingly. “Of course. Dr. Davis loves to have the men take an active interest in these visits.”

  The nurse introduced herself as Trudy and led them to an exam room. Inside, she handed Dakota a plastic cup. “This is for your urine sample. When you’re done, you can change into a gown. You’ll need to remove everything. I’ll weigh you, take your blood pressure and temperature, and draw some blood. Then Dr. Davis will come in and examine you and tell you what’s going on.”

  “Like if I’m pregnant,” Dakota said.

  “Yes. And if you are, there’ll be lots to discuss. The first prenatal visit is often the longest, but you’ll have plenty of opportunities to ask questions along the way, so don’t worry if you get home and you realize you’ve forgotten something.”

  With a nod, Dakota left with the cup.

  To Max, Trudy said, “You can take a seat there.” She pointed to a chair tucked away in the corner. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  Max did as instructed, and then tried not to wince at the poster facing him. He was all for vaginas, but he preferred to appreciate them in the flesh. Spying some pamphlets in a plastic stand, he stood and snatched a couple up and then sighed. One was about chlamydia, the other a marketing brochure for a progesterone cream.

  He replaced them hurriedly when the door opened and Dakota entered. “I’ll, uh, step out so you can change.”

  She nodded.

  “You okay?”

  She let out a shaky breath. “Yes. It’s just…weird.”

  All of a sudden he felt better, marginally less freaked out. “Yeah. Believe me, I know.” As he walked by her, he reached out and caught her hand, squeezing it lightly. “Hang in there.”

  She gave him a surprised look and then a small smile. “I’ll do my best.”

  A smile. That was good, he thought.

  —

  Dakota quickly undressed and then shrugged into the gown. At least it was made of cloth and not one of those awful paper ones that scratched and gaped. Still, an examination gown was an examination gown. She tied it securely, striving for maximum modesty. Kind of ridiculous, considering how well Max knew her body.

  His presence was unnerving, to put it mildly. She was singularly conscious of how much more he was going to learn about her body, which would have been one thing if they were together—still weird, but perhaps more natural. However, they weren’t together.

  But since Saturday morning at the Point, she’d been attempting to follow Hendrick’s advice and try to find a way to work things out with Max in case the baby became a reality.

  So she hadn’t insisted that he remain in the waiting room until Dr. Davis finished examining her. It would have been too cruel. Max had kind of melted her heart with his display of nerves, the leg-jiggling, and the barely veiled horror at the prospect of being left with that obnoxious mother who couldn’t be bothered to entertain her toddler. She could tell he was trying, despite being freaked out by what was obviously alien territory for him. To give credit where credit was due, Max wasn’t merely trying; he was also lending her his support.

  She checked the bow she’d tied, giving the loops a final tug. She could do this. It was just an exam, and she liked Dr. Davis.

  The knock had her jumping. “Yes? Come in,” she added.

  Trudy entered, followed by Max. He gave her one of his sweeping, all-encompassing glances, and shook his head, grinning slightly.

  “W
hat?” she asked.

  “Only you could look beautiful in that thing.”

  She blushed.

  “Aw, that’s sweet,” Trudy said, not bothering to pretend she hadn’t overheard.

  It was. Dakota bit her lip to hide her smile. Even if it was untrue, she was pathetically grateful to Max for attempting to bolster her ego when she felt as attractive as, well, vomit.

  “All right, Dakota, let’s have you step on the scale.”

  Dutifully she stepped onto the square. Trudy began adjusting the weight, moving it, waiting, and then moving it again, ever leftward. When it was finally balanced, Trudy read out, “One hundred and twelve pounds.”

  “What? That can’t be right. I usually weigh—”

  Trudy flipped through the pages in Dakota’s chart. “Last visit you were at one twenty-nine.”

  “I’ve lost seventeen pounds? How’s that possible?”

  “Mm-hmm,” Trudy replied noncommittally. “Have a seat on the table and I’ll get your blood pressure and all the rest so that Dr. Davis can examine you.”

  Dazed, Dakota hardly noticed Trudy wrapping the cuff around her arm and pumping it to check her blood pressure, sticking the thermometer in her ear for a reading, or drawing the necessary vials of blood. The number seventeen was on repeat in her head.

  After updating Dakota’s chart, Trudy picked up the tubes of blood and assured them that Dr. Davis would be in directly. The click of the door shutting sounded loud.

  Swallowing a lump in her throat, Dakota looked at her bare legs dangling over the edge of the table. She didn’t dare glance over at Max, half convinced she might burst into tears and reveal what an emotional wreck she’d become. Seventeen pounds. That was scary weight-loss territory. But it didn’t necessarily mean that anything was wrong with her, right? Hadn’t Piper said she suffered the exact same symptoms? Had that included losing nearly twenty pounds? Dakota thought not. Piper would have bragged about it—she’d always strived for the whippet look.

  A sound that was part laugh, part sob escaped her.

  “Hey,” Max said. “What is it? Are you worried about the weight?”

  Biting her lip, she nodded. “Yeah.” She gave up trying to avoid his gaze. “But I was thinking of Piper—my mother—too. She was a lot younger than me when she got pregnant. If I’m this freaked out at the possibility of being pregnant, I can only imagine how it was for her, and then later having to withstand the pressure from her parents to terminate the pregnancy.” She drew a steadying breath. Was any part of this going to be easy? No matter; she had to say the rest. “Max, if I’m pregnant, I’m keeping this child—with or without your help.”

  “I guess I’d already assumed that was how you felt. If there’s a baby, you won’t be alone, Dakota.”

  At his words, the tears won. There was still the big unknown, and then so many other things to sort out, but to hear him say he at least intended to be present for the child was a huge relief.

  Wiping her cheeks, she sniffed. “Thank you. All this,” she said, sweeping her arm to encompass the room and all its paraphernalia, “makes me wonder if I haven’t given my mother enough credit.”

  “After the past thirty minutes, I don’t think any woman gets enough credit.”

  His wry comment had her laughing. Her laughter died abruptly as her body went cold and clammy and the skin over her skull tightened. Uneasy, she slid off the table, shivering when her feet touched the linoleum.

  “You all right?”

  “Yeah, it’s just— Oh God,” she moaned as the nausea hit her. Rushing to the sink, she leaned over it and retched.

  She was still heaving when the door opened. She heard Dr. Davis say, “Trudy, can you get some ginger ale, please?”

  “Not feeling too great, huh?” Dr. Davis said sympathetically. She had a kind face, with full cheeks and a ready smile. In all the years Dakota had been her patient, her hairstyle, a bright blond pageboy cut, had never varied. Neither had her footwear: polished brown penny loafers. Neither had her calm, steady manner.

  “Not really, no.” Dakota was back on the exam table, her face washed and her mouth rinsed, and sipping ginger ale from a turquoise Solo cup. Max had returned to the chair, having stood when she introduced him to Dr. Davis. “Am I pregnant, Dr. Davis?”

  “You are.”

  It was real. Her eyes sought Max’s. His had grown wide and bright with emotion. She imagined hers were the same.

  “Oh. Okay. Well, at least I—at least we—know now.” Her mouth dry, she took a sip of soda.

  “Yes. So what I’d like to do is examine you and then do an ultrasound to make sure that everything is fine—”

  “Because it’s not? Fine, I mean.”

  “Well, as you know, you’ve lost a significant amount of weight. In addition, your red blood cell count is down quite a bit. Anemia’s not uncommon in pregnancy, but your blood pressure is also lower than I’d like to see it. It’s at ninety over sixty.”

  Dakota stared mutely at her. Those numbers had never meant anything because she was always in peak health. Now that she wasn’t well, her ignorance terrified her.

  “Have you been experiencing any dizziness?” Dr. Davis asked.

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  “Feeling clammy? Weak?”

  “Yes. I thought everything was connected to the flu.”

  “Your symptoms are probably due to a mix of factors. From what you’ve described and from the amount of weight you’ve lost, it’s clear you’ve been experiencing rather severe morning sickness.”

  Feeling battered by numbers and unfamiliar terms, Dakota voiced her biggest fear. “Has any of this hurt the baby?”

  “The ultrasound will show us if there’s anything to be concerned about—”

  She really, really did not want there to be any reason for concern.

  “—and it will allow us to estimate the fetus’s gestation and your due date. Now, I know your periods have always been irregular, Dakota, but do you by any chance remember the start date of your last one?”

  “Around mid-November, I think. The eighteenth, maybe?”

  “Okay.” Dr. Davis made a note in the chart. Looking up, she said to Max, “I’m glad you’re here today, Max, because I’d like to get your medical history as well.”

  “Of course, whatever you need.” From his distracted tone, Dakota wondered if Max was struggling to process the news that a baby was in his imminent future. Or was that fear she heard? Was he as scared as she by the prospect of something being terribly wrong with her body? That the baby might be in danger?

  Dr. Davis turned back to her. “Are you comfortable with Max in the room while I examine you, Dakota, or would you prefer he stepped outside? This first ultrasound will be transvaginal, as opposed to abdominal, because it provides a clearer image of the embryo at this stage. As these things go, the ultrasound probe is less uncomfortable than a speculum.”

  Dakota smiled weakly. “That’s good to know. I—I’m all right with Max here.” She looked at Max. “Do you want to stay?”

  “Yeah,” he said gruffly, and nodded. “I do.”

  —

  Dakota fixed her eyes on the monitor’s screen, ignoring the pressure of the ultrasound wand. Max stood by Dakota, as intent on the blackish-gray image as she.

  “I’m checking your organs first, Dakota. Your uterus looks fine. And now for the second bit of good news. Here’s the gestational sac with the fetus inside, and it’s inside your uterus, just where it should be. Trudy, can you please move the cursor so Dakota and Max can see where to look?”

  Dakota tracked the white arrow’s movement. “That little thing is my baby?” she whispered.

  “That’s right. And this is the yolk sac and the pole.”

  Yet more terms Dakota didn’t know the meaning of, but that was all right. Just as long as the baby was okay.

  She felt the wand move inside her as Dr. Davis continued her examination. Then Dr. Davis spoke, and her voice sounded especially p
leased.

  “And we have a heartbeat,” she said. “From the looks of it, a nice, strong, healthy one.”

  The cursor was pointing at a pounding dot. “That’s its heartbeat?” Her hand reached out, searching for Max’s. When it touched his, he caught it and squeezed tightly. At the pressure, she tore her gaze from the screen, and her own heart lurched to see him transfixed by the tiny, beating blip in a gray-black sea.

  —

  Dakota had never been in Dr. Davis’s office. Come to think of it, she’d never talked to any doctor outside of an exam room. There were the requisite diplomas hanging on the wall, but what really grabbed her attention were the framed photo collages of babies. Smiling, sleeping, crawling, and rattle-waving babies. A frankly thrilling sight. Thanks to Dr. Davis’s care, all these children had made a successful journey into the world. She had to believe hers would, too.

  Dr. Davis looked up from the notes she’d been making in Dakota’s file. “So, from the date you gave me for the start of your last menstrual cycle, I estimate that you conceived somewhere between November twenty-eighth and December sixth. Does that sound about right to you?”

  “Um, yes.” Her cheeks warmed as she recalled how often she and Max had had sex, not only during that period but right up until their last weekend together. She wondered whether Max, seated in the chair beside her, was remembering as well.

  Dr. Davis picked up a printout of the ultrasound. “By looking at the measurements of the fetus—the gestational sac is twenty-seven millimeters, and the CRL, the crown-to-rump length of the fetus itself, is eleven millimeters—I estimate you’re almost seven weeks along, Dakota, which should make your due date approximately August thirtieth.”

  August 30. The date seemed so far away and yet ridiculously soon. How was that thumbprint-sized blot supposed to grow into a baby that quickly?

  “And from what you saw in the ultrasound, everything looks all right? Healthy?” Max asked.